this is a title.

23 | he/she/they | the name is Sam btw

[giannamrvl]

premium service

natasha romanoff x paramedic!femreader

FLUFF / SLIGHT HURT/COMFORT

summary: Working as a paramedic in Manhattan means you're used to chaos, but you didn't expect to pull the Black Widow into a quiet alleyway mid-invasion. Natasha is bleeding out and defensive, but when you're the only one steady enough to anchor her through the pain, a localized alien attack turns into an incredibly unexpected connection.

authors note: this is a draft so ntm

masterlist

________________

The flashing red and blue lights of the ambulance cast long, frantic shadows against the shattered concrete of the overpass. The Chitauri leviathan had been brought down blocks away, but the collateral damage was everywhere.

You snapped your purple nitrile gloves into place, pulling a roll of gauze from your jump bag as you knelt beside a civilian with a nasty laceration. Sirens wailed in the distance, a constant, droning backdrop to the chaos of Manhattan.

"Keep pressure right here, okay?" you told the man, guiding his trembling hand to the wound. "You're doing great. Deep breaths."

"Hey! Medic!"

You looked up at the shout. A fellow paramedic was gesturing wildly toward an alleyway fifty feet away. Through the settling dust, you caught the unmistakable gleam of dark tactical gear.

An Avenger.

Leaving your patient in the capable hands of a triage rookie, you grabbed your trauma kit and ran toward the alley. As you got closer, the figure materialized. Black suit, red hourglass belt buckle, crimson hair dusted with grey ash.

Natasha Romanoff.

She was slumped against a brick wall, one leg bent awkwardly out in front of her. Her breath came in shallow, ragged hitches, and her hands were pressed firmly against her left side, dark blood seeping through her fingers. Despite the injury, her green eyes were sharp, scanning the alley like she was still waiting for a threat.

"Don't move," you said, dropping to your knees beside her. Your voice was calm, a stark contrast to the adrenaline hammering in your chest. You didn't care if she was a world-class spy; right now, she was just a patient bleeding out on your pavement.

Natasha’s head snapped toward you. A low, defensive growl started in her throat, her hand instinctively twitching toward the empty holster at her thigh.

"Easy, Black Widow," you murmured, gently but firmly catching her wrist. "I'm just a paramedic. Let me look."

She stared at you for a tense, agonizing second, testing your grip. Something in your steady demeanor must have convinced her, because the tension bled out of her shoulders and she let her head fall back against the brick with a sharp hiss. "It's... just a graze. I'm fine."

"Right. You look incredibly fine," you replied dryly, already slicing through the side of her tactical suit with trauma shears to expose the wound.

The "graze" was a deep, jagged puncture from a piece of flying shrapnel, bleeding heavily.

"I need to pack this, and it's going to hurt," you warned, pulling out a package of hemostatic gauze. "Ready?"

Natasha offered a grim, bloody smirk. "Do your worst, doc."

You didn't hesitate. As you pressed the gauze into the wound to stop the hemorrhaging, Natasha’s entire body went rigid. Her fingers dug into the fabric of your uniform shirt, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed her eyes shut, a muffled gasp escaping her lips.

"I know, I know. Stay with me," you coaxed, using one hand to keep pressure on the wound while using your free hand to gently squeeze her shoulder. "Look at me, Romanoff. Keep your eyes on me."

She forced her eyes open, blinking through the pain, locking her intense green gaze onto yours. There was a raw, striking vulnerability in them that you were definitely not prepared for. For a moment, the sounds of the burning city seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the cramped alley.

"You have... terrible bedside manner," she breathless, a weak attempt at a distraction.

"Hey, I'm saving your life. You get the premium service for free," you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips as the bleeding finally began to slow. You quickly wrapped a pressure bandage around her torso, securing it tightly. "There. That'll hold until we get you to a trauma bay."

Natasha let out a long, shaky breath, her grip on your shirt loosening, though she didn't entirely let go. She looked down at your neat handiwork, then back up at your face, a look of genuine curiosity replacing her usual guarded mask.

"What's your name?" she asked, her voice low and raspy.

You told her, checking her pulse one last time. It was fast, but stabilizing. "We need to get you on a gurney. Can you stand if I anchor you?"

"Yeah." With your support, she managed to hoist herself up, leaning heavily against your side. She was shorter than you expected without her boots, but she felt like solid marble.

As you guided her out of the alley toward the waiting ambulance, Tony Stark’s Iron Man armor streaked overhead, but Natasha didn't look up. Her eyes remained fixed on you.

"You're pretty good under pressure," she noted as you helped her sit on the bumper of the rig.

"Occupational hazard," you replied, handing her a clean bottle of water. "Stick around Manhattan long enough, you get used to the alien invasions."

Natasha took a sip, a genuine, amused smile breaking through the ash on her face. She reached into a small, intact pocket on her vest and pulled out a sleek, black earpiece, dropping it into your palm.

"Keep that," she murmured, her fingers lingering against yours for a second too long. "Next time the sky opens up, give me a call. I'll make sure I'm your personal security."

Before you could respond, a S.H.I.E.L.D. transport vehicle screeched to a halt nearby, and a couple of agents rushed over to escort her. Natasha let them lead her away, but she threw one last, lingering look over her shoulder, leaving you standing by your ambulance with a pounding heart and a direct line to the Black Widow.

[lowkeyerror]

We Might Die If You're Gone For Too Long

Supergirl x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Notes: Superman 2025 spoilers, very light Supergirl spoilers (just how she gets to Earth), near death experience, super powered reader.

Summary: You're there to help Clark when Kara lands on Earth. You wish she could be there to help you and Clark against Lex Luthor's goons.

An: Someone commented that I work fast... so I just want to keep that narrative going 🤘

Masterlist

You met Clark in high school. From the moment you met him you could tell he was different. There was something about him that set him apart from other teenage boys. At the time you thought it was his kindness and willingness to help those in need.

When you actually became friends with him, you found out there was just a little more to it than that.

Your friend was from another planet and had abilities like no other. It took you by surprise, but made complete sense at the same time.

When Clark came clean about his powers, you decided to tell him about yours.

There was an accident when you were younger. Your father was a scientist, he left you unattended in his lab. It was only a few seconds but that’s all it took for you to ingest an unknown chemical compound.

The effects manifested over the course of a few days. You could fly, you could phase through things, and if you tried hard enough your fingertips would spark. Not a complete fire but something more akin to a jolt of electricity.

To say Clark was thrilled would be an understatement. He was ecstatic. Without knowing it you made Clark feel less alone. He felt a little more human knowing he wasn’t the only powered person on this planet.

He was a big goof then and it’s not something he ever seemed to grow out of. As the two of you aged and Clark began to fully embrace his role as Superman, you decided to stick by his side.

You fought along with him. A lot of people deemed you his sidekick but it didn’t really bother you much. When presented with a microphone he always referred to you as his partner, but people would do as they always do.

You both had to publicly address the rumors stating you were together. The mere thought of it made you sick. Clark is like a brother to you.

You’re with him at the fortress when he finds out about Kara. You’ve never seen him this nervous before. There’s definitely a level of excitement buried somewhere under his nerves, but you’d let him work it out on his own.

“I’ve got to get out there to meet her. She’ll have a minute or two before her powers hit her full force,” he says.

“You want me to come with?”

He responds quickly, “Please.”

You laugh before you stand. “Let me get my snow shoes.”

“You fly,” Clark deadpans.

You roll your eyes, “We’ll have to land at some point.”

“Fair.”

The two of you exit the fortress. Clark leads and you follow closely behind him. You think you see the pod at some point but you aren’t a hundred percent sure. Not until Clark starts to make his descent.

You land maybe a minute before the pod cushions itself against the snow. You’re behind Clark when it opens revealing a girl. For a moment the dark haired man just stares, eventually you nudge him.

He clears his throat and begins speaking to the girl. She speaks back in something that isn’t English. Clark blinks at the blonde.

“What is she saying?”

He makes a face before scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t speak Kryptonian. I was raised here, remember.”

“Right, well help her out you goof,” you gesture to her.

Clark scrambles to extend his hand which she takes. Her blue eyes lock onto you once she’s free from the ship.

“That’s Y/n, she’s pretty nice for the most part,” Clark jokes.

You roll your eyes, “Very funny Superman.”

You hardly notice she’s holding a dog until it rushes full speed at you. The dog collides with you with a lot of force and speed. He knocks you back a few feet but it’s a good thing you can fly. There’s an audible breath that comes out of your mouth.

“Super dog, that’s pretty neat. You’re a strong boy aren’t you?”

The blonde watches with intrigue as Krypto plays with you. It’s then that her powers hit her. Clark helps steady her as gold beams surround her eyes.

“Woah, yours aren’t usually beautiful like that,” you comment.

“Just help me get them to the fortress please.”

You salute with one hand while holding Krypto with the other. “Aye aye sir.”

You make your way back to the fortress. Once you sit Krypto down he’s exploring the area at break neck speeds.

“Reminds me of me when I first got here,” you watch with amusement.

Clark chuckles before refocusing his attention on Kara, “I know that we’re a pretty advanced race of people. With the yellow sun, I think you should be able to learn English in a few hours.”

You see him about to speak again but something stops him. Your eyes sharpen, “Metropolis?”

He nods, “Something is going on I can sense it. Kelex, show me Metropolis.”

A screen appears out of nowhere. You watch as an army of toys march through the city, causing chaos.

“Looks like Toyman picked a shitty time to schedule a play date.”

Clark groans, “He couldn’t wait a few hours?”

You look at Kara who has her eyes locked onto the screen. Then back at Clark, “What do you want to do Superman? I can handle it and you can stay, you can handle it and I can stay, or… we can all go. She looks pretty interested.”

Clark only takes a moment to respond, “I’m going. You stay here with Kara, try and teach her English.”

“Got it. Go save our city.”

Kara watches as he takes off. When her eyes snap back to you they are curious.

“I’ve never taught anyone English before so I don’t really know where to start,” you talk to her.

She points at herself, “Kara.” Then she looks up to where Clark just left. “Kal-El.” She points at you next, “Y/n.”

You nod, “Those are our names.”

She repeats after you, “Our names.”

You smile at her, “Fast learner. I have an idea, come with me.”

You extend your hand and she takes it. She’s warm, you wonder if it’s a Kryptonian thing. Clark is always warm too.

“I think if I just show you some movies you’ll pick up on the language. Most movies are pretend, actors play characters to tell stories. It’s not real, just for entertainment. You seem like an action kind of woman, Die Hard is one of my favorites.”

You turn on the movie and Kara watches it with you. She stays silent the entire time. You go back and forth between watching it and looking at her.

When it’s over you’re startled to hear her speak.

“Play another movie. Something different,” she says.

You nod, “What kind? There are funny movies, sad movies, romance movies, dramas, sometimes a mix.”

Kara pause, “I need to watch something… for my brain.”

You furrow your brow, “Something that makes you think? Stimulating is the word.”

“Yes, something stimulating.”

“I always like a good murder mystery. I’ve got the perfect movie.”

You watch a few more movies with Kara. She talks more throughout the others. The Kryptonian has questions and you answer them to the best of your abilities. By the end of the third movie she seems almost completely fluent in English.

“Where did Kal-El go?”

“He went back to Metropolis. Honestly we’ll probably end up there before the night is over too.”

She tilts her head, “Why?”

“Well Clark and I help people in need. Kal-El is Clark by the way. Metropolis is where we live. We moved here together after college.”

“Do you love Clark?”

You nod, “Only in a friendly way not romantically. Clark is like my brother and besides I’m gay.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m only interested in women romantically.”

Kara hums, “Me too.”

Before any more conversation can ensue, Clark comes back. He looks just the same as when he left.

“Toyman has been dealt with. How are the English lessons?”

“Good. I understand now,” Kara replies.

Clark is almost taken aback, “That’s awesome Kara.”

“Are we going to Metropolis?”

“Not yet, I want to teach you about your powers first. Then we can go.”

She looks confused, “My powers?”

Clark claps his hands together, “This planet has a yellow sun. The sun enhances our innate abilities making us stronger than others here. With great power comes great responsibility. We have a duty to the citizens here to keep them safe from things they can’t protect themselves from.”

Kara looks at you, “Do you have powers?”

You show her rather than answer. You phase through some of the ice and furniture before floating like Clark. You even show her the sparks of your finger tips.

“Fire?”

You blush always a little embarrassed by the lack of power, “Just the sparks. It’s like a little shock.”

She smiles, “I think it’s very cool.”

“Thanks Kara. Well while you do the super training, I’m going to head home. I’ll see you both there,” you attempt to exit the fortress.

Clark stops you just before you do, “Could you tell Lois about this? It may or may not have slipped my mind. I don’t want her to worry.”

“You’re definitely going to be in the doghouse Superman, but I’ll let her know.”

“I know,” he frowns.

You laugh, “Good luck with training.”

“Bye Y/n,” Kara waves to you.

You shoot her a smile, “Bye Kara.”

That was three years ago when you first met Kara. Back then she was definitely different. You chalked it up to her not having the proper tools to express herself then.

However once she got those tools it was definitely chaotic to say the least. You all lived together in the apartment you and Clark rented out. There was quite the adjustment period, especially with Krypto, but it worked out.

Occasionally Supergirl would help the two of you when the city was in danger. Most of the time, she just did her own thing. Kara liked to go back into space which Clark was a little apprehensive about. She always came back, but it was anyone’s guess when she would.

You may or may not have developed a little crush on her over the years. Of course you did nothing with these feelings. You thought it might’ve been weird since you sort of taught her English. There’s also the fact that you view her cousin as your brother.

You definitely don’t view her like you view Clark. Maybe it’s because Kara is like ten times cooler than him. It could be her rugged charm. The fact that she’ll always do what’s right, but in her own way.

She’s noble like Clark. She enjoys helping humanity like he does. It’s just the way she sees things compared to him.

Sometimes Clark can be very black and white when it comes to things. Even though she’s two years younger than you guys, she can see the gray area.

You honestly wish Kara was here now. This would be a much easier battle if there were two Kryptonians instead of just one.

“I’m tired of getting my ass kicked by these two losers,” you say out of breath.

It’s you and Clark in the middle of the field back to back. Ultraman and Engineer were circling the two of you.

“Me too,” he says, squaring his jaw.

You know that look. Clark didn’t show his anger much, but it was never a good thing when he did.

“We can’t get sloppy Superman. That won’t help us here,” you try to reason with him.

He clenches his fist, “I know.”

He’s taking off towards Ultraman soon after that.

“God dammit Clark,” you say to yourself.

You approach the woman who could shape shift. No words are exchanged, you simply start fighting.

She attacks aggressively putting you on immediate defense. It is a lot of phasing to avoid her attacks. It's risky considering all of the things she was throwing at you. If you were to phase at the wrong time you could definitely end up skewered.

“Stay still!” The villain growls in frustration.

“Don’t think I’m taking that advice.”

You’re tired but you’re holding your own. You can handle one of them but you hadn’t noticed Ultraman approaching until his fist connected with the back of your head.

You go down like a sack of potatoes straight into the grass field. You feel the weight of the man on your back and you can see the woman’s feet approaching slowly.

You struggle and attempt to phase through the ground but you’re panicking.

“Looks like Superman will need a new sidekick,” her hand transforms into a dagger.

“You won’t win.”

She smirks, “Looks like winning to me.”

She goes to plunge her arm into your back but before she can connect she’s knocked out of the air. Ultraman gets off of you to assist her. You roll over on your back to see Clark taking on the two villains.

Everything hurts but you make it to your feet in time to see the nanites climb up Clark’s body and into his mouth.

“No,” you whisper to yourself.

You see Clark fall to one knee. You fight the urge to scream out his name.

“I was wrong, looks like you’ll need a new her-”

The woman doesn’t finish her sentence. She stops once she sees the tips of your fingers sparking.

Your entire life it’s only been sparks but something changes in this moment. It rips through you, and you feel like you’ll be split in half.

You’re floating in the air. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Only the whites are left. You don’t know what’s happening, but you let it take over you.

You scream when it happens. So does the woman made from nanotech. Though his face is covered Clark can feel the nanites stop moving. He also feels the static of electricity all throughout his body.

He starts coughing out the nanites and pulling them from his face successfully.

Engineer lays on the ground convulsing. When his vision recovers he sees electricity coming off of her in waves.

Ultraman seems to be struggling to get his footing. Clark glances up to see you still floating in what appears to be a bubble of electricity.

You’re falling out of the sky before he can call out for you.

He rushes to catch you but as soon as he touches you he gets shocked. He continues to endure it until you’re safely on the ground.

“Shit. Y/n, you can’t die here. You can’t,” Clark grows more frustrated at the situation.

Angry tears gather behind his eyes. He refuses to believe you’re gone. The yell that comes out of his mouth feels like it’s shaking the Earth.

Ultraman gets up at this time. Clark doesn’t hesitate in attacking the villain. Superman punches him before getting a grip of his attire and flying him across the city out of pure spite.

You still lay on the field unconscious but pulsing with electricity. You saved Clark and he’s going to save the world. Maybe this is what it would take for people to stop calling you his side kick.

“Y/n,” the voice that calls your name is panicked.

They lean next to your body then curse as they’re shocked, “Shit. Not just a spark anymore is it.”

They lift you off of the ground, “Sting me all you want, but I’m not letting you die. Can’t even leave for a few weeks without something shitty happening.”

A hand cups your cheek, “I will totally kill you if you die on me Y/n. You aren’t allowed to.”

You’re in the air for what couldn’t have been more than three minutes.

“What the fuck happened to this place? I know there’s something here that can help you,” there’s another long pause. “I really wish you’d do something besides shock me so I know that you’re alive. Anything Y/n.”

Your hand grabs her shirt. You’re still unconscious, your eyes are still closed, but your fingers coil tightly against the material of her shirt.

“That’s good. Thank the gods,” Kara feels relief pump through her veins.

“I’m going to fix this. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out,” she sits your body down on the table.

You gasp for air and you sit straight up before she can walk away. You’re hyperventilating, but you’re conscious.

“Looks like I don’t have to figure anything out.”

You look around, “Where’s Clark?” You’re already attempting to stand.

Kara puts her hands on your chest, “No way you’re going out there like this.”

“Kara you’ve been gone. The stakes are high, I have to-”

“No,” she leaves no room to argue. “You’ll stay here, I will find him.”

“But-”

She steps into your space. There’s almost no room between you. You see her eyes dart to your lips. She doesn’t hide it, “You’re going to stay here because I refuse to lose you like this. I know Clark can’t do it on his own, but he won’t be. Now just listen to me for once.”

You nod, “Okay.”

She steps back, but then closer again. She presses her lips to your cheek, “Just rest I’ll be back.”

You listen to her. Partly because you believe in her, the other half because your body is aching in a way it hasn’t before.

As much as you would like to attempt to clean yourself up or to shower, you simply don’t have the energy. You know the fortress has connections and cameras to show you everything that’s going on, but you don’t trust yourself just to stay put if you were to watch.

So instead you sink down on the couch and put on a movie. It takes less than 20 minutes for you to fall asleep.

You’re jolted awake by a rough ball of fur pouncing on your stomach. You groan but reach your hand out to pet him.

“Easy there Krypto, I’m tender.”

“Y/n?” Clark rushes into the room.

He looks rougher than you’ve ever seen him.

You meet him half way in a hug that hurts but feels secure at the same time.

“Are you okay?” You ask, glancing over the man.

He turns the question back on you, “Are you okay? I thought you-”

He can’t even get the word out.

“I’m here, Clark. You’re here too so I guess that means we won.”

He clears his throat, “Much easier with two Kryptonians.”

“You know you can call next time if there’s something important like this. I’ll come back,” Kara looks between both of you as she speaks.

You sigh, “Leaving already?”

She catches your eye, “I think you both might need a little R and R. Someone has to keep the city safe in the meantime. So I guess I can stick around for awhile.”

You perk up, “Good. How are Lois and the others?”

Clark exhales, “Everyone is safe but the city is definitely going to need some fixing.”

“Should we go home?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Clark agrees.

Kara shakes her head, “So we’re just going to ignore what happened to you on the field? We need to figure that out before we have the ‘Everything will be okay,’ moment.”

You frown, “Well my sparks obviously stopped sparking.”

“I think I know someone that can help but it might be awhile,” Clark says.

Your frown deepens, “You don’t mean Bat Brat do you?”

“Bruce has access to advanced technology that can-”

“He’s so annoying,” you complain.

Kara comes over to your side, “You have to let this Bruce guy help you out. He’s probably your best bet.”

You grumble, “Fine, call him.”

“Superman, why are you calling?”

Clark points to you, “Y/n has developed some new abilities and we don’t know anything about it. We were wondering if you could help us out.”

“What kind of abilities?”

You answer, “Electricity or something. Not entirely sure. It just exploded out of me really.”

Bruce nods curtly, “Come to Gotham in 3 days. I’ll see what we can do.”

“Thanks Bruce.”

“You’re welcome, Clark.”

After the call ends you clap your hands together. “Can we go now?”

“Let’s go home.”

Clark doesn’t stay long once you’re back to the apartment. He’s off to see Lois and then back to the city.

You go straight to your room. Your body is still stiff and sore. You struggle to peel yourself out of your suit, ultimately giving up half way.

“Need a hand?” Kara leans against the door frame.

You’re out of breath and you nod reluctantly.

“Never noticed it was all one piece,” she takes a closer look at the suit.

“Yeah it’s supposed to be for convenience but it doesn’t feel very convenient today,” you grumble.

She gets up close behind you, “Is there a zipper or something?”

“Yeah but the suit is pretty stuck on me. I think there might be some blood stuck somewhere. So you’ll have to help me peel it off.”

Kara doesn’t flinch, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

She finds the zipper quickly. It drags down the length of your back. The suit does not move at all.

Kara finds herself staring at the curve of your spine. She’s shocked to see you standing due to the state of the skin she’s looking at.

“What?” Her silence makes you worry.

“Let’s keep going before I say anything. We have to see the rest.”

Kara takes the unzipped parts of the suit and slides them down your arms. You hiss, but she keeps going. She’s able to get about half way down before you jump away from her.

“Fuck!”

You press your hand to your abdomen. Blood stains it when you pull it away.

“Let me see,” Kara turns you around to face her.

There’s a nasty gash. The blood almost looks dry. Kara gets down on her knees to be level with your injury. She uses her x-ray vision to look at the wound.

“It’s not that deep. We can clean it and then close the wound with medical tape,” she looks up at you when she speaks.

You swallow hard seeing her in this position. The pain almost subsides as she looks into your eyes.

You only look away for a second before you get a glimpse of your back in the mirror.

“Holy shit.”

Your back seems to have purple patterned bruises across it. You look down and see the same bruising along your chest and abdomen.

Kara can see the curiosity in your eyes. She lets her hands trace the patterns on your skin. She stands placing just a small distance between the two of you.

“Does it feel like anything?”

You meet her eyes, “It doesn’t feel any different than when you normally touch me.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “And how does that normally feel?”

“Electric.”

She raises an eyebrow, “You’re flirting with me.”

“I can stop,” you take a step towards her.

She takes a step towards you, “Did I ask you to stop?”

You take the last step closing the gap between the two of you. You’re face to face. She stares at you and you stare at her.

The tension rises and you open your mouth to speak at the same time she leans in.

Whatever you were going to say is forgotten the moment her lips touch yours. Neither of you are the patient or gentle type. The kiss is all passion and longing.

Your hands tangle in her hair. Her hands rests against the skin of your abdomen. You’re both trying to have self control. It’s not working.

You moan into her mouth giving her tongue a chance to slip into yours. You match her energy not trying to fight for dominance, but rather going with the momentum.

“Guys I’m bac- oh my god,” Clark bursts into your room.

Kara shoves you away out of reflex and your back hits the wall.

“Ouch,” you say, as you slide down the wall.

“Shit. I’m so sorry Y/n,” Kara is by your side in an instant. “Let’s uh, let’s get you patched up.”

“I um, I support that by the way. Like the two of you together. Not seeing it, I mean like there’s nothing wrong with seeing it. I just mean that-”

“Clark,” you say his name sternly.

“Right, um well I’ll be out here. I’ll also make sure to uh, to knock next time,” he leaves briefly before poking his head back in, “Congratulations.”

“Clark!” Kara exclaims it this time.

He exits the room this time not returning.

You laugh as you let the back of your head loll against the wall. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“I’m so sorry, I just panicked.”

You wave her off, “I can’t possibly be more sore than I already was.”

“I didn’t panic because it’s not what I wanted. I did want it. I mean, I do want it. Whatever it is with you. I don’t care if Clark knows,” she begins to ramble.

You take her hand, “Well that’s good to know because I like you a lot.”

“I know I haven’t been around a lot lately. I’m always going to space, but I’m going to be more present here. This is my home, here with Clark, and Krypto, and you.”

You smile, “Even if you were in space, I’d still want this Kara.”

She kisses you again. It catches you off guard but you kiss her back.

“You’re lucky that kind of cheesy shit looks cute on you.” She stands, extending her hand for you to take.

You let her help you up, “You should’ve never told me that. I’m never going to stop now.”

She shrugs, “Maybe that’s the point. Now back to the task at hand.”

You get a dopey look on your face, “You mean the part where you undress me, tend to my wound, and help me shower?”

“If you don’t wipe that look off your face I’ll have Clark help you instead.”

You promptly stop talking.

“That’s what I thought.”

You pout, “Can I at least have one more kiss?”

She gives you a chaste kiss.

“Now shut up and stop distracting me.”

You salute her, “Yes mam.”

“You’re so lame,” she huffs as a grin tugs at her lips.

“You like that about me,” you say smugly.

There’s nothing Kara can say to combat it. She does truly find it endearing when you say things like that. It’s almost the complete opposite of anything she could picture herself saying. Perhaps that’s why she likes you so much.

So instead of playing into the bait and arguing with you she just smiles softly.

“I do.”

[hotforolderwomen6]

Need Something, Little One?

Summary: You woke up very needy, but your girlfriends weren't in bed. After your hormones take control, Wanda and Natasha find out what you need, and they give it to you.

Warnings: Dom/Sub. Mommy Wanda. Daddy Natasha. Pregnant reader. Oral (R) receiving. Use of strap (R) receiving. Some body issues. Lots of reassurance from Wandanat. Aftercare at the end.

Authors Note: Hey, hey! I finally got around to writing this request, I hope it's what you were wanting. Obviously I've never actually been pregnant...so I didn't quite know how to take this. I hope you love it! Not proofread!

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Your eyes blink open, arms stretching above your head, your hand lands down in the spot beside you hoping to find one of your girlfriends in bed. Your hand meets empty sheets, cold, meaning they've been gone a long time. You sigh bringing your hand to rub over your stomach, your other hand rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

The first thing you notice is the apparent wetness between your legs, your thighs rubbing together at the tingling in your lower abdomen. You don't know why, but you instantly get moody, whether it's hormones or just your lack of girlfriends to make your neediness go away, but you're angry.

You get up slowly, your small sleep shorts and oversized shirt sticking to your slightly sweaty frame. You make your way out of your shared bedroom, walking to the kitchen. When you round the corner Wanda is over the stove cooking breakfast, still clad in her soft pajamas. Your eyes trail down her long, toned legs, your muscles clenching at the sight.

You find Natasha sitting at the island, reading some magazine, you don't pay enough attention to it opting to gaze at her muscular arms. Your mouth starts watering, taking a big gulp swallowing it down. You shake your head, pushing down all the thoughts, continuing your steps into the kitchen.

"Good Morning Detka."

Natasha's eyes are now on you, soft and caring, a small smile on her face. At her words Wanda turns around, a bright smile breaking over her face. She takes a couple steps forward, her hands coming to rest on your stomach, her lips pressing a kiss to the side of your head. She mumbles out a good morning, before going back to the stove.

You don't know why, but seeing Wanda go back to the stove and Natasha look back to her magazine, pisses you off. You grunt a good morning back, taking a seat across from Natasha. She doesn't look up, causing you to roll your eyes in annoyance. You don't know how long you sit in silence, the only thing apparent is the still growing need you have. Your annoyance grows with every passing minute, your foot tapping on the floor.

You turn your gaze from your phone, opting to stare at Natasha's face, watching her tongue poke out licking her lips in focus. Your tongue matches hers, running along your own lips. Her eyes flicker to you for a moment, your eyes leaving her, dropping back to your phone screen. You cross your legs, pushing them together, needing some sort of friction.

"Pancakes or waffles, my love?" Wanda says, turning to look at you.

You pause a moment thinking, your favorite between the two was waffles, and Wanda knew that. So why did she even need to ask?

"Don't you remember, waffles are my favorite." It came out harsher than you intended, and you instantly regret it when her face falls just a fraction.

"Watch your tone, little one."

Your eyes turn to Natasha, her eyes finally meeting yours. They are stern, letting you know you're getting close to breaking a rule. Yet your thighs clench anyways, heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. So you do what you think will get you what you want, you roll your eyes. You look right at her as you do it, her face darkens just slightly, before she smiles. Fucking smiles.

She turns back to her magazine, not paying you anymore attention. Wanda's eyes catch yours, and a small grin breaks out on her face as well. You huff in annoyance, not understanding why they are being like this. Usually they would scold you, or make promises of punishments later. Of course they never go too far, they understand your hormones are crazy right now, but they also know you love their punishments.

After breakfast you three make your way to the couch, you sitting in between them. You've been avoiding small talk, not wanting to snap at them further. Wanda puts something on the TV, but you can't seem to pay attention to it. Not when Natasha's hand is rubbing slow circles on the inside of your thigh, just inches from where you need her most. You know something is up when Wanda's hand finds your other thigh, mirroring Natasha's movements.

You shift in your seat, your hips lifting, trying to get their hands closer to your dripping core. You don't mean for it to happen, but you let out a small whine when they take their hands away. They still aren't looking at you, they're eyes trained on the TV.

"Need something, little one?"

You don't register her teasing tone at first, looking at the side of Natasha's face a quirk of her lips telling you that she knows. She always knows, yet she always plays games. You nod your head, knowing she's looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

"Tsk, words Detka."

"Y-yes daddy, need you 'nd mommy." You whine out, your cheeks heating up at how pathetic you sound.

"How?" Wanda finally speaks up, her head turning to you for the first time since sitting on the couch.

You pause, knowing they want you to explain, but you can't get the words out. You're too embarrassed to speak aloud the filthy thoughts that have been running through your head all morning, you twist your fingers around, your eyes dropping to your lap.

"Do you want daddy's strap? Or would you like mommy to eat that pretty pussy?" You blush at Wanda's words, her hand coming up to force your eyes to hers.

"Both." You finally confess, your eyes threatening to break the intense gaze Wanda has you locked in.

"Go upstairs, I want you on the bed, naked, waiting for us."

Natasha's words have your feet moving before your brain can catch up, you get off the couch making your way to your shared bedroom. Your shirt is off as soon as you enter the doorway, your shorts and panties following soon after. You sit on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, hands in your lap.

Your mind starts racing, self conscious thoughts running through your mind. Your hands find your stomach, tracing some of the stretch marks. You would say you're very lucky, you definitely look good for being 20 weeks pregnant. Your stomach hasn't grown that much, but you definitely don't look like how you did before.

Natasha comes in first, passing by you and sitting at the head of the bed, her back resting against the pillows. She crooks her finger in a come here motion, you obey instantly. Crawling across the bed, your front resting against her back. When Wanda walks in, she comes to stand over you, her eyes raking down your bare skin. You unconsciously try and cover yourself, Natasha's hands coming around to stop yours.

"Hey, hey, none of that my love. You're absolutely gorgeous. Don't cover yourself." Wanda says brining her hand to rest over your stomach.

"You're so beautiful Malysh, Don't ever think anything different."

You smile at their words, your worries going away. You're reminded of how much you need them, when Wanda crawls between your legs. Her eyes never leaving yours, as she places soft kisses to the insides of your thighs. Natasha's hands coming up to lightly brush the underside of your breasts. Your hips lift, trying to urge Wanda to where you need her, but one of her hands comes down holding you in place.

Wanda's lips trial down your thighs, sucking and biting softly as she goes. Natasha's hands trial closer and closer to your hard nipples, matching Wanda's pace. You can feel how wet you are, your arousal dripping down your thighs onto the bed. Wanda gives one last kiss to your thigh before she licks a long strip up your slit. At the same time Natasha's hands finally finding your nipples, rolling them in-between her fingers.

Your back arches, a loud moan leaving your mouth at the sensations. All your senses heightened because of the pregnancy, feeling every feeling times ten. Wanda's tongue circles your clit, before softly wrapping her lips around it and sucking. Your legs wrap around her head, your hands finding her hair tugging lightly.

"F-Fuck, please don't stop." You whine out, breaths coming in short pants.

Your head falls back on Natasha's shoulder, her lips leaving slow kisses down your soft skin. Her fingers working your breasts, squeezing softly, then rougher, then back to soft. Your orgasm is quickly approaching, even more so when Wanda brings two fingers to your entrance, circling it slowly before pushing them in. Your hips jump at the feeling of her fingers curling inside of you, the pace she sets is slow, not wanting to overwork your sensitive nerves.

"You close, little one? You don't need permission, we're taking care of you today." Natasha's words are softly whispered against your ear, causing goosebumps to litter your skin.

Wanda flicks her tongue once more, curling her fingers at the same time, her eyes meeting yours from between your legs, sending you over the edge. Your back arches hard, your legs tightening around Wanda's head, muscles tensing. Your hands in Wanda's hair tug, trying to pull her away and up to you. She crawls up your body, brining her lips to yours, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

Natasha slides out from behind you, resting your back against some pillows, she heads to the closet. Wanda comes beside you, running her hands along your body. She leaves goosebumps in hr wake, your skin prickling at her soft touch.

"You did so well, my love. So perfect for me."

You smile at her praise, her lips pressing soft kisses on your forehead. You feel the bed dip, turning your eyes Natasha is kneeling between your legs, her strap resting between her legs. Her hands rub down your thighs, spreading them even farther. She rubs the tip of the strap through your soaked folds, coating it with your wetness.

"You did so well for mommy, little one. Now be good for me, tell me how bad you want this. How bad you want me inside of you."

She inserts the tip inside you, stopping at the first inch, waiting for your words.

"Please! Please daddy! Want you inside me so bad, need you."

She doesn't give you any warning before slowly pushing the rest inside of you, your walls stretching perfectly around her. Your hips lift matching her thrust, pushing her in deeper. She pauses for a moment, letting you adjust to her length. Wanda's hands continue to wander your skin, scratching her nails softly, grounding you.

Natasha starts rocking back and forth slowly, bringing the strap out so just the tip is inside, before thrusting in all at once. Your back arches, causing your chest to brush against Wanda's hands. Your eyes close at the feeling of being so full, one of your hands latches onto Wanda's, her own fingers lacing between yours.

Natasha's pace isn't slow, but it's not rough either, it's just what you need. Her hand is on your hip, the other one trailing down to rub soft circles around your clit. Heat pools lower, growing with each thrust, circle, and scratch of Wanda's nails. Wanda's lips find yours, muffling your moans slightly.

Your legs start tensing, your stomach not far after. You're getting close and both of them know it too. Natasha can feel your walls clenching on the strap, her thrusts getting faster. Wanda starts whispering praises in your ear, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. With one final thrust, your orgasm crashes into you. Waves and waves of pleasure rush through you, making your vision go white.

Wanda's words get lost on you, your head going fuzzy. Natasha slowing, then stopping her movements when your body goes limp. exhaustion taking over, your head resting on Wandas shoulder. You feel Natasha leave the bed, but your to tired for your eyes to follow. Wanda pulls you into her, her hands rubbing up and down your back.

You lay there for a long time, the fuzziness in your head pulling you into a light sleep. You're woken when Natasha's hands pick you up, carrying you to the bathroom. She sets you in the warm bathtub, washing your body gently. Rubbing the shampoo in your hair, scrubbing your scalp in the way she knows you like. Rinsing your hair, and conditioning the ends, then rinsing.

By the time she lifts you out to dry off, you're already half asleep again. Your body moving only when she moves you. She pulls one of her oversized shirts over your head, carrying you back to the bed. Wanda is there with a glass of water, bringing a cracker up to your lips, coaxing you to take small bites.

She praises you softly when you manage two bites, and two small sips of water. She lays you down, your body resting in between both of them, spending the rest of the day wrapped in their arms.

[natsaffection]

Before the Fire Bows pt. 1 | N.R

Older!Avenger!Natasha x Younger!Princess!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N=31, r=24), gore, oral (r receiving) fingering (r receiving), rough sex, hair grabbing, multiple orgasm

Word count: 14,4k

A/N: First chapter out of three!! I hope the royal language makes sense-

The conference room at the top of Avengers Tower had seen gods argue with soldiers, billionaires threaten monsters and the end of the world laid out across glass tables more times than anyone cared to count.

But tonight, the room felt different and that was the first warning. No voices overlapped or no one paced except Tony and even his restless movement felt muted, like the tower itself had decided to hold its breath. New York looked distant from up here, completely unaware that somewhere beyond the stars, something ancient and merciless was moving toward them.

The hologram above the table glowed blue. Vision’s face turned slowly within the projection, then his body, then the Mind Stone in his forehead. He was now a target, which meant..death sentence. A silence followed every rotation of the image. Steve stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight and Wanda sat beside Vision, her fingers wrapped around his hand as if physical touch alone could keep him anchored to the earth. Tony flicked his wrist and the hologram zoomed in on the Mind Stone.

“So, we’re all agreed that letting the big purple grape collect the magic forehead jewelry is bad.”

No one laughed and Tony’s mouth tightened. “Right. Tough crowd..” Shuri stood on the other side of the table with her arms folded and eyes bright with the kind of intelligence that made even Tony look like a man holding a candle beside a star.

“It is not jewelry.” she said and Tony pointed at her without looking. “I am aware.”

“You keep calling it jewelry.”

“I cope with world ending trauma through sarcasm. It’s a system.”

“It is a poor one.” Shuri stepped forward, tapping the holographic display. The image shifted, peeling back layers of Vision’s synthetic tissue and the luminous threads connecting the Stone to everything he was.

“The Stone is not merely attached to him.” she said. “It is integrated. Poorly, in some places but elegantly in others..and it can be removed.”

Wanda looked up. Vision’s expression softened, but there was fear beneath his composure. “How long?” Steve asked.

Shuri’s gaze flickered briefly to her brother before returning to the projection. “Long enough that we would need a controlled environment. My lab and my equipment.“

“Wakanda.” Natasha said.

T’Challa stood near the windows, he had been listening more than speaking. A king in a room full of warriors, letting others spend their panic first.

“Yes.” he said. “Wakanda.”

Tony exhaled, already moving to another screen. “Okay, good. We have a destination. We get Vision there, Shuri does her genius thing, we keep the Stone away from Thanos and maybe, for once, the apocalypse can make an appointment instead-“

“No.”

The word did not come from T’Challa, it came from Shuri. Steve’s eyes narrowed. “No?”

Shuri was looking at her brother now and he did not move, but something changed in his face. “We need help.” he said quietly.

“No.” she repeated, sharper this time. “Do not even think it.”

“We may not have a choice.”

“We always have a choice.” Shuri said. Her voice trembled, but not from weakness, but from the effort it took to hold something enormous back. “You taught me that.”

“I taught you that kings choose for their people before they choose for themselves.”

“You are not talking about Wakanda.”

“No.” T’Challa said and the room seemed to grow colder. Natasha straightened from the wall. “What are you talking about?”

T’Challa was silent for a moment. He looked at Vision first, then Wanda, then Steve. “If Thanos comes for the Stone..” T’Challa said, “he will not come alone.”

“We know.” Steve replied.

“No.” T’Challa said and this time there was steel in it. “You do not. Thanos does not conquer like men conquer. He does not send soldiers to claim land, or kings to demand surrender. He sends hunger and he sends teeth. He sends nightmares that do not understand mercy because mercy was never put into them.” Bruce’s face had gone pale because he had seen Thanos. He knew.

T’Challa continued, “Wakanda is strong. Stronger than any nation your world believes exists. Our shields may hold. Our warriors may fight. Our weapons may cut down thousands. But if an army falls from the sky with no fear of death, no need for rest and no desire except slaughter, then strength alone will not be enough.”

Shuri turned away, her jaw clenched and Tony looked between them. “Okay, I’m officially not loving the direction this is going.”

Steve stepped closer. “You know someone who can help.”

T’Challa’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I know of a people.” He turned slightly, looking out over the city as if what he was about to say did not belong under electric lights and glass ceilings. As if it belonged around a fire, under a red sky, spoken by men who had seen gods bleed. “They live far from the world you know. Farther even than Wakanda, though not by distance alone. They are not on your maps and do not come to summits. They do not trade with presidents and they definitely do not ask permission to exist.” The room was utterly still.

“They are a kingdom.” T’Challa said. “Though that word is too clean for them. They are bloodlines and banners..Ash and bone. They are a people built by war, shaped by it, fed by it.”

Wanda’s hand tightened around Vision’s and T’Challa looked at her, “For centuries, they fought a war the rest of the earth never knew was being waged. Not for politics or for oil. Not for borders drawn by men in rooms. Their war was older than that. A war of oaths and prophecy. A war that swallowed generations.”

Bruce slowly lowered himself into a chair. “Who are they?” he whispered.

“Their society is harsh.” he said. “Law exists, but loyalty is stronger, blood..is stronger. A promise made before witnesses is worth more than paper and a coward’s word is worth less than the dirt beneath a horse’s hoof.”

Natasha’s face remained unreadable, but something in her eyes changed. She knew societies like that. Not the horses, not the banners, perhaps not the myths. But fear as language? Obedience as survival? Children raised to become weapons before they understood the shape of their own names? Yes. She knew.

“Their warriors wear their victories where all can see them. Long hair braided with rings of bone and metal. Battle trophies and proof of survival. Their riders are elite beyond anything I have seen outside Wakanda. They do not simply ride horses, they move like storms given bodies.”

Clint, who had been silent until now, frowned. “And you think they’ll fight Thanos?”

“I think..” T’Challa said, “that if they choose to ride, even Thanos will hear them coming.”

The words lingered till Shuri spoke, “They will not come for you.” Everyone looked at her. “They do not fight because someone asks. They do not send armies because the world is in danger. The world has never cared about them and they have returned the sentiment generously.”

“Then why bring them up?” Tony asked.

Shuri looked at him. “Because there is one person they would burn the world for.”

T’Challa closed his eyes for half a second, as if hearing the name before it was spoken.

Steve’s voice was careful. “Their ruler?”

“No..” Shuri said and T’Challa opened his eyes. “Their king and queen still sit the throne.”

“Then who?” Wanda asked. Shuri swallowed and T’Challa answered. “Their daughter.”

The word daughter should have softened the room..It did not. “Age means little among them. She ended the war her ancestors could not. She broke armies that had been bleeding her family for centuries. She took men who had known nothing but vengeance and made them kneel. Not with speeches, not with treaties. With victory.”

Natasha’s gaze did not leave T’Challa. “What’s her name?” Shuri’s head snapped toward her. “Do not.”

Natasha’s brow lifted slightly and Shuri’s voice dropped. “Do not ask that lightly.”

Tony gave a humorless laugh. “We’re really doing the forbidden name thing now?”

T’Challa looked at him, and Tony’s expression faltered, because the king of Wakanda did not look irritated. “In their language, names have weight.” T’Challa said. “Hers more than most.”

“What do they call her?” Steve asked and T’Challa’s eyes lowered. For the first time since he entered the room, the king looked reluctant. “Khaleesi.”

The word fell like a blade laid flat on the table. It was not a name, not exactly, it was a title. But even without understanding the language, the room felt the shape of it. Shuri looked away as if even hearing it here, in this glass tower in the heart of New York, was wrong.

“They bow to her?” Rhodey asked and T’Challa’s mouth tightened. “Everyone bows to her.”

“To the princess?” Sam asked.

“To the victor. She is not first on the throne.” he continued. “Not yet. Their laws do not allow it while her father lives. Their family tree is old and cruel and tradition does not bend quickly, even for those who have earned more than a crown.”

“And yet?” Natasha asked.

“And yet..” T’Challa said, “her parents rise when she enters a hall.” That landed harder than anything before it. “Her brothers, cousins, generals, blood riders, priests, servants, enemies taken into chains, all of them lower their eyes. Not because she demands it, because they have seen what happens when she is opposed.”

Shuri looked back at the table, “They treat her like a god.” she said and the blue glow of the Mind Stone projection flickered between them all.

“They fear her.” T’Challa said. “They love her. They would die for her. They would kill for her. And there are many among them who do not believe there is a difference.”

Steve’s voice was quiet. “That kind of loyalty is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“Can she control it?”

T’Challa looked at him. “She ended a war that had eaten centuries.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only answer that matters.”

Bruce was staring at nothing now, his mind clearly moving too fast, dragging old myths into new light. “You said prophecy..” he murmured and T’Challa’s eyes shifted toward him.

“What myths?” Bruce asked. “What exactly are we talking about?”

Shuri inhaled. “Dr. Banner-”

“No.” Bruce stood suddenly, chair scraping against the floor. “No, wait. Because there are stories. Old ones, not just Norse, not just Greek, not just the usual gods with bad parenting legends. There are expedition journals that were dismissed as fever dreams.”

Tony stared at him. “Banner.”

Bruce turned to T’Challa, stunned. “No..” he said softly. “No, that’s impossible.”

T’Challa’s face did not change and Bruce’s voice thinned. “They’re stories. Children’s stories.” Bruce said. “Myths..Dragons are myths.”

The word struck the room like thunder and for a second, no one seemed to understand it. Then Sam let out a breath. “I’m sorry, did he just say dragons?”

Thor, standing near the back with his arms folded, “Dragons are not so impossible.”

Tony turned on him. “You do not get to normalize this.”

“Many realms have them.”

“This is Earth.”

Bruce stepped away from the table, shaking his head. His eyes were wide with the horror of a scientist watching myth become evidence. “I thought they were symbolic.” he said. “I thought the fire was metaphor. The wings, the scales, the whole thing, I thought it was power exaggerated by people who didn’t understand what they were seeing.”

T’Challa’s voice was very soft. “They understood.” The room died around him. “They were real?” Wanda whispered.

“They are real.”

No one moved and Natasha felt the words settle beneath her skin. Not were..are.

“How many?”

T’Challa looked at Shuri. She shook her head once, pleading without words, but he looked back at the Avengers. “Once, the royal family had three.”

“Three.” Bruce repeated.

“Born from a line older than any record I have ever seen. Not pets or weapons in the way men understand weapons. They were bound to the family through blood and fire, through rituals older than their kingdom. During the last years of their war, the dragons changed everything.” His eyes lowered. “And then the war took them too.”

Wanda’s voice was barely there. “They died?”

“Two did.” The number moved through the room like a living thing. But..one dragon is still alive. Still enough to make a king of Wakanda speak with caution.

“And the last one belongs to her..?”

T’Challa’s gaze lifted. “No. She belongs to no one.” T’Challa said. “But he follows her.”

Natasha pushed away from the wall at last. “You’ve seen it.”

T’Challa looked at her. “Yes.”

Shuri’s expression tightened, but she said nothing now. The memory seemed to pull T’Challa somewhere far from the tower. “A few years ago..My father believed that Wakanda could not remain blind to the other hidden powers of this world. He took me beyond our borders, farther than our aircraft were tracked, farther than our maps marked with names.”

He paused. “Their land is not like Wakanda. Wakanda hides beauty behind illusion. They hide brutality behind distance. I remember the first sound.”

His voice lowered, drawing the room with it. “Thousands of them. The earth moved before they appeared. Then the riders came over the ridge, hair uncut and braided, blades curved, faces painted in ash and red clay. They did not slow when they saw us. They circled close enough that I could see the scars on their horses. Close enough that my guards reached for their spears.”

A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. “My father told them to stop and their king came, but none of them were the reason the riders parted.” The room waited. “She was.”

Natasha’s fingers curled slightly at her sides. “I had heard the title before I saw her.” T’Challa said. “Whispered by men who did not whisper for anyone. She was young, but already riding a black horse with no saddle. Her hair was braided down her back with iron rings, each one marking a battle won. She wore no crown, she needed none. The riders lowered their weapons before she passed. Men twice her age touched their foreheads to the ground. Her own father stepped back to let her speak first.”

Shuri stared at the hologram, but her eyes were distant. “She was seventeen then.” T’Challa said and Bruce made a quiet, disbelieving sound. “At seventeen.” T’Challa said, “she had already won the eastern war.”

T’Challa’s eyes remained fixed on the past. “I did not understand it then. The way they looked at her, like she was salvation and execution wearing the same skin. I thought it was fear, then one of their prisoners spat at her feet and she did not flinch.” T’Challa said. “She did not raise her voice..only looked at him.”

“What happened?” Steve asked. T’Challa’s expression darkened. “The entire field went silent and one of the shadows came.” T’Challa said. “At first, I thought a storm had crossed the sun, but storms do not have wings. They do not blot out the sky with scales black as burnt metal. They do not breathe fire so hot that stone remembers it.” The room seemed to shrink around his words.

“One of her dragon landed behind her and she did not turn. The beast lowered its head over her shoulder like a mountain bowing to a girl.”

His voice became almost reverent despite himself. “And then I understood.”

Natasha whispered, “Understood what?”

T’Challa looked at her. “Why no one challenged her.”

For one bright instant, the tower windows reflected everyone’s faces back at them: soldiers, spies, gods, kings, monsters in human shape, all gathered around the image of a dying man with a Stone in his head. And somewhere beyond all their maps, a woman with a forbidden title and a dragon that followed her waited in a kingdom built from war.

Tony broke the silence, but his voice had lost its edge. “Okay..” he said. “So we ask dragon girl for help.”

Shuri’s head snapped up. “You do not ask her like that!”

Tony lifted both hands. “Noted.”

“You do not summon her!” Shuri said, voice hardening. “You do not bargain with her as if she is one of your politicians. You do not lie. You do not threaten. You do not look at her people like they are savages, even if they frighten you. Especially if they frighten you.”

Natasha watched Shuri closely. There was not only fear there. “You’ve met her too. ” Natasha said and Shuri’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“And?” For once, Shuri did not answer quickly. “She was kind to me.” she said at last. “She showed me their healing tents. Their forges. Their histories carved into bone and stone because paper burns too easily. She asked questions about Wakanda’s technology and understood more than she should have.”

A small, unwilling smile appeared and vanished. “Then a man interrupted her and she had him dragged from the hall.”

Tony blinked. “For interrupting?”

“For forgetting where he was.” Shuri said. “For forgetting who she was.”

“What kind of person are we inviting into this war?” he asked and T’Challa answered without hesitation. “The kind who can win it.”

The honesty sat between them and Natasha looked back at the Mind Stone. A creature like Thanos was coming..A thing with no mercy, no doubt, no hesitation and T’Challa was speaking of a woman raised in a world where hesitation read as weakness, where loyalty was blood deep, where gods were not prayed to but obeyed when they entered a room.

Steve drew a slow breath. “Will she help us?”

T’Challa turned toward the windows again. “I don’t know.”

Wanda’s voice was fragile “Can you reach her?”

“There are ways.” he said. “Old ways. Wakanda has kept them secret for generations, but understands this before I send word. If she comes, she will not come as a soldier under our command.”

His gaze moved from face to face. “She will come as Khaleesi. And where she goes..” T’Challa said, “..her people follow.”

Bruce sank back into his chair, stunned. “Dragons..” he whispered, still trying to make the word fit inside the world he knew.

Hours later, the Quinjet waited like a black blade against the gray dawn. The city below was waking without knowing it had almost died in a conference room hours earlier. And high above them, the team boarded a ship that would take them toward a country that did not exist. No one said what they were thinking.

A century long war? A hidden kingdom? A royal family with dragons? A girl worshipped like a god? It was impossible and absurd. The kind of story told by dying men around fires. The kind of thing carved into old ruins and dismissed by scholars. The kind of thing people stopped believing in when the world invented satellites, missiles, news channels and men like Tony who could map half the planet from a screen.

And yet..No one had known about Wakanda. The world had seen a poor country with cloth markets, shepherds and dusty roads. It had not seen the mountains open like the mouth of a god. It had not seen vibranium woven into cities. It had not seen aircraft without wings, weapons without bullets, medicine that could humble death itself. So no one

Vision was helped aboard first, Wanda never leaving his side. He walked under his own power, calm as ever, but there was something too careful in his movements now. As if the Stone in his forehead had become heavier since they had spoken its fate aloud. Steve followed, carrying a shield he hoped he would not need and knew he would.

When T’Challa entered, everyone was looking at him. “We have permission to enter their country.” The words landed like a sentence passed by a distant throne.

Steve gave a single nod. “Then we go.”

The sky changed from iron gray to pale blue, then to the molten gold of late afternoon, then to darkness so complete the windows became mirrors. Tony tried to track their route twice but the systems failed both times, as if the world beyond a certain point refused to be measured.

Inside the Quinjet, tension grew teeth. Natasha sat alone near the middle of the aircraft, she wanted to watch everyone else. That was how she survived, they was how she had always survived. Read the room and the breath before the lie and the fear before it became betrayal. And was full of fear. He sat hunched over, the old book open on his knees and Natasha watched him turn one page, then stop. “Hey.” She slid into the seat across from him. “You’ve been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.”

He blinked, then looked down as if surprised to find the book there. “Yeah.” he said softly. “I know.”

“That bad?” A humorless laugh escaped him. “I’m not sure bad is the word.”

Natasha leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Try me.”

Bruce looked at her for a moment, then carefully turned the book so she could see. The leather cover was cracked and darkened by age, the corners reinforced with dull metal. The pages inside were thick, uneven, yellowed at the edges and covered in ink that had faded from black to brown. On the page Bruce showed her, was a drawing. A girl stood at the center of it and was lifted above a field of bodies, her hair flowing behind her like smoke, one hand outstretched, the other holding a curved blade slick with black ink meant to be blood. Around her, men knelt with their foreheads to the ground. Some still held weapons, some had dropped them. Behind her, wings spread wide enough to swallow the sky. The dragon in the drawing was monstrous. Its neck was long and armored in jagged scales, its horns swept back from its skull like broken crowns. Its mouth was open and the artist had drawn fire spilling from it in twisting lines that consumed towers, horses, men.

Natasha stared at it and Bruce’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “I was told about them when I was a student.”

Natasha did not look away from the page. “By who?”

“A professor at Culver. He specialized in pre modern myth cycles. The kind of thing no one funded unless it could be tied to something famous. He used to talk about the hidden war, the fire line, blood riders and the last daughter.”

Natasha looked up at him. “The last daughter?”

Bruce nodded. “That’s what some of the older texts call her. Not because she was the only daughter, because prophecy loves making things sound dramatic and impossible to verify.”

“Prophecy.” Natasha repeated.

“I know.”

“That’s a dangerous word.”

“Yeah.” Bruce tapped the page lightly, careful not to damage it. “This book refers to her as the daughter of storm, smoke and slaughter. Which, you know, not exactly comforting.”

Natasha’s eyes returned to the drawing. “What does it say?”

Bruce hesitated. “Banner.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “It says that when the old war reaches its final winter, the daughter without a crown will call fire down from the sky. It says kings will kneel before she sits a throne. It says her enemies will speak her name only once.”

Natasha’s face did not change. “Why only once?”

Bruce looked at her. “Because after that, they’re dead.”

The Quinjet hummed around them and Natasha studied the girl in the drawing. The artist had not made her look soft, that interested Natasha more than the dragon. Men loved turning dangerous women into either monsters or saints after the fact. They painted innocence over rage, beauty over violence, tragedy over choices. But whoever had drawn this girl had not softened her. Her face was young, almost painfully so, but her eyes were hard. A child drawn like an execution.

Bruce turned another page and there were more illustrations. Three dragons circling over burning siege towers. A young woman kneeling in mud with two massive dragon skulls behind her, her hands pressed to the earth, her mouth open in what might have been grief or might have been a scream.

“What happened to her?”

Bruce looked down. “I don’t know all of it. The texts contradict each other. Some make her sound like a liberator. Some make her sound like a curse. Some say she was beloved. Some say she was never human at all.”

“She’s still human.” Natasha said and Bruce looked at her. “People who are worshipped are always human underneath.” she said. “That’s usually the problem.”

Bruce was silent for a moment till a voice spoke from behind them. “You are right.” T’Challa stood in the aisle, he had moved silently despite the aircraft’s faint vibration.

Bruce shifted slightly. “You recognize this?”

T’Challa nodded. “It is a poor copy.” he said. “But yes.”

Bruce’s face changed, the last thread of skepticism in him snapped. “So it’s true..”

“Yes.”

Natasha leaned back slowly. “All of it?”

“No.” T’Challa’s eyes hardened. “Stories are never all true. They are shaped by fear and pride. By men who were not there and wished to sound as if they were.”

He touched the edge of the page, not quite making contact. “Before the Great War..She was not what she is now. She was kind.” T’Challa continued. “That is the first thing people forget because it frightens them less to believe she was born terrible.”

Shuri’s face softened, just barely and T’Challa saw it, then looked away. “She was loved.” he said. “By her people. By the riders. By servants who had no reason to love royalty except that she knew their names. By old warriors who had buried sons and still smiled when she passed. There are songs about her from before the war.”

Natasha looked again at the drawing of the girl surrounded by corpses. “Everyone wanted her so badly..” T’Challa said, “that the royal house created a private unit to guard her before she ever commanded an army. Not because she was weak, because she was precious.” His voice lowered.

“They called them the Silver Guard. Forty men and women sworn to her alone. Their oath was not to the king, not to the throne, but her breath.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, that kind of oath never ended cleanly. “When the Great War began, it did not begin with a battlefield.” T’Challa looked at the book, but it was clear he was seeing something else.

“An alliance was offered, a union meant to end generations of bloodshed. Her family believed it would hold, so they came under guest right.” T’Challa said. “And when the horns began, the doors were barred from the outside.” The Quinjet’s engines filled the silence.

“The Silver Guard died first, not because they were outmatched..Because they put their bodies between her and the blades. Forty sworn.” He paused. “Forty dead.”

Bruce looked down and Natasha kept her face still, but something in her chest had gone tight and sharp. “Her loved one was killed in front of her. Her people were slaughtered around her. One of her dragons was chained in the courtyard and pierced with scorpion bolts until the stones ran black beneath it.”

Shuri turned her face toward the window. “The second dragon broke its chains.” T’Challa said. “It burned half the keep trying to reach her. It died over the gate hours later.” Wanda’s eyes filled with tears and Vision, gentle lowered his gaze.

“The stories say she did not scream.” T’Challa said. “I do not know if that is true. I think perhaps men prefer women silent in grief because it makes legends easier to carve.”

Natasha looked at him then. There was a weight in his voice that had not been there before. “What I do know..” T’Challa said, “is that she survived and it changed her.”

Bruce whispered, “Rage took over.”

T’Challa nodded once. “Rage, grief..Duty. Perhaps all three became the same thing. She did not beg for justice. She did not wait for her father’s banners. She did not ask the old gods why they had allowed it. She walked out of the ashes with blood in her hair and called the last dragon.”

The words slipped through the Quinjet like smoke. “The enemy army was still beyond the walls. Thousands of men and lords already dividing lands they had not yet conquered.”

He looked around the cabin. “And then the sky opened. Fire came down first on the siege towers. Then on the horses and on the men who ran.”

T’Challa’s voice did not flinch, but the image did. It filled the aircraft without needing a screen. Men clawing at burning armor, warhorses screaming and flesh splitting beneath heat.

“She brought fire to the world.” T’Challa said. “Not in one night, not in one battle..That would have been mercy.”

His eyes grew harder. “She hunted them. Every lord who broke guest right. Every commander who ordered the slaughter. Every house that hid them. Every man who swore he would hurt her, touch her, chain her, breed her, break her-” T’Challa stopped himself. “By the end, those who had once promised to drag her through their streets were kneeling in the dirt, pressing their swords at her feet. Some begged forgiveness, some offered loyalty. Some called her chosen by the gods.”

“And she accepted?” Steve asked.

“She accepted their surrender.”

Bruce looked down at the book again, at the prophecy, at the inked girl surrounded by men bowing and fire blooming behind her. “She wasn’t a myth.” he said.

“No.” T’Challa replied. “She was a warning.”

Natasha stared at the drawing. Before, the title had sounded distant. Exotic in the way all foreign titles sounded until you knew the blood behind them.

A few rows ahead, Wanda spoke softly. “What is her name? Her birth name?”

Shuri stiffened and T’Challa did not answer. Wanda lowered her eyes, understanding she had stepped too close to something sacred. “You will hear it when she gives you leave to hear it.”

Tony looked toward the cockpit. “How much longer?”

“A few hours.”

And the hours passed. The Quinjet flew through weather that did not behave like weather. Then T’Challa stood and everyone’s attention snapped to him. “We are entering now.”

Steve moved first, then Sam, Rhodey, Clint. Wanda helped Vision stand, though he did not need it. Tony came forward slowly, one hand braced against the ceiling. Bruce carried the book against his chest like a shield and Natasha rose last. They gathered behind the cockpit and ahead, there was nothing but cloud.

“This is the border?” Sam asked and T’Challa nodded. The Quinjet entered the cloud and white consumed them. For several seconds, the world disappeared. There was no sky, no ground or direction. The windows showed only pale vapor rushing past like the breath of some sleeping giant.

Then the cloud broke and the world opened. Below them lay a country that should not have existed. Not hidden in poverty like Wakanda had once pretended to be. This land did not hide by shrinking itself..It hid by becoming too impossible to imagine. Mountains rose in vast black ridges, their peaks crowned in snow and gold sunlight. Valleys spilled between them, green and wild, crossed by rivers that flashed like silver wounds. Forests stretched farther than the eye could follow, deep and ancient, broken by roads of pale stone winding through the land like veins. To the east, the ocean struck cliffs so high the waves shattered into mist before reaching the top. Ships moved in the harbors below, their sails dark red and black, marked with symbols Natasha recognized from Bruce’s book.

Cities stood along the coast and hillsides, built of black stone, bronze roofs, white towers and bridges suspended over impossible drops. And ahead..the castle. It dominated the horizon. The fortress was carved into the side of a mountain and built outward as if the mountain itself had decided to grow teeth. Black walls rose in tiers, jagged and severe, banners streamed from every height, red and black against the wind.

Wanda stared down at the land, one hand pressed to the window. “All this time..” she whispered and Vision’s eyes moved across the landscape. “Humanity has always been better at hiding wonders than preserving them.”

Before anyone could ask anything, something moved in the corner of Natasha’s vision. A shadow over the sun. At first, she thought it was cloud, but then the shadow curved. The Quinjet’s warning systems screamed and red lights flooded the cabin.

Tony jolted forward. “What the-”

A roar split the sky, it slammed into the aircraft hard enough to rattle the frame, hard enough that Wanda grabbed Vision, Sam cursed, and Bruce nearly dropped the book. The roar rolled through Natasha’s ribs and sank into something older than fear.

Outside, the clouds tore open and the dragon appeared beside them. For one impossible moment, it was all the world contained. A body longer than the Quinjet, larger than anything that should have been able to stay in the air. Wings stretched wide, the thin membrane between their bones scarred and dark, catching the sun in veins of deep red. Its neck curved with terrifying grace, armored plates overlapping like shields. Horns swept back from its skull, cracked in places, each fracture pale against the black.

The dragon flew beside them as if the Quinjet were no more than a strange bird allowed, temporarily, to live and its eye fixed on them through the glass. Natasha had been looked at by killers, by monsters and gods. This was so much different..This was not a creature deciding whether she was dangerous. This was a creature deciding whether she mattered.

Bruce made a small sound behind her. “Oh my God..” Tony’s hand hovered over the controls, frozen. For once in his life, he had no joke ready.

The dragon’s jaw parted, rows of teeth appeared, each one curved and long as a knife. A low growl rolled out first, vibrating through the Quinjet’s metal skin, then came the roar again. The windows trembled and a panel sparked overhead. Wanda flinched despite herself and Vision stepped slightly in front of her.

The dragon’s eye moved to him and to the Stone. For one terrible second, the creature’s pupil narrowed and the cabin went cold. Then T’Challa lifted one hand and placed it flat against the glass. The dragon’s gaze shifted to him and recognition passed there.

T’Challa bowed his head and the dragon watched him. Then, with one powerful stroke of its wings, it rose above the Quinjet and the entire aircraft shuddered under the force of displaced air. Its tail swept past the window, ridged with spikes, close enough that Natasha saw old scars carved deep into its scales. Some were pale and healed, some were darker and newer. One jagged scar crossed the left side of its chest, a wound that looked like it should have killed even a creature born of fire.

Bruce stared at it, eyes wet behind his glasses. “The second dragon died over the gate..” he whispered. “And this one survived.”

The dragon wheeled ahead of them, black against the sun, and dove toward the castle. Far below, horns began to sound, warning the kingdom and welcoming the guests. Or announcing them to something far more dangerous than a king.

“Okay..” he said. “I believe in dragons now.”

No one laughed, no one even looked at him. The Quinjet continued toward the castle, escorted by the shadow of wings and ahead, beyond walls blackened by history, beyond banners snapping like blood in the wind, beyond a kingdom that had survived by becoming legend, she was waiting.

The Quinjet descended through the last coils of cloud and from above, the fortress had looked impossible. The platform was vast enough to hold half a fleet, carved directly from dark volcanic rock and veined with metal that caught the dying light in dull red flashes. Massive chains hung from iron posts along the edges, each link larger than a man’s torso. Beyond the platform, the castle gates rose in layers and above it, banners snapped violently in the mountain wind.

No one moved when the Quinjet touched down and for a breath, the cabin remained silent except for the low cooling hum of the engines. Then the ramp lowered and it definitely smelled nothing like Wakanda or New York. Sam stepped closer to the ramp and his eyes narrowed against the wind. “That’s a welcoming committee?”

Natasha followed his gaze and saw how soldiers waited on the platform. They stood in disciplined formations along both sides of the landing area, spears upright, curved blades at their hips, armor dark and matte beneath cloaks of red and black. Some wore helmets shaped like snarling beasts, others had their faces uncovered, revealing high cheekbones, scarred brows, dark eyes, pale eyes, brown skin, bronze skin, weather worn skin and hair braided with rings of iron and bone.

A man stood ahead of the soldiers, waiting at the center of the platform. He was older than most of the warriors, perhaps in his late fifties, though the harsh lines of his face made age difficult to measure. His eyes moved over the ramp as the Avengers began to descend. T’Challa went out first and the older man’s attention sharpened immediately. Then he bowed like a man recognizing another man of power under laws older than comfort.

“King T’Challa of Wakanda.” he said in accented English, his voice carrying across the platform despite the wind. “You return under guest right and old witness, your name is remembered.”

T’Challa inclined his head. “Lord Vaelar.”

The man’s mouth twitched faintly. “You remember mine.”

“My father taught me that forgetting a man’s name at these gates is an insult best avoided.”

This time, there was nearly a smile. “Your father was wise.”

“He often reminded me.”

Lord Vaelar’s eyes shifted to the others. Natasha felt every stare settle on them because she knew the sensation well. It was how predators looked at unfamiliar things before deciding whether they were food, threat, or weather. Steve stepped forward half a pace, but T’Challa lifted one hand slightly because he understood the rules here and everyone else would be safer letting him speak. “We bring wounded need and grave warning.”

Lord Vaelar’s gaze flickered to Vision and for a second, something in his expression changed.

“The royal family has been informed of your arrival.” he said. “You and those under your protection will be housed tonight. Tomorrow, you will be brought before the throne and heard.”

“Tomorrow?” Wanda’s voice cut across the platform before anyone could stop her. Her fingers tightened around Vision’s arm and red beginning to glow faintly at the tips. “We do not have until tomorrow.” she said, stepping forward. “You do not understand, something is coming. An army, a force you cannot imagine. He will come for Vision and if he gets what he wants, half the universe dies.”

Lord Vaelar’s face did not change but the soldiers’ hands shifted closer to their weapons. Shuri moved faster than anyone expected. “Wanda.”

Wanda turned on her. “No. I am tired of everyone speaking like we have time. He is being hunted and we came here because T’Challa said they could help and now we are supposed to wait for an audience?”

“Enough!” Shuri snapped and Wanda stared at her. Shuri’s eyes were fierce, “You are afraid, I know. But you will not stand on their stones and speak to their blood speaker as if he is delaying you for sport! You will not make threats with your magic glowing in your hands! Not here..”

Wanda’s breath trembled till Vision touched her hand gently. “Wanda.”

Her eyes flicked to him and the red faded. T’Challa turned back to Lord Vaelar, face composed, though Natasha could see the warning beneath his stillness. “Forgive the breach. Fear speaks quickly when love is threatened.”

Lord Vaelar studied Wanda for a long moment. Then he gave a small nod. “Fear is understandable.”

T’Challa continued, “The matter is urgent. If there is any way we may be heard tonight-”

“No.” Lord Vaelar said and Shuri’s shoulders tensed. Lord Vaelar did not look apologetic, “The king and queen do not receive unsummoned pleas after moonrise when the heir of fire is beyond the walls.”

T’Challa’s expression shifted subtly. “She is not within the castle?”

“No.”

“Will she return tonight?”

“That depends on the success of her..business.” Something about the way he said business made Natasha’s attention sharpen. It was a court word, a veil thrown over something everyone here understood and no outsider was meant to question.

Lord Vaelar continued, “Until morning, you are guests and guest right protects you. You will be fed, housed and left untroubled so long as you do not trouble others.”

Sam muttered under his breath, “That sounded friendly right up until it didn’t.”

Rhodey murmured back, “That’s kind of their brand..”

Lord Vaelar turned and the soldiers parted. The movement was perfect and the gates opened without a sound. The team followed and Natasha walked near the middle, her eyes moving everywhere. The entrance hall beyond the gates was large enough to swallow a cathedral and the floor was polished dark stone, worn slightly uneven by centuries of boots. Along the walls hung shields, banners, old weapons and enormous tapestries depicting battles in thread so vivid the red looked wet. Everywhere, people stopped to stare and children were peeking from behind pillars until older hands pulled them back but when T’Challa passed, several people lowered their heads, not in submission, but in recognition.

The castle was beautiful in a way Natasha distrusted. Built to awe and intimidate in equal measure and each arch was carved with flames. Each doorway was guarded by stone beasts with wings tucked close to their bodies. Bruce stopped once and Natasha stopped with him. He was staring at a mural stretching across one wall.

Three dragons flew above a battlefield, wings wide, mouths open, fire pouring down over towers and men. Beneath them, a young woman stood with her hair unbound and a blade in her hand. Lord Vaelar noticed but did not pause. “Your chambers are prepared in the eastern guest wing.” he said. “You will find water, food and attendants should you require them.”

The guest wing was warmer than the halls, though no less imposing. Their chambers were large and high ceilinged, furnished with carved beds, thick furs, bronze basins, low tables and windows that opened toward the city below. Vision was given the largest chamber so Shuri could examine him in private and Wanda followed him inside and did not come out again.

Bruce did not sleep at all. Natasha found him later standing by one of the tall windows in the common chamber, both hands braced against the stone ledge, staring out at the darkening sky. The sun had gone down behind the mountains, leaving the city below lit by thousands of fires.

“You’re going to burn holes in the glass.” Natasha said.

“There’s no glass.”

She looked closer and he was right. The window was open to the air, protected only by a carved stone lattice and a drop that would kill anyone unfortunate enough to test it.

“Then you’re going to fall out.”

“I saw a dragon..” Bruce said and Natasha leaned one shoulder against the wall beside him. “I noticed.”

“No, I mean…” He laughed once, “I saw a dragon. A living, flying, breathing dragon. It looked at us..looked at me. The mass to wing ratio alone should be impossible unless its bone density is unlike anything on Earth.”

“Maybe it isn’t.”

Bruce looked at her and Natasha shrugged. “Or maybe Earth has always been bigger than we thought.”

He looked back outside, expression softening into wonder edged with fear. “That’s what scares me.”

Behind them, the common chamber was quiet. The team had scattered into uneasy rest, or something pretending to be rest. Natasha felt the walls pressing in despite their size and she looked down at the city again.

“I’m going out.” she said and Bruce finally turned. “Out where?”

“City.”

His eyebrows rose. “Nat.”

“What?”

“We just got here.”

“I’m aware.”

“Where we were specifically told not to trouble anyone.”

“I’m not planning to trouble anyone.” Bruce gave her a look that suggested he had known her too long to believe that. Natasha smiled faintly. “I want to see what kind of people worship a woman like that.”

Bruce glanced toward the door. “Maybe ask T’Challa first.”

“I wasn’t asking permission.”

“No.” T’Challa’s voice said from behind her. “But you should listen to advice.”

Natasha turned and he stood in the doorway, still wearing the dark clothes he had traveled in, though he looked less like a guest now and more like a man remembering how to move in a place full of knives. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting quiet again.”

“I have always been quiet.”

“Not like that.”

His mouth almost curved. Then his gaze moved to the window, to the city below, and the amusement vanished. “You should not go alone.”

“I can manage.”

“I know that.” T’Challa said. “That is not the concern.”

Natasha folded her arms. “Then what is?”

“You do not know the streets. You do not know the customs, know which houses are loyal to which bloodlines, which colors should not be worn after dark, which songs should not be requested in taverns, or which insults are insults until someone has already drawn a blade.”

“Sounds like most cities.”

“No.” T’Challa said. “It does not.”

That gave her pause. “I just need some air.” she said and T’Challa studied her. He saw more than most people, that was one of the reasons Natasha liked him and one of the reasons she was careful around him.

After a moment, he sighed quietly. “If you insist on going, cover your hair.”

Natasha frowned. “My hair?”

“Yes.”

Bruce blinked. “Why?”

T’Challa’s eyes remained on Natasha. “Red hair will draw attention.”

“It draws attention everywhere.”

“Not like here.”

Natasha touched a strand near her shoulder. “Should I be offended?”

“No. You should be practical.” Shuri entered behind him carrying a folded length of dark cloth. “He is right.”

Natasha looked between them. “Is red unlucky?”

“No.” Shuri said. “Rare and associated with old battle songs, foreign omens and women who appear in stories right before men do something stupid.”

She held out a cloth. It was fine, soft and dark enough to vanish in shadow and edged with subtle bronze embroidery. Natasha took it. “You were prepared for this?”

“I assumed one of you would make a poor decision before morning.” Shuri said.

Sam poked his head out of a doorway. “My money was on Stark!”

“So was mine.” Shuri replied. Natasha wrapped the cloth over her hair with practiced ease. She had worn enough disguises in enough countries to understand the language of fabric. She tucked the red beneath it, adjusted the fall near her cheek, and watched T’Challa’s expression.

“Better?”

He looked at her for a long second. “Yes.”

Natasha’s smile softened into something more genuine. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“I know.” T’Challa said. “Be more careful than that.”

The city took her in quietly, that was the first surprise. Natasha had expected noise, drunken shouting, brawls spilling from taverns, riders thundering through narrow streets, violence barely chained beneath torchlight. T’Challa’s warnings had painted a place where every wrong breath might invite blood.

Instead, the city at night felt controlled. The streets were paved in pale stone that glowed faintly beneath lanternlight. Buildings leaned close overhead, built of black brick, white plaster, carved wood, and bronze balconies draped with heavy fabrics. The soldiers were everywhere, they stood at corners, bridges, gates, watching without appearing to watch. Their presence explained the quiet more than any law could have. This was a city where violence existed, perhaps even thrived, but it had rules. It had places. It had consequences.

Natasha respected consequences. She wandered without seeming to wander, keeping to streets with enough people to disappear among but not enough to trap her. Eventually, she found a tavern, the sign above the door showed a black cup surrounded by painted flames.

Natasha went in and the room dipped in volume for half a second. That told her everything she needed to know. She crossed to the bar as if she belonged there. The bartender was a broad woman with gray hair braided over one shoulder and arms muscled from years of lifting barrels or bodies. Her eyes narrowed at Natasha’s clothes, her covered hair, her boots.

“You drink?” the woman asked in English that was rough but understandable.

Natasha rested an elbow on the counter. “That depends what you’re pouring.”

The woman’s mouth twitched. “Foreign.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me what you’d give someone who wants to stop being obvious.”

The bartender stared at her and she laughed. It was not a friendly laugh, “You want heavy?”

“I want to understand the local culture.”

“Then heavy.” the bartender decided and reached for a dark clay bottle from beneath the counter. The liquid she poured into a short bronze cup was nearly black, with a reddish sheen where the firelight caught it. It moved too slowly, clinging to the sides like syrup and the smell hit Natasha a second later.

Natasha picked up the cup, then someone crashed into her side. The drink spilled across both of them and Natasha reacted before thought. One hand caught the stranger by the waist to keep them from falling, the other steadied the cup, though far too late to save more than a mouthful. Dark liquid splashed down the front of Natasha’s borrowed tunic and across the stranger’s cloak.

The body against hers was warm and smaller than she expected, but strong beneath the layers. “I’m sorry.” Natasha said immediately, because apologies were cheaper than scenes and she had promised not to trouble anyone.

“No, no!” The stranger pulled back with a breathless laugh. “That was my fault. I was watching the door and not my feet, which is a very poor habit in a place with both furniture and witnesses.”

A young woman, her voice was low and smooth but threaded with amusement and Natasha looked at her and forgot, for one dangerous second, that she was supposed to be watching the room. The woman’s face was partially shadowed beneath a deep blue head covering, the fabric wrapped elegantly around her hair and throat, leaving only her face visible. But that was enough...more than enough. She had the kind of beauty men wrote wars around and then blamed on fate.

Her skin was pale beneath the tavern light, warmed by the gold of the flames. Her mouth was full and curved with the beginning of a smile and her cheekbones were sharp enough to make softness seem like a choice. Her eyes were dark at first glance, then not dark at all when she shifted beneath the light, but strange, luminous, somewhere between violet and gray and storm clouds before lightning. Natasha had seen beautiful people. She had been trained with beautiful people. She had used beauty, weaponized it, dismissed it, survived it. This was different.

The woman glanced down at the stain spreading across both of them. Then she touched two fingers to the wet fabric near her collarbone, lifted them to her mouth and tasted the drink. Natasha’s attention fixed briefly on her lips and the woman’s eyebrows rose. “You were going to drink that?”

“That was the plan.”

“Willingly?”

“I like to live dangerously.”

The woman’s smile widened. “There are easier ways to die.”

Natasha leaned against the bar, letting her gaze move over the stranger’s covered hair, layered cloak, fine gloves and boots that looked too well made for someone trying not to be noticed. “And here I thought you were about to apologize.”

“I did apologize.”

“You also insulted my drink.”

“I insulted your judgment.” the woman corrected. “The drink is blameless. It does what it was made to do.”

“And what is that?”

“Punish arrogance.”

Natasha laughed softly despite herself and the woman’s eyes brightened. The woman turned to the bartender. “Another.” Then she looked back at Natasha, “I spilled it, I replace it.”

“Generous.”

“Practical. I dislike owing strangers.”

“Then we’re strangers?”

“For the moment.” Natasha angled her body toward her. “And later?”

The woman’s smile turned slow enough to be dangerous. “That depends on whether you survive the drink.”

The bartender set down a fresh cup. The woman picked it up before Natasha could and lifted it in a small toast. “To poor footing.”

“And dangerous judgment.” Natasha replied.

The woman drank. The dark liquor disappeared past her lips and her expression did not change at all. No cough, no blink, no tightening around the eyes. Nothing. She lowered the cup and passed it to Natasha. The challenge was silent and Natasha accepted it. She had survived Russian vodka, contraband Balkan spirits, poison-laced champagne in Prague and something Fury had once called whiskey despite all evidence to the contrary.

She could handle a drink, so she took a mouthful and fire detonated behind her teeth. The taste was smoke and iron and pepper and old fruit left to ferment in a dragon’s throat. Heat punched down her throat, spread through her chest and tried to climb back out through her nose. Natasha turned slightly, because she refused to spit it across the bar, but a cough escaped her anyway.

The woman laughed, it was a beautiful sound and an infuriating one. Natasha set the cup down with great care while her eyes watered. The woman was still laughing when she reached for a pitcher, poured water into a plain cup, and offered it, “Here.”

Natasha took it, throat burning. “I’m..fine.”

“Of course.”

“I am.”

“You look very fine.”

Natasha drank the water and the woman watched with undisguised delight. The woman leaned closer. “Take your time.”

There it was again, that confidence. Natasha was used to watching people respond to her. The shift in breathing or the moment they realized she was flirting with intent and keeping up with her, but this woman was not struggling to keep up. She was enjoying herself.

She was young, yes. Young enough that Natasha should have held the advantage through experience alone. But the stranger flirted like someone born in a court where language had always been a weapon and desire was simply another battlefield. She knew when to answer or to deflect. When to offer enough truth to make Natasha chase the rest. Natasha liked skill..she liked it too much.

“You’re enjoying this.” Natasha said.

“I am.”

“At least you’re honest.” Natasha lowered the cup and smiled. The woman’s laughter softened into something warmer, but her eyes remained sharp. She leaned one hip against the bar, close enough that Natasha could smell the night air on her cloak beneath the spilled liquor. “You still haven’t told me your name.” Natasha said.

“Neither have you.”

“Mine is harder to earn?”

The woman’s smile turned wicked. “You assume yours is the prize.”

Natasha nearly laughed and that actually caught her off guard. The stranger saw it and looked delighted. “There.”

“What?”

“You did not expect me to bite back.”

“I expected it.”

“No.” The woman stepped closer until the edge of her sleeve brushed Natasha’s wrist. “You hoped for it.”

Natasha’s expression did not change, but inside, something sharpened. This girl was good.

“Maybe.” Natasha said and the woman’s eyes dropped to her mouth again, “I hoped you would stay.”

Natasha’s answer came softer than she intended. “I haven’t left.”

“No..” the woman murmured. “You have not.”

The tavern became smaller around them. The singer’s voice blurred into the warmth of the room and a chair scraped against stone. Somewhere behind Natasha, someone laughed, but it sounded far away. The space between her and the veiled stranger was suddenly the only place with heat. “So what should I call you?”

“What do you call women whose names you do not know?”

“That depends on what I want from them.”

The woman’s eyes flashed. “And what do you want from me?”

Natasha let the silence stretch and a slow smile touched her mouth. “I was going to start with conversation.”

“Liar.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“You say that often.”

“I am right often.”

Natasha leaned in until her voice was just for her. “Careful. Confidence can be mistaken for arrogance.”

The woman did not retreat. “Only by people too small to recognize it.”

Natasha stared at her. “You’re trouble.”

“Yes.”

“No denial?”

“I thought honesty pleased you.”

“Depends how it’s used.” The woman’s fingers brushed the back of Natasha’s hand where it rested against the bar. A mistake if either of them wanted to pretend. “And this?” she asked.

Natasha looked down at the touch, then back up. “That depends how it’s used.”

The stranger’s thumb moved once, barely there, over Natasha’s knuckle and Natasha’s breath stayed steady by training alone. The woman noticed anyway and her smile softened into something slow and victorious. “You are easier to read than you pretend.”

Natasha turned her hand, catching the woman’s fingers before she could withdraw. “And you are enjoying pretending not to be.”

The woman looked at their joined hands, then at Natasha. “You are very bold for a guest.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed faintly. “How do you know I’m a guest?”

The woman did not miss the slip. “You are not a merchant. Not a rider or temple sworn. Not court born. You entered under someone’s protection or you would not have crossed the border at all.”

Natasha’s thumb traced once over the side of the woman’s finger. “Then you already knew I wasn’t from here before I said anything.”

“Yes.”

“And you still spilled my drink?”

The woman’s smile grew dangerous. “Perhaps I was curious too.”

Natasha should have pulled back. Instead, she moved closer. “How curious?”

The woman looked at her as if weighing how much truth would make the game sweeter. “Enough to ruin your drink.”

“That all?”

“No.”

Natasha had to remind herself where she was. Hidden kingdom, strange laws and royal blood. Vision with a Stone in his head and Thanos somewhere beyond the sky. But then the woman’s fingers tightened lightly around hers and Natasha thought, one more minute. Just one.

The stranger tilted her head. “You are thinking too much.”

“I’m usually praised for that.”

“Not by anyone trying to kiss you.”

Natasha’s smile was immediate, “There it is.”

“What?”

“The first honest thing you’ve said all night.”

The woman leaned close enough that her breath touched Natasha’s cheek. “No.” she said softly. “The first honest thing was that I was interested.”

Natasha turned her face slightly and their mouths were close now. Too close for the tavern, but not close enough for Natasha. The woman’s eyes flicked down, then up again. She was waiting and she was letting Natasha feel the space and choose what to do with it.

Natasha respected restraint but respected temptation more. “You do this often?” Natasha asked.

“Almost kiss strangers in taverns?”

“Make them want to forget why they came.”

The woman smiled, but something darker moved beneath it. “No. Do you?”

Natasha could have lied, instead, she said, “Not like this.”

For the first time, the stranger looked truly surprised. Then her expression changed as if Natasha had offered something more intimate than a name.

“Good.” she said and Natasha felt it like fingers at her throat. A man brushed past behind them, giving the veiled woman a wide berth despite the crowd. His shoulder nearly clipped Natasha’s but swerved at the last moment. He murmured something in the local language without looking up.

The stranger caught Natasha catching it. “You are important.” Natasha said and the woman withdrew her hand slowly, but not because she was embarrassed, but because the game had turned dangerous.

“Many people are important.”

“Not like that.”

“You do not know what that was.”

“I know deference.”

The woman’s eyes sharpened. “And do you offer it?”

Natasha leaned against the bar, letting her gaze move over the hidden face, the elegant veil, the mouth that had already become a problem.

“Depends who earns it.”

That pleased the woman so much she looked almost angry about it. “You would be difficult to command.” she said.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I did not say I dislike difficult things.”

Natasha laughed softly. “You are young to sound so sure of yourself.”

The woman’s smile vanished with warning. “I am old enough to know what I want.” the woman said.

Natasha held her gaze. “And what do you want?”

The stranger stepped closer again. “You.”

The answer struck harder than flirtation should have and Natasha did not move. For all her training, all her control, all the years she had spent using desire as tool, cover, weapon and shield, she found herself briefly, absurdly, without words.

The woman saw that too and a smile slowly returned to her face. “Did I steal your tongue?” she asked and Natasha recovered with a slow inhale. “No.”

“No?”

“I was deciding whether you meant it.”

“And?”

Natasha’s eyes dropped to her mouth. “You meant it.” The woman’s voice softened. “Yes.”

The honesty changed the air. Natasha felt the pull then, fully. Not curiosity anymore, not simple attraction, but something heavier, wrapped in risk and heat and the intoxicating knowledge that both of them were hiding almost everything except wanting.

The stranger turned slightly, looking toward the tavern’s side passage. “There is a quieter place..” Natasha’s pulse shifted and T’Challa’s warnings came back. She looked at the woman, at the veil hiding her hair, at the eyes that knew too much. At the mouth still curved like it expected Natasha to follow and would be disappointed if she did not.

“You invite strangers to quiet places often?” Natasha asked.

“No.”

“Should I believe that?”

“No.”

Natasha smiled and the woman’s smile answered. “But it is true.” she added.

Natasha looked toward the door, then back to her. “And if I say no?”

The woman’s gaze moved over her face, lingering just enough to make Natasha feel it. “Then I finish my drink and wonder whether you are as disciplined as you pretend.”

Natasha laughed under her breath. “You make saying no sound like losing.”

“It would be.”

“For who?”

The woman stepped in close enough that their sleeves brushed again. “For both of us.”

Natasha knew, in that moment, that this woman had come into the tavern wanting distraction. Maybe amusement or power without ceremony. Maybe a night where no one bowed, no one feared, no one begged her for anything. Natasha did not know the shape of that truth, she only knew its shadow and she was already stepping into it.

“Lead the way.” she said and the woman’s smile turned brilliant beneath the veil. And Natasha, who should have known better than to follow secrets into the dark, followed her anyway.

The woman led her deeper inside. Past the bar, past the crowded tables, past the hearth where the singer’s voice curled low and rough through the smoke. There was a side corridor half hidden behind a hanging curtain of dark beads and leather strips. No one stopped them when the woman pushed through it. No one even looked directly at them, though Natasha felt the awareness shift around the room.

Natasha followed close behind, close enough to see the elegant line of the woman’s neck beneath the veil, close enough to notice how she moved. She walked like someone used to doors opening before she reached them, like the world had always made space for her and she had grown bored of pretending not to expect it. But when she glanced back at Natasha, there was nothing cold in her eyes. Only amusement.

The sounds of the tavern dulled behind them, swallowed by heavy stone walls and thick rugs beneath their boots. Lanterns burned low in iron brackets and the air smelled of wine, smoke and something floral Natasha could not place. At the end of the corridor stood a dark wooden door carved with the same black horse that marked the tavern entrance. The woman took a key from inside her sleeve.

“Private room?” Natasha asked and the woman inserted the key without looking away from her. “Did you think I would take you somewhere public?”

“I was wondering how bold you were.” The lock clicked and the woman smiled. “Still wondering?”

Natasha stepped closer, close enough that the woman’s back almost touched the door. “No.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The tavern was only a few steps away, but it felt distant now. The music had become a pulse through the walls and the firelight from the corridor touched the edge of the woman’s veil, the curve of her mouth, the sharp brightness of her eyes. Natasha should have thought. She should have slowed down. She should have remembered the mission, Vision, the Stone, T’Challa’s warnings, the impossible kingdom above them, the dragon somewhere in the sky.

Instead, the woman opened the door and backed inside and Natasha followed. The door closed behind them and they reached for each other at the same time. There was no careful beginning or slow approach. The tension from the tavern snapped the moment privacy wrapped around them. Natasha caught the woman by the waist and pressed her back against the door and the woman went willingly, laughing once against Natasha’s mouth before the laugh broke into a kiss.

The woman kissed like she did everything else: with confidence, control and a wicked awareness of exactly what she was offering. Her hands found Natasha’s jacket, fingers curling into the fabric and pulling her closer instead of pushing her away. Natasha felt the strength in her grip, the poise even in the rush of it, and it made something low in her stomach tighten. This girl was definitely not overwhelmed by her and that was the part that made Natasha burn.

The woman let Natasha lead her back from the door, but not because she was yielding. She allowed it with the grace of someone granting permission, step by step, mouth never leaving Natasha’s for long. When Natasha turned them and walked her backward toward the table, the woman followed the pressure of her hands easily, almost elegantly, her body answering without losing its own rhythm.

Natasha melted a little at that and hated that she did. The woman noticed and she pulled back just enough to breathe, lips parted, eyes bright beneath the shadow of the veil. “You like being obeyed..” she murmured and Natasha’s fingers tightened at her waist.

“I like being understood.”

The woman smiled, “Then understand this.” She caught the front of Natasha’s jacket and pulled her back in and the kiss deepened. Natasha’s hands slid under the edge of the woman’s outer cloak, feeling warmth through layers of fine fabric. The cloak was loosened with a practiced tug and the woman let it fall from her shoulders, not breaking the kiss as it dropped to the floor. Natasha’s own jacket followed a moment later, pushed down her arms by impatient hands.

They stumbled toward the bed near the wall, though stumble was not the right word for the woman. Even half blinded by kissing, even breathless, she moved like a dancer who had once learned war instead of music. Natasha could not stop noticing her, the elegance and the danger under it. The way she let Natasha press her down onto the edge of the bed and still somehow made it feel like Natasha had been invited exactly where the woman wanted her.

Natasha kissed her again, slower now, one hand braced beside her shoulder, the other at her waist. The woman arched into her touch with a quiet sound that made Natasha’s thoughts scatter. Then Natasha’s fingers found the fastening near the woman’s throat and the veil shifted. T’Challa’s voice cut through the heat in her mind and Natasha froze. The woman felt it immediately and opened her eyes. “What is it?”

Natasha breathed once, steadying herself. Her hand was still near the veil. Too close to a truth she had no right to uncover without thinking. “I..can’t.” Natasha said quietly. The woman’s expression changed, but not with offense. “Can’t?”

Natasha pulled back enough to put space between them. Her own scarf had loosened during the kissing, but most of her red hair was still hidden beneath it.

“I was warned.” she said and the woman sat up slightly, “About me?”

Natasha gave a breathless little laugh. “About everyone.”

That earned the smallest smile, but it faded quickly. “What warning stopped you?”

Natasha touched the edge of her own scarf. “My hair draws attention here.” The woman’s eyes dropped to the movement and Natasha hesitated. Then, slowly, she pulled the scarf away and red hair spilled loose around her shoulders. The woman stopped moving and for the first time since Natasha had met her, the stranger looked genuinely stunned. Her eyes moved through Natasha’s hair as if she had never seen anything quite like it. The silence stretched so long that Natasha, impossibly, felt almost self-conscious.

Then the woman reached out and stopped just before touching, asking without words, but Natasha allowed it. The woman took one strand between her fingers, “is it natural?”

Natasha blinked, then she smiled, That was new. People had called her hair beautiful, dangerous, pretty or a target. A disguise ruined by genetics. No one had ever asked with that kind of wonder. “Yes.” Natasha said. “It’s natural.”

The woman looked up at her and the fascination had not faded. “It looks like flame.”

Natasha’s smile softened despite herself. “That’s what they’re afraid of?”

The woman’s thumb brushed the red strand once before letting it slip free. “No.” she said. “That is what they would remember.”

The woman leaned closer again, but Natasha did not move yet. “You said you were warned..” she murmured. “And now?”

Natasha’s gaze flicked toward the hidden veil. “Now I’m wondering what you’re hiding.”

A slow smile returned to the woman’s mouth. “Something less rare than yours.”

“I doubt that.”

The woman’s eyes glittered, then she reached up and loosened the pins beneath her veil. Layer by layer, the cloth slipped away and at first, Natasha saw only pale strands at the temple. Then more and all of it. Long snow white hair fell over the woman’s shoulders in a shining wave and Natasha stopped breathing. The room seemed to go silent around her, the tavern beyond the walls disappeared.

White.

Not silver, blond or gray. White as moonlight on fresh snow. It spilled down over the woman’s dark clothing, over her shoulders and chest, luminous in the low light, impossibly soft looking and impossibly striking. It changed the shape of her beauty into something almost unreal. Before, Natasha had thought her stunning. Now, with her face fully revealed and that white hair loose around her, she looked like something from the old tapestries in the castle. A girl from bloodlines people wrote laws around.

Natasha stared, she knew she was staring but couldn’t stop. The woman watched her closely and this time there was no teasing in her expression. Natasha’s mind moved, because Natasha’s mind always moved, even when her body wanted to forget how to stand. T’Challa had said snow white hair belonged to royal blood. Royal blood, not only one woman..

Certain branches tied closely to it. Noblewomen wore veils, royal cousins wore veils. Court women moving quietly through the city without drawing the wrong eyes. And Lord Vaelor had said Khaleesi was not in the castle tonight. Surely that meant away from the city..Away from taverns and from private rooms with foreign spies. Surely the woman a whole kingdom lowered its eyes for would not be here alone, smiling beneath a veil, tasting spilled liquor from her own shirt, flirting like the world had never placed a crown shaped blade above her head.

Surely, if this woman were Khaleesi, someone would have bowed. Someone would have whispered or would have panicked. But no one had..People had given her space, yes, but that could mean noble or royal adjacent.

Not Khaleesi. Not the dragon’s chosen. Not the almost-queen they had crossed the world to beg for help.

Natasha let herself believe the simpler danger, because the other one was too impossible. The woman was looking at her now like she did not want to be recognized. She wanted to be wanted and Natasha wanted her.

“You’re beautiful..” Natasha said before she could make the words clever. The woman’s expression shifted and for all her confidence, for all her sharpness, that seemed to reach her. “Careful..” she said softly. “You sound honest.”

Natasha stepped closer. “I am.”

The woman looked at Natasha’s red hair, then back into her eyes. “Then I do not care about the warning.”

Natasha’s breath caught. “No?”

“No.” The woman’s hand rose, fingers slipping carefully into Natasha’s hair. “I like it.”

Natasha’s gaze dropped to the woman’s mouth. “And your hair?” The woman smiled faintly. “Will you run?”

Natasha lifted her hand and touched one white strand, letting it slide between her fingers like silk. “No.”

“Will you kneel?”

Natasha’s eyes returned to hers. That question should have sounded playful, it did not..It sounded like something from a throne room, dragged into candlelight.

Natasha’s heart slammed against her ribs. She was older than this girl, had seen more wars, more beds, more ways desire could be used as both weapon and surrender and yet here she was, utterly undone by snow white hair and storm eyes that looked at her like she was something precious instead of dangerous. She wanted her. God, she wanted her. The kind of want that made every trained instinct short circuit.

Natasha sank to her knees without hesitation, the thick rug cushioning the fall. Respect and hunger twisted together until she couldn’t tell them apart as she looked up, eyes dark with need. The woman’s breath caught, surprise flickering across that beautiful face before it melted into something warmer, almost tender. She leaned back slowly on the fur draped bed, white hair fanning out like moonlight, thighs parting in open invitation. “You…chose that so easily for me?”

Natasha nodded once, crawling forward between those spread legs because she needed to be closer. “For you.” she answered, voice rough. “Only you.”

The woman’s smile softened, eyes glittering with delight and something deeper. She reached down and brushed her fingers through Natasha’s hair, not tugging, just stroking like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Then show me..” she whispered.

Those words snapped the last thread of Natasha’s restraint. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to the inside of one pale thigh, kissing reverently before dragging her tongue higher. When she reached the heated center, she licked a slow, hungry stripe up the glistening folds and moaned at the taste, sweet and warm and addictive.

The woman’s hips jerked, a surprised little gasp escaping her. Then the first real moan spilled out completely unguarded and Natasha’s mind went white..It hit Natasha like fire in her veins. Her self-control, the careful distance she always kept, the calculated moves, the older woman composure shattered completely. She was supposed to be the one in control…but right now all she could think was more. She needed more of that sound, needed to be the reason it kept happening.

She dove in like a woman possessed, her tongue circled the swollen clit with desperate hunger, sucking it gently between her lips before licking back down to push inside her. The woman’s fingers tightened in her red hair, not pulling, just holding on as another moan tore free, richer this time, longer, trembling at the edges.

“Gods…you feel so good..” the woman breathed, voice already cracking with pleasure. She rolled her hips up to meet Natasha’s mouth, white hair spilling everywhere as her head fell back against the furs. Natasha lost herself completely. Every moan from those pretty lips made her spiral harder and licked and sucked with shameless need, tongue fucking into her in deep, wet strokes before pulling back to lavish attention on her clit again. Her own thighs pressed together, completely soaked and aching, but she didn’t touch herself, this was all for the woman beneath her, all for those gorgeous sounds that kept ripping Natasha’s composure to shreds.

The woman’s hand trembled where it rested in Natasha’s hair, guiding her gently higher when the pleasure peaked. “Right there- yes..just like that…” Another moan broke free, louder, sweeter and Natasha whimpered against her slick heat, the vibration pulling an even prettier sound from the woman’s throat.

Natasha’s mind was pure heat and reverence this woman, this impossible, beautiful girl was moaning because of her. Because Natasha couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down, couldn’t do anything but worship with her tongue and fingers and every desperate breath. When Natasha slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, the woman’s back arched clean off the bed with a moan so raw and beautiful it made Natasha’s head spin.

The woman’s voice cracked, amusement long gone, replaced by pure overwhelmed pleasure. Her fingers tightened gently in Natasha’s hair, guiding her rhythm without force, just need. “G-Gods, don’t stop, Please..!”

Natasha definitely had no intention of stopping. Not when every moan made her lose another piece of herself to this woman..The woman’s moan cracked into a long, shuddering cry as she came hard on Natasha’s tongue and fingers. Her thighs clamped around Natasha’s head for one dizzying second, hips rolling helplessly through every wave of pleasure. Natasha didn’t stop, she just couldn’t licking her through it until the tremors finally eased and the woman melted back into the furs.

Natasha’s own pulse was thundering. She was soaked, aching, trembling with how badly she still wanted her. The taste of her was still on her tongue, the sound of those moans echoing in her skull like a drug she already needed more of. Without thinking, Natasha slid her hands under the woman’s hips firmly and turning her onto her stomach.

The woman made a soft, surprised sound and her cheek pressed into the dark furs, her body completely limp and glowing with aftershocks. Natasha crawled over her from behind, pressing her own body flush along the younger woman’s back. She was moaning quietly already, just from the heat of her skin and the way the woman’s ass fit perfectly against her hips. Natasha slipped two fingers back inside her without warning and woman’s eyes flew open, “F-Fuck..I..can’t-!”

“You can..” Natasha’s mouth was right at her ear now. She twisted her fingers just right on every thrust, grinding her own soaked core against the woman’s ass in time with it. “Come for me again. Let me see your face when you do.”

The woman’s moan broke into something higher, sweeter, completely undone. Her hands fisted the furs, back arched beautifully under Natasha’s chest, white hair pulled taut in Natasha’s grip like silk ropes. Every thrust drew another gorgeous sound from her, breathy, helpless, overwhelmed and Natasha was losing her mind at the sight, “You’re so beautiful..”

The woman’s thighs started trembling. Her moans turned into broken little cries, face flushed and open and devastatingly beautiful as Natasha kept fucking her through it. “Come on..” Natasha breathed against her neck, “Let me feel you. I need it..I need you..”

The woman came with a long, shattered moan that echoed off the stone walls, clenching hard around Natasha’s fingers, back bowing as pleasure crashed through her all over again. Her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, white hair glowing against the dark furs while Natasha watched every second of it, chest pressed tight to her back and heart hammering like it wanted to climb out and give itself to this girl.

Natasha didn’t pull her fingers out right away. She kept them buried deep, stroking her gently through the aftershocks, face still hidden in that soft neck, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping her alive. Natasha smiled against her skin, pressing a slow, open mouthed kiss to the pulse fluttering under her lips. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

What followed was hours of heat and hunger that blurred the edges of time. The woman repaid every single second Natasha had spent worshipping her. She rolled them over with surprising strength, pinning Natasha gently beneath her, white hair falling like a curtain around them both. Her mouth was everywhere, kissing down Natasha’s throat, sucking marks into the older woman’s collarbone, then lower, until she settled between Natasha’s thighs like she belonged there. The first slow drag of her tongue had Natasha’s back arching clean off the bed with a broken moan of her own.

The woman was relentless in the softest way possible. She licked and sucked like she was savoring every sound Natasha made, fingers sliding deep inside her and curling just right while her tongue worked her clit in slow, devastating circles. Natasha came the first time with a sharp cry, thighs trembling around the woman’s shoulders, fingers tangled in that impossible snow white hair. But the young woman didn’t stop either. She kept going, murmuring soft praises against slick skin, “You taste so good…let me hear you again” until Natasha came a second time, harder, hips bucking helplessly as pleasure crashed through her in waves.

They switched again and again, bodies sliding together in the low lantern light. Hours passed like that and the tavern outside had long since gone quiet. The only sounds in the private room were gasps, moans and the wet slide of bodies moving together in the dark. Eventually they collapsed, utterly spent.

The woman lay on her back, chest heaving, one arm draped lazily over Natasha’s waist. Natasha was on her side, red hair sticking to her damp forehead, body boneless and glowing with the kind of satisfaction she hadn’t felt in years. She couldn’t remember the last time sex had been this good..this raw, this endless, this right. Every nerve in her body still hummed with it. She felt wrecked in the best possible way, like the younger woman had reached inside her and pulled out every hidden piece of want she’d been carrying.

Natasha turned her head slowly, still breathless, and just…looked at her. The girl beside her was flushed and glowing, lips kiss swollen, eyes half closed in pure bliss. She looked unreal..like something carved out of moonlight and fire and every impossible story Natasha had ever heard. Natasha’s voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “So…What’s your name?”

The woman turned her head, a slow, sated smile curving her lips. Her eyes met Natasha’s with something soft and open and a little amused, like she’d been waiting for the question all night. “Y/n.” she said simply.

The name settled between them like a secret finally shared and Natasha stared at her, heart still pounding, the weight of everything they’d just done sinking in deeper with every second. And for the first time since she’d stepped into this hidden kingdom, she had no idea what came next.

Part 2

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[evil-housewife]

date night!

꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ using her to blot your lipstick . . . natasha romanoff x fem!reader, fluff

You're sitting on the bathroom counter, carefully dragging lipstick across your lips. It's a rare night when the two of you can relax and doll up for a fancy dinner.

Well, you doll up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Nat strapping a gun to her thigh, just above the slit in her dress. It's simple and sleek, the complete opposite of your look. You prefer going all out, layering colors and textures until everything looks like you've stepped out of a Fancy Nancy book.

Glancing back at your reflection, you study your lips. The deep red is too bold. It throws the whole look off.

"Nat—"

"No. We're going to be late," she cuts you off, stepping into her heels.

You pout. "You don't even know what I was gonna say."

Natasha eyes you in the mirror. Then she straightens and stalks over, heels clicking against the floor.

"You were going to ask if the lipstick is too bold." She steps between your legs, fingers tilting your chin up. "It's not."

"It is."

"Baby."

You cup her face and she leans closer like she can't help it. The thought that you could make her lose her control sends a giddy feeling through you.

You turn her head and press a kiss to her jaw, leaving a bright red mark behind.

She exhales through her nose. "Really?"

You admire it with a satisfied grin as her hands settle on your hips. "Done."

She lets her forehead fall against yours.

"Can we go now?" she asks.

You shake your head.

"What now?"

"I need a kiss."

"Of course you do." She mutters, but gives in anyway. 

masterlist

wrote this on my phone in 20 mins so if it’s bad that’s why 😭 also i finally wrote my first natasha fic!!!

[lowkeyerror]

Mob Law pt 15

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: Fluff, comfort, emotional vulnerability, sexually suggestive themes but no outright smut, g!p

Summary: The date

An: Still sick but I finished this chapter to the best of my abilities thank you guys for patiently waiting and all the well wishes 🙏

Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2

There's a goofy smile plastered on your face as your back settles against the door of your room. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to drink in the moment.

A date, one with Natasha and Wanda.

Maybe you were in over your head, but you spent too much time missing out on experiences to pass this one up.

“Well, don't you look happy?”

You startle, at the sound of Yelena’s voice. She's sitting on your bed, with Kate at her side. The blonde has a stern look on her face while the brunette looks like she could explode with glee.

“Is it true?” Kate doesn't hold the question.

You grow bashful, “Yeah, it's true.”

The tall girl is off of the bed immediately barreling towards you. She squeals as she hugs you, moving side to side in the process.

She pulls away enough to grab your shoulders and shake them quite a bit, “I'm so happy for you. This is amazing news.”

The smile doesn't leave your features as you talk, “We just agreed to try it out. Nothing is guaranteed or set in stone. It's casual for now.”

Kate shakes her head to disagree, “There is nothing casual about Natasha and even less casual things about Don Maximoff.”

“She is right about that. They're both pretty intense women,” Yelena chimes in.

You dismiss the statement, “Maybe, but I think I can handle it. I set up some conditions and parameters with them. So hopefully it means something and it's not just empty words.”

“If there's one thing about those two, it's that they don't say things that they don't mean,” Kate reassures you.

There's a tiny bit of relief that washes over your features. “Good, now… help me find something to wear.”

“You have a date already?” Yelena says in near disbelief.

There's a heat that crawls up your neck with the word date in play. You scramble for an answer, “I- um, sort of. We're just going to hang out in the studio room.”

“A quiet intimate area with just the three of you. Sounds like a date to me,” Kate teases you.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

The blonde chuckles at the whiny tone in your voice. “You're really nervous about this.”

Your gaze finds the ground, “I just haven't done any of this before. Removing the fact they're married or that it's literally Don Maximoff and Attorney Romanoff, I've been in prison for a big part of my life. I can't even recall if I ever went on a date. It's all unfamiliar to me.”

Yelena groans, “I'm not telling you how to date my sister because gross. But I will say for her to agree to this she must like you a lot. So just be authentic.”

“Awe babe. That's good advice,” Kate praises her girlfriend.

With the duck of her head Yelena mumbles, “Whatever.”

You take in her words, “Authentic.”

Not unlike the previous day, Kate sifts through your wardrobe. This time she doesn’t pick anything flashy instead opting for something more comfortable. Something that you didn't feel so exposed in.

She shoves the clothes into your hands before subsequently herding you towards the bathroom.

Once you're in there you strip down. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. There's minimal bruising on your face from your altercation yesterday. Your eyes don't linger there instead dropping down to irritation around your knuckles.

It makes you clench your teeth. Before you spiral completely, your gaze settles on your lips. Hesitantly your fingers reach up to touch them.

They kissed you. Both of them had put their lips on yours. It was something they chose, they wanted. That thought makes breathing easier.

“It's going to be really embarrassing if you're late for a date that's inside of the house,” Kate says on the other side of the door.

Instead of responding you slip on the sweater and jean loose pants she picked out for you, then you exit the restroom. You carry an unimpressed look on your face at her antics.

“Stop frowning. I did great, you look cute! Right Lena.” The taller woman turns to her girlfriend for approval.

She's not even looking at you when she speaks. “Very… cute.”

Kate claps her hands together, “Don't keep them waiting too much longer.”

You nod to yourself, nerves piling up in your system.

Yelena stands, “Let me walk you.”

You don't argue with her. The two of you trudge silently through the house. There's a weight between you, but you can't pinpoint what it's about.

She could be mad at you for invading her sister's marriage. She could threaten you about hurting Natasha. Whatever it was did little to ease your anxiety.

“I'm worried for you,” Yelena says earnestly. “I'm worried that these women will tear you apart. I love my sister but she does not have a proclivity for being gentle. The Don can be a ticking time bomb.”

You take in her words, let them settle somewhere in your stomach. There's a part of you that wishes to defend and another that wishes to submit.

“I'm worried too,” is what comes out of your mouth.

Yelena offers you a small smile, “That's good. I'm not saying this won't work. I've seen the both of them make the seemingly impossible a reality. I'm just saying, protect yourself. Be cautious.”

“I will.”

You walk into the room, expecting to see it in the same condition that you left it weeks ago; unfinished finished painting in the middle, a chair here, a dry palette there.

You are almost stunned upon entrance. The things you named were still present, but off to the corner. The room now hosts a TV, a small table, a rug, and a couch. On top of the table were a few snacks. If the set up wasn't enough to stop you then surely Wanda and Natasha scrambling around would've.

They also seem to pause their movements as you enter.

“We thought we'd have at least 5 more minutes,” Wanda chuckles out loud.

“You guys work quick,” you're still taking it all in.

Natasha is the one to approach you first, “Don't just stand there. This couch did not move itself.” Her hand finds a place in yours as she tugs you towards the couch.

You're seated between the two women. It feels like you should say something but you don't know what exactly that is.

“So we were thinking that we could do a movie marathon?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Because there's no movies in prison?”

They both sputter for an answer.

There's a playful glint in your eyes. “I'm joking.”

Wanda crosses her arms over her chest, “That's not funny.”

“Well played,” Natasha pretends to tip her hat towards you.

“What? I can't let you guys have all the fun watching me squirm.”

Wanda smirks, “We'd have so much fun watching you squirm.”

You feel your ears heat immediately.

Natasha smacks Wanda’s arm from the back of the couch. “Wanda!”

“What? I'm not allowed to joke back?” The Don throws her hands up in mock annoyance.

“What are we watching?”

Natasha is the one who responds to you first, “What's your favorite?”

You shake your head, “It's definitely not your type.”

Wanda shrugs, “Well it's yours, and we care about that.”

Natasha raises both of her hands up, “No judgement.”

“Have you seen X-Men?”

A huff of air leaves the Don's nose, “Of course it’s super heroes.”

You fight the urge to shrink into yourself, “What's wrong with super heroes?"

You don't see the glare that Natasha gives Wanda.

The brunette clears her throat, “Nothing, nothing is wrong with them.”

“We can watch something else,” you pull back your features.

Natasha grabs the remote searching for X-Men. “We're watching this one. Wanda's just sour because she's a DC kind of girl.”

She scoffs, “As if. I just think it's strange they make Magneto out to be the bad guy considering everything he went through.”

Your eyes light up, “So you do know X-Men.”

Wanda's heart warms at the sight, "Of course I know X-Men. There are some things that catch my eye.”

Natasha’s tongue clicks against her teeth, “The fiery red head.”

Wanda arches an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“I think now is a good time to press play.”

So you sit there with them watching these movies. You don't know the etiquette, so you sit quietly. Even though you know the movie like the back of your hand. You watch with your attention undivided. It's your first time watching your favorite movie in a decade.

Wanda is watching you. She sees you holding your tongue, but she allows it. She understands that you're enjoying this, savoring the experience. The way your eyes light up at your favorite parts or the way you begin to mouth your favorite lines.

Natasha watches too. She pays attention the way you lean forward to immerse yourself in the movie. She can see that for once it doesn't look like you're trying hard not to fidget. Natasha likes it.

“I feel like you guys are not watching the movie the way I am,” you say, not taking your eyes off the screen.

“No, we're watching. Right Nat?”

Natasha nods, “Yeah.”

“Watching the movie or watching me?”

Natasha deflects in the way that any lawyer would, “I'd say we have our attention on what's important at the moment.”

You roll your eyes, “You didn't answer my question, attorney Romanoff.”

Wanda chuckles, it makes you turn your attention towards her. “And what's so funny Don Maximoff? I didn't hear you answering the question or does your wife usually field them for you.”

Wanda only smirks at your boldness, “If you think I'm embarrassed to say that you have my full attention, then we need to skip to the part of the date where we get to know each other better.”

Just like that, the power shifts in their favor. You don't have a rebuttal for that.

“On a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be if we high-fived?” Natasha asks.

Before you can answer the brunette is sticking her hand out and her wife is meeting her halfway. They both burst into a fit of laughter.

“This feels like the part where I go to the restroom and never come back,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

Wanda stands dramatically before dropping to a knee. She holds back a giggle, taking your hand in hers. “What can we do to make up for it?”

Natasha moves in a more calculated way. Her finger hooks under your chin, turning your head towards her. “We offer anything your heart desires.”

“Anything?” You play along.

Wanda doubles down, directing your gaze towards her. “Anything.”

“If you weren’t doing this, what would you be doing?”

Wanda’s smile only grows, “So we are moving on to the ‘getting to know you’ questions.”

“You said anything.”

Wanda nods, “I did. I suppose I would be a politician, same suit, different title.”

“President Maximoff has a ring to it.”

Natasha shakes her head, “Do not give her any ideas.”

“And you Natty?”

The lawyer takes note of the nickname. It sends a fluttering feeling through her chest. It's the kind of informality that she wants to grow between the two of you. Natural, comfortable, persistent. So though a small part of her wants to tease you about it, she relents.

“A professor,” she answers lightly.

You can nearly see the fact that it was something she's considered before.

“They'd enroll in your class just to get a glimpse at you,” the Don comments.

“The same way the citizens would vote for you because you'd be the most attractive elected official in history,” Natasha banters effortlessly with her wife.

“And you dorogoy?”

You think about it for a moment. The obvious answer being a painter. You wonder if you would've stuck with it through college; if maybe you would've gotten swayed but some random elective course that changed everything.

You throw a glance towards the painting, “I'm good at art.”

Natasha tilts her head, “Now who's not answering the question?”

“Well technically if I wasn't doing this. I'd probably be in prison still.” It's supposed to be a joke, but the way it sucks the air out of the room tells you it's not amusing to them.

Wanda meets your eyes, “Have you ever thought about it?”

You attempt to look away from her, but it's hard to hide from two people at once.

Natasha’s arm snakes around your shoulder. She doesn’t pull you in, just lets you feel the comfort of having her right there.

“It's okay if you haven't.”

“I never really saw the point,” you say honestly.

Wanda’s mind drifts back to her first time in jail. Not prison, just jail. The way she thought her life would be over. She remembers what it felt like to stop believing things would get better. For her, she knew she'd get out. So once all of the despair left her, she was filled with tenacity. She convinced herself that she wouldn't go back to jail, that she was stronger, smarter, and better than those around her. That shark mentality developed during her first stay.

If she hadn't known she'd be released, if she thought all was lost. She probably would've ended up like you.

“Ok, let's think of something,” she says offhandedly.

You blink, “What?”

“Let's think about what you would do if you weren't an artist?”

Your mouth hangs open for a moment before any sound comes out of it, “You think I'm an artist.”

Natasha nods, “We are technically in your art studio and having an art studio kind of makes you an artist.”

“You gave me the room.”

Wanda shrugs, “Your point?”

“You're impossible,” a huff of air leaves your mouth behind the words.

“You'll unlock all my secrets eventually,” Wanda says with a wave of a hand.

“How about a pilot?” Natasha throws out.

You dismiss it immediately, “I'm not a fan of heights.”

“A racecar driver?”

“I can't drive.”

The Don stares at you, “But if you could?”

“Don't really care for cars.”

Natasha’s hand falls over her heart, “You wound me.”

You say something. You think it's stupid, but you allow yourself to be honest. “I could probably be a track star.”

Natasha beams with excitement, “A little olympian.”

You correct her, “Nothing about me is little.”

“Larger than life then. One for the history books,” Wanda adds on.

“Your event is obviously racing,” Natasha guesses. “Long distance.”

You lean back a bit into her hold, “I don't think anyone could keep pace for as long as I could.”

“What do you like about running?”

You think about lying, but you don't. “Helps clear my head. At some point all I can think about is putting my foot on the pavement.”

Natasha sees that you're opening up and decides to do the same. “When I was younger. I took ballet. My instructor was strict, almost every instructor for anything in Russia is strict. It was strenuous, painful even at times, but I'd always spend extra hours practicing. Part of me…”

Her voice falters. Wanda is by her side in an instant.

“Felt like the physical pain was easier to carry,” you finish for her.

She swallows, “Exactly.”

“Why'd you stop?”

“Lena wanted to follow in my footsteps. I didn't want her taking the same path as me.”

You give her a small smile, “It's cute how she looks up to you.”

“She'd hate it if she heard you say that.”

Wanda shakes her head, “Your sister adores you.”

Natasha tries to brush it off, “Whatever.”

Wanda turns her attention to you, “When Yelena found out that we were together she hated me.”

“She didn't-”

Wanda silences her with a look, “She literally pulled a gun on me.”

“She thought it was appropriate you are a mob boss!”

“You know how crazy you gotta be to point a gun at a mob boss?” Wanda argues back.

Natasha defends, “She was scared.”

Wanda scoffs, “Oh please. She said she wasn't putting the gun in my back because she wanted to look into my eyes.”

Natasha gasps, turning to you while pointing at her wife, “She literally said that was when she knew that she and Lena would get along.”

Wanda doesn't disagree, “She's like a sister to me.”

“Is she… you know.”

Natasha answers, “No she's not a natural blonde. She dyes her hair. Do not let her tell you any different.”

You stop her, “No… I mean like. Is she a part of the mob?”

“Natasha would not marry me until I gave Lena a part in the family,” Wanda reveals.

“She couldn't do ballet, but let her join the mafia?”

The brunette responds, “Listen, there was no chance I could live my life lying to my sister. The only way I could be a hundred percent honest with her was to fold her into the program.”

“She's damn good at what she does.”

“Am I allowed to ask?”

Wanda ponders, “I think we should wait a bit before telling you. Wouldn't want to scare you away.”

“I don't scare easily Maximoff, Don Maximoff,” you mock the first meeting between the two of you.

“Oh you think you're hilarious don't you?”

The banter continues, the movie long forgotten. You don't know how long you sit with them. All you do is take turns talking. Some things are light, others are not, but everything is authentic.

To you, it's like finding the pieces of a puzzle that you didn't even know you were building. It's a surprise, but a pleasant one if you're up to the task.

Wanda and Natasha made it damn near impossible to not be up to the task.

They knew all the right things to say. When you felt like you overshared they didn't swaddle you. They listened and shared their own vulnerability with you.

You were seeing Wanda and Natasha. Not the Don and the attorney. Peeling back the layers, enough to see everything that makes them human.

“When was the last time you kissed anyone?” Wanda poses.

“Last night,” you answer sarcastically.

“Before that smartass.”

You don't give it much thought, “Long time.”

“Before prison?”

You shake your head, “No.”

This catches Wanda’s attention. “So you fooled around in prison?”

Natasha glares at the woman, “Wanda.”

“It's just a question.”

You stop the argument, “No, I've never… I've kissed yeah, but like prison is not the ideal place to establish those kinds of relationships.”

“Fair, but I'm sure you were popular there. I know I was when I was locked up. I could’ve started a cult with the way they worshipped me,” Wanda says.

You scratch the back of your neck, “Not when I went in, but I guess eventually it was kind of like that. I had a run in with someone who was assumed to be the head huncho. I did what I had to do. After that I got a lot of attention very quickly.”

“Unwanted?”

You answer Natasha, “Of course it was. I wanted to be left alone, but the best way for me to go about that was to assert dominance.”

“And dominance garners attention,” Wanda completes the thought process.

“It does and in there you realize that you're never going to be comfortable. For me it was easier to be uncomfortable but in control than consistently in a state of fear,” you reveal.

Natasha softens as she looks at you, “You think like we think.”

You don't understand her. The look on your face says that much.

“You think in terms of survival,” Wanda fills in the blank.

Your jaw twitches involuntarily. “It's all I know.”

“That's not a bad thing,” Wanda's thumb swipes across your cheek.

You chuckle in disbelief, “I'm always in fight or flight. I don't remember how to relax.”

“We can teach you,” Wanda says.

“You make it sound so easy.”

Wanda moves slowly. You follow her with your eyes. She gives you time to back out, to change your mind, but you make no such movement. She's on top of you, her knees on either side of your legs, straddling you.

Natasha’s hand has glided from your shoulder to the base of your neck. It's a slight motion, but your head tilts up as she guides you to look at her wife.

You feel your heart thrashing against your chest. You're sure they can feel it too. Wanda looks down at you, like a predator trying to assess if they've found a prey.

“It is.”

You swallow hard.

“Just breathe baby,” Natasha’s nails claw at your skin.

A shaky breath tumbles out of your mouth.

“You're such a good listener.”

You hear her speaking, but your focus is on her lips. You already know what it's like to kiss her, but you still ponder about it at this moment. How would the second kiss compare to the first? Would she devour you right here next to Natasha.

“Put your hands on her waist.” Natasha leans in closer, her breath tickles your earlobe.

Your hands move on their own at the dips of Wanda's hip leaving a featherlight impression on her shirt.

“Remember what I told you about wanting things?”

Your tongue shoots out, swiping along your bottom lip. “Yeah.”

“So, what do you want right now?”

The dam breaks then. You find yourself leaning forward, pressing your lips against Wanda’s. The way you surge forward takes the Don by surprise. She lets out a delighted squeal.

She's addicting, that's what the second kiss tells you. That you could do this daily, multiple times a day, presumably until the world stops spinning.

Wanda is the one to pull away first, it makes you grunt. You try to follow her, but Natasha’s grip on your neck stops you. Her hold makes you expose your neck.

Her breath only tickles until her lips meet the side of your neck. They're warm, and certain in their placement. She starts to leave a trail from the base down to your collar bone.

Air sputters out of you in small gasps. You're sure she can feel your pulse jumping on her lips.

“Is this what you want?”

The Don takes your hands and moves them to fit under her shirt. Her bare stomach against your hands has you growing underneath her.

“Feels like it's what you want,” she grinds down in your lap.

A snarky thought crosses your mind but it leaves when Natasha’s tongue swims up your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan as the heat over takes your senses. “Please.”

The red head doesn't hesitate when she kisses you this time. She teases, slow and methodically. You let out a frustrated huff of air as you try to get her to quicken the pace. She responds by poking your lips with her tongue. You open your mouth enough for her tongue to slip in.

You're painfully hard. Wanda keeps rocking in your lap, Natasha’s dominating your lips. All you can do is whine into the kiss as you feel yourself grow unbearably warm. It's almost too much.

It is too much.

“Wait,” you mumble against Natasha’s lips.

Both women stop immediately. The red head runs a hand through your hair, which helps you calm down. “What's wrong?”

“Too much?” Wanda looks at you, expressing something much softer than before.

You want to apologize now that the moment is over. You close your eyes, knowing that you can't look away. “I'm sorry.”

Natasha kisses your forehead. “Don't be sorry. Thank you for stopping us. You're allowed to do things like that.”

You open one eye to peek at Wanda.

The Don smiles, “She's right. Besides, we have time to get to know each other intimately. There's no reason to rush.”

Together their words bring you comfort. You nod slowly trying to regain some of your composure. “I liked it…”

“I can see that sweetheart,” Wanda says, looking down into your lap.

You blush intensely, “It's just that I don't think I'm ready for that, yet.”

“Like we said baby, no rush. You want to go take care of that. Maybe when you come back we can cuddle and finish the movie?” Natasha suggests.

“Let's skip to X2. That one's my favorite.”

Wanda climbs out of your lap allowing you to stand. You can't hide it when you get up. The bulge in your pants is impossible to miss. You feel yourself twitch when you catch the way both women are looking at it.

You clear your throat.

“X2, got it,” Natasha responds.

You walk out of the room in a lighter state than you walked into it. It feels like a preview of what is to come from this relationship.

It can carry a gentle playful aura that passes through all of you or, it can be this wave of tension and arousal. Either way you revel in the feeling.

It's like nothing you've ever experienced and you think that you can settle into the idea of fully opening up to them.

For once you aren't thinking about your case. You aren't worried about going back to prison or the confusion surrounding your father.

The only thoughts circling your mind are of Natasha and Wanda. It's not the first time you think about them, but it is the first time you do it free of guilt.

Taglist: @perfectlyredfox   @somedumbbitches @nebthetautora @digitalsnoww @Ovelvet-mourningo @toe19 @htinha157 @lothecrow @nrlvr @largedawndishso @milflovers4 @lilsmeaux @truthindreams @agentrvmoff @ctrlamira @sevikasoneandonlywife @leenlynn @widowofchaosx @elle161989 @nanou4204 @upsidedowndanvers @kailaspelledwrong @libbyofc @jhb0301 @cps531 @silentwolfsstuff @htaylorsversion @seasonsofchaos @ciaoooooo111 @luckilygrimconduit

[splattynatty1984]

Pretty When You Cry

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

You are tied up. Wanda is having the time of her life.

content: restraints (ropes), vibrator use (bzzz), sadist emo wanda (she loves it), dacryphilia (i felt called out so why not write it)

18+ NSFW oneshot | 3.2k words

ao3

The black rope was Wanda's work, and she was proud of it.

She ran her fingers along the knot at your wrists first. Pressed her thumb along the inside of each loop, checking the tension, making sure the rope held without cutting. It was good rope—thick and smooth, expensive, the kind that kept its shape. Several loops over your crossed wrists. A knot placed exactly where you couldn't reach it. You'd tested that twice. She'd watched you test it both times with the same expression: patient, faintly amused, entirely unsurprised.

She moved to your ankles.

You were on your knees on the bed with your face turned into the pillow. Your ankles were tied to your thighs—folded up and held there, the black rope looped several times over each ankle and up around each thigh. No way to extend your legs. No way to straighten. No way to do anything with your lower body except stay exactly as she'd arranged you.

She checked the ankle knots the same way she'd checked your wrists. Thumb along the inside. A small adjustment to the right one. Then she ran both palms up the backs of your thighs, feeling the tension of the rope, feeling the warmth of your skin under her hands. She took her time with this part. She always took her time with this part.

"Good," she said to herself, satisfied.

She moved up the bed. Her fingers found the rope at your wrists again and she checked it one more time—not because she doubted her work, but because she liked doing it. Liked the feel of it. Liked knowing it was right. Her rings grazed your forearms as she moved and the metal was cool against your skin. She pressed her thumb once more along the inside of the loop.

Perfect.

The gag came last. A clean fold of rope between your teeth, tied at the back of your head with careful hands. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to take your words away completely. You'd made a sound when she put it in place—something between protest and not-protest—and she'd smoothed your hair back from your face and looked at you for one long moment. Dark eyes. The smear of her lipstick already at the corner of her mouth from earlier.

She hadn't said anything. She'd just looked, and she’d been satisfied by what she saw.

Now all you had were sounds.

Wanda sat back on her heels and looked at what she'd made.

She was in her black bra and panties, her dark hair loose in waves around her face. The room was warm and she'd worked up a heat with the ropes—the patient effort of it—and some of her hair was sticking to her cheeks, pressed against her skin. Her eyeliner was sharp at the outer corners. Her dark lipstick was smeared at the corners of her mouth and transferred in dark streaks across your back and shoulders from every time she'd pressed her lips to your skin before the ropes went on. The marks ran from your shoulder blades down toward your spine. She'd made them deliberately. She hadn't been careful and she wasn't sorry.

The pink wand vibrator was tied to your inner thigh.

She'd angled it up and held it in place with the black rope, the head pressed directly against your clit. Your thighs were bound apart by the configuration. No way to press them together, no way to shift the wand's angle or ease its contact. It was tied there. Running. And there was nothing inside your cunt—nothing at all—and Wanda had been watching the way you kept clenching around nothing with an attention that had not wavered once.

She looked at you for a long moment. Taking inventory of everything she'd made. The rope. The wand. The lipstick on your back. Your hands grasping at nothing behind you.

Then she pressed her lips to the center of your back.

Her dark lipstick dragged as she moved down—she wasn't being careful, she'd decided hours ago not to be careful—and she kissed slowly down your spine. Warm mouth against warm skin, deliberate pressure at each vertebra, leaving dark marks in her wake. You shivered. She felt it against her lips and kept going. She kissed to the small of your back and stayed there for a moment, her mouth resting against your skin, feeling the tension held in the muscles beneath.

She moved lower.

She kissed the top of your right asscheek—pale and unmarked, untouched yet—and she did it gently. Barely any pressure at all. The softest possible contact.

You jerked.

A full-body flinch, your hips driving forward with nowhere to go, a muffled cry through the gag that had real shock in it. She lifted her mouth and looked at the dark smear of lipstick she'd left. She looked at it for a moment.

She smiled.

"Oh," she said softly. "Interesting."

She did it again. Same spot. Same gentle press of her lips.

You jerked harder—your hands pulling at the ropes, your back arching off the pillow—and the muffled sound through the gag was higher this time, more desperate, the sound of someone whose body was making decisions without consulting them. The wand shifted fractionally with the movement and you made another sound entirely.

Wanda sat back and looked at you with dark, delighted eyes.

"You are very sensitive," she said pleasantly. "We have barely started and you are already—" She tilted her head, watching your hips make their small involuntary movements. "Like this."

She moved her lips to your other cheek. The same barely-there pressure.

You flinched hard. She felt it and she felt the clench of your cunt around nothing and she watched both happen with the focused attention of someone cataloguing something for future use.

"I am going to enjoy tonight very much," she said. To herself, mainly, as a simple statement of fact.

She sat back and brought her palm down on your left asscheek.

The crack of it filled the room. You cried out through the gag—the sound going up and up—and your hips snapped forward, the wand catching at the new angle, and you produced a second sound that was entirely different from the first. She pressed her palm flat over the heat she'd made. Held it there, feeling the warmth bloom under her hand.

"You clenched," she said. She sounded like she'd confirmed something she'd been wondering about. Her palm rubbed a slow circle. "Every time I do that. Did you know?" Her rings left cool impressions against the heat. "Probably not. You are a little occupied."

She pressed her lips to the spot she'd just struck. She was gentle, tender and loving, and she adored how she could feel you jerk violently at the contrast. The hum she let out was entirely satisfaction.

"Good," she said against your skin. Then she sat back up and brought her palm down on the right side.

Your back arched hard. The rope at your wrists pulled taut. Your fingers spread wide grasping at nothing behind your back and found nothing and kept grasping anyway. She rubbed slow circles over the right cheek, her palm warm and thorough, and then she kissed that spot too—her lips soft against the heat—and felt you try to pull away from the gentleness of it with the same desperation you'd tried to pull away from the impact.

She laughed.

A real laugh, brief and bright, surprised out of her. 

"You cannot decide," she said, delighted. "The hit or the kiss—you do not know which is worse." She ran her palm over both cheeks, feeling the warmth. "I find that very funny. And very useful."

She kept going.

She was methodical, returning to spots that made you make the sounds she liked best. She'd bring her palm down and then immediately follow it with her lips, soft against the heat, and watch you jerk and strain at the contrast. The crease where your thigh met your ass. The tenderest part of your left cheek. She catalogued everything. She was completely unhurried about all of it, stopping occasionally to run her palms over the heat she'd made, occasionally pressing her mouth to your spine above your ass where you were unmarked and feeling you shudder.

"You are turning such a pretty color," she observed at one point, looking at both cheeks with genuine appreciation. "Both sides." She ran her thumb lightly across the left one and felt you clench. "I like this very much. I want to remember this."

She brought her palm down harder—harder than any of the ones before, right at the tenderest spot—and you screamed through the gag, muffled and wrecked. She smoothed her palm over the heat immediately, pressing it in, and felt you tremble under her hand.

"There," she said, satisfied. "There it is."

She placed both hands at your hips.

Both palms, firm, fingers wrapping around the curves of your hipbones. She held you completely still.

You immediately tried to move.

She felt your whole body strain against her grip—your hips pushing forward and back, trying to find any angle with the wand, some relief or more or anything at all—and she held on without giving you any of it. Immovable, without mercy. Her thumbs pressed into the muscle of your hips and she felt every futile push your body made against her hands.

"Oh," she said, like she'd discovered something wonderful.

She could feel everything from here. Every tiny movement against her grip. The strain of your thighs against the ropes. The way your hips kept pushing and finding nothing and pushing again. Her thumbs moved slowly, pressing in, feeling the effort underneath them—the continuous, futile effort of a body that could not stop trying even when trying got it nowhere.

"You cannot stop," she said softly. "Even when you want to." Your hips drove against her grip and she held steady. "Your body has stopped listening to you." Her thumbs pressed in deeper. "It is just asking. Over and over." She watched you clench around nothing again. She felt it from outside your body through the tension of your thighs. "And there is nothing there." A pause. "There will not be anything there until I decide."

She held you there for a long time.

She held you against the wand and felt your body fight her grip, and she talked to you in that low warm voice. She told you what she was watching. She told you that she could feel the clench of you from outside your body and that she found it beautiful. She told you that you were being very good.

She meant all of it.

You started crying and didn’t even realize it.

Your eyes filled, spilling over and soaking into the pillow. A sob came through the gag that was completely real and completely unmanaged, and you didn't have anything left to stop it with.

Wanda felt the change move through you under her hands. The sob moving through your body. The shudder of it.

She released your hips, moving off the bed. You heard her cross the room. You heard her pause. Then she came back and the mattress shifted and she settled somewhere behind you at the foot of the bed.

You knew the sound of her bra coming off. You knew it well by now. The soft snap of the clasp. The shifting as it caught on her pierced nipples. You knew those sounds. And you knew the sound of her panties being pulled down her thighs slowly, teasing you even though you couldn’t even see.

You heard an exhale—long and slow—and the quality of it was different from anything she'd made all evening. Something turned inward. Something that was for herself.

"I want you to hear this," Wanda said. Her voice had dropped a register. Warm in a different way now—the warmth of something she'd stopped managing. "I want you to hear exactly what you have done to me tonight."

You sobbed into the pillow again, the relentless buzzing of the vibrator on your clit driving you close to orgasm but not letting you get it. You realized that the only thing you could do was listen, and that must’ve been her plan all along.

Her hands moved over her own skin. You heard the sound of her palms against herself, the quiet friction, and then the small catch in her breath when she found what she was looking for. Her breasts first. Her hands moving over them, her rings against her own warmth, and then the sharp small sound she made when she found her right nipple—the silver barbell—and rolled it between her fingers.

She made that sound twice. Let you hear it both times.

"So sensitive," she murmured. "They have been like this since before the ropes." Her breathing was already slightly unsteady. "I kept thinking about this while I was tying you. About exactly this." Her thumb moved over the piercing again and she moaned, biting her lip. "Having you here. Like this."

One hand moved lower.

The slick sound of it reached you. Unmistakable. A soft sound as her fingers found her clit and she inhaled sharply.

"Bože," she breathed. God. Low and unbidden.

She held there for a moment. Then her fingers began to move.

"I am so wet," she said. The words came out slightly uneven now—the effort of talking while her fingers worked. "I have been wet since I put the gag in. Since I heard the sound you made." Her fingers worked slow circles and the sound she made had you crying again, your body desperate for anything. "That sound."

She touched her piercing again with her free hand. The sharp inhale. A curse in Sokovian, soft and fervent.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, building her rhythm.

"I keep looking at your back," she said, between shorter breaths. "All my lipstick on you. I did that." Her fingers moved and she made another sound, less managed. "And your ass—" A breath. "Both sides. So red." The slick sound of her hand reaching you clearly from the foot of the bed. "You will feel it tomorrow. Every time you sit. And you will think of tonight. You will think of me. You will—fuck—”

She stopped talking because she didn't have breath for words anymore.

What came through was just sound. The sound of her fingers and her breathing losing their shape together. Small sounds that were entirely hers and entirely unperformed. The rhythm of her hand getting faster. A curse in Sokovian, followed by English, and then everything ragged.

"Ah—"

She shuddered through it quietly. You knew she had cum, could hear her start to settle. 

The room held her silence, just the sound of your cries and the vibrator. 

She came around the side of the bed, phone in hand, and she looked at you—at your face, still turned into the pillow, tear tracks drying on your cheeks, rope gag at your mouth, eyes red—and something warm and deeply satisfied moved across her face.

"I need to remember this," she said.

She crouched beside the bed and brought the phone to your face. She looked at you through the screen and then at you directly and then at the screen again.

"Look at me," she said.

Somehow, you managed to lift your head and look at her. How you did this despite the constant stimulation on your clit and the desperation your body was barely handling, you didn’t have the capacity to question.

The shutter clicked. Of course she had the sound turned up. Just another way for her to let you know she was in control.

She took several of your face—close, the tear tracks and the gag and the wrecked expression—then pulled back for a wider shot. She moved behind you and documented your back: the lipstick marks down your spine, the shape of them, how far they went. She took a close-up of your reddened ass that made her make a quiet sound of satisfaction when she looked at it on the screen. Then she crouched at the foot of the bed.

She took her time here.

She photographed the wand tied against your thigh, the head of it against your clit, the way your thighs were bound apart by the black rope. She photographed the slick that had gathered on your inner thighs. She photographed the way your cunt kept clenching around nothing while the wand ran.

"Beautiful," she said quietly, looking at the screen. "Absolutely beautiful."

She stood and came back to your face.

"Smile," she said, her voice lilted like a song.

A sound came through the gag that was not a smile.

"I know," she said, conversationally. "You are very busy.” She patted your cheek affectionately. “Smile anyway."

She took the picture, looking at it for a long moment. Then she set the phone aside and reached up and untied the gag, drawing the rope carefully from your mouth. She worked the knots at your ankles next, easing your legs flat, running her palms up and down your calves with steady pressure. Your wrists last, the knot releasing, and she brought your arms slowly around to your front and rubbed warmth back into them.

She turned you over.

One hand at your shoulder, one at your hip, and you were on your back looking up at her. She was kneeling over you—fully bare now, her dark hair falling around her face, rings on every finger, the smeared lipstick—and she looked down at your face with an expression that was open in a way she didn't often allow herself to be open.

She reached out and touched your cheek.

Her thumb moved under your eye, along the track a tear had made. She looked at what was on her thumb. Then she leaned down and put her tongue to your cheek and licked—slow, the flat of her tongue dragging from your jaw to the corner of your eye—and when she pulled back the sound she made was low and quiet.

She looked at your face. At what she'd reduced you to.

"Perfect," she breathed.

She sat with that for a moment. Then her hand moved to your inner thigh, adjusting the vibrator.

Your whole body went rigid.

"Wanda—" Your voice was barely a sound. Raw. "Please—I'm done—I can't—"

She looked at you, tilting her head.

"Are you?" She asked softly. She made a cooing noise, something sympathetic, but she pressed her palm flat against your cunt without any care for how you cried again.

The full warm weight of her hand. You were soaked and swollen, impossibly sensitive. She held her palm there and felt you against it—felt the heat of you, felt how wet you were, felt you clench against nothing under her hand.

She leaned down, her lips finding your ear. Her hair fell cool against your jaw. Her voice, when she spoke, was a whisper.

"We are just getting started, darling."

[wandaslovey]

hear me out:

you’re ovulating and during your shower with wanda (she was innocently helping you wash in there) she notices the collection of stringy discharge at your opening when she was washing your body.

when you get out, she says nothing as she towels you off. but once you’re in bed, ready to snuggle with wanda and her wife, you’re slightly disoriented when wanda begins to strip you of the pajamas she just dressed you in. you address her in confusion but she shushes you and tells you to lie back on the bed.

you listen of course and that’s when you see natasha reappear in front of you at the end of the bed. she’s wearing a strap with an 8 inch dildo.

you swallow, calling out to natasha now as she crawls over your body on the bed.

“shhh, baby. daddy’s just giving your pretty cunt what it needs.”

with that, she spreads your legs. wanda lies next to you and strokes along your naked body. she coos and praises you as natasha works the strap slowly inside of you. they both talk you through it—inch by inch.

your gasps and whimpers are muffled as wanda presses her hand over your mouth.

when natasha bottoms out, she stays completely still. her hand that wasn’t holding your legs open draws the softest circles around your clit. it wasn’t enough—but that was on purpose.

your whines get louder against wanda’s hand. you want natasha to move so badly. your cunt clenches around her cock.

wanda kisses your cheek and then your forehead, assuring you that you’re okay.

that’s when natasha pulls out barely an inch. she reaches down and squeezes the base of her faux strap. it’s cum filled.

she squeezes it, effectively filling you up nice and deep. you register the cum spilling inside your womb and it makes your thighs twitch.

natasha eyes burn into yours as you whine and squirm on her strap.

“ohhh, baby—you’re okay.” she soothes, her palm cupping the side of your face.

she stays there for a couple more minutes. when she pulls out, wanda makes quick work of putting your panties back on.

“can’t have you dripping onto the sheets.” she had said. but really it was because they wanted you to be squirming in your wet panties.

you can hardly think about going to sleep at that point. you whined, pleaded and begged for either of them to touch you—please you. you even took turns humping their thighs at two separate times, completely uncaring how pathetic it was.

they didn’t give in. this was simply about filling you up, just like your body wanted.

can you tell i’m currently ovulating?🧍🏻‍♀️

[sapphicsleepywriter]

lick you like a battery

୨ৎroommate!vi x fem!reader

Vi finds it absolutely insane that no one’s ever told you or shown you how pretty you are, so she sets out to show you herself

୨ৎtags/warnings: ❍modern au ❍shy!reader ❍smug!vi ❍gay panic ❍petnames ❍ making out ❍hickeys/marking ❍consent is hot ❍cunnilingus ❍grinding ❍mild oversensitivity ❍men and minors dni

❍a/n: tumblr made me lose the request this was based on 😭

❍wc: 2.8k ❍divider by @pixopix

You’d think that rooming with someone like Vi would bring you a whole host of problems and friction. Because on paper, you and Vi were nothing alike. You were introverted, somewhat studious, and you liked checking off everything on your to-do list. Vi was less by the book. She was extroverted, liked to party most nights, and you can’t recall ever seeing her work on coursework.

If you were prone to judging a book by its cover, you’d probably be afraid of someone like Vi. You’d probably try to stay as far away from her as possible, like you’ve seen so many other people do on campus. But you’ve never been judgmental. And if you were honest, Vi had quickly become one of the coolest people you knew.

You may not have been keen on participating in all the recreational activities that Vi did, but you’ve been known to share a boxed cocktail with her on occasion. And now that the two of you have been living together and getting to know each other for the past couple of months, that also means showing interest in what the other person is into.

You’ve tagged along to support Vi at one of her brawler fights (which had unfortunately been a one-and-done sort of thing because all that violence made you extremely anxious), and Vi would come with you to the library for study sessions, or out to the bookstore when you fancied something new to read.

Long story short, you’ve become pretty good at existing in each other’s space. But one thing you realized about Vi is that she can be a bit of a flirt. And once she’s comfortable with you (and Vi was very comfortable with you), all bets are off.

You hear the familiar sound of the front door unlocking, and you know it would be Vi. The door clicks open, and then you hear those heavy, unmistakable boots against the hardwood floor. Looking up from your textbook, you spot her: a large gym bag slung over her shoulder and her long, unruly hair damp like she’d showered at the gym. She was wearing a black cut-off tank top and sweatpants, her muscular, tatted arms on full display. You feel yourself staring and quickly glance away, a flush staining your neck and cheeks, and your pulse quickening.

“Hey,” you breathe your greeting.

“Hey.” Vi shot you a lopsided smile as she dropped her gym bag into the hallway closet. She’d remembered to put it away, you realize with a traitorous flutter of appreciation in the pit of your stomach.

Vi seems a bit winded still from her workout, but she looks like she’s in a good mood, all things considered.

After disposing of her bag and toeing off her shoes, she ambles into the living room and takes the spot beside you on the cushy sofa. “Studying again? Don’t you ever give that big brain a rest, baby?”

You can feel Vi’s body heat radiating, which you pointedly ignore as you close your textbook and turn to face her. “Well, not all of us can get by with just brawn,” you say playfully. “I need to have something else going for me.”

Vi raises a brow. “You don’t really believe you being smart is your only asset, do you?”

You swallow. “What do you mean?”

Vi smirks. “I mean my eyes work, babe,” as if to illustrate her point, Vi’s eyes sweep appreciatively over your body. “And that’s definitely not the only thing you’ve got going for you.”

Something warm blooms in your stomach. Vi’s effortless flirting was always a curveball. Never felt like something you could properly prepare for, and it put those butterflies right in the center of your stomach every time. Despite your internal panic, you do your best not to let it show on your face, fidgeting with a loose thread on the couch.

“You’re just trying to butter me up. What do you need?” you say, attempting to brush off Vi’s compliment even though it secretly thrilled you.

Vi scoffs impishly, leaning back and draping her arms along the back of the couch. “Can’t a girl compliment her roommate without having some ulterior motive?” she says innocently. “I think you’re cute. There’s no conspiracy behind it. Or are you just not used to being told you’re pretty?” Her tone was lighthearted, but there’s an edge to her eyes. Like she was testing the limits of a boundary.

You feel yourself bristle slightly, even though you knew Vi didn’t mean that to be antagonistic. It was true that you didn’t often receive compliments on your appearance. You were more used to being told you were intelligent or even too quiet. Vi’s words reverberate in your head and send a strange flutter of adrenaline through your body.

“I’m not fishing for compliments,” you retort. “I just know you. You only sweet talk me when you want something.”

Vi tilts her head as if assessing you. “Hey, if I hit a nerve, it wasn’t my intention, baby,” she adds gingerly.

The hint of sincerity in her voice gives you pause and you eye her suspiciously. She was really good at that: bouncing back and forth between teasing and being sweet.

You soften just the slightest bit, realizing just how much your hackles had raised. “It’s fine, sorry,” you mutter. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I just…I don’t know. You’re right. I’m not used to getting compliments like that.”

Vi suddenly sits up straight. “No one tells you stuff like that? That seems like such a waste.”

You shrug sheepishly. “I mean, I get complimented on my brain a lot. But no, you know…not on my looks.” The confession left your mouth before you could stop it.

Vi studies your face for a long, agonizing moment. It’s hard not to squirm under her gaze. “So, no one’s ever told you that the beauty mark next to your eye is really pretty?”

Your eyes widen in surprise at Vi’s observation. You weren’t even sure if anyone’s ever looked at you close enough to even know the placement of your beauty marks, let alone compliment you on them. And yet, there was something oddly sweet about the way Vi had noticed it. “No…” you murmur, looking away from Vi’s gaze. “No one’s ever said that before.”

Vi scoots closer, using her index and middle finger to tip your chin back to face her. “And I bet no one’s ever told you that you have the prettiest doe eyes ever? Givin’ Bambi a run for his money.”

Vi’s touch makes your heart quicken, her touch electric. “No,” you say softly. “No one’s ever said that to me before either.” You wish you could focus on anything else besides how close Vi was to you on the couch now, but you couldn’t.

Vi hums thoughtfully, still holding your chin as she studies your face. Her thumb began tracing soft, featherlight patterns over said beauty mark beside your eye.

“Such a shame,” she murmurs. “A face like yours deserves to be admired.”

Vi’s eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips, and you could feel the tension crackling in the air between you. “And I’m sure I know the answer to this, but…I’m guessing no one’s ever told you that you have a pretty mouth either?”

You inhale sharply as Vi’s hand moves from your chin and her thumb brushes softly against your lower lip.

“No,” you whisper, your reply little more than a breath.

Vi’s eyes bore into yours and you can hear her breathing getting heavier. You couldn’t tear your gaze away and one utterly erotic thought floods your mind: you wanted to suck that thumb into your mouth.

Vi seems to sense your desire, a knowing smirk on her lips as her thumb glides back and forth across your lower lip, deliberately teasing.

“A mouth like this—“ she mumbles. “—so rosy and ripe, like a peach.”

You can feel your body responding to Vi’s words and the way she was touching you. Your shiver is involuntary as your gaze flickers down to her lips. You find yourself leaning closer to her, pulled in by an invisible force.

“…I just find myself wondering what it can do,” Vi’s voice is low now, husky.

Her words cause the skin beneath your ears to heat up, a warmth that crawls up the length of your spine. She’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of her, and her scent is intoxicating like clean skin and cedar cologne and maybe even a hint of salt, and you can’t get enough.

“I-is that so?” You try to keep your voice even, but the huskiness betrays you. “Why don’t you…find out for yourself?”

Vi arches a brow again, a move that you've decided right here and now is very sexy. “Is that permission, baby?” she asks.

You can’t help but let out a small gasp as Vi’s thumb applies gentle pressure against your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open, and you didn’t fight it.

“It’s permission,” you breathe out, your trembling voice giving away just how much you want this. “I want…I want you to find out for yourself.”

It was as if the air had shifted. The tension between the two of you had reached its breaking point and neither of you needed any further invitation.

Vi surges forward, pressing her lips against yours in a heated kiss. Her hands are on you, everywhere, and her fingers, though rough and calloused, feel heavenly against your skin, lighting up every nerve. You moan softly, your hands grasping at the fabric of Vi’s tank top and pulling her closer, your body arching up against hers. Her lips then leave yours and start to trail down your neck.

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to her. Vi nips and sucks at your pulse point, and the sharp sensation causes a heady moan to escape your lips. Vi’s hands slide down your body to grip at your hips.

You could feel yourself being slowly consumed by her, your thoughts muddied by desire. The world around had faded away, leaving only the feeling of Vi’s body against yours and the sound of her ragged breathing.

“Come closer,” she growls, hefting you into her lap.

Your breath catches in your throat but you oblige her request, straddling her lap and wrapping your arms around her neck. You’re suddenly keenly aware of the stark difference between you and Vi. You’re slender where she’s all corded muscle, soft where she’s hard. But you have more than enough curves for her to grip and hold onto. From this position, you’re taller than her and you look down, taking in her flushed cheeks and hungry eyes.

“What have you done, baby?” Vi asks, stroking your hip. “I wanna know where you’re at. What you’re comfortable with,”

You smile. It’s comforting that despite the hunger in Vi’s gaze and the way she’s gripping your hips, she wouldn’t push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with.

You let out a trembling sigh as her fingers dip just beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing it up and exposing your bare skin.

“I’m comfortable with this,” you breathe out. “I’m comfortable with whatever you want to do to me, Vi,”

“And you’re sure?” Vi prompts. “Completely sure?”

“Yes,” you consent softly. “Completely sure. I want you. I need you. Please, Vi,”

Vi nods, placing a lingering kiss in the center of your forehead. And then, she’s guiding you to lie back. You’re gently maneuvered into a reclined position, your head against the armrest. Vi hovers above you, and you’re completely caged in by her muscular frame.

Vi’s gaze rakes over your form, taking in every detail. “You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Vi murmurs, her voice thick with desire.

And then she kisses you, deep long and slow. She pulls back, paying no mind to the trail of saliva that connects your lips as she begins to kiss her way down your body, moving clothes out of the way as she goes.

You arch into Vi’s touch, her lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake as they descend your body. You squirm when her lips and tongue explore the sensitive skin of your stomach, your breath catching in your throat. “Vi, please…”

Vi smiles into the skin of your hip, her hands working away your shorts and underwear without even having to look. You shiver as the air hits your exposed skin.

Vi’s touch is electric as she runs her fingers down your thighs, making your body jolt. You’re helplessly wet, and you writhe beneath her gaze.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” Vi remarks, and when she finally goes down on you—her eyes flicking up to hold your stare while her mouth closes around you—you nearly keen immediately.

You become a wreck beneath her as Vi’s lips envelop you. Her tongue flicks out over your most sensitive parts, knowing just which buttons to push, letting your sounds guide her. And her eyes. Her eyes never leave yours. She holds your gaze despite it all, a smirk playing on her lips as she sees the effect she’s having on you.

“Vi,” you choke out, desperate to cling onto some semblance of control. “You’re driving me insane.”

“That’s kind of the point, gorgeous,” Vi mumbles against you. “I wanna make you fall apart just for me.”

You’ve been reduced to a trembling mess, all coherence gone. You can barely form a sentence, let alone a thought, and the way Vi’s mouth and tongue are working you over has your eyes in danger of rolling back into your head. All you can do is gasp and moan out her name.

“Vi, oh god…please, I can’t…I can’t take much more…”

Vi hums into you, guiding your hips to rock against her face. You try to follow her guidance, your hips instinctively seeking more of the pleasure that she’s giving you. But it’s impossible to think right now let alone coordinate your body. Your mind is completely clouded with the overwhelming feeling of Vi’s mouth and the sight of her eyes watching you with that cocky, self-satisfied expression.

“Vi, I can’t…please…” you plead, your voice breaking.

“You wanna come, baby?”

You’ve never heard those words spoken in such a filthy, guttural voice before. But oh god, they hit you like lightning. “Y-yes, please…” you breathe. “Please, Vi,”

The next thing you know, you’re weightless. You’re floating. There’s a burst of euphoria and your near-animalistic moans filling the air. Your brain is mush, and all you can focus on is the wave after wave of pleasure that washes over you, threatening to drown you in its intensity.

It’s Vi’s mouth on you that slowly tethers you, working you through your climax. It feels like an eternity before you start to come back down, the world slowly swimming back into focus as you start to compose yourself.

You’re a mess, your body covered in a fine layer of sweat, and your chest heaves as you try to regain your breath. And Vi’s there, hovering above you again, the familiar smirk back on her face and her chin glistening. She looks ridiculously pleased with herself.

“That was the single hottest thing I’ve ever experienced,” you breathe.

Vi’s smirk expands. “You pulled the thought right out of my head, gorgeous,”

You return her smirk with a tired smile of your own. You feel worn out and spent, but in the best way possible. “You’re too good at that,” you mumble, trying to summon the energy to sit up. “I’m not sure I can move right now,”

“Then don’t,” Vi rubs your back. “I’ll grab a blanket and we can snuggle up. Watch that crime drama you like.”

You give a grateful smile. “That sounds perfect,” you say.

And so Vi grabs the throw blanket from the opposite end of the couch and slips in behind you, draping the blanket over both your bodies. One strong arm wraps around you while she navigates the remote with her free hand.

You snuggle deeper into her, letting her addictive clean cedar scent fill your nose. Being wrapped up in her strong arms feels unbelievably comfortable. Vi never struck you as the cuddling-after-sex type, but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As Vi selects the next episode of your crime drama, you feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in. Between the intense physical exertion and the blissful aftermath, your eyelids are already starting to feel heavy.

Sensing this, Vi places a kiss to the back of your neck. “Sleep, baby. I’m not goin’ anywhere,”

You manage a hum of acknowledgment, feeling completely boneless and safe in Vi’s arms. “Mmm…promise?” you mumble languidly.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be, babe,” Vi smiles, kissing your neck again and then your shoulder. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[sapphicsleepywriter]

changing the locks on your heart ‘cause you’re bored

ᥫ᭡natasha romanoff x fem!reader

ᥫ᭡summary: You worry that your situation with Natasha has become one-sided, but she’s quick to reassure you of the opposite

ᥫ᭡content: fluff + a dash of comfort; legal age gap; technically stark!reader; gay panic because obviously; soft!nat allegations; a lot of exposition cause i couldn’t help myself; not proofread;

ᥫ᭡a/n: HAPPY PRIDE! 🏳️‍🌈 even though i cancelled my fic girl summer event, this was a draft for it that i’d already finished, so i believe it deserves to be out in the world! i’m still just trying to take my time off writing right now, but i hope you enjoy this fic in the meantime! i hope to be back in the swing of things soon

The summer heat wrapped around the compound like a blanket, sunlight glaring off of the massive pool outside the Avengers Tower. Music drifted faintly from the outdoor speakers set up, Cap and Clint took turns on the grill. You sat curled up in one of the lounge chairs in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, trying very hard to focus on the book in your hands. Trying and failing. Because Natasha lay in the chair beside yours. And Natasha in the summer was unfair.

She wore a black bikini and dark sunglasses, stretched out beneath the sunlight. One arm rested behind her head while the other draped lazily across her stomach. Relaxed Natasha was rare enough. Relaxed Natasha inviting you to spend the day with her? Was like a diamond in the rough.

Earlier that morning, she’d knocked lightly on your bedroom door before leaning against the frame. “Come sit by the pool with me today,” Simple, casual. But your heart had started racing immediately anyway.

Your pull to Natasha, and her pull right back to you, in a word had been miraculous. You’d been a young friend of Tony’s, something of a little sister to the man. You’d come from a troubled, orphaned past and he’d given you a place to stay. Now, you lived at the compound. You helped where you could, with research, mission support, communications, the less flashy stuff. Something else you’d gotten and you weren’t exactly sure how, was Natasha Romanoff’s attention.

You noticed a stark (no pun intended) difference from the looks she gave her other comrades and the looks she gave you. Soft looks were reserved from you, soft tones even more so. And you can’t remember having ever seen Natasha hug the other Avengers, or squeeze their hand, running her thumb along their knuckles. But that was the treatment that you got.

You’d spent your late nights together when neither of you could sleep, just you and Natasha in the kitchen with decaf coffee and deep conversations. Then came the touches. Natasha’s hand on the small of your back. Her knee bumping hours beneath conference tables. Natasha taking and squeezing your hand when she could sense you were overwhelmed with something.

You weren’t sure when it had shifted into something else. Maybe it was when Natasha started kissing you on the cheek when you ended the night. Maybe things had shifted the night she showed up at your room after a nightmare, and you’d held her close, snuggling up until sunrise. More than likely, it was the tennis court incident. God, the tennis court.

You still thought about it constantly. It happened last month after one of Tony’s parties. Too many people, too much noise. You’d barely gotten two words in with Natasha all evening.

Then suddenly, she’d appeared at your side and muttered, “Come with me,”

No explanation. Just Natasha leading you through the compound at midnight, fingers hooked loosely around your wrist. You’d ended up at the outdoor tennis courts under dim floodlights, warm summer air thick around you.

The second that gate clicked shut behind you, Natasha kissed you. Hard. Like she’d been holding herself back all night. You remembered stumbling backward until your spine hit the fence, Natasha crowding impossibly close while her hands framed your face.

You’d laughed breathlessly against her mouth at one point and whispered, “Nat—“

“I know,” she’d murmured before kissing you again. Like she couldn’t stop. Like she didn’t want to. You remembered hoping the moment never ended. And the way Natasha had rested her forehead against yours afterward, your breaths mingling, made you think she felt the same exact way.

So why did you still feel insane about it half the time? Why did every unanswered text make your stomach twist? Why did every mission leave you wondering if Natasha would come back distant again? Why did you feel so deeply while Natasha remained impossible to read? The thoughts followed you everywhere, even now. Especially now. Here you were, spiraling quietly beside her.

Sure, Natasha had been affectionate today. Softer, seeking you out more often. But your brain kept insisting that it was temporary. That eventually Natasha would realize you cared too much.

You turned another page in your book without processing a single word. A moment later, Natasha shifts beside you. You felt her looking before you actually glanced over. Sure enough, her sunglasses had dipped slightly down her nose so she could peer over the frames. Her smile was sleepy and fond and it made your chest squeeze.

“What?” you ask softly.

“Do you know you furrow your brows when you’re trying really hard to concentrate?” Natasha says.

Heat crawls into your face immediately. “I’m not straining myself or anything. I’m just reading. But it’s hot, so yeah, it’s a little hard to focus.”

Natasha snickers and settles back again. You try again to focus on your book, and fail a second time. Because every few minutes, Natasha would glance over at you. And sometimes she’d smile, and sometimes, she’d just look. Like she was just taking you in, admiring your presence. Which somehow made everything worse. Because if Natasha cared, really cared, wouldn’t things feel more certain than this? Wouldn’t you know what you were to her?

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you almost startled when a shadow suddenly crossed your book.

You look up, and Natasha is stood above your chair now, sunlight outlining her hair in coppery gold. God, she was beautiful.

“Wanna get in the water with me?” Natasha asks.

The answer escapes before you can think too hard about sounding eager. “I’d love to.”

Natasha smiles and holds out her hand. Your pulse skips as you take it. Her fingers curl around yours with familiar ease, and she gently tugs you to your feet. The walk to the pool was short, but Natasha never let go.

The concrete heats the soles of your feet while distant laughter echoes around the yard. Natasha stops at the water’s edge beside you. Blue water gleams beneath the afternoon sun.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, Natasha quietly asks, “What’s going on?”

Your stomach drops, but you attempt a smile. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been in your head all day, I can tell.”

Of course she noticed. Natasha noticed everything about you.

“It’s nothing.” You deflect.

Natasha turns fully toward you then. “Hey.” She squeezes your hand once. “Talk to me.”

And maybe it was the heat of the sunlight, or the way she’d looked at you all morning, but suddenly the words were pushing at your throat, too hard to keep inside.

“You ever worry,” you started quietly, staring at the pool water instead of her face, “that maybe you made something bigger in your head than it actually is?”

Your question is met with silence and you immediately regret speaking. Your laugh is nervous and you go for another deflection. “Forget it. That sounds dramatic.”

“Don’t do that.” Natasha says coolly.

You swallow hard. Natasha steps close enough for you to feel her body heat, smell the intoxicating musk of her perfume. “What makes you think this isn’t real to me?”

The question catches you so off guard that you finally look at her. Natasha’s expression had gone soft in that way she only allowed around you. It made your heart stuttered.

“You’re hard to read sometimes,” you admitted.

A flicker of guilt flashes across Natasha’s face and it surprises you. Then, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The gesture was unbearably tender.

“You know why I brought you to the tennis court that night?” she asks quietly.

Heat floods your face once again. You shake your head.

“Because I’d just spent four hours wanting to kiss you,” Natasha murmurs. “And I couldn’t stand pretending otherwise anymore.”

Your breath caught. Natasha’s thumb traces lightly across your cheekbone. “I invite you into my space constantly,” she continues softly. “You’re the first person I look for when I come home from missions. I sleep better with you beside me,” A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “You’ve somehow convinced the world’s greatest spy to willingly talk about her feelings.”

A startled laugh escapes you through the emotion clogging your chest. Natasha steps even closer.

“This isn’t one-sided,” she said firmly. “I’m so incredibly fond of you, y/n,”

Every spiraling thought in your brain seemed to stop in that moment. Natasha looked genuinely offended by the thought of you doubting her feelings for you. And suddenly all those tiny moments over the past few months rearranged themselves differently in your head.

Natasha bringing you coffee exactly how you liked without asking. Her hand finding yours beneath blankets during movie nights. The way she always drifted toward you in crowded rooms. The tennis court. This pool.

You look up at her, searching her eyes. “I’m fond of you too, Natasha,” you reply. “So goddamn fond.”

Natasha’s hands cup your face again and she drags your mouth against hers. You hum at the taste, at the feel of her, your hands wrapping around her waist. Your heart is a ticking metronome in your chest, and in that moment, you know you’re exactly where you need to be. And you’d never doubt Natasha’s feelings for you ever again, even for a minute.

[izbiz3737]

Back to main Masterlist

Pairing: big sister!Natasha X reader

Summary: living under Red Room control for your whole life, your new life begins after Natasha rescues you. At your new school, someone takes an interest in you.

Word count:≈900

Warnings: fluff

Reading time: ≈10 mins

Type: drabble

a/n - if even a single person saw the avengers game reference my life is complete

You hear your fellow classmates complain about school often. How it was so hard, hell on earth, and like a prison and the food sucked and the dress code wasn't good. You had realised quickly that none of them truly experienced hell.

That none of them had ever been forced to physically harm other girls, or wear tight jumpsuits, or have cold food, the bare minimum you could give someone to remain fit and mostly healthy. That none of them had ever only had a total of three or four outfits to wear total, and only three different things to do with their hair.

One thing that was different, was relationships. Friends, romance, even just a teacher-student relationship. Sure, you all considred yourselves sisters within the confines of the Red Room, but at the end of the day it wasn't real. You weren't really sisters by blood, more like bonded through a shared hell-like life. But it was never said out loud, never recognised. You could have it used against you, a vulnerability. Something you have to kill.

Here, though, at this high school in New York, it was different. Girls walked in large groups, chattering down hallways. People kissed, laughed, held hands. They wouldn't last a day in the Red Room.

One girl, you realise, has taken a particular interest in you. She sits with you at lunch, helps with your homework since your learning is a little behind, laughs at anything you say.

So you decided to ask your big sister, who had experienced more of the world than you had. "Nat!" You call loudly, the apartment door clicking behind you.

"In the kitchen," Natasha replies.

You drop your backpack beside the couch and follow her voice. Natasha stands at the counter chopping vegetables, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It still amazes you sometimes; the former Black Widow, one of the deadliest women in the world, making dinner. "School okay?" she asks.

You shrug. "Fine."

Natasha glances over her shoulder immediately. Fine usually meant something was bothering you. "What happened?"

You sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island, swinging your legs slightly. "There is a girl."

The knife stops mid-chop. Natasha slowly looks up. "A girl." You nod. "A problem girl?"

"No."

"A bully?"

"No."

Natasha sets the knife down completely now. "Okay. Tell me about the girl."

You think for a moment. "She sits with me at lunch." Natasha hums. "She helps me with homework." Another hum.

"She laughs at my jokes." Natasha's lips twitch. "Even when they're not funny."

"Maybe you're hilarious."

You ignore that. "She walks with me between classes."

"Mhm."

"She gave me one of her cookies yesterday." Natasha is openly smiling now. "She said she likes spending time with me."

The smile grows. "And?"

You frown. "And what?"

"That's it?"

"Yes."

Natasha stares. You stare back. Then Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"She has a crush on you."

You blink. "A crush?"

"Yes."

You genuinely look confused. "No."

Natasha laughs. "Yes."

"No."

"Y/N."

"She is being friendly."

"She is flirting."

You fold your arms. "I know what friendship looks like."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "You spent your first week at school convinced the librarian was adopting you because she remembered your name."

"She was very nice."

"She worked there."

You huff slightly. The concept still feels strange.

In the Red Room, nobody gave gifts because they liked you. Nobody spent time around you because they wanted to. Everything had a purpose. Everything was a test. A weakness. A weapon. Not... affection. Not because someone simply enjoyed being around you.

Natasha's expression softens immediately when she notices you growing quieter. "Hey."

You look up. "She likes me?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

The question comes out genuinely confused. Natasha pauses.Because that was the real issue. You still didn't understand why anyone would choose you. Not after everything. Not after the Red Room spent years teaching you that love was something people exploited.

"Because you're smart," Natasha says. You immediately make a face. "Because you're funny." You make the same face. "Because you're kind."

"That seems unlikely," you continue. "I've done...not good things."

Natasha's expression softens. "So have I." You look up. "That doesn't mean we're only the worst things we've ever done."

You almost smile. Natasha points a carrot at you. "There it is."

"What?"

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"The reason people like you."

You frown.

Natasha smiles. "You don't even realize you're lovable." The words hit harder than they should. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Natasha reaches over and bumps your shoulder gently. "Do you like her?"

You think about it seriously. "She makes me feel... comfortable." Natasha nods. "She remembers things I tell her." Another nod. "And I like when she sits with me."

The smile on Natasha's face becomes almost impossible to hide. "Congratulations."

"For what?"

"I think you might have a crush too."

Your eyes widen. "Oh." A pause. "Oh no."

Natasha bursts out laughing. "Welcome to being a normal teenager, sestra."

And for once, despite how confusing it all is, the idea doesn't seem quite so terrifying. Because if there was one thing Natasha had taught you since rescuing you from the Red Room, it was that not every feeling was a weakness. Some of them were worth keeping.

[romanovthereal]

My hands are cold, but your lips are warm (natasha x fem!reader)

word count: 1,800ish

warnings: oral (r receiving), kissing, biting, slight argument, lesbian yearning, and they were best friends!

context: failed mission in siberia, both are cold frustrated in shitty cabin in middle of nowhere. natasha and reader are best friends since red room, basically reader is a black widow like natasha and follows all same events. they are partners in SHIELD.

—

When fury said siberian weather conditions were not that bad during this time of the year, he clearly didnt mention this. the wind howled outside of the small cramped cabin that was supposed to be a safe house. everything was freezing cold. snow began covering the windows to the brim, fogging up every way to look outdoors.

only heavy sound that could be heard was the big door slamming open, shaky exhales from utter pain of the cold.

rubbing your ripped fingerless gloves together, trying to warm up at least a bit while thinking about the mission. you turned to natasha, about to start arguing about assignment gone wrong but she beat you to it. shoving frustratedly past you, she sat on a beaten up twin sized bed that was placed in the corner of the small bedroom. with her jaw violently tensing, she looked up at you then threw the broken comms device at your face. still not saying anything.

with a deep sigh, pinching the nose bridge and looking back at her, you took the broken comms device and put it on the small table. sitting down with your back turned, refusing to talk to her as you began taking off your shredded gear. only leaving yourself in the compression long sleeved thermal top and leggings. shit. those bruises hurt bad.

neither of you acknowledged one another for a long time. not the failed mission you were forced to retreat because of lost broken signal. not the tension that has been building up. not even checking each other for injuries like usual.

all your focus was on fixing the comms that you didnt even notice natasha moving. stepping behind your chair, she hesitantly tried to place her rough cold hands on your shoulders, making you jerk away. your head snapped back, looking up at her from your seat. you didnt relax, it looked like you became even more tense. brushing her hands off you sternly, you shooed her off in russian so you could fix the goddamn comms. it looked like you were going to be stuck in the safe house for quite a while.

—

after hours, you finally managed to scrap up a few signals and wires. managing to send a morse code message. all you now had to do was wait, which was not a good thing. it was getting darker outside, snow storm intensified, and it was becoming even colder. you shivered at just thought of it, sighing you finally looked around the cabin.

it wasn’t anything special. dust everywhere, broken closet, walls made out of old oak trees that did nothing to isolate the cold. looking down at the floor, your eyes finally spotted the ginger haired woman who was laying down with a thin ripped blanket covering her body, her head bumped into imitation of a pillow that was made out of her gear clothes. she was wearing just thermal clothing like you.

with a blank face, you took in her expressions. her eyes were clammed shut, eyelashes fluttering as she tried to fight off the shivers from the cold. jaw clenching, hurdling up into herself. pity took over your chest, looking down at your best friends of god knows how many years. you walked over, crawling up to the bed before leaning down to try tug at her. stopping yourself just moments before reaching her, you pulled back and let her be. you wouldn’t want the tension to get worse.

covering yourself with a thin spare blanket, you tried to use military methods that were taught in Red Room to keep the warmth in. it was a hard fight with siberian winter, one you were losing. you werent the only one it seemed. natasha finally let a shiver through, exhaling harshly through cackling teeth, her breath visible in the dark of the room.

giving up, you softened. you couldn’t stay mad at her for long. even if she was a bitch during the mission. she was still your supposed girl best friend and you didnt like seeing her in pain. with a frustrated sigh and a soft noise, you leaned down tugging at her sleeve.

ginger finally turned, acknowledging you. plopping on her elbows, she quirked her eyebrow tiredly. her braid was messy, baby hairs sticking out. yet she still looked beautiful, even in the dark. looking at her like that always made something churn in your lower stomach, bringing heat up your cheeks even in freezing cold. and when you two did act up on it, both of you wanted to keep it casual and not mention it again. it somehow felt different tonight, not just because of the failed mission or the constant tension. something has been changing lately, for a good while in fact.

snapping out of a daze, you scooted towards the wall, making space in the twin bed, petting the spot next to you and looking at her with best soft, warm eyes you could muster. and it always worked on her. she plopped on her knees fully just as you began talking

“come here, draga? its so cold, i need to warm up… please ‘tasha?” the words were raspy coming out of your mouth, little voice crack and accent slipping in. it made natasha look up at you with a strange familiar look in her green eyes. her lips tugged, moving up and dragging the thin blanket with her, she settled next to you.

getting in a comfortable position wasnt an issue for the two of you. you both had too much experience with one another for that. you settled half on top of natasha’s side, leg thrown over her hips, your chest completely smushed up against side of hers and her strong arm. she herself got loose, trying to gain as much warmth as she could, she snuggled her hips up against your inner thigh, pulling you closer to share body warmth. her arm was supporting your back, your face was right against her neck, breathing the sweat and gunpowder in.

staying like that for a while, you managed to get some body warmth but it wasnt enough for this kind of weather. it was never enough with natasha. gripping her bicep with one hand, and side of waist with another, you tried to angle her more towards you. she let out a soft grunt after a moment, gripping your hands away and quickly moving on top of you to cover your body like a human blanket.

her thighs didnt let your hips escape, gripping them tightly she snuggled deeper. letting out another sigh which you responded with a little hitch in the breathing. your chests were smushed together, her face right above yours. you felt her breath hot and quick on your lips, just a little closer and you will meet her halfway.

if natasha’s goal was to make you hot, she did succeed. except now you were hot and bothered, just like her. restless, you squirmed under her, matching her strength but not wanting to fight for dominance. you were submissive in your nature, and you werent going to deny your beautiful control freak best friend of having charge over you.

staring at each other, you analyzed one another’s features. before you knew it, tips of your noses were touching. the next moment, you were making out with her. hot lips pressed against yours, passionately pulling you in. it quickly escalated, she was pinning you down with her hands while her tongue licked and nibbled your bottom lip. asking for the permission in. you subconsciously parted your lips back, letting out a quiet moan at feeling of her saliva and tongue in your own mouth.

the more you kissed, the more hot you got. the earlier freezing cold seemed to never exist as heat took over. trying to grind and strut your hips up, trying to find any relief, you pulled out a sharp grunt from the ginger. she pinned your hips down, not allowing you anywhere and making you whine. you felt her shit eating grin against your neck.

soon enough, she began moving her mouth south. kissing your jaw. focusing on underside of it, she sighed into it, breathing you in before moving onto the neck. then lower. sucking at yours collarbone, then sneaking under your shirt and making your back arch instantly. taking one of your sensitive, already hard nipples in her mouth, warmth enveloped you. you sighed out her name, bringing her other hand up to your other breast.

kisses were getting lower and lower. licking and kissing your tummy muscles, she bit softly around your ribs. lower. licking your hipbones. lower.

the thermal leggings quickly came off, she adjusted your position, getting all up against your thighs. you rested your legs on her shoulders, needy expression coming across your beautiful face. chewing on your lower lip, you looked down at her only to see she was already glancing up. her eyes were filled with animal like hunger as she let her tongue swipe over fabric of your panties.

the teasing was endless. her hot breath hitching over the wet patch on the fabric, nudging her nose up to the sensitive bud through the underwear, gripping and biting all over your inner thighs. it made you ache, hot coiled feeling swarmed your tummy, your hips were raised as you gripped the back of her ginger hair.

she began eating the panties off of you, her warm tongue finally found your needy soaking cunt, making her groan in pleasure of the taste when she lapped up your slit. it made you moan in unison. you were so sweet, she couldve stayed like that forever, but you were getting impatient and overly needy.

lapping up your juices, she focused on the sensitive bundle of nerves. she didnt hesitate or tease anymore. her tongue flicked expert circles on your clit, finding its nervy sensitive spot, making you whimper and moan even louder, jerking your hips into her face, helplessly gripping her hair.

“please… please- oh god yes— nat please”she huffed from down there with a heavy breath when she heard you finally getting vocal. gripping your thighs closer, she watched you while eating you out. wanting to see and memorize every face that her best friend made through the hazes of pleasure she was giving them.

“come on… come on, give it to me” natasha grunted through, her rare accent thickening. strong forearms flexing. you melted at her words, intensifying the warm feeling that pooled through you. you felt yourself getting closer. your vision blurred, the stomach muscles clenching and flexing and your hips violently tried to grind.

“i cant—god i cant, i cant i cant i—“ the words turned into a deep moan of gingers name as white hot pleasure washed over you. your thighs clenched around her head, trapping her in until you rode it out. legs were shaking as you finally came to your mind, breathing out heavily and letting go of her head after she ate all of the essence with deep enjoyment.

after her lapping up your sensitive pussy, natasha smugly sat up, pulling your panties and thermal leggings back on, tucking herself into your side on top of you. sharing a taste of you through a kiss, she murmured

“are you still cold, malyshka?”

[ilovemarvel97]

Marked By You - Series Masterlist

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Wolf Reader

Summary: A broken wolf escapes Hydra’s cage and finds herself face-to-face with the Avengers for the first time.

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Angst, Smut, (18+), Mentions of torture/experimentation (Hydra), Emotional tension.

A/N: I had this idea of Wolf Reader, but I still don’t have any idea how this story will go. The updates for this one will be slow, so just hang tight and enjoy 😉 

Main Masterlist

---

Chapter 1 - The Avengers

Chapter 2 - Imprint

Chapter 3 - Her

Chapter 4 - First Mission

Chapter 5 - Fractured Logic

Chapter 6 - No Way Back

Chapter 7 - Burgers and Red Magic

Chapter 8 - Warmth in the Cold

Chapter 9 - The Red Face Thing

Chapter 10 coming soon

Tag List:

@eco16 || @lattayhottay16 ||  @szenzen || @yotheo || @enad-jadi01 || @redlikewine11 || @redlikewine11 || @destortedparadox-blog || @shootingstars-stuff || @sunalianovna || @naominanuq || @riyaexee || @feensbrujo || @rdfgfv || @sevikasoneandonlywife || @confidant-thoughts || @hapuchika || @lizzie-maximoff || @poppyshuman || @whhyyynottt || @iceyyycapsicle || @sgm616 || @scarletwidowblackwitch || @imogenruidusborn || @boldlyserratedpanda || @crystal-lover-20864 || @artemisarroxvolkov || @eatingouturmomrn || @introvertedcolett || @fotoylaf || @idontliketoread2137 || @kiwiana145 || @azera-zanoras-world || @ackrm || @idontwannabeable || @julieromanoff || @theescarletwitcholsen89 || @maskedguytobi || @sporty-girl-457 || @chickenlittlsblog || @lightywingman || @mk-swan || @mangomango0 || @htaylorsversion || @aeongsoul || @azera-zanoras-world || @kianthegirlkisser || @yearning-ka || @mustangmopar || @idontwannabeable || @panickedbabygay || @helpmeilovewomenahh || @softballgirl2140 || @mrsmothermaximoff || @unsofisticated || @moonxytcn || @ciaoooooo111 || @aurtymcquarty || @pink-venus17 || @toe19 || @marvelousfaithpeace || @jayquery || @jhb0301 || @kgar15 || @siljuskaz || @artemisarroxvolkov || @skz-xii || @aubrea-19 || @lasagna1234 || @ap11vekili || @ap11vekili || @username23345 || @toe19 || @scarly07 || @beggingonmykneesforher || @captaincrunch0987 || @darkangelxoxo || @brocoliisscared || @czechsooth || @brieflyinnersentinel || @nothisismax || 

*Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

[ilovemarvel97]

Marked By You - Chapter 7

Burgers and Red Magic

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Wolf Reader

Summary: Wanda and Y/N continue to follow Nat’s order.

Words: 9,737

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mention of death, Soulmate AU

A/N: I know you all are waiting for this. Hope you enjoy 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

---

Somewhere in Romania

Natasha’s POV

The storage unit smelled like dust, motor oil, and old cardboard.

Natasha nudged the metal door shut behind her with her foot, a plastic grocery bag swinging lightly from her hand. The single fluorescent strip overhead flickered before settling into a steady, tired buzz.

Across the room, Steve and Bucky stood near the center. Between them sat the man they’d grabbed during the escape from the warehouse. He was tied to a metal chair—hands zip-tied behind the backrest, ankles secured, posture rigid but unharmed. His face was tense, eyes darting between the two super soldiers towering over him.

Nat paused a moment, reading the room. No blood. No bruises. Just pressure.

Good.

“Anything?” she asked.

Steve glanced over at her. “No.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “He hasn’t said much.”

The man shifted uncomfortably in the chair but stayed silent.

Nat set the grocery bag down on an overturned crate and began pulling things out—wrapped sandwiches, bottled water, a couple bags of chips. “Good news,” she said dryly. “I brought food.”

She tossed a sandwich toward Bucky. He caught it easily.

Steve took the other.

The man in the chair watched the food like a starving dog.

Nat noticed immediately. She grabbed the last sandwich, unwrapped it slowly, then took a bite while maintaining eye contact with him.

The message landed.

He swallowed.

Steve wiped his hands on a napkin and stepped back a little, giving Nat room. Bucky followed, leaning casually against a support beam—but still close enough that the prisoner knew exactly where he was.

Nat dusted crumbs from her fingers and dragged another crate across the concrete floor. The scrape echoed through the storage space. She sat down in front of the man, elbows resting on her knees. Calm and patient.

“Alright,” she said.

The man tried to hold her gaze. He lasted about three seconds before looking away.

Nat smiled faintly. “Let’s try this again.” She tilted her head slightly. “Who told you we were coming?”

The man said nothing. Not even a shrug.

Just silence.

Nat studied him for a moment, expression unreadable.

Steve leaned against a nearby crate, arms crossed, watching quietly. Bucky stood a few steps behind the chair, metal arm resting loosely at his side. Neither of them intervened.

Nat exhaled softly. “Okay.” She reached down to the holster at her thigh and drew one of her guns in a smooth, practiced motion. The man’s eyes tracked the weapon instantly.

Nat raised the gun slowly. Then aimed it directly at his groin.

The man froze.

For the first time since she’d walked in, he made a sound.

“…What are you doing?”

Nat didn’t answer. She simply watched him.

“You wouldn’t,” he said quickly, trying to recover his confidence. “You’re not gonna—”

The metallic rack of the slide cut him off as Nat chambered a round. The sound echoed sharply through the storage unit.

His confidence vanished. “Wait—”

Nat’s voice remained calm. “I’m going to start counting,” she said.

Both Steve and Bucky didn’t move. Neither of them looked surprised.

“Ten.”

The man swallowed.

“You can’t—”

“Nine.”

His breathing sped up.

“Eight.”

“Okay, okay—”

“Seven.”

His voice cracked. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Six.”

The barrel didn’t waver.

“Five.”

The man started shaking.

“Four.”

“WAIT.”

Nat’s finger rested lightly on the trigger.

“Three.”

“Okay! Okay!”

He leaned forward against the restraints, panic breaking through.

“I’ll talk!”

Nat didn’t lower the gun.

“Two.”

“Someone tipped them off!” he blurted.

Nat stopped counting.

“Go on.”

The man’s breathing was uneven now.

“I don’t know who it was,” he said quickly. “We never got a name.”

Nat’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who gave the order?”

“A handler,” he said. “Remote. Voice only. But he said the intel came from someone who knew your team.”

Steve straightened slightly.

“Define knew,” Nat said quietly.

The man shook his head frantically.

“That’s all I got! I swear!”

Nat kept the gun steady.

“He said the source knew how you operate,” the man rushed on. “Your response times. Your entry patterns. That you’d come after the backup drive.”

Silence settled over the storage unit. Natasha’s eyes hardened slightly. “Then explain something to me,” she said calmly.

The man shifted in the chair.

“Why separate us?”

He didn’t answer.

Nat tilted her head, studying him.

“Why split Wanda and Y/N from us?” she continued. “And why bring thirty men for a retrieval mission?”

Still nothing.

The man stared at the floor.

Nat sighed softly. Then she lifted her gun again and pressed the barrel firmly against his groin.

The reaction was immediate.

“HEY—!”

“Answer the question,” Nat said quietly.

His breathing spiked.

“I—I told you everything—”

Nat pressed the gun harder.

The metal clicked lightly against the chair frame.

“You’re holding back.”

“NO, I—”

Nat’s voice remained calm. “Three seconds.”

The man panicked instantly.

“WAIT!”

Nat didn’t move the gun.

“One—”

“Okay! Okay!”

He leaned forward against the restraints, shaking now.

“They wanted enhanced targets!” he blurted.

Nat’s eyes narrowed. “Which ones.”

“They said if the trap worked we were supposed to split the team and grab whoever we could!”

Bucky straightened slightly behind the chair.

“Who,” Nat repeated.

The man swallowed hard.

“The brief listed priorities,” he said quickly.

Nat pushed the barrel a fraction closer.

“Say them.”

“The Winter Soldier!” he said immediately.

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“And the wolf,” he finished quickly.

Silence fell again. Steve looked at Nat. The man kept talking now, words tumbling out. “They said those two were the priority targets if separation happened! Especially the wolf. That’s why there were so many of us—we were supposed to overwhelm you long enough to isolate the wolf and him!” The man signal to Bucky.

Nat lowered the gun slightly. “Capture,” she said.

The man nodded frantically. “Alive.”

Another heavy silence settled over the storage unit.

Steve’s voice came low. “Why those two?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know! That wasn’t my clearance!”

Nat slowly stepped back. Her mind was already moving through the implications. Separate Y/N and Bucky, and capture them. Someone hadn’t just studied the Avengers. They’d built an operation around their specific weaknesses. And that meant the man had been right about one thing. The source didn’t just know the Avengers.

They knew them very well.

---

Wanda & Y/N’s POV

The next few days became a pattern.

Move.

Disappear.

Move again.

They followed Nat’s instructions exactly. Twenty-four hours in one place—no more. Then gone.

The first motel lasted one night. By morning they were already back on the road. 

A small bus station two towns over. Cash tickets. No questions asked. They sat near the back, backpacks at their feet, heads down. The bus rattled through farmland and sleepy towns while Wanda watched reflections in the windows and Y/N quietly tracked every movement around them.

No Avengers tech.

No powers in public.

No patterns.

Just two travelers moving west.

The second stop was a roadside inn near a truck route. Cheap carpet. Cigarette burns in the dresser. The kind of place where nobody remembered faces.

Y/N checked the room first. Habit. Door frame. Windows. Bathroom vent. Under the bed. Only after she gave a small nod did Wanda close the door.

They slept a little easier that night. Not much.

By the third day they were already crossing state lines.

Gas stations. Diners. Greyhound routes. Rides from strangers who didn’t care who they were as long as they paid for gas.

Y/N drove when they rented cars under fake names Wanda created with careful magic. Wanda navigated and watched the rearview mirror for the same headlights appearing twice.

Every town looked the same. Every night felt temporary.

Somewhere on the fourth evening they stopped at a diner outside a highway junction. The neon sign flickered. Inside smelled like coffee and frying oil. They took the booth closest to the exit.

Y/N automatically slid into the booth seat facing the door.

Wanda noticed. She always noticed.

It had become instinct now—Y/N’s back to the wall, eyes on entrances, every reflection in the diner windows giving her another angle of the room.

The waitress approached with a coffee pot and paused for half a second. Her eyes flicked over Y/N—taking in the height, the broad shoulders, the sharp features. A quick once-over, not hostile. Just… appreciative.

Wanda raised a brow.

The waitress didn’t linger long. She poured their coffee and walked away.

Wanda took a slow sip, pretending she hadn’t seen it. Then she set the mug down.

“Do you think they’re still looking for us?” she asked quietly.

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were already moving around the diner—the trucker at the counter, the couple arguing softly near the window, the cook passing plates through the kitchen window. She catalogued every movement before finally looking back at Wanda.

“Yeah,” she said simply. Honest.

Wanda exhaled slowly.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, lowering her voice. “But we’re moving. Different states. Different routes.”

Her fingers tapped lightly against the coffee mug. “Makes it harder.”

Wanda nodded. Before she could respond, the waitress returned with a small notepad.

“Ready to order?”Her attention went immediately to Y/N. Not subtle about it either.

Wanda noticed. Of course she noticed.

Y/N, meanwhile, was still studying the menu like it required serious analysis. She didn’t even look up.

The waitress shifted her weight slightly, waiting.

Wanda watched the exchange over the rim of her coffee cup, expression carefully neutral.

Y/N finally spoke. “Burger,” she said, still looking at the menu. “Fries.”

The waitress lingered half a second longer than necessary. “Sure thing,” she said, voice a little brighter.

Wanda ordered next. “I’ll take the grilled chicken sandwich.”

The waitress scribbled it down but her attention kept drifting back to Y/N.

Y/N finished scanning the menu, apparently deciding nothing else on it was worth further thought. She closed it and handed it back. Only then did she look up.

Their eyes met briefly as she passed the menu across the table.

The waitress smiled. A wider one this time. “Be right back with that,” she said.

She walked away.

Wanda watched her go.

Then she slowly turned back to Y/N.

“…You have no idea that just happened, do you.”

Y/N frowned faintly. “What happened?”

Wanda leaned back in the booth.

“The waitress.”

Y/N blinked once.

“What about her.”

Wanda studied her for a moment, then shook her head slightly.

“Nothing.”

Wanda reached for her coffee again.

Y/N watched her for a moment, still slightly suspicious, like she knew there was information she was missing but couldn’t identify what it was.

“…Okay,” she said eventually.

The diner hummed around them—silverware clinking, a trucker laughing at something on the small TV above the counter, the steady hiss of the grill from the kitchen.

Y/N picked up her coffee mug but didn’t drink.

Instead she scanned the room again.

Door.

Kitchen exit.

Windows.

Same routine.

After a moment she set the mug down.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said quietly.

Then she glanced at Wanda, expression serious in that automatic, protective way she always had now.

“You okay here?”

Wanda blinked at the question.

They were sitting in a diner in the middle of the afternoon.

Still—She understood why Y/N asked.

“I’ll survive,” Wanda said lightly.

Y/N studied her another second just to be sure. “You’re sure?”

Wanda gave a small smile. “Yes.”

That seemed to satisfy Y/N. “Okay.”

Y/N slid out of the booth, stretching slightly as she stood. The movement drew a couple quick glances from nearby tables—mostly because of her height. She ignored them completely. Her attention stayed on the room as she walked toward the back of the diner where the restroom signs hung above a short hallway.

Wanda watched her go. Then leaned back against the booth seat.

For a few seconds everything felt… normal. Just another roadside diner. Just another quiet stop on the road.

Then the waitress returned with their drinks refilled. And her eyes immediately flicked toward the hallway Y/N had disappeared into.

Wanda noticed that too.

---

The waitress returned a few minutes later balancing two plates. The smell hit the table before the food did—grilled meat, fries, toasted bread.

“Burger and fries,” she said, placing the plate in front of the empty seat.

“Chicken sandwich,” she added, sliding the other plate toward Wanda.

Wanda thanked her quietly, though her eyes flicked briefly toward the hallway again.

Right on cue—Y/N appeared, walking back toward the booth. She slowed when she saw the waitress still standing at the table and stopped a step behind her, waiting patiently so she could sit once the woman moved.

The waitress finished placing the condiments. Then she turned. And immediately walked straight into Y/N.

Not a full collision. Just enough.

“Oh—!” the waitress said, stumbling forward like she’d been surprised.

Wanda saw it perfectly. Too perfectly.

It was deliberate.

Y/N reacted instantly, hands coming up to catch the woman by the arms to steady her before she could fall.

“Sorry,” Y/N said automatically.

The waitress looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, that was my fault,” she said quickly.

But she didn’t step back. Instead, her hands slid up Y/N’s arms where Y/N was holding her. She squeezed lightly at Y/N’s biceps. “Wow,” she laughed softly. “You’re strong.”

Wanda’s chair scraped half an inch against the floor. Her hand had already tightened around the edge of the table.

For a split second she was very close—very close—to standing up and slapping the woman across the diner.

Y/N, meanwhile, looked completely confused. She released the waitress immediately.

“…Sorry,” she repeated, stepping aside so she could pass.

The waitress smiled again, clearly not bothered in the slightest. “No worries.”

Then she walked away toward the counter.

Wanda was still staring at her.

Hard.

Y/N slid back into the booth across from her and reached for the ketchup bottle like nothing unusual had happened.

“…What?” she asked after noticing Wanda’s expression.

Wanda inhaled slowly. Very slowly. She picked up her fork.

“Nothing.” But the word came out tight.

Very tight.

Y/N frowned slightly. “…What’s wrong?”

Wanda didn’t look up from her plate.

“Eat,” she said.

Cold. Flat.

Y/N paused for a second, clearly sensing the shift but not understanding it.

“…Okay.”

She nodded once and picked up her burger.

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Not the comfortable kind they’d had the past few days. This one was stiff and heavy. Y/N ate slowly, occasionally glancing up at Wanda like she was trying to figure out what had changed. Wanda kept her eyes on her food, expression controlled.

When they finished, Y/N reached for the bill before Wanda could.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

Wanda didn’t argue.

The waitress came back a minute later to collect the cash.

Y/N handed it over politely.

“Thanks,” she said.

The waitress smiled again. The same smile.

“Of course.”

Then she did something else.

As she handed back the change, she slipped a small folded piece of paper into Y/N’s hand. And winked.

Wanda saw it. Every second of it.

Y/N blinked down at the paper in confusion.

Before she could even open it—

Wanda snatched it out of her hand.

Y/N startled slightly.

Wanda unfolded it just enough to see the phone number scribbled inside. Her jaw tightened. Without a word, she shoved the paper straight back toward the waitress.

“You dropped this,” Wanda said sharply.

The waitress blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Wanda didn’t wait for a response. She grabbed Y/N’s wrist.

“Come on.”

Y/N barely had time to stand before Wanda was already pulling her toward the diner door. They pushed outside into the cool evening air. Wanda released her hand the second they hit the sidewalk and started walking toward the motel across the road.

Fast.

Y/N stood there for a moment, completely confused. “…Wanda?”

No answer.

Wanda kept walking.

Y/N hurried after her.

“What just happened?” she asked.

Still nothing.

Wanda reached the motel walkway and kept moving toward their room.

Y/N followed a few steps behind, brow furrowed.

“…Did I do something?” she asked finally.

Wanda didn’t stop walking.

And Y/N still had absolutely no idea why Wanda was angry.

---

They reached the motel room in silence.

Wanda pushed the door open harder than necessary and walked inside. The door shut behind them with a sharp click.

Y/N watched her for a second.

Wanda paced once across the small room, still wound tight with irritation.

Before she could start pacing again, Y/N stepped forward and gently caught her hand. Not forceful. Just enough to stop her.

“Wanda,” she said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda turned around sharply.

Her eyes flashed.

“You kept letting that bitch flirt with you,” she snapped.

Y/N blinked. “…What?”

“The waitress,” Wanda continued, words coming faster now. “She kept staring at you and bumping into you and touching you and you just—stood there!”

Y/N looked even more confused. “I didn’t even look at her.”

“That’s not the point!”

The jealousy clouding Wanda’s thoughts pushed the words out before she could stop them.

“You just let her do it!”

Y/N opened her mouth again. “I didn’t—”

Wanda slapped her arm.

Not hard. Just frustrated.

“You’re impossible!”

Y/N stared at her like she was trying to translate a language she didn’t speak.

Wanda kept going.

“You’re smiling at her and letting her grab your arms and taking her stupid number—”

“I didn’t take—”

“You might as well have!”

The room went quiet for half a second.

Wanda’s chest rose and fell quickly. Then the words slipped out.

“You’re my little wolf.”

The moment they left her mouth—She froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Her eyes widened slightly. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

The silence stretched.

Y/N looked at her—

But before she could say anything, Wanda turned abruptly, tripping over her own thoughts. “I’m—” she started, then stopped, clearly flustered. “I’m going to shower.” It came out too fast, too sudden. She didn’t wait for a response. She walked straight to the bathroom, pushed the door open, and slipped inside. The lock clicked.

The room fell quiet.

For a second, Y/N just stood there.

Then she smiled—soft, slow, something warm settling deep in her chest as Wanda’s words replayed in her mind.

You’re my little wolf.

The feeling spread through her, grounding and steady, making everything else go quiet. Mine.

Y/N leaned back against the wall, arms crossing loosely, gaze still fixed on the closed bathroom door. A faint, almost unconscious purr started low in her chest.

“Oh,” she murmured softly.

The sound of the shower turning on filtered through the door. Y/N tilted her head slightly, listening, then pushed herself off the wall and sat on the edge of the bed, still facing the bathroom.

Waiting. Patient. Content.

Because for the first time since all of this started—

She understood.

And she liked it.

---

Wanda’s POV

The moment the door locked, Wanda pressed her back against it and exhaled sharply.

“What is wrong with me,” she muttered under her breath.

The question didn’t go away.

If anything, it got louder.

She turned on the shower too quickly, the pipes rattling in protest before hot water finally rushed through. Steam began to fill the small bathroom, curling against the mirror as Wanda stepped under the spray.

She braced her hands against the tile, head dipping forward.

Jealous.

The word sat heavy in her chest.

No.

That wasn’t right. They were friends. That’s all this was supposed to be.

She had just ended a relationship. Everything was already complicated enough without… this.

So why did it feel like that?

Why did her chest tighten when the waitress touched Y/N?

Why did she want to—God—hit her?

Wanda groaned softly, letting the water run over her face.

“It’s just because it’s us,” she told herself. “We’re on the run. We only have each other right now.”

That had to be it.

Proximity. Stress. Adrenaline.

Not jealousy.

Not anything else.

She straightened, scrubbing her face harder than necessary, frustration building the more she tried to make it make sense.

“I’m not jealous,” she insisted quietly.

But the words didn’t feel convincing.

Her jaw tightened.

She finished the shower quicker than she meant to, movements sharper now, controlled in that way she used when her emotions got too close to the surface.

By the time she dried off and got dressed, her expression was set.

Neutral.

Composed.

Controlled.

She opened the door.

Steam followed her out into the room.

And immediately—Y/N was there.

Close. Too close.

With that soft, bright smile—open, warm, unmistakably happy in a way that hit Wanda straight in the chest.

Like a puppy waiting at the door. Like nothing had happened. Like everything was simple.

Wanda’s stomach flipped, but she shut it down instantly. Her expression cooled. “What?” she said, tone flat.

The shift was immediate.

Sharp.

Deliberate.

Y/N’s smile didn’t disappear—but it faltered, just slightly.

Wanda stepped past her without another word, moving toward the bed like the moment hadn’t mattered.

Like she hadn’t just—

No.

She wasn’t going to think about it.

Not now. Not like this.

---

Y/N’s POV

Y/N blinked as Wanda brushed past her.

The shift was immediate.

Cold and distant.

Wanda didn’t look at her again—just went straight to the bed, pulling the blanket over herself and turning onto her side, back facing the room.

Y/N stood there for a second, confused.

A few minutes ago—

Wanda had said you’re my little wolf, after getting mad that the waitress flirted with Y/N.

She’d been flustered, sure—but there had been something real in it. Something that made Y/N’s chest feel full and steady and right.

Now—

This?

Y/N hesitated, then smiled again—soft, careful—and walked over to the bed.

“Hey,” she said gently. “Do you want to… talk about what happened?”

She kept her voice light.

Not pushing. Just offering.

Because she knew what it was.

Jealousy.

And that—that made her happy.

Not in a smug way. Not in a selfish way. Just… relieved. Because it meant Wanda was starting to feel it too.

Even if she didn’t understand it yet. Even if she didn’t have a name for it.

The imprint didn’t need words.

It just was.

Y/N’s chest warmed at the thought.

But Wanda didn’t turn around. “I don’t want to talk, Y/N.”

The words were cold.

Sharp and final.

Y/N’s smile faltered. “…Okay,” she said quietly.

But Wanda wasn’t done.

“I said I don’t want to talk,” Wanda added, more irritated now, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Just—drop it.”

Then she shifted further away, like she was putting distance between them even on the same bed.

Y/N went still. The warmth in her chest flickered. Confusion took its place.

She stood there beside the bed, unsure what she’d done wrong.

Had she pushed too much?

Misread something?

…Misread everything?

The silence stretched.

Wanda didn’t move. Didn’t look back.

Y/N stayed there for a while, just standing, trying to make sense of it.

Then, slowly, she nodded to herself.

“Okay,” she murmured softly.

Maybe… she was wrong. Maybe Wanda wasn’t ready. Maybe she didn’t understand what she felt yet—or maybe she didn’t feel it at all. The thought stung more than Y/N expected.

She turned away from the bed and headed for the bathroom instead. “I’ll—shower,” she said quietly, though she wasn’t sure Wanda was even listening.

No response.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Inside, Y/N leaned her hands against the sink for a moment, head lowered.

Was she mistaken?

The question lingered, heavier than anything else.

Maybe the imprint… wasn’t something Wanda was ready to know.

Not yet.

So Y/N did the only thing she could think of.

She gave her space.

Let her breathe.

Let her calm down.

Even if it meant standing on the outside of something she felt so deeply, so instinctively—Alone.

---

Unknown POV

The room was silent in the way only places built for control could be. Cold metal. Harsh white light. No windows. No distractions. Only consequence.

“You had them.”

The voice was low. Not raised.

That made it worse.

The subordinate stood rigid in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders locked, every muscle screaming not to move.

“You had the Avengers contained,” the man continued, pacing slowly in a tight circle around him. “You had numbers. You had positioning. You had advance knowledge of their movements.”

A pause.

“You had everything.” The man stopped behind him. “And you still failed.”

The word dropped like a blade.

The subordinate swallowed. “Sir, the operation encountered unexpected—”

A sharp crack echoed—

Not a strike. Not yet.

But the man’s hand slamming against the metal table hard enough to dent it.

“Do not insult me,” he said quietly.

The subordinate froze.

“Do not reduce incompetence to unexpected variables.”

The man moved again, stepping into his line of sight now. His expression was calm—too calm. His eyes, however, were not.

“You knew the wolf would be there,” he said. “You knew the witch would follow her. You knew exactly how the team would respond.”

Another step closer.

“And still… you lost them.”

The subordinate’s voice faltered. “We deployed recovery units immediately. We—”

“You lost the wolf,” the man cut in. The words sharpened. “You lost the primary target.”

The air in the room seemed to tighten.

“And instead of correcting that failure,” he continued, voice dropping further, “you allowed one of your men to be captured.”

A flicker of something dangerous crossed his face.

“They are probably talking to him right now.”

The subordinate’s breathing grew shallow. “We are attempting to contain that breach—”

“It has been,” the man said slowly, each word deliberate, “almost a week.”

A week.

“And you have nothing. No sightings. No trails. No recoveries…Nothing.”

The man stepped back, running a hand slowly across his mouth as if physically restraining something darker.

“They are moving,” he said quietly. “Constant relocation. No patterns. No signals.”

He looked back at the subordinate.

“They are learning.”

A beat.

“And you are not.”

Silence pressed in.

The subordinate forced himself to speak. “We’ve expanded the search grid. Transit hubs, rural motels, highway surveillance—”

“Not enough.”

The words snapped this time. The man’s composure cracked—not outwardly, but in the sharpness of his tone, in the way his hand flexed like he wanted to tear something apart.

“You think this is about the Avengers?” he asked, almost incredulous.

A humorless smile tugged at his lips.

“They are distractions.”

His gaze darkened.

“The wolf is the objective.”

The way he said it—

Not just interest.

Obsession.

“The wolf is essential,” he continued, voice quieter now, but far more dangerous. “Not as a soldier. Not as a weapon.”

He stepped over the spreading blood without looking down.

“As a source.” A slow breath.

“You all keep making the same mistake,” he went on. “You see what she can do and think that is the value.”

His gaze hardened.

“It isn’t.”

He paced once, measured, controlled. “She was born with it,” he said. “Not injected. Not engineered. Not grafted onto a failing host.”

A faint tilt of his head. “Natural integration.”

That word carried weight. Reverence twisted into something clinical. “Do you understand how rare that is?” he asked softly, though there was no answer. “Her physiology didn’t reject it. Didn’t degrade. It stabilized. Adapted. Perfectly.”

His jaw tightened.

“We were going to begin replication.”

A pause.

“The first stage—serum extraction and synthesis—should have been complete by now.”

His fingers flexed once at his side.

“But every attempt since her escape has failed.”

Another step.

“Unstable subjects. Rejection. Collapse within hours.”

His voice dropped further.

“Because we don’t have the original anymore.”

Silence pressed in.

“She is the source,” he said. “Without her, we are guessing.”

A beat.

“And Hydra does not guess.” His eyes flicked once more to the body on the floor. “They let her slip through containment once,” he continued coldly. “Interference from the Avengers.”

Another pause.

“Unacceptable.”

His gaze sharpened.

“And now—after we found her again—after we rebuilt the trail, reestablished surveillance, positioned an entire operation around reacquiring her…”

His voice thinned into something lethal.

“You lost her.”

The words echoed.

Flat. Final.

“She should have been back on a table,” he went on. “Sedated. Contained. Ready for extraction.”

His lips pressed into a hard line.

“Instead, she is out there. Moving. Adapting. Surrounded by variables we cannot control.”

A flicker of anger surfaced again—colder this time, refined into something precise.

“And because of that,” he said quietly, “your failure is not a mistake.”

He turned.

There was already a gun in his hand, pointed directly at the subordinate’s head.

For the first time, the man broke.

“Sir—wait—please,” he stammered, composure shattering instantly. “I can fix this. I’ll find her. I’ll—”

The safety clicked off.

“I’ll do better,” he rushed, voice cracking now. “Just give me another—”

The shot cut him off.

Clean.

The bullet snapped his head back, and he dropped where he stood, body hitting the metal floor with a dull, lifeless thud.

Silence followed.

The smell of gunpowder lingered.

The man didn’t move for a moment, gaze resting on the corpse like he was evaluating the result of an experiment.

Then—

He exhaled slowly.

Calm again. Controlled.

He lowered the gun and turned his head slightly toward the far side of the room.

Another subordinate stood there.

Frozen. Eyes wide. Waiting.

“Clean this up,” the man said, tone almost bored now.

A pause.

Then his gaze sharpened again.

“And listen carefully.”

The subordinate nodded immediately, too fast. “Yes, sir.”

“Bring me the wolf,” he said. “Within a week.”

The weight of it settled instantly.

The subordinate swallowed hard.

“Yes, sir.”

A step forward.

The man’s voice dropped—low, lethal.

“Or you will join him.”

A glance toward the body on the floor. The message didn’t need repeating.

The subordinate nodded again—frantic now. “Understood.”

“Go.”

He didn’t wait. He turned and hurried out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a sharp hiss.

Silence returned.

The man stood alone again. Gun still in hand. Eyes distant. Calculating.

“Run stupid wolf,” he murmured under his breath. “Let’s see how far you make it.”

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda woke suddenly.

Not fully—just enough for her body to shift, mind still caught somewhere between sleep and awareness. She turned slightly on the bed, instinct guiding her more than thought, one hand drifting across the sheets beside her. Her hand searched for the warmth beside her, just to find nothing.

Her eyes snapped open. In an instant, she was upright—heart racing, breath catching as alertness slammed into her system. The room was dim, washed in faint red from the flickering neon outside. Shadows stretched across the walls.

“Y/N—?”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Then she saw her.

On the floor.

Curled beside the bed in her wolf form, massive body tucked in tight, fur rising and falling slowly with steady breaths. Sleeping.

Wanda exhaled sharply, the tension leaving her all at once. Relief flooded through her chest, heavy and immediate.

“…Okay,” she murmured softly.

Her shoulders eased as she leaned back slightly against the headboard, gaze lingering on the familiar shape beside her.

And then—she remembered what happened, the diner, the argument, her voice—sharp, jealous, unfair, the way Y/N had looked at her confused…hurt.

Wanda’s chest tightened.

“I didn’t mean to…” she whispered under her breath.

But she had.

Not the words exactly. But the anger.

The jealousy.

The part of her that didn’t make sense.

Her gaze dropped again to Y/N.

Sleeping on the floor because of her.

Guilt settled in, quiet and heavy.

Slowly, Wanda shifted closer to the edge of the bed. She leaned down, reaching out carefully, fingers sinking into thick fur between Y/N’s ears.

Warm.

Soft.

Familiar.

Y/N stirred faintly at the touch but didn’t wake, only letting out a low, content huff, leaning subtly into Wanda’s hand even in sleep.

That small reaction made something ache in Wanda’s chest.

“…You always do this,” she murmured.

Always close, always there. Even when pushed away.

Her fingers moved gently, slow strokes through the fur, through the fur that now had a different color. The same color of Y/N hair now. Wanda continue to move her fingers through the fur, the motion grounding both of them as Wanda found black spots here and there, making her giggle.

Wanda bury her nose into the fur and the action reminded her of the compound—quiet nights, soft breathing, the steady presence that had become something she relied on without ever admitting it out loud.

Back then, it had been simple. Or at least—it had felt like it. Now everything was… tangled.

Wanda swallowed. Her hand didn’t stop moving.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible.

Y/N’s ear flicked once under her touch. Still asleep.

Wanda hesitated for a moment before she slid off the bed slowly, careful not to startle her. The cold floor barely registered as she moved closer, settling beside Y/N instead of above her.

For a second, she just sat there.

Looking.

Then she leaned in. Carefully. She curled into Y/N’s side, pressing into the warmth of her thick fur, one arm draping over her neck as she tucked herself close.

Y/N reacted instantly—even asleep. Her body shifted just enough to accommodate her, a low, protective rumble vibrating faintly in her chest as she curled slightly around Wanda without waking.

Instinct.

Always instinct.

Wanda closed her eyes, cheek resting against soft fur, breath evening out as the warmth seeped into her.

Safe.

The word came unbidden. Her fingers curled lightly into Y/N’s fur. “…Just for tonight,” she whispered to no one.

But she didn’t move away.

---

Next Morning

Morning came slowly. Not with sunlight—just the soft shift in the air, the faint hum of the motel AC, and the quiet rhythm of something steady beneath her cheek.

Warm.

Wanda stirred, still half asleep, her mind slow to catch up with her body. Her face was buried in something soft—thick, warm, familiar. Her fingers were tangled in it, her legs tucked close, her entire body cocooned in heat. 

She didn’t think. She just… moved closer. A quiet sigh slipped past her lips as she nuzzled in, pressing her face deeper into the fur, seeking more warmth, more comfort. One arm tightened instinctively where it rested, pulling herself in like she belonged there.

For a few seconds, nothing existed beyond that.

Then—

A soft huff.

Warm air brushed against the top of her head as a large muzzle shifted, nudging lightly into her hair.

Wanda stilled. Barely.

Still half-asleep, still not fully pulling away.

A pause.

Then—

Are you feeling better?

The thought was gentle. Careful.

Right there in her mind.

Wanda blinked her eyes open slowly. Reality slipped back into place.

Motel room.

Last night.

The argument.

The way she’d ended up here—

Curled against Y/N. Her breath caught softly. But she didn’t move away.

Not yet.

Instead, she let her hand slide a little further into the fur at Y/N’s chest, fingers curling there as she tilted her head slightly.

“Mm…” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

A small, sleepy nod followed. “…yeah.”

Her lips curved faintly, barely there. “Better.”

Y/N’s nose brushed her hair again—gentler this time. A quiet, satisfied huff followed, the kind that felt like relief more than anything else.

Wanda closed her eyes again for a second. Just one more second.

She shifted slightly, this time aware of what she was doing—but still choosing it—pressing closer into Y/N’s warmth, her forehead resting against soft fur.

“…you’re warm,” she mumbled.

A beat. Then, softer—“Don’t move.”

For a moment, there was only quiet. The steady rise and fall beneath her cheek. The warmth wrapped around her like something solid, something real.

Then, a small shift.

Y/N’s head tilted slightly above her, breath brushing warm against Wanda’s hair.

…You’re not mad anymore?

The thought came softer this time. Careful. Like she was testing the ground before stepping on it.

Wanda’s chest tightened, but she didn’t answer right away. Her fingers curled a little deeper into the fur at Y/N’s chest, grounding herself before she let out a slow breath. “I…” she started, voice still quiet from sleep.

She exhaled. “No,” she admitted softly. “I’m not mad.”

A pause.

“…I wasn’t really mad at you.”

That part felt important.

She shifted slightly, just enough to tilt her face up, though she still didn’t fully pull away. Her cheek brushed along Y/N’s fur as she moved, lingering close.

“I just—” she frowned faintly, searching for the right words. “I didn’t understand what I was feeling.”

Another pause.

Then—

Y/N’s nose nudged her again. Gentler this time.

Okay…Why are you on the floor too?

Wanda blinked. The question caught her off guard. For a second, she just stared—processing—before a small, breathy sound escaped her. Not quite a laugh. More like embarrassment. She glanced down briefly, suddenly very aware of their position.

“…I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” she said at first, a weak excuse.

Then she sighed.

Her fingers resumed their slow movement through Y/N’s fur.

“…I just didn’t like that you were down here alone.”

The honesty slipped out before she could stop it.

She swallowed, gaze softening.

“You always sleep next to me,” she murmured. “And last night… I pushed you away.”

Her hand stilled. “I didn’t like that.”

A quiet beat passed.

Then, softer—“So I came down.”

Wanda let her forehead rest more fully against Y/N’s chest again, eyes half-lidded now.

“…if that’s okay.”

Another small pause.

Then, almost as an afterthought—barely above a whisper—

“I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

The question came almost immediately.

…So you like when I sleep next to you?

Wanda froze. Not physically—she was still tucked against Y/N, still warm, still close—but something inside her stilled completely.

Her breath caught. That… was not a complicated question. It should have been easy.

Yes or no.

Simple.

But her mind didn’t feel simple right now. Her fingers tightened slightly in Y/N’s fur, the motion unconscious.

“I—” She hesitated.

And that hesitation said more than she wanted it to.

Wanda swallowed, eyes dropping for a second before she forced herself to answer.

“…Yes.”

Quiet. Honest. No deflection this time. She shifted slightly, enough to rest her chin more comfortably against Y/N, still not pulling away.

“I do,” she added, softer now. “I sleep better.”

A small pause.

Her lips pressed together faintly before she continued, voice even quieter—“It’s… easier to breathe.”

The admission lingered in the space between them. Wanda let out a slow breath, almost like she was letting something go along with it. Then, as if trying to balance the weight of what she’d just said, she added lightly—“…and you’re warm.”

A faint, sleepy smile tugged at her lips, and she didn’t move away. Didn’t create distance. Didn’t take it back.

If anything—She leaned in just a little more.

They stayed like that for a while.

Quiet. Warm.

No urgency, no danger pressing in—just the steady rhythm of breathing and the soft hum of the room around them.

Y/N didn’t move, careful not to disturb her. But after a moment, her ears flicked slightly, attention shifting just enough for her thoughts to brush against Wanda again.

Where are we going next?

Wanda let out a small hum against her fur, still half-lost in the warmth, not quite ready to leave it behind.

“We should cross the border,” she murmured, voice muffled slightly where her face rested. “Soon.”

Her fingers traced absent patterns into Y/N’s fur as she spoke, slow and lazy.

“If we keep moving west… we can get out of the immediate search radius,” she continued. “Less pressure. Fewer eyes.”

A small pause. Then, softer—“Our next stop should be in Hungary.”

The word lingered, heavier than the rest.

Another country. Further from everything familiar.

Wanda shifted slightly, just enough to glance up without fully pulling away, her expression still soft with sleep.

“Small town,” she added. “Same plan. Cash. No patterns.”

Y/N’s presence remained steady beneath her—solid, listening, processing.

Wanda let her gaze drift for a second before it softened again.

“…but not yet,” she said quietly.

Her fingers curled gently into the fur at Y/N’s chest.

“Just… a few more minutes.”

She settled back down, cheek pressing into warmth again.

Because for now—This was enough.

---

A few hours later, they were on the road.

The motel was behind them—already fading into something distant and unimportant. Now, it was just asphalt stretching into nothing. Open land.

Y/N drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward. The car moved along a worn road that slowly gave way to something rougher, less defined. Dry terrain stretched endlessly on either side, broken only by scattered trees and low hills in the distance.

No traffic.

No signs.

No cameras.

Exactly what they needed.

Wanda sat in the passenger seat, her elbow resting against the door, fingers loosely curled near her chin. She watched the landscape pass by in silence for a while, the quiet settling between them in a way that no longer felt strange. Just… shared. They were taking a route that avoided everything official. No checkpoints. No records. Just empty land and instinct.

After a while, Wanda shifted slightly, glancing at Y/N.

“You’ve been really quiet,” she said softly.

Y/N’s lips twitched faintly. “I’m driving.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

A small huff of amusement.

Silence stretched again—but this time, it felt different. Not empty. Just… waiting.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, studying her profile.

“…Can I ask you something?”

Y/N glanced at her briefly, then back to the road. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Wanda hesitated—not because she didn’t want to ask, but because she realized she didn’t actually know the answer.

“What were you like… before all of this?” she asked quietly. “Before Hydra. Before the Avengers.”

Y/N stilled slightly.

Just a fraction.

Then—she exhaled.

“I lived in a small place,” she said after a moment. “Far from cities. Mostly forest. Mountains not too far off.” Her voice was calm. Not distant. Just… remembering. “My mom liked it that way,” she continued. “She said it was quieter. Safer.”

Wanda listened, eyes softening.

“She was…” Y/N paused, searching. “…gentle. Really gentle. But not weak.” A faint smile touched her lips. “She had this way of making everything feel… calm. Like nothing bad could touch you if she was there.”

Wanda’s chest tightened slightly. “And your dad?” she asked softly.

Y/N’s grip on the wheel shifted—not tense, just grounding. “He was strong,” she said. “Not just physically. Just… steady. You always knew where you stood with him.”

A small pause.

“He’s the one who taught me about the wolf.”

That caught Wanda’s attention. She turned slightly in her seat.

“You knew about it?” she asked.

Y/N nodded once.

“Yeah.”

Another quiet breath.

“It runs in my family,” she explained. “Not everyone has it—but it’s there. Generations back.”

Her eyes stayed on the road, but her voice softened just a little. “He started teaching me when I was young. How to control it. How to listen to it without letting it take over.”

Wanda’s fingers stilled in her lap. “…So you weren’t afraid of it?” she asked.

Y/N shook her head faintly.

“No.”

A beat.

“I was taught not to be.”

Another pause.

“He used to say it wasn’t something to fight,” she added. “It’s part of you. If you treat it like an enemy, it becomes one.”

Wanda let that sink in. It sounded… nothing like the files. Nothing like Hydra.

Her voice came quieter now. “They sounded… good.”

Y/N nodded once.

“They were.”

Simple.

Certain.

Wanda swallowed, gaze drifting out the window for a second before returning to her. For a moment, she thought that was the end of it—but Y/N spoke again.

“It was peaceful,” she said quietly. “For a long time… until Hydra found us.”

The shift was immediate. Not louder, not sharper—just heavier. Wanda stilled, her fingers curling slightly in her lap as Y/N kept her eyes on the road, expression steady.

“They didn’t come subtle,” Y/N continued. “No warning. No negotiation. They came prepared.” She exhaled slowly. “My parents fought. They didn’t hesitate. They knew what Hydra wanted the second they saw them.”

Wanda’s chest tightened. “…What happened?”

Y/N’s grip on the wheel shifted just slightly. “They told me to run. My dad—he didn’t explain. Just told me to shift and go.” A small pause. “So I did. I didn’t want to… but I listened.”

Her voice stayed calm, but something underneath it pressed harder.

“I ran into the forest. As fast as I could. Didn’t look back.” A breath. “But I heard it anyway.”

Wanda’s throat closed.

“The gunshots.”

Silence filled the car.

“They bought me time,” Y/N continued, quieter now. “That’s all it was supposed to be. But Hydra wasn’t just after them. They tracked me. They had teams already set up, equipment, vehicles… I was faster, but I was still a kid. I didn’t know how to hide yet.”

The road stretched endlessly ahead.

“They caught me before I made it out of the forest.”

The words landed simply. No anger. No dramatics. Just truth.

Wanda stared at her. “…You were alone.”

Y/N nodded once. “Yeah.”

Silence settled again—thicker this time.

“…I’m sorry,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N glanced at her briefly, just for a second. “…Me too.”

Wanda didn’t think before she moved. Her hand came to rest lightly on Y/N’s arm where it held the wheel. Y/N stilled at the contact—but didn’t pull away.

The car kept moving.

And neither of them spoke again for a while.

The car kept moving, tires crunching softly over uneven ground as the landscape stretched wide and empty around them. Wanda didn’t pull her hand away. For a while, she just let it rest there, feeling the steady strength beneath her palm, grounding herself in something real after everything Y/N had just said.

After a moment, she spoke again—quieter this time.

“…Can I ask you something else?”

Y/N glanced at her briefly. “Yeah.”

Wanda hesitated, choosing her words more carefully now.

“Your wolf,” she said. “What is it… exactly?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her gaze stayed forward, but Wanda saw the way her shoulders shifted slightly—not tense, just thoughtful. “It’s not separate,” Y/N said after a moment. “Not like… another personality or something.”

Wanda listened closely.

“It’s me,” Y/N continued. “Just… more.”

A small pause.

“More instinct. More awareness. Everything is sharper—sounds, scent, movement. Emotions too.”

Wanda’s fingers stilled slightly against her arm.

“…Is that why you always know when something’s wrong?” she asked.

Y/N huffed faintly. “Partly.”

Another beat.

“I can hear things before they happen sometimes. Not literally—but changes. Heartbeats, breathing, tension. It tells me when something’s off.”

Wanda thought about that. About the way Y/N always reacted just a second faster than everyone else. The way she always seemed to know.

“…And control?” Wanda asked softly. “You never lose it.”

Y/N shook her head slightly. “I was taught not to.”

A pause.

“My dad made sure of that.” Her voice softened just a fraction at the mention. “It’s not about suppressing it. It’s about… working with it. If I try to force it down, it pushes back harder.”

Wanda nodded slowly. “That’s why Hydra couldn’t control you,” she murmured.

Y/N’s jaw tightened faintly. “They tried,” she said simply.

Wanda didn’t miss that. “…Does it ever feel like too much?” she asked after a moment. “Feeling everything that strongly?”

Y/N thought about it. “…Sometimes,” she admitted. “But not in the way you think.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly.

“How?”

Y/N glanced at her again—longer this time.

“It’s harder to ignore things,” she said. “Feelings. People. You can’t just… shut it off.”

Wanda’s breath caught slightly. Because that sounded familiar. “…That sounds exhausting,” she said quietly.

Y/N gave a small shrug. “It can be.”

A pause.

“But it also makes things… clearer.”

Wanda studied her for a second.

“Clearer how?”

Y/N looked back at the road. “…You know what matters,” she said.

The words settled between them. Wanda didn’t respond right away. Her hand was still resting on Y/N’s arm.

And for some reason—she didn’t want to move it.

---

About an hour later, the road began to thin out. Less pavement. More dirt. Fewer signs of anything human. Y/N slowed the car gradually, eyes scanning the area—not just what was visible, but everything beyond it. Her head tilted slightly, senses stretching outward, listening for anything out of place.

“Here,” she said quietly.

The car rolled to a stop just off the side of the road, half-hidden by dry brush and uneven terrain. The engine idled for a second—then Y/N turned it off. Silence settled immediately. No other cars. No distant engines. Just wind moving through dry grass.

Wanda unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, glancing around as she opened the door. The air outside was cooler, carrying that empty, untouched feeling that meant no one had passed through here recently.

Y/N stepped out on her side, already scanning.

“We don’t take it any further,” she said. “Too easy to track.”

Wanda nodded. “Agreed.”

They moved quickly but without panic, grabbing what they needed from the back—two backpacks, water, basic supplies. Nothing excessive. Nothing that would slow them down.

Wanda glanced at the car one last time and closed the door gently, then stepped back.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, eyes already shifting toward the terrain ahead—rough land, uneven paths, and no clear direction unless you knew how to read it.

Wanda followed her gaze.

“Which way?”

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. She crouched slightly, brushing her fingers against the ground, then lifted her head, inhaling deeply. Her eyes narrowed just a fraction as she mapped out the space around them—distance, elevation, possible routes. Then she stood.

“West,” she said.

Wanda nodded once.

No map. No GPS. Just trust.

They started walking.

The further they moved from the road, the quieter everything became. No tire tracks. No clear paths. Just open land stretching ahead, forcing them to rely on instinct instead of direction signs.

Wanda adjusted her pace to match Y/N’s as they kept moving further from anything that could find them. And closer—To whatever came next.

---

Hours Later

They had been walking for hours.

The road was long gone behind them, swallowed by distance and darkness. What little light remained had faded completely, leaving only the dim outline of trees and the faint glow of the sky above to guide them.

By the time they reached the woods, Wanda’s legs ached and her steps had slowed—not enough to stop them, but enough that Y/N noticed.

They moved deeper between the trees, branches brushing past, the ground uneven beneath their feet. The air grew cooler, quieter. The kind of quiet that felt like it was listening back.

After another stretch of silence, Y/N spoke.

“We should move faster.”

Wanda glanced at her. “You’re thinking the same thing.”

Y/N nodded once. “If we cross while it’s still dark, we lower the chances of anyone picking us up.”

Wanda didn’t argue. “Do it,” she said.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She stepped slightly ahead, setting her bag down and rolling her shoulders once. Then the shift came—controlled, fluid. Bone reshaped beneath skin, muscles expanding, fur cascading outward as her form grew, stretched, transformed. Seconds later, the wolf stood where she had been.

Massive.Powerful. Golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

Wanda didn’t waste time. She stepped forward, fingers finding familiar purchase in thick fur as she climbed onto Y/N’s back. The wolf adjusted instantly, lowering just enough to steady her before rising again, muscles coiling beneath her like restrained energy.

Hold on, Y/N thought, steady and clear.

Wanda tightened her grip. “I’m good,” she murmured.

And then—Y/N moved.

She didn’t just run.

She launched.

The forest blurred around them as she sprinted through the trees, paws hitting the ground in powerful, silent strides. Branches whipped past, shadows breaking and reforming with every movement, but Y/N didn’t falter.

She navigated effortlessly. Roots. Rocks. Uneven ground—none of it slowed her.

Wanda leaned closer instinctively, one hand buried deep in fur, the other braced as the wind rushed past her face. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from the sheer speed of it.

Freedom.

That’s what it felt like.

Y/N cut through the forest like she belonged to it—like the terrain itself bent to her will.

The forest began to thin. Not completely—but enough that the air shifted, that subtle warning Y/N always seemed to feel before anything became visible. Her pace slowed slightly. Then she stopped.

Wanda felt it immediately and leaned forward a fraction. “What is it?”

Y/N’s ears angled forward, body still as she listened.

Patrol, she said. Ahead. Two… no—three. Rotating along a fence line.

Wanda’s focus sharpened instantly. She lifted her head, but all she could see through the dark were shadows and open ground beyond the trees.

“…Border?” she asked.

Yeah.

A beat.

Wanda exhaled slowly, mind already shifting—not planning steps, just… reaching for that familiar current inside her.

“Wait for them to move,” she said. “I’ll handle it.”

Y/N shifted her weight slightly beneath her. You want me to jump it?

Wanda shook her head. “No. Too visible.”

Her fingers curled into the fur at Y/N’s neck. “I’ll lift us,” she murmured. “Higher than their sightline.”

A pause.

“And I’ll keep us hidden.”

Y/N didn’t question it.

Okay.

She lowered herself slightly. Go down.

Wanda slid off her back, boots hitting the ground softly. The cold air brushed against her as she stepped aside, giving Y/N space.

The shift came quickly—controlled, quiet. Fur receded, bones reshaping until Y/N stood there again in her human form, breathing steady, eyes fixed toward the patrol.

Wanda stepped closer. She raised her hand and the red energy was already there—low, steady, humming beneath her skin. Scarlet bled softly into the air around them. It wrapped around Y/N first, then around herself, bending light, softening edges, pulling them out of sight.

The ground fell away as Wanda’s power carried them upward, smooth and weightless. The trees dropped beneath them, the fence line coming into view—a stark barrier cutting across the land. Patrol lights swept lazily across it, three figures moving along their route, unaware.

Wanda held steady, her focus narrowing.

“Now,” she whispered.

They drifted forward, over the fence and above the patrol. Close enough to hear them talking—something mundane, careless. One of them laughed. They had no idea.

Wanda didn’t lower them. Not until they were well past the perimeter. Only then did she ease them down, letting their feet touch the ground far from the border.

Wanda exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly as the effort caught up with her.

“…Okay,” she murmured. “That worked.”

Y/N looked at her for a second—really looked—then nodded.

“Yeah. It did.”

A brief pause.

Then, softer—

“Thank you.”

Before Wanda could respond—

Y/N stepped forward and lifted her effortlessly. One arm under her knees, the other supporting her back.

Wanda blinked, startled. “What—?”

Y/N adjusted her hold slightly, secure, steady.

“I know you’re tired,” she said simply.

Wanda opened her mouth to argue—

Then stopped.

Because she was. Hours of walking. Uneven ground. Constant awareness. The kind of exhaustion that settled into muscles and bones, quiet but persistent. The kind that didn’t announce itself until you finally stopped moving.

Her shoulders eased just slightly as she let herself sink into Y/N’s hold.

“…We’ve been walking for hours,” she admitted under her breath, almost like she was justifying it.

Y/N didn’t answer.

She just adjusted her grip—subtle, careful—so Wanda was more comfortable against her, one arm secure beneath her knees, the other steady at her back.

Wanda let her head tilt slightly, resting near Y/N’s shoulder.

The night air brushed past them as Y/N moved, steady and unrelenting, her pace unbroken even with Wanda in her arms.

“You don’t get tired, do you?” Wanda murmured after a moment.

A faint huff.

“I do,” Y/N said. “Just not like this.”

Wanda glanced up at her briefly, studying the way she moved—controlled, efficient, like her body was built for endurance.

“…Show off,” she muttered.

Y/N’s lips twitched faintly.

Silence settled again—but softer now.

Wanda’s grip on her shirt loosened slightly as her body relaxed despite herself. Her eyes drifted half-closed, the steady motion, the warmth, the quiet rhythm of Y/N’s breathing grounding her in a way she didn’t question anymore.

“You can tell me if I’m heavy,” she added sleepily.

Y/N didn’t even hesitate.

“You’re not.”

A beat.

“Not even close.”

Wanda hummed softly, too tired to argue, too comfortable to care. She shifted just slightly closer, and let Y/N carry her forward.

---

When Wanda woke again, it was slow.

No panic.

No sharp inhale.

Just warmth.

Soft.

Everywhere.

Her body felt heavy in that comfortable, sinking way—like she’d been asleep for longer than she realized. For a moment, she didn’t open her eyes. She just… stayed there, letting the feeling settle. Warmth at her back. A steady arm around her waist. Another resting just beneath her head.

Her breath caught—just slightly. Then her eyes opened.

Dim light filtered through thin curtains. A ceiling she didn’t recognize. A faint hum of an air conditioner.

Motel. Again.

Memory slipped back into place.

The forest.

The border.

Y/N carrying her—

Wanda went still.

Because—

Y/N was still holding her.

Wrapped around her from behind, body pressed close, arms secure but not tight—just enough. A quiet, protective hold. The blanket pulled over both of them, trapping warmth between them. Too much warmth.

Wanda’s cheeks flushed instantly. Her heart picked up—just a little. She became very aware of everything.

How close they were.

How Y/N’s breath brushed lightly against the back of her neck.

How solid she felt behind her.

How easy it would be to move away.

She didn’t.

Instead—

She shifted. Just a little closer.

Her back pressing more fully into Y/N’s chest, fitting into the space like it had always been meant for her.

The arms around her tightened instinctively in response—even in sleep. A soft, unconscious reaction.

Wanda swallowed.

Her fingers curled lightly into the blanket.

“…warm,” she murmured under her breath.

The word was barely audible.

But it wasn’t just the temperature.

Her eyes drifted closed again. The embarrassment didn’t leave—but it softened, melting into something quieter. Something she didn’t question as much as she should.

Safe.

That word again.

She exhaled slowly, letting her body relax completely this time, sinking back into the warmth behind her.

Just for a little longer. Just for now. 

And with that—Wanda let herself fall back asleep.

---

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[ilovemarvel97]

Marked By You - Chapter 6

No Way Back

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Wolf Reader

Summary: It’s been a month since Wanda broke up with Vision. Things were going well until it wasn’t…

Words: 10k+

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Soulmate AU

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

---

The days after Wanda broke up with Vision were… tense.

At first, the compound felt like it was holding its breath. Vision moved through the halls with his usual precision, but something colder sat beneath his calm now. He spoke little unless necessary, and when he did, his tone was clipped and professional.

Wanda kept her distance.

If they crossed paths, the silence between them was heavy enough that even the others noticed. Steve attempted to mediate once, but Wanda shut the conversation down gently.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” she told him.

And Steve respected that.

Y/N Tries to Stay Away

For the first few days after the fight, Y/N tried to give Wanda space. She volunteered for missions, patrols, recon assignments—anything that kept her out of the compound for long stretches.

But the imprint didn’t care about her intentions.

No matter how long she stayed away, she could still feel Wanda. Not physically, not exactly, but the pull was constant—like gravity, like a compass needle that refused to point anywhere else.

She would find herself drifting toward Wanda’s floor of the compound without realizing it, pausing outside the hallway and turning back before she reached the door.

It was exhausting.

Nat noticed almost immediately.

“You’re pacing,” Nat said one evening in the training room.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You circle the same hallway three times a night,” Nat replied casually, stretching her shoulders. “Like a wolf guarding territory.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Nat studied her for a moment.

“…Ah,” she said quietly.

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

Nat raised both hands in surrender. “Didn’t say anything.”

Wanda Notices Too

Wanda noticed something was different.

Y/N wasn’t avoiding her—not really—but she kept a careful distance. When they were in the same room, Y/N was attentive without hovering, quiet without disappearing.

And yet Wanda always felt… watched.

Not in a threatening way.

More like a presence.

Like someone making sure she was safe without stepping into her space.

Once, Wanda woke up in the middle of the night and stepped into the hallway for water. Down at the far end, Y/N sat against the wall outside the stairwell, half asleep in wolf form.

Guarding.

When Y/N realized Wanda had seen her, she stood immediately and muttered something about “fresh air” before disappearing outside.

Wanda didn’t comment.

But she didn’t forget.

---

The rest of the Avengers adjusted to the new dynamic slowly. Vision worked mostly with Steve and Tony on strategy and planning, while Y/N spent more time training with Nat, Bucky, and Sam. Wanda floated between both groups depending on the day.

No one said anything outright—but the fracture inside the team was obvious.

Only Nat occasionally poked at it.

One afternoon in the gym, she tossed Wanda a towel. “You know the big wolf practically orbits you, right?” Nat said casually.

Wanda frowned. “She doesn’t.”

Nat just hummed.

---

Despite everything, Y/N still gravitated toward Wanda without realizing it. Not deliberately—just instinct. After a mission where Wanda pushed herself too hard, Y/N silently placed a protein bar and water beside her before walking away.

Another night, Wanda fell asleep reading on the couch. The compound had gone quiet hours ago, the lights in the common room dim, the television still playing some muted documentary no one had been watching. Wanda had curled into the corner of the couch with a book in her hands, intending to read a few pages before bed. She never made it past the third chapter.

Y/N noticed first. She had been sitting on the floor near the window, pretending to scroll through something on her phone while actually listening to the steady rhythm of Wanda’s breathing. The moment it deepened—slow and even—she glanced over.

Wanda was asleep.

The book had slipped halfway down her chest, fingers still loosely holding the edge of the page. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, rising and falling gently with each breath.

Y/N stared for a long moment, then sighed softly. “…You’re going to wreck your neck like that,” she murmured under her breath.

Carefully, she stood. The movement was quiet, deliberate. She approached the couch like she was stepping into fragile territory.

“Wanda,” Y/N said gently, nudging the book away.

No response.

Her eyes softened. “Alright,” she muttered.

With slow, careful movements, Y/N slid one arm beneath Wanda’s knees and the other around her back. She lifted her easily. Wanda stirred faintly but didn’t wake, her head instinctively settling against Y/N’s shoulder. The warmth of her breath brushed Y/N’s neck.

Y/N’s steps slowed for a fraction of a second. The imprint tugged hard in her chest.

Steady, she reminded herself.

She carried Wanda down the hallway, careful not to bump the doorframe as she nudged it open with her foot. The room was dim, the soft glow of the bedside lamp the only light. Y/N crossed the room and lowered her gently onto the mattress.

She was just about to pull her hands away—

When Wanda moved.

Her eyes opened halfway, hazy with sleep. Before Y/N could step back, Wanda’s hands lifted and curled loosely around the back of Y/N’s neck, stopping her from pulling away.

“Stay,” Wanda murmured sleepily.

Y/N froze. Her breath caught.

“Wanda…” she said quietly, unsure.

Wanda blinked a few times, waking a little more. Her hands were still resting behind Y/N’s neck, fingers loosely threaded in the short hair there.

“You’re leaving again,” Wanda said softly.

Y/N hesitated. “…You were asleep.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Wanda studied her face now, more awake, the sleep fading slowly from her expression. There was something searching in her gaze.

“Why are you being distant?” she asked quietly.

The question hit harder than Y/N expected. Her shoulders tensed slightly.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Wanda replied gently. “You don’t sit next to me anymore. You leave rooms early. You keep volunteering for missions.”

Y/N swallowed. Her eyes dropped briefly to the mattress beside Wanda before lifting again.

“…Because it feels like it’s my fault,” she admitted.

Wanda frowned slightly. “What is?”

“You and Vision,” Y/N said, voice quieter now. “Breaking up.”

The words hung heavy between them.

Wanda stared at her for a moment. “Y/N,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Y/N continued quickly. “I know I made things complicated. I kept showing up, sleeping outside your door, being around all the time—”

“Hey,” Wanda interrupted gently.

Her hands tightened slightly behind Y/N’s neck, keeping her from pulling away.

“I already told you,” Wanda said, her voice steady despite the softness of it. “You were not the reason.”

Y/N shook her head faintly. “It didn’t help.”

“Maybe not,” Wanda admitted. “But the decision was mine.”

Her thumb brushed lightly against the back of Y/N’s neck without her realizing it.

“I didn’t break up with him because of you,” Wanda continued. “I broke up with him because he didn’t trust me.”

Y/N held her gaze, conflicted.

Wanda sighed softly. “You listen to me,” she added. “You respect my boundaries. When I ask you to stop, you stop.” Her eyes softened. “That matters.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

For a moment neither of them moved.

Then Wanda shifted slightly on the bed, still holding Y/N loosely. “You’re not allowed to disappear because you think you ruined my life,” she added quietly.

A faint, surprised huff escaped Y/N. “…I wasn’t planning on disappearing.”

“Good.”

Wanda’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes remained serious. “Because I’d notice.”

The imprint in Y/N’s chest twisted painfully at that.

She exhaled slowly. “…Okay.”

Wanda’s hands finally loosened around her neck, but neither of them moved away immediately. The room was quiet—comfortable, complicated.

Wanda studied Y/N for another second, her hands still loosely resting at the back of her neck. Then a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“…Now come on,” she said softly.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Wanda’s smile widened just a little. “You know.”

Y/N hesitated.

Then she understood.

A quiet breath left her as she stepped back from the bed. The shift came easily—bones stretching, muscles reshaping, heat rippling through her body in a familiar wave. In seconds, the massive wolf stood where she had been, fur catching the warm light of the bedside lamp.

Wanda’s face lit up immediately. “There you are,” she murmured.

She reached forward without hesitation, both hands sinking into the thick fur around Y/N’s head. Her fingers ruffled through it affectionately, scratching behind one ear before sliding down along the side of her neck.

“That’s my little wolf.”

The words were soft. Fond.

And they hit Y/N like a lightning strike.

Her heart skipped so hard it nearly made her dizzy. Overwhelmed by the warmth in Wanda’s voice, Y/N leaned forward and—without thinking—licked Wanda’s cheek.

A full, unapologetic wolf lick.

Wanda squeaked.

Then she burst into laughter.

“Oh my—!” she gasped, wiping at her cheek while Y/N pulled back slightly, ears flattening in immediate embarrassment.

Wanda shook her head, still giggling, and wrapped her arms around Y/N’s massive neck, burying her face briefly into the thick fur. “You’re unbelievable,” she murmured, voice warm with amusement.

Y/N huffed quietly, clearly apologetic.

After a moment, Wanda pulled back just enough to look at her properly. Her smile softened, something more serious settling into her eyes.

“Hey,” she said gently.

Y/N’s ears twitched forward.

Wanda’s fingers slid back into the fur at the base of her neck, steady and grounding.

“Don’t do that again.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly.

Wanda sighed softly. “Don’t pull away like that,” she clarified. “Don’t distance yourself because you think you’re the reason things ended with Vision.”

Her thumb brushed slowly through the thick fur.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Wanda continued quietly. “You didn’t cause that.”

Y/N let out a soft huff, acknowledging her words even if the guilt hadn’t fully left.

Wanda smiled again, softer now. “Good,” she murmured.

Then, without overthinking it, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Y/N’s muzzle.

Y/N froze instantly.

Golden eyes widened, heart hammering in her chest as if it might burst.

Wanda didn’t seem to realize the effect she’d just had. She simply settled back into her pillows with a small, content sigh, one hand still resting in Y/N’s fur.

“Goodnight, my little wolf,” she murmured sleepily.

And Y/N stayed right there beside the bed long after Wanda drifted off again—heart still racing from a single, innocent kiss.

---

Morning came slowly to the compound.

Soft sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the living area, catching dust motes in the air and warming the polished floor. The kitchen was already alive with quiet morning sounds—coffee brewing, a pan sizzling faintly on the stove. Steve sat at the table reading through a tablet, glasses low on his nose. Bucky leaned against the counter with a mug in hand, while Sam rummaged through the fridge like it had personally offended him.

Nat noticed the footsteps first and looked up just as Wanda appeared at the top of the stairs.

Wanda looked… better. Still a little sleepy, hair loose around her shoulders, but the tight tension that had clung to her the past few weeks had softened.

And right behind her—Y/N.

In human form this time, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of her sweatpants, trying very hard to look like she wasn’t instinctively staying half a step behind Wanda.

Nat’s brow lifted slightly.

Well.

That answered a few questions.

“Morning,” Wanda said as she stepped into the room.

“Morning,” Steve replied, glancing up.

Sam leaned around the fridge door. “Hey, sleeping beauty—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because Vision had just walked into the room.

The android froze the moment he saw them: Wanda standing in front, Y/N just behind her, close enough that it was obvious they had come down together. Something flickered across Vision’s face—too fast for most people to catch.

But Y/N saw it.

And Nat definitely did.

Vision’s gaze moved slowly from Wanda… to Y/N.

Then back again.

The silence stretched.

“Good morning,” Vision said finally. His voice was calm.

Too calm.

“Morning,” Wanda replied, equally neutral as she moved toward the coffee maker.

Y/N followed automatically—until she realized what she was doing and stopped a few steps away instead. The habit caught up with her too late. She froze mid-step, shoulders tightening as she forced herself to stay where she was. Old instincts tugged at her chest, urging her to stay close, but she clenched her jaw and held her ground.

Space. Give her space.

She started to step back—

But Wanda turned.

Before Y/N could retreat, Wanda reached out and took her hand. The contact was warm and natural, like it wasn’t something she’d even thought twice about. Wanda gave a small tug, pulling Y/N forward toward the kitchen.

“Come on,” she said casually.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, but allowed herself to be pulled along.

Behind them, Sam’s head slowly emerged from inside the refrigerator again.

Wanda didn’t seem to notice the room watching. She guided Y/N up to the counter, finally letting go of her hand only once they reached the kitchen island.

“What do you want to eat?” Wanda asked, glancing toward the cabinets.

Y/N stared at her for half a second like she’d just been asked a trick question.

“…Food?” she offered.

Nat snorted from the table.

Wanda rolled her eyes faintly but smiled anyway, opening the fridge. “Very helpful.” She pulled out a carton of eggs and a container of fruit. “Do you want eggs?” she asked over her shoulder.

Y/N nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Scrambled or fried?”

“…Yes.”

Bucky huffed into his coffee.

Wanda turned to look at Y/N, one eyebrow lifting. “You are absolutely useless in the morning.”

Y/N rubbed the back of her neck, slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t know there would be a quiz.”

Wanda shook her head with a quiet laugh and started cooking anyway.

Across the room, Steve tried very hard to pretend he wasn’t witnessing the entire exchange. Nat leaned back in her chair, watching with open amusement.

And down the hallway—

A door shut harder than necessary.

Y/N’s ears metaphorically twitched at the sound, but when she glanced toward the hall, Wanda simply slid a plate in front of her.

“Eat,” Wanda said.

Y/N looked down at the food, then back at Wanda.

“…Thanks.”

Wanda shrugged lightly, leaning against the counter beside her.

“No problem.”

---

One Month Later

The Quinjet hummed steadily as it cut through the night sky, city lights far below reduced to scattered constellations.

Inside, the mood was focused—quiet but alert.

Steve stood near the center console, holographic blueprints projected in front of him. The warehouse district flickered in midair—loading docks, entry points, security grids.

“This is a retrieval,” Steve reminded them, voice calm but firm. “Same group as last month. They kept a backup copy of the intel. We go in, secure the data drive, and get out. No unnecessary engagement.”

Nat leaned against the wall, cleaning a pistol with absent efficiency. “Perimeter cameras show light rotation. Eight to ten guards. Mostly small arms.”

“Copy’s supposedly in the lower archive room,” Bucky added from his seat, metal arm resting against his knee. “Concrete walls. One main stairwell. Two emergency exits.”

Wanda stood beside Y/N, arms crossed as she studied the hologram, faint red energy flickering lazily at her fingertips while tracing a possible entry route. Y/N sat on the floor near the ramp with her back against the wall, one knee raised, eyes closed—not asleep. Listening.

Wanda glanced down at her briefly, almost unconsciously checking on her.

Steve noticed. “Y/N.”

Her eyes opened immediately.

“You good?”

She nodded once. “Yeah.”

The Quinjet began its descent.

Landing gear lowered with a mechanical whine as the abandoned industrial zone came into view—dark buildings, rusted fencing, empty lots. The jet touched down two blocks from the target and the ramp lowered slowly, cold night air rushing inside.

Immediately something felt wrong.

Nat’s posture shifted first. She didn’t move forward, simply scanning the empty street.

“…Too quiet.”

Bucky stepped down beside her, metal hand flexing once. “Yeah. No patrol movement.”

Steve frowned. “Thermal?”

“Minimal,” Nat replied. “Which doesn’t match what we saw an hour ago.”

Wanda stepped down next, Y/N following close behind. The second Y/N’s boots hit the pavement, her expression changed. She inhaled deeply. The air tasted wrong. Heavy. Metallic. Her head tilted slightly as she focused, filtering past wind, distant traffic, and the low electrical hum of streetlights. Then her eyes opened.

“There’s more,” she said quietly.

Steve looked at her. “More what?”

Y/N’s gaze sharpened toward the warehouse. “Heartbeats.”

Wanda stilled beside her.

“How many?” Bucky asked.

Y/N focused harder. “…At least thirty.” Silence settled over the team.

Nat swore under her breath. “We were told ten.”

“They’re not moving much,” Y/N added. “Spread out. Elevated positions too.”

Steve’s jaw set. “Ambush.”

Wanda’s red glow brightened faintly as she stepped a little closer to Y/N without thinking.

Steve made the call quickly. “We don’t abort yet. Move slow. Tight formation. Nat, left flank. Bucky right.”

His gaze shifted. “Wanda, stay with Y/N.”

Neither of them argued.

They advanced toward the warehouse, boots silent against cracked pavement. Every shadow felt heavier. Every window darker.

Halfway to the entrance, Y/N stopped.

Her nose lifted again. Her eyes widened.

“…They know we’re here.”

Right on cue—The warehouse lights snapped on. Gunfire erupted from the rooftops. The first bullets hit the pavement before the echo of the gunfire finished bouncing off the buildings.

“MOVE!” Steve barked.

They scattered in practiced formation.

Nat rolled behind a rusted delivery truck, returning fire in sharp, controlled bursts. Bucky spun right, metal arm snapping up to catch a bullet mid-air before he hurled it back toward a sniper nest. Concrete exploded a heartbeat later.

Wanda lifted her hands, scarlet energy flaring outward into a defensive shield as rounds ricocheted harmlessly off the barrier.

Y/N didn’t shift. Not yet. She sprinted forward low, weaving between debris, dodging incoming fire with almost unnatural timing. A gunman dropped from a fire escape ahead of her—she closed the distance in three strides, driving her elbow into his throat before sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard. She didn’t slow.

“Rooftop—two more!” she called, already pivoting.

Bucky’s rifle barked. One dropped.

The second threw a flash grenade.

“Down!” Nat shouted.

Y/N reacted instantly. She grabbed Wanda by the arm and yanked her behind a concrete barrier just as the grenade detonated. White light swallowed the alley, ears ringing.

But they didn’t lose formation.

Steve charged straight through the smoke, shield slamming into a cluster of armed men rushing from the warehouse entrance. He moved like a battering ram—precise, controlled, overwhelming.

“We push inside!” he ordered. “Open space out here favors them!”

It made sense.

Too many elevated positions. Too many angles.

They advanced toward the warehouse doors under covering fire. Y/N ducked under a baton swing and drove her knee into the attacker’s ribs. Another came from her blind spot—she twisted, catching his wrist and slamming him face-first into a steel container.

Her senses screamed.

More movement. More heartbeats.

“They’re repositioning!” she shouted. “They’re funneling us!”

“Inside!” Nat snapped. “Now!”

They breached the warehouse doors together. The moment they crossed the threshold—The gunfire stopped. Silence swallowed the space. The interior was cavernous: stacked crates, overhead catwalks, dim industrial lights flickering weakly across concrete floors. Too still.

Wanda’s gaze swept the rafters. “I don’t like this.”

“Keep moving,” Steve said, advancing cautiously.

They moved deeper inside.

Then—Metal shutters slammed down behind them with a thunderous crash.

“Trap!” Bucky shouted.

Overhead lights flared blindingly bright. Figures emerged from behind crates, from catwalks, from hidden doorways.

Not ten.

Not thirty.

More. 

Heavily armed. Organized. A voice crackled over the loudspeakers.

“Avengers. Thank you for entering the containment zone.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t random. This was designed.

“They wanted us inside,” Nat muttered.

Gunfire erupted again—this time from every direction. Wanda threw up a shield, scarlet energy flaring outward as bullets hammered against it in rapid succession. The impacts vibrated through her arms, forcing her to brace her stance as the pressure mounted.

“Move!” Steve shouted. “Stairs—north side! Roof access!”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She darted forward, cutting through the line of attackers with controlled brutality—disarming one, dropping another with a crushing elbow before pivoting to intercept a third. She moved like a blade: precise, efficient, no wasted motion.

But for every body that dropped, two more stepped into place.

“They’re rotating squads!” she called. “This is organized!”

Nat picked off a sniper on the catwalk while Bucky laid down suppressive fire. Steve smashed through a barricade, carving a path toward the metal staircase leading upward.

They made it halfway across the loading bay when—

A mechanical click echoed beneath their boots.

Y/N’s head snapped downward.

“Don’t—”

The floor gave way.

A rectangular section of reinforced steel dropped open beneath Bucky’s feet.

“Barnes!” Steve shouted.

Bucky fell.

Wanda reacted instantly. Scarlet energy snapped around his torso mid-air, halting his descent inches above the darkness. He slammed against the side of the shaft, teeth gritting as he tried to find purchase.

“I’ve got you!” Wanda strained, pulling him upward—

Then another click. Y/N’s stomach dropped. The floor beneath her shifted. She barely had time to look up before the metal panel under her boots split apart. She fell.

“Y/N!” Wanda screamed. Without thinking—without hesitation—Wanda released Bucky.

Nat lunged forward, catching Bucky’s arm just as Wanda launched herself into the open shaft.

“WANDA!” Steve roared. But it was too late.

Both of them vanished into the darkness below. The trapdoor snapped shut again with a brutal clang. Silence swallowed the loading bay for half a heartbeat. Then the gunfire resumed.

Steve turned, fury flashing across his face. “We regroup! NOW!”

But beneath the warehouse—Wanda fell through blackness.

And far below—Y/N hit the ground hard.

Wanda’s scream echoed through the shaft as she dropped into pure darkness. Instinct kicked in. Scarlet energy flared around her body, slowing her descent—but the fall had already disoriented her. The shaft was tight, metallic, the air thick with dust.

She couldn’t see.

“Y/N!” she shouted into the void.

No answer.

Her boots hovered inches above what she thought might be the floor—

Then something collided with her.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist midair. A solid body braced beneath her.

They hit the ground together, but not violently—Y/N absorbing the impact and rolling so Wanda landed against her chest instead of concrete.

The air left Y/N’s lungs in a rough exhale.

Wanda gasped, gripping the front of her shirt. “Y/N?”

“I’ve got you,” Y/N said breathlessly in the dark.

For a split second, Wanda didn’t care where they were.

She clutched tighter.

Then reality rushed back in.

Above them the trapdoor had sealed completely. No light. No sound from the battle anymore. Just the faint hum of distant machinery.

Y/N shifted beneath her, rising carefully while keeping one arm around Wanda’s waist.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

Wanda nodded before realizing Y/N probably couldn’t see it. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine.”

A lie.

Wanda heard the strain in her breathing, but there was no time to argue. Scarlet light bloomed faintly in her palm, illuminating the space around them.

They stood in a long, narrow corridor—reinforced concrete walls, industrial piping running along the ceiling. No visible exits except the shaft above.

Which was now sealed.

Y/N scanned quickly. “That wasn’t random.”

“No,” Wanda whispered. “It wasn’t.”

The floor beneath them vibrated faintly. A distant clang echoed down the corridor. Wanda’s light brightened instinctively, shadows stretching along the concrete.

Y/N’s head tilted slightly—not toward the sound, but toward the glow.

“Turn it off,” she said quietly.

Wanda blinked. “What? We can’t see.”

“I can.”

Something in Y/N’s voice had changed—lower, steadier. Focused.

Wanda looked at her properly. In the dim red glow, Y/N’s eyes weren’t Y/E/C anymore. They were gold. Bright. Reflective.

Wanda’s breath caught. “Oh.”

Y/N gave a small nod. “They’ll see you before you see them if you keep that on.”

Another metallic clang echoed, closer now. Wanda swallowed and let the light fade. Darkness swallowed them whole.

For half a second panic surged—her human eyes useless in the pitch black. Then Y/N’s hand found hers. “I’ve got you,” she murmured again. And this time, Wanda believed it.

Metal boots scraped somewhere down the corridor.

“They’re coming from both ends,” Y/N said quietly. “About twelve. Maybe more behind them.”

“How do you—”

“I can hear their gear shifting. Heartbeats.”

Wanda’s pulse jumped at that.

Y/N exhaled once.

“Hold on.”

The shift wasn’t explosive this time. It was controlled—bone reshaping, fabric tearing softly as her body expanded into muscle and fur.

In seconds the massive wolf stood where Y/N had been.

The corridor suddenly felt too small.

Golden eyes glowed in the darkness like twin embers.

Wanda felt rather than saw the transformation—bones shifting, fabric tearing, the corridor filling with the sheer presence of something ancient and powerful.

On, Y/N thought loudly.

Wanda didn’t argue.

She climbed onto Y/N’s back in one smooth motion, fingers tangling into the thick fur at the base of her neck. The wolf adjusted instantly, lowering slightly to steady her before rising again, powerful muscles coiling beneath Wanda like restrained thunder.

Y/N’s tail flicked once—a grounding gesture.

Hold tight.

Then she moved. Not reckless. Not wild.

Precise.

Her paws struck the concrete silently despite her size, claws finding grip where human boots would slip. She chose the darker end of the corridor—the direction with fewer heartbeats.

Gunfire erupted behind them as someone caught the faint outline of movement. Bullets sparked against metal piping.

Wanda instinctively raised a small shield behind them, just enough to deflect the nearest rounds without lighting up the corridor.

Left in six steps, Y/N thought sharply.

Wanda trusted her.

At the sixth stride Y/N veered left into a narrower passage just as armed men flooded into the corridor they’d abandoned. The wolf accelerated. Air rushed past Wanda’s face as Y/N moved faster than seemed possible in such tight quarters.

A soldier stepped into view ahead.

Y/N didn’t slow. She leapt.

The impact was brutal and efficient. The soldier slammed into the wall and dropped unconscious before he could cry out.

More ahead, Y/N warned.

Wanda closed her eyes briefly, reaching outward with her mind instead of her sight. She let her awareness stretch past the darkness and concrete, brushing against the sharp edges of foreign thoughts—fear, adrenaline, clipped orders over comms.

“They’re trying to herd us,” Wanda said—but the words weren’t spoken.

They echoed directly inside Y/N’s mind.

Y/N stumbled for half a stride, startled.

You’re in my head.

Only a little, Wanda replied, focused. Left corridor is blocked. They’re funneling us toward something bigger.

Y/N’s ears flattened as she ran.

Like a containment room.

Another cluster of heartbeats pulsed ahead—tight, waiting.

“Don’t go straight,” Wanda murmured aloud this time, tightening her grip in the fur at Y/N’s neck. “There’s something at the end.” Gunfire erupted again behind them, closer now.

Y/N made a split-second decision. She accelerated—not toward the corridor, but straight at the wall.

Wanda barely had time to react.

Y/N lowered her shoulder and slammed into the concrete. The wall cracked.

Again.

Concrete splintered under the third impact. They burst through into an adjacent chamber, dust exploding into the air behind them. Shouts echoed from the corridor they’d abandoned.

They didn’t expect that, Y/N thought grimly.

Wanda flashed a brief pulse of scarlet light across the room—quick, controlled.

Industrial generators. Maintenance ducts. No guards.

For now.

“They’re redirecting,” Wanda warned, feeling confusion ripple through nearby minds as it shifted into pursuit.

Y/N’s breathing had deepened, but remained steady.

Which way?

Wanda reached out again, brushing against thoughts more carefully this time.

“There’s an external access hatch two levels up. Fewer minds that way.”

Y/N didn’t question it.

She found a vertical maintenance shaft and leapt, claws digging into metal rungs as she climbed with Wanda still on her back.

Below them, boots thundered into the broken chamber. Spotlights cut through the dust. Orders were shouted.

“They’re sealing exits!” Wanda warned.

Then we don’t use doors.

Y/N reached the next level and barreled forward, ignoring the corridors entirely. She smashed through a ventilation barrier instead.

Cold night air hit them seconds later. They burst out onto the side of the warehouse structure—Into open space.

Searchlights snapped on instantly, blinding white beams sweeping across the rooftop before locking onto them. “There!” someone shouted from below.

Gunfire followed.

Y/N lunged forward across the rooftop without hesitation, claws scraping gravel and metal as bullets sparked around them. Wanda clung tighter, one arm buried in thick fur while the other rose instinctively.

Scarlet energy flared outward in controlled bursts—not attacking blindly but deflecting, redirecting. A line of incoming rounds twisted midair and scattered harmlessly off course.

“Helicopter, three o’clock!” Wanda warned.

Rotors thundered overhead as a mounted gun pivoted downward.

Y/N veered sharply left just as a spray of heavy rounds tore through the rooftop where they’d been. Concrete exploded behind them.

Wanda reached for the comm in her ear. “Steve! Status?”

Static.

“Steve, do you copy?”

Nothing.

Her chest tightened.

“Nat?” she tried.

A beat passed.

Then—

“Go,” Nat’s voice crackled through the comm, breathless but steady. “They’re focused on you two. Don’t double back. We’ll find our own exit.”

“What about Steve?” Wanda demanded.

“Barnes has him. We’re moving. Just go!”

The line cut out.

Wanda swallowed. “They’re clear,” she told Y/N quickly. “Nat says run.”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice.

She sprinted.

The rooftop ended abruptly in a wide gap between buildings. Three stories below, armed men swarmed the street.

Y/N gathered herself.

Hold tight.

She leapt.

For a massive creature carrying another person, the jump was impossibly graceful. They cleared the gap, landed hard on the opposite rooftop—and didn’t slow.

More gunfire. More shouting.

A second helicopter dipped lower, its spotlight tracking them like prey.

“They’re herding us toward the river,” Wanda realized, sensing the shifting movements below.

Good, Y/N replied.

Wanda blinked. “Good?”

Open space. Fewer walls. I can run faster.

Y/N reached the edge of the final building and jumped again—this time dropping straight to street level. They landed in an alley, concrete cracking beneath the impact.

Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance while searchlights swept overhead.

“Left!” Wanda called, sensing a thinner patrol grid.

Y/N pivoted instantly and accelerated—faster, faster, her paws barely touching the ground. Gunfire faded behind them as helicopters struggled to track their path between buildings.

Moments later Y/N burst out of the industrial district and into the trees lining the riverbank. Darkness swallowed them.

The rotors overhead faltered. Searchlights lost lock.

Branches whipped past as Y/N plunged deeper into the forest without slowing. She didn’t follow trails or clear paths—cutting through dense brush, leaping fallen logs, splashing through shallow water to break scent and sound. Every few minutes she changed direction sharply.

Behind them the helicopters circled once. Twice. Then drifted farther away.

Wanda kept one hand threaded in thick fur while the other hovered low with faint scarlet light—just enough to sense approaching minds. Nothing close. Only distant confusion.

Y/N ran another mile. Then another. Only when her lungs began to burn did she slow to a fast trot. Then finally— She stopped.

The forest was deep here. Thick canopy overhead. No city glow. No engine noise. Just wind moving through leaves and the distant rush of water. Y/N stood perfectly still, ears flicking, head tilting as she listened in every direction. Heartbeats. None but Wanda’s and her own.

After a long moment her thoughts came quieter.

I think we lost them.

She turned her massive head carefully to glance back at Wanda on her back.

Are you okay?

Wanda’s fingers were still gripping fur, but her breathing had steadied. Adrenaline hummed in her veins, though the panic had faded.

“I’m okay,” she said softly. “You?”

A short pause.

Fine.

Another lie—but smaller this time. Y/N lowered herself slightly so Wanda could slide off. Wanda did, boots touching damp earth. The forest felt enormous. And very, very empty.

Y/N shifted her weight, scanning the trees again.

We shouldn’t stay in one place too long.

Wanda nodded. “Agreed.”

Y/N’s focus sharpened.

We find shelter. Something covered. High ground if possible.

She started forward at a slower pace, weaving through the trees but still alert.

Wanda walked close beside her, occasionally brushing her hand against the thick fur at Y/N’s side—like she needed the reassurance that she was real.

Behind them, the city lights were gone. The team was gone. The compound was gone. It was just them. The forest. And whatever this ambush had truly meant.

They moved deeper into the forest. The darkness here was different from the city’s—alive, layered. Every rustle sounded louder, every shadow closer. Wanda kept glancing over her shoulder, nerves still humming from the chase.

Y/N noticed. She slowed, then lowered herself without a word.

Up, she thought gently.

Wanda hesitated for half a second before climbing onto her back. The warmth of thick fur under her palms steadied her instantly. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Y/N huffed softly and resumed moving. They climbed gradually into rougher terrain, trees thinning as rocky outcroppings appeared. The air grew colder. After another careful stretch, Y/N stopped. A cave entrance opened between two jagged rocks—partially hidden by brush, angled upward so rain wouldn’t collect. She approached cautiously, sniffing the air.

Empty.

Old animal scent, nothing recent.

This works.

She stepped inside. The cave wasn’t deep, but it was sheltered from the wind and dry, the ground mostly stone with patches of packed dirt.

Y/N lowered herself so Wanda could slide off. Wanda stepped down carefully, arms wrapping around herself as the chill finally caught up now that the adrenaline had faded. The cave was cold.

Y/N stepped back toward the entrance and shifted. Bones compressed, fur receded, and the air shimmered around her. Seconds later she stood in human form, barefoot on the cold stone. Her boots had torn apart during the earlier transformation, and her clothes were stretched and ripped at the seams—still covering her, but barely. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m going to look for branches,” Y/N said quietly. “And food if I can find it.”

Wanda frowned. “You don’t have shoes.”

“I’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t bravado. Even now her skin radiated faint warmth, the cold barely touching her.

Y/N glanced toward the dark forest outside, assessing. “You stay here,” she added. “Don’t use your powers unless you have to. They might still be scanning.”

Wanda nodded slowly.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer and brushed her fingers lightly against Wanda’s arm. “You’re safe here,” she said.

Then she turned and disappeared back into the forest—barefoot and silent despite the rocky ground.

Wanda stood alone in the cave. The silence pressed in. For the first time since the fall through the trapdoor, reality settled fully.

They were cut off.

No compound.

No team.

No idea what had just happened.

Just forest, cold air, and the distant sound of wind through the trees.

She wrapped her arms around herself and waited.

---

The cave grew colder as the night deepened. Wanda tried to keep moving—pacing a little, rubbing her hands together—but the stone floor leached warmth from her bones. Without adrenaline to keep her warm, the chill settled in fully. Her teeth were starting to chatter when she finally heard it: footsteps. Soft. Controlled. Familiar.

Y/N stepped into the cave entrance in her human form, barefoot but steady despite the rough terrain. A thick fallen log rested across one shoulder; tucked into the torn fold of her shirt were gathered wild fruits, and in her free hand she carried a freshly hunted rabbit. The moment her eyes landed on Wanda, she froze.

Wanda was shivering.

Y/N dropped everything immediately. The log hit the ground with a heavy thud. Fruits rolled across the stone. The rabbit landed beside them.

“You’re freezing,” Y/N said, crossing the cave in two quick strides.

“I’m fine,” Wanda tried—but her voice shook.

Y/N didn’t argue. She knelt and moved quickly, snapping the log into smaller pieces with efficient strength and stacking them in the center of the cave. The thinner branches she’d collected were arranged underneath. No lighter. No matches.

She looked at Wanda. “Just a spark,” she said softly.

Wanda crouched beside her and extended her fingers, keeping the glow small. A thin thread of scarlet brushed the dry bark. It caught immediately. Flames licked upward.

Y/N fed the kindling gradually until the fire took hold, warm orange light filling the cave and pushing back the darkness and cold. Without thinking, she shifted closer. “Here,” she murmured.

Y/N sat behind Wanda and gently pulled her back against her chest, wrapping her arms loosely around her shoulders—not trapping her, just anchoring. Her body was warm, almost unnaturally so. The difference was immediate.

Wanda sighed softly as heat seeped back into her skin.

“I told you I’d be fine,” Y/N said quietly, a faint edge of self-reproach in her voice.

Wanda leaned back into her without hesitation. “I wasn’t doubting that.”

The fire crackled softly between them. For a while neither spoke. Eventually Y/N reached for the rabbit and began preparing it with quiet efficiency, movements careful and practiced.

Wanda watched the flames.

Slowly, the shaking stopped.

---

The fire grew steadier, casting flickering gold across the cave walls. Y/N worked in silence, skin glowing warm in the firelight as she cleaned and dressed the rabbit with practiced movements. The urgency of battle had faded; only quiet focus remained.

Wanda leaned back against her, still wrapped in Y/N’s arms. She hadn’t realized how much she needed the contact until she had it again. The cave smelled of smoke, earth, and something grounding.

After a few minutes Y/N skewered the meat onto a sharpened branch and held it over the flames. “You should eat,” she said softly. “You burned a lot of energy tonight.”

Wanda hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t move away.

“Are you hurt?” she asked after a moment.

Y/N hesitated. “Just tired.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly. “That wasn’t my question.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “I’m fine.”

Wanda didn’t push. Instead she shifted slightly, resting one hand over Y/N’s forearm where it wrapped around her.

“I’m glad you caught me,” she said softly.

Y/N’s grip tightened just a fraction. “I wasn’t going to let you fall.”

The rabbit began to cook, its scent slowly filling the cave. Wanda watched the flames for a moment before speaking again.

“They knew,” she murmured. “About the backup intel. About us coming.”

Y/N nodded against her hair. “Yeah.”

“They wanted us separated.”

“Yeah.”

The weight of that settled between them. This hadn’t been random. It had been surgical. And it had worked.

Wanda swallowed. “Do you think Steve and Nat are okay?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened slightly. “They’re not easy to kill.”

Not reassurance. Just truth.

The fire crackled as wind shifted outside the cave. For the first time since the fight, the quiet didn’t feel tense. It felt… isolated.

Wanda finally leaned forward enough to glance back at her. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For not leaving me.”

Y/N blinked once, almost confused by the idea. “I wouldn’t,” she said.

And she meant it the way gravity meant falling.

Firelight danced in her golden-brown eyes.

And for now—

That was enough.

---

The fire burned down to a steady glow by the time they finished eating. Wanda had insisted Y/N take more than half the rabbit. Y/N had pretended to argue but ate it anyway. The fruits were divided quietly between them—simple, grounding.

For a few minutes afterward they sat shoulder to shoulder, listening to the forest breathe. Y/N’s posture hadn’t relaxed once. Her head tilted subtly now and then, listening, mapping the night, measuring distance between sounds.

Finally she spoke.

“We should sleep.”

Wanda glanced at her. “You can rest first. I’ll stay on guard.”

Y/N shook her head immediately. “No.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted gently. “We can both sleep.”

Wanda frowned. “What if someone finds us?”

“If something gets within half a mile, I’ll hear it,” Y/N said calmly. “If it gets closer than that, I’ll smell it. And if it steps within a hundred meters…” She tilted her head faintly, almost playful. “It won’t get that far.”

Wanda studied her face. “You’re sure?”

Y/N nodded once. “Wolf instincts.”

No arrogance—just certainty.

After a quiet beat, Y/N stood and stepped away from the fading firelight. She shifted. The transformation flowed smoothly—bones lengthening, shoulders broadening, fur cascading outward until her massive wolf form filled nearly half the cave. Golden eyes flickered in the dim light as she lowered herself near the warmest part of the cave wall.

Her thoughts brushed gently against Wanda’s mind.

Come here.

Wanda’s lips curved. She stood and walked over without hesitation.

Y/N shifted slightly to make room, curling her body into a protective crescent. Thick fur brushed Wanda’s legs.

You’ll stay warm, Y/N thought quietly. I run hot.

Wanda knelt and lay down carefully, settling into the space between Y/N’s chest and belly. The fur was impossibly soft and warm, the steady rise and fall of breath beneath her cheek grounding in a way she hadn’t expected.

Y/N’s tail wrapped loosely over her legs—not trapping, just covering.

Wanda sighed softly as tension eased from her muscles. “This is… nice,” she murmured.

Y/N huffed faintly, one ear flicking toward the forest outside.

After a moment Wanda felt something else—a low vibration beneath her ear. Not quite a purr, but close. Her hand slid into the thick fur instinctively.

“You’re doing that again,” she whispered sleepily.

The vibration faltered for a second. Then resumed.

Wanda smiled.

The cave grew quieter. The forest breathed.

And for the first time since the ambush—

They both closed their eyes.

---

Next Morning

Morning came slowly.

Not with sunlight—very little reached the cave—but with a subtle shift in the air. The forest changed tone at dawn. Birds tested their voices. The wind softened.

Wanda stirred first.

She was warm. Very warm.

Her cheek pressed into thick fur, fingers tangled in it, her legs tucked beneath something heavy and protective. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was.

Then the night returned in fragments.

Warehouse.

Trapdoor.

Running.

Firelight.

Cave.

She blinked her eyes open.

Golden eyes were already watching her.

Y/N was awake—completely awake. Her head was slightly lifted, ears angled toward the cave entrance, body still curled around Wanda like it had been all night.

“You didn’t sleep,” Wanda murmured, voice thick with sleep.

A soft huff answered her.

I did, Y/N thought gently. Lightly.

Wanda shifted onto one elbow. The fire had burned down to ash. The air was cold again—but manageable with Y/N’s steady warmth.

“How long have you been up?”

Since the birds started.

Wanda smiled faintly. “That’s not a real time.”

Y/N’s tail flicked once in mild amusement.

Nothing came close, she added. Closest movement was a deer about four hundred meters east. Wind shifted after that.

Of course she knew the direction.

Wanda studied her for another moment. Even in wolf form the tension was visible—the alert shoulders, the constant listening.

“You’re still listening.”

Always.

Wanda reached up and scratched gently behind her ear.

“You can relax a little.”

Y/N leaned into the touch before catching herself.

I am relaxed.

Wanda raised an eyebrow.

The wolf blinked slowly.

Then, after a beat:

Mostly.

Wanda laughed softly, the sound echoing faintly off the cave walls.

For a moment they simply looked at each other in the dim light.

No helicopters.

No gunfire.

No shouting.

Just morning.

Wanda’s expression slowly shifted.

“We need to figure out what happened.”

Y/N’s ears twitched. Yeah.

“And we need to reach the others.”

A pause.

Okay.

Wanda pushed herself up, brushing leaves and stray fur from her clothes. Cool morning air crept through the cave entrance.

Y/N shifted back to human form, the change fluid and quiet. She rolled her shoulders once, bare feet settling on the cold stone without complaint.

“We shouldn’t use standard comms,” Wanda said, thinking aloud. “If they trapped us that deliberately, they’re probably monitoring known frequencies.”

Y/N nodded. “Safe house?”

Wanda hesitated. “…No.”

Y/N frowned slightly.

“If they planned that ambush, they’ve probably mapped every Avengers-associated property within a hundred miles—safe houses, supply caches, known routes.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “Yeah. They’d expect that.”

Silence settled between them again.

They didn’t know where the others were.

They didn’t know who orchestrated the trap.

They didn’t even know if the Quinjet survived.

“We need something normal,” Wanda said finally. “Somewhere no one expects us.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Normal?”

“A motel. Small town. Cash payment. No enhanced activity.”

Y/N blinked once. “…That’s very human.”

Wanda gave her a tired smile. “Exactly.”

Y/N considered it, then nodded. “We move west. There’s a highway about three miles from here.”

Wanda glanced down at Y/N’s torn clothes and bare feet. “Hold on.”

She stepped closer, lifting her hands. Scarlet threads of energy wove through the air, stitching torn fabric back together. The ripped seams sealed, the shirt and pants reshaping cleanly.

Y/N looked down at herself, mildly impressed. “…Convenient.”

Wanda smirked faintly. “Try not to shred them again.”

Y/N huffed. “No promises.”

Wanda knelt briefly and focused again. Scarlet light gathered around Y/N’s feet, forming simple dark sneakers—sturdy and anonymous.

Y/N flexed her toes experimentally. “…You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

Their eyes met a moment longer than necessary.

Then Wanda stepped back. “Let’s go.”

They moved through the trees together—quieter now, less frantic than the night before. After about forty minutes, the forest thinned. The faint hum of distant traffic reached Y/N first.

“We’re close.”

Wanda nodded.

The treeline opened onto a two-lane highway cutting through open fields. Half a mile down stood a small gas station—and beyond it, a roadside motel sign flickering in tired neon.

VACANCY.

Wanda exhaled slowly. “Okay,” she murmured. “Step one.”

Y/N scanned the area carefully. No unusual heartbeats. No tactical vehicles. Just normal morning traffic.

“Cash only,” Y/N reminded her.

Wanda slipped a hand into her jacket. Thankfully chaos magic didn’t just repair clothes—it could produce a few believable bills.

“Normal,” Wanda repeated quietly.

For now—

They would disappear in plain sight.

---

The motel office smelled like stale coffee and cleaning spray. A tired man behind the counter barely glanced up when Wanda pushed open the door. She kept her hood up, posture loose—normal.

“Room?” he asked flatly.

“Just one night.”

Cash slid across the counter. No questions. A key card slid back.

Room 17.

They crossed the cracked parking lot in silence, morning sun fully up now. The world looked painfully ordinary after the chaos of the night before.

Inside, the room was small but clean enough—two towels folded at the foot of a queen bed, faded carpet, a humming air conditioner.

The door clicked shut.

For the first time since the warehouse—

They were inside four walls again.

Wanda turned the deadbolt. Y/N stood in the middle of the room for a moment, scanning and listening, shoulders still tight.

“It’s fine,” Wanda said gently. “No one’s tracking us right now.”

Y/N nodded once. “Can I shower first.”

“Of course!” Wanda didn’t argue.

Twenty minutes later steam drifted from the bathroom as Y/N stepped out wearing borrowed motel sweats and a plain shirt Wanda had conjured to replace the torn one. Her hair was damp and pushed back loosely.

She looked… human again.

Just exhausted.

“You should eat something else,” Wanda said quietly.

Y/N shook her head. “I’m okay.”

That word again.

Wanda took her turn in the shower, letting hot water beat against her shoulders longer than she intended. The tension in her muscles didn’t vanish—but it dulled.

When she stepped back into the room, toweling her hair dry—

Y/N was already asleep.

Not resting.

Gone.

She’d barely reached the bed before collapsing sideways across it, one arm draped loosely over her stomach, breathing deep and heavy. Completely unconscious.

Wanda paused in the doorway.

Y/N had pushed herself too far—running on instinct and adrenaline for too long.

She crossed the room quietly and sat on the edge of the bed. Up close, the exhaustion was obvious: faint bruises along her ribs, a shallow cut near her collarbone, tension still faintly etched into her brow even in sleep.

Wanda brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

“You liar,” she murmured softly.

I’m fine.

She shook her head faintly.

Carefully, Wanda slid under the covers beside her—not too close at first. But Y/N reacted even in sleep. Her body shifted instinctively toward the warmth, one arm draped over Wanda’s waist, breathing steady, grounded.

Wanda lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

They were fugitives now.

Separated from the team.

Hunted by someone organized enough to ambush Avengers.

She turned her head slightly to look at Y/N.

But right now—

They were safe.

---

At Night

Darkness filled the motel room again. Thin curtains barely blocked the neon glow of the vacancy sign outside, its red pulses washing faintly across the ceiling.

Wanda was warm. Too warm. An arm lay heavy across her waist, steady breath against her shoulder. For a moment she forgot everything. Then—A faint crackle. Static. A low, distorted tone.

Y/N’s eyes opened instantly. She didn’t move at first—just listened. There. Another faint burst of interference. Her head turned slowly toward the small table near the door. The comm unit. Wanda had set it there before showering. Y/N blinked away the last layer of sleep and nudged Wanda lightly. “Wanda,” she murmured, voice thick but alert.

Wanda stirred. “What—?”

“The comm.”

Another crackle—clearer this time. Wanda shot upright, heart racing. The signal was faint but unmistakable, pushing through interference. She scrambled off the bed and grabbed the device.

“Hello?” she said quickly, keeping her voice low.

Static. Then— “…da?”

Wanda’s breath caught. “Nat?”

The line buzzed, then steadied slightly. “About time,” Nat’s voice came through, strained but alive. “You two took a scenic route.”

Relief hit Wanda so hard her knees nearly buckled. “We’re okay,” she said quickly. “Are you?”

“Alive. Steve and Bucky too.”

Wanda closed her eyes briefly. Thank God.

“Quinjet’s gone,” Nat continued. “Warehouse was scrubbed. Professional job.”

“Who?” Wanda asked.

“Still working on that.”

Y/N had risen from the bed, standing close enough to hear every word.

“Are you safe?” Wanda pressed.

“For now. We scattered. Low profile. No Avengers signatures. No Stark tech. No obvious magic.”

“Same here,” Wanda said.

A small pause. Then Nat’s voice lowered. “They wanted you separated.”

Wanda’s eyes flicked to Y/N. “We figured.”

Another burst of static. “We’ll regroup,” Nat said. “But not yet. Lay low. Switch locations every twenty-four hours. Use public networks sparingly.”

Wanda nodded instinctively, even though Nat couldn’t see her. “Copy.”

Nat’s tone shifted slightly.

“And Wanda?”

“Yeah?”

“You two good?”

Wanda hesitated, glancing at Y/N. Y/N stood steady beside her—alert, protective, present. “We’re okay,” Wanda said quietly.

A beat.

“Good,” Nat replied. “We’ll ping again when it’s safe.” The line went dead.

The room fell silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner. Wanda lowered the comm slowly. “They’re alive,” she said.

Y/N exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders for the first time since the ambush. “Good.”

Wanda looked up at her. “We’re not going back anytime soon.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”

Outside, the neon sign flickered again. Inside the dim motel room, the two of them stood there—fugitives by circumstance, but no longer alone.

The silence after the comm went dead felt different. Not heavy. Not panicked. Focused. Wanda set the device back on the table and leaned against it, arms crossing loosely. “So,” she said quietly, “we rotate locations. No patterns. No powers in public unless absolutely necessary.”

Y/N nodded. “No shifting unless we’re clear.”

“No obvious cash trails.”

“No staying more than a night.”

They fell into planning easily—strategy, survival, contingencies. It felt strangely calm now that the immediate chaos had passed. “If they scrubbed the warehouse that fast,” Wanda said, pacing slowly, “this wasn’t some random mercenary group.”

“No,” Y/N agreed. “They had numbers. Coordination. Infrastructure.”

“And they knew about the backup intel.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened slightly. “Which means they knew we’d come.”

Wanda’s expression darkened. “Someone fed them the mission details.”

The thought hung in the room. Neither said it aloud. Inside job.

After a moment Wanda sighed and sat back on the edge of the bed. “Okay. We lay low. Maybe move further west tomorrow—smaller towns.”

Y/N leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded, thoughtful.

Her stomach growled. Loudly. The sound filled the quiet room with zero dignity.

Wanda blinked.

Y/N stiffened. It growled again.

Wanda tried—she really tried—not to laugh. A small sound escaped anyway.

Y/N looked personally betrayed by her own body. “It’s been hours,” she muttered defensively.

Wanda’s smile softened. “You carried me through a city and ran through a forest. You’re allowed to be hungry.”

Another rumble.

Y/N glanced down at her stomach like it had committed treason.

Wanda stood, still smiling, and stepped closer. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Y/N hesitated. “Public.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“I’m recognizable.”

Wanda tilted her head. “So am I.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “That’s my point.”

Wanda lowered her voice. “Simple diner. Cash. Sit near the exit.”

Y/N still looked uncertain.

“And,” Wanda added, a spark returning to her tone, “we should buy supplies.”

Y/N’s posture shifted immediately to practical. “Like what?”

“Backpacks. First aid kit. Clothes that don’t scream ‘Avengers.’ Toiletries. Maybe a prepaid phone.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Water purification tablets. Flashlights. Cash from different places.”

Wanda smiled faintly. “See? You’re already planning.”

Y/N glanced toward the window, thinking.

Wanda, meanwhile, was staring at her. Specifically—at her hair.

Y/N noticed after a moment. “What?”

Wanda’s lips curved slightly. “…Maybe we should change our hair.”

Y/N blinked. “Our… hair.”

“Color,” Wanda clarified. “Easiest visual identifier.”

Y/N instinctively touched her dark hair. “You want to dye it?”

“Temporary,” Wanda said with a shrug. “Drugstore kit.”

Y/N studied her. “You’re enjoying this.”

Wanda tried to look innocent. “Maybe a little.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What color.”

Wanda stepped closer, examining her thoughtfully. “Blonde would be obvious. Mine is already red… not blue.”

Wanda laughed softly. “No. Not blue.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Maybe lighter brown. Or dark auburn.”

Y/N looked like she was mentally assessing the strategic threat of hair dye. “And you?”

Wanda shrugged. “I could go darker.”

Y/N studied her for a moment. “You don’t have to.”

Wanda’s smile softened. “I know.”

A quiet beat passed.

Then Y/N sighed. “Fine. We eat. We shop. We change our hair.”

Her stomach growled again on cue.

Wanda covered her mouth, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. “Dinner first,” she said gently.

And for the first time since the trapdoor—

This felt almost like an adventure instead of an escape.

---

Later that night they slipped back into Room 17 carrying plastic bags—cheap backpacks, basic toiletries, a prepaid phone, bottled water, and two small boxes of temporary hair dye.

The motel bathroom was barely big enough for both of them.

Yellow light. Cracked mirror. A faint hum from the vent overhead.

Wanda stood at the sink reading the instructions on the dye box while Y/N hovered awkwardly near the door.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Y/N asked.

“It’s hair dye,” Wanda replied dryly. “Not gamma radiation.”

Y/N grunted softly.

She reached up and pulled her shirt over her head.

Wanda turned at the movement—

And froze.

Y/N was shirtless except for her sports bra. Lean muscle defined her frame, faint scars tracing along her ribs and shoulder—marks left by Hydra and everything she’d survived.

Wanda had seen her like this before.

Training.

Medical checks.

After missions.

But this felt different.

The cramped bathroom.

The quiet.

The proximity.

Her gaze drifted down Y/N’s torso before she could stop herself.

Heat pooled low in her stomach, sudden and sharp.

She blinked.

Shook her head slightly.

Get it together. She’s your friend!

“Everything okay?” Y/N asked, completely unaware, expression open and almost innocent.

Wanda swallowed. “Yeah. Fine.”

She focused very hard on the dye box in her hands.

“Sit,” she added, gesturing toward the closed toilet lid.

Y/N obeyed without question, turning her back and sitting down. Damp hair brushed the back of her neck.

Wanda slipped on the thin plastic gloves and mixed the dye carefully, hands steady again.

She stepped closer.

Very close.

Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Y/N’s skin.

“Lean forward a little,” Wanda murmured.

Y/N did.

Wanda began applying the dye to her short hair, working methodically, careful not to drip. The chemical scent filled the small space.

For a while neither spoke.

Wanda’s fingers brushed lightly over Y/N’s scalp as she worked.

Y/N’s shoulders relaxed a little more with every pass.

“…You’re very focused,” Y/N said quietly.

“I’m trying not to stain your face.”

A small huff of amusement.

Silence again.

Up close Wanda could see the faint tension in Y/N’s posture—even sitting down she held herself like someone ready to move at any moment.

“You can relax,” Wanda said softly.

“I am.”

Wanda smiled faintly behind her.

“You say that a lot.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Wanda finished coating the last section of hair and stepped back.

“Okay,” she said. “We wait.”

Y/N looked up at her through the mirror.

Their eyes met.

For a second—

The small bathroom felt even smaller.

Wanda looked away first.

“My turn after this,” she said quickly.

Y/N nodded.

But the faint flush creeping up her neck wasn’t entirely from the heat.

---

The motel room was dim except for the glow of the TV, a late-night sitcom murmuring softly in the background.

Wanda sat cross-legged on the bed, watching without really seeing.

The bathroom door opened.

Steam drifted out first.

Then Y/N stepped into the room, towel in hand, drying her hair.

Wanda looked up—

And froze.

The new color caught the light differently—dark auburn now, richer and deeper, sharpening Y/N’s features. Damp strands fell over her forehead as she rubbed them with the towel.

She was still shirtless.

Sports bra. Sweatpants low on her hips. Bare feet.

And that hair—

Wanda’s breath hitched.

Heat pooled low in her stomach again, sharper this time. Her gaze dropped for half a second before she forced it back up.

Stop it.

We are just friends.

Why am I—

Y/N tilted her head. “Wanda?”

No response.

She stepped closer.

“Wanda?”

A hand waved slowly in front of her face.

Wanda blinked hard, dragged back to the moment.

“Sorry—what?”

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked, brows knitting slightly. “You were staring.”

Heat rushed to Wanda’s cheeks.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, sitting up straighter.

Y/N hesitated. Her hand drifted to her damp hair.

“…It looks bad, right?”

The uncertainty was genuine.

She thought Wanda had been staring because she didn’t like it.

Wanda looked at her again—this time deliberately.

The color suited her. Made her eyes warmer. Softer. Dangerous in a completely different way.

“No,” Wanda said a little too fast.

Y/N blinked.

“It looks… really good,” Wanda corrected, voice quieter.

Y/N studied her face carefully.

Wanda held her gaze.

“It suits you.”

A faint flush crept up Y/N’s neck.

“…Oh.”

She rubbed the back of her head, still damp from the shower. And Wanda felt that warm flutter again—stronger now.

She inhaled sharply.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

This was ridiculous. They were stressed. On the run. Exhausted. That was all.

Right?

Y/N shifted her weight, unaware of the chaos she was causing.

Wanda’s pulse jumped.

“I—” she started, then abruptly stood from the bed.

Too fast.

“Bathroom,” she blurted.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“My turn,” Wanda added quickly, already moving past her.

Her arm brushed Y/N’s lightly as she passed. The contact sent another sharp spark through her. Wanda hissed softly under her breath.

Get it together.

Behind her, Y/N turned slightly.

“I can help—” she began.

But the bathroom door had already clicked shut.

Inside, Wanda leaned back against it and exhaled hard. Her heart was racing like she’d just sprinted. She pressed her palms to her cheeks.

“What is wrong with me?” she muttered.

This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Not now.

Not here.

Not with everything else happening.

She closed her eyes and focused on something simple—breathing, grounding, control.

Outside the door, Y/N stood there a moment longer, confused.

“…Okay,” she murmured to herself.

Then she stepped away, giving Wanda space.

Because that’s what she always did.

And somehow—

That only made it worse.

---

When Wanda finally stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind her, the room somehow felt smaller.

Her hair was darker now—deep brown, almost black under the dim motel lighting. It framed her face differently, making her eyes stand out sharper and brighter.

Y/N looked up from where she sat on the edge of the bed.

And froze.

For a moment she simply stared—not confused, not uncertain.

Just… stunned.

Wanda felt it instantly, the weight of that gaze settling over her. Her stomach tightened.

Y/N stood slowly. “You—” she started, then stopped.

Wanda’s heart began to pound.

“You look…” Y/N swallowed, then smiled softly. “Beautiful.”

The word landed gently. And hit hard. Heat rushed up Wanda’s neck.

She turned away too quickly. “Okay,” she said, already moving toward the bed. “We should sleep.”

She pulled back the covers and slid under them without another glance, turning so her back faced Y/N. “Big day tomorrow,” she added, her voice just slightly higher than normal.

Silence followed.

Y/N stood there, replaying the last ten seconds in her head.

You look beautiful.

That was good, right? That was… appropriate? Slowly she moved to the other side of the bed.

“Did I…” Y/N hesitated. “…say something wrong?”

Wanda stiffened beneath the covers. “No.”

“You left very fast.”

“I’m just tired.”

Y/N frowned faintly. She climbed into bed carefully, leaving a respectful space between them this time.

Too much space.

The room hummed quietly with the AC.

After a moment Y/N tried again. “If I made you uncomfortable, I didn’t mean to.”

That did it.

Wanda rolled slightly onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

“You didn’t,” she said softly.

Y/N still looked unconvinced.

Wanda sighed, then lifted a hand and patted the bed beside her.

A simple gesture.

Y/N blinked.

“…Come here.”

The hesitation lasted only a second. Then Y/N shifted closer, still careful, leaving a small gap between them like she was afraid of crossing some invisible line.

Wanda turned onto her side to face her. The new color in Y/N’s hair caught the low red glow from the sign outside, softer now, almost copper. Wanda reached out slowly and brushed her fingers through it.

Y/N went completely still.

“It’s fine,” Wanda murmured. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Her fingers combed through the short strands, slow and soothing.

Y/N’s shoulders gradually relaxed.

“You can just… sleep,” Wanda added quietly.

Y/N swallowed and nodded, shifting a little closer until their knees brushed lightly beneath the covers.

Wanda kept running her fingers through her hair, thumb occasionally grazing her temple. The tension slowly left Y/N’s face.

Her breathing deepened.

“I meant when I said you look beautiful,” Y/N murmured sleepily, eyes already half-closed.

Wanda’s heart skipped.

This time she didn’t pull away. She simply kept stroking her hair.

“Go to sleep,” she whispered.

Within minutes Y/N’s breathing evened out.

Asleep.

Wanda stayed awake a little longer, fingers still resting lightly in her hair.

The motel room was dim, lit only by the faint red flicker from the sign outside. Every few seconds it cast shifting shadows across Y/N’s face, softening the sharp lines and catching in the auburn strands Wanda had helped color just hours ago.

Wanda’s hand stilled.

Get it together.

They were just friends.

Y/N had said it the way someone might say you look beautiful. It didn’t have to mean anything.

It didn’t have to mean—

Her stomach tightened again at the memory.

Stop.

This wasn’t the time to spiral. They were on the run. Possibly hunted. Separated from the team and still unsure who had betrayed them. Feelings could wait. Complications could wait.

Wanda gently slid her hand from Y/N’s hair and rested it on her own chest instead, grounding herself. She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Just friends.

Outside, a truck passed along the highway. The neon sign buzzed faintly.

Tomorrow they would leave this place. Change motels. Buy supplies. Stay invisible.

She closed her eyes.

And eventually—

Sleep took her too.

---

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[ilovemarvel97]

Marked By You - Chapter 5

Fractured Logic

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Wolf Reader

Summary: Vision doesn’t like how close Wanda and reader are becoming.

Words: 10k+

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, mention of smut, Soulmate AU

A/N: The pictures are the image for reader in this chapter.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

---

Vision’s POV

Vision did not distrust without reason.

That was what humans often failed to understand about him—that his conclusions were not born of jealousy or impulse, but of calculation. Pattern recognition. Probability.

When Y/N joined the team, Vision calculated.

He reviewed the Hydra files first. Then S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. Psychological evaluations. Physiological data. Combat reports. Incident logs. He cross-referenced everything.

Subject exhibits lycanthropic transformation.

Trigger factors include heightened emotional distress, particularly anger.

Loss of control possible under extreme conditions.

Threat level: high.

Her wolf form was not symbolic. It was not metaphorical. It was a weapon.

Faster than most vehicles. Strength beyond enhanced humans. Bite force capable of crushing bone. Regeneration rapid enough to negate most injuries. And worst of all—instinct-driven.

Hydra had exploited that.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had contained it.

And the Avengers… had welcomed it.

Vision did not trust her from the beginning.

Not because she was different—but because she was unpredictable.

Then there was Wanda.

At first, Vision told himself her interest was compassion. Wanda was empathetic by nature. She saw broken things and wanted to mend them. When she said Y/N needed friends, Vision accepted that explanation.

But observation contradicted theory.

Wanda altered her routines.

She lingered longer in shared spaces.

Her stress levels decreased in Y/N’s presence.

Her sleep patterns improved—notably on nights when the wolf was nearby.

Y/N slept outside Wanda’s door.

Beside her bed.

At her feet.

Wanda allowed it.

Encouraged it.

Touched her without fear.

Vision observed the way Wanda looked at her—not as one looks at a threat, nor even as one looks at a teammate.

But as one looks at something that makes them feel safe.

That unsettled him.

Because Vision had read the files. He had seen what happened when Y/N lost control. Entire rooms destroyed. Personnel hospitalized. Blood.

Wanda was powerful—but she was also human. Emotional. Vulnerable.

And if Y/N ever turned—

The explosion on the street replayed itself in Vision’s mind with perfect clarity.

The way Y/N moved.

The speed.

The ferocity.

When she tackled Wanda, Vision’s systems registered danger before intention. He acted on the data available in that fraction of a second.

Remove threat.

Protect Wanda.

Vision did not calculate the emotional aftermath.

He should have.

Now, standing outside Wanda’s door earlier that night—when she said she was tired, when she did not ask him to stay—Vision felt something unfamiliar disrupt his internal balance.

Doubt.

Because Wanda had gone to sleep alone.

And somewhere in the compound, a wolf listened to her breathing.

And for the first time since Y/N’s arrival, Vision calculated a new possibility—one he did not like, and one he could not easily quantify.

That the greatest danger Y/N posed…

Was not to Wanda’s safety.

But to his place beside her.

---

Y/N’s POV

The moment Wanda said she was going to sleep, something bright and sudden jolted through Y/N’s chest.

Sleep.

Alone.

Which meant—

Oh.

That meant Y/N could go to her room.

The thought barely finished forming before her hands were already tugging at her clothes. Shirt discarded. Pants kicked aside. She shifted easily, bones stretching, heat rippling through her as fur spilled over skin. The familiar grounding weight of her wolf form settled her nerves instantly.

She padded to the door, paused, listened.

No footsteps.

No voices.

Good.

Y/N slipped into the hallway, nails silent against the floor, and stopped in front of Wanda’s door. She lifted a paw and scratched three times. Soft. Polite. Just like always.

Nothing.

Her ears flicked forward.

Maybe… Wanda was already asleep?

She waited a few seconds, then scratched again—lighter this time, uncertain. Still nothing.

Y/N lowered her nose to the gap beneath the door and sniffed, trying to read the air. Wanda’s scent was there—warm, familiar—but mixed with something else. Soap. Fabric. Dust.

She inhaled too sharply and—

Ah—

She sneezed.

Her head jerked back, ears flattening in embarrassment.

And then—

A sound.

Soft. Breathless.

Laughter.

From the other side of the door.

Y/N froze, heart slamming so hard it echoed in her ribs.

The door opened a second later, and Wanda stood there, one hand braced against the frame, shoulders shaking with quiet giggles.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asked, eyes bright, amusement warming her voice.

Y/N’s chest stopped.

That laugh—

That smile—

Her heart skipped so violently she thought it might actually knock her off balance.

Wanda wiped at the corner of her eye, still smiling. “I was already going to sleep,” she added gently.

Y/N’s ears drooped instinctively, panic flaring.

Sorry! I can go back to my room!

The thought burst out of her head loud and clear, sharp with embarrassment and retreat all tangled together. Her body shifted back a step, tail tucking without her meaning to.

Wanda stilled.

She hesitated—just for a heartbeat.

Then her expression softened.

“Oh,” Wanda murmured.

She reached out, fingers slipping into the thick fur between Y/N’s ears. The touch was gentle, grounding, exactly where Y/N liked it most. Her breath hitched as Wanda’s thumb brushed slow, reassuring circles there.

“It’s okay,” Wanda said quietly. “You can come in.”

Y/N blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her ears lifted slowly, disbelief washing through her. She leaned unconsciously into Wanda’s hand, the tension melting out of her shoulders.

Wanda stepped aside, making space.

Y/N padded in carefully, reverently, like the room was something sacred. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and the world narrowed down to the warm glow of the lamp, the familiar bed, and Wanda’s presence close—so close—it made her chest ache.

As Y/N settled into her usual spot beside the bed, curling in on herself, Wanda’s hand lingered in her fur just a second longer.

Y/N didn’t know why her heart felt so full it hurt.

She only knew one thing, clear and steady as instinct:

This—

This was where she wanted to be.

---

Next Morning

Vision saw her before she saw him.

The hallway was quiet, early light filtering through the compound windows, when the door to Wanda’s room opened—and Y/N padded out in her wolf form.

Her fur was slightly rumpled with sleep. Relaxed. Comfortable.

As if she belonged there.

Vision’s jaw tightened.

Y/N paused when she noticed him, golden eyes lifting to meet his. For a brief moment, they simply stared at each other.

Vision felt irritation spike—sharp, immediate.

“You were in Wanda’s room,” he said, voice controlled but cold.

Y/N did not bare her teeth. Did not growl. Did not tense.

She only looked at his face—really looked—then turned away.

Dismissed him.

She padded down the hall toward her own room without a sound, tail low and calm, as if his presence hadn’t mattered enough to acknowledge.

That… made it worse.

Vision watched until her door closed, then turned sharply and knocked on Wanda’s door.

Once. Firm.

A moment later, Wanda opened it, hair loose, still in sleep clothes. She looked surprised to see him—and then wary.

“Vision?”

“Why was Y/N in your room?” he asked.

Wanda blinked. Then sighed softly, already tired of the conversation before it fully began.

“She sleeps here,” Wanda said simply.

Vision stiffened. “She what?”

“She always does,” Wanda replied, crossing her arms loosely. “At night. You know that.”

“That does not explain why she stayed,” Vision said, voice tightening. “You did not ask me to.”

The words slipped out sharper than intended.

Wanda’s brows drew together. “I didn’t ask anyone,” she said evenly. “I was going to sleep.”

“But I was supposed to stay,” Vision said. “That has always been—”

“I was tired,” Wanda interrupted, firmer now. “And after you left, Y/N came by. Like she usually does. I let her in.”

Vision’s eyes flickered, calculations spinning uselessly against emotion.

“You are letting her replace me,” he said quietly.

Wanda’s expression hardened—not angry, but resolute.

“No,” she said. “I’m letting her be my friend.”

Vision took a breath, forcing his tone back into control. “She is not a pet, Wanda. She is not harmless. She is—”

“She saved my life,” Wanda said, voice low but unyielding. “And she did it without hesitation. Without calculation.”

That word landed harder than she knew.

Vision looked away for a moment, jaw tight, irritation simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“This arrangement makes me uncomfortable,” he said at last.

Wanda held his gaze, her own patience thinning. “So,” she asked, voice edged now, “are you saying I cannot have friends?”

“That is not what I am saying,” Vision replied quickly. “This is… different.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. “Different how?”

He hesitated.

Her tone sharpened. “Do you not trust me?”

That did it.

Vision went still, the question striking precisely where he had no clean answer. His mouth opened—closed again.

“…I trust you,” he said finally.

“Then what is the problem?” Wanda pressed.

His eyes lifted back to hers. “I do not trust her.”

Wanda exhaled slowly, the tension draining into something heavier—weariness. She stepped closer and reached up, cupping his face gently between her hands. Her thumbs brushed along his cheekbones, grounding, familiar.

“Then trust me,” she said softly.

Vision’s jaw clenched. His teeth ground together, conflict flickering visibly across his features. After a moment, he nodded—once, reluctant but real.

“I will try,” he said.

Wanda dropped her hands, the irritation easing just a little. “Good.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Why are you here so early anyway?”

“I wanted us to go down together,” Vision answered. “Breakfast.”

Wanda hummed, the sound thoughtful. “Alright. Wait here.”

She turned toward the bathroom, pausing only briefly at the door. “I’ll change.”

As the door closed behind her, Vision remained standing in the hallway, posture straight, expression unreadable.

But his gaze lingered—just for a second—on the opposite door down the hall.

Y/N’s room.

And the quiet certainty that whatever this was… it was far from over.

---

After that day, Vision changed.

Not drastically. Not enough that anyone else commented on it.

But Y/N noticed.

He started positioning himself closer to Wanda whenever Y/N entered a room. If Y/N sat beside Wanda on the couch, Vision would suddenly need to sit on Wanda’s other side—arm draped, fingers laced, casual but deliberate. When Y/N spoke, Vision answered for Wanda. When Wanda laughed at something Y/N said, Vision would kiss her temple, as if to reclaim the moment.

And at night—

Two nights in a row, Y/N had padded down the hallway, hopeful, only to smell him already there.

Vision.

So she turned back. Both times.

It left her restless. Irritable. The wolf paced under her skin with nowhere to go.

Which was why Nat had noticed the difference the moment they started sparring.

Y/N’s blows were heavier than usual. Faster. Less controlled.

“Easy, tiger,” Nat warned, blocking a strike and twisting, using Y/N’s momentum against her.

Y/N barely registered it before the world flipped.

She hit the mat with a thud, the air knocked clean from her lungs.

Nat loomed over her, one knee pinning Y/N’s thigh, hands braced on either side of her shoulders. “Okay,” she said calmly. “What’s eating you?”

Y/N stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. “Nothing.”

Nat snorted. “Sure. And I’m a nun.”

Y/N shrugged, trying to roll out from under her, but Nat didn’t let her.

“Is this about Wanda?” Nat asked casually.

Y/N stilled.

Nat cocked her head, watching closely. “You got a crush or something?”

Y/N turned her face away, ears flushing red despite herself. “…It’s a wolf thing.”

Nat hummed, clearly amused. “Uh-huh.”

She pushed herself up and offered Y/N a hand, hauling her to her feet. “Just—be careful.”

Y/N frowned. “Careful of what?”

“Of getting your heart stepped on,” Nat said lightly. “Wanda’s got a boyfriend.”

Y/N’s shoulders tensed. “It’s not like that.”

Nat held her gaze for a moment, then lifted both hands in surrender. “Okay.”

She stepped back into stance. “Then quit hitting like you’re trying to knock a wall down.”

Y/N exhaled, shaking it off, and raised her guard again.

They circled.

But even as they resumed training, Y/N’s mind wasn’t on Nat’s movements.

It was on a laugh behind a closed door.

On three scratches unanswered.

On a space beside a bed that felt emptier than it should.

---

It was already late night when Y/N came out of the training room.

She moved down the hallway on autopilot, boots quiet against the floor, Nat’s words looping in her head whether she wanted them to or not.

Wanda has a boyfriend.

She knew that. Had always known that.

Just because Wanda was her imprint—because the bond had snapped into place the moment Y/N had first really seen her—didn’t mean Wanda owed her anything. Imprinting wasn’t ownership. It wasn’t a claim.

All Y/N had ever wanted for her imprint was happiness.

And if Wanda was with Vision… then that meant Vision made her happy.

…Right?

Y/N groaned softly as she reached her room, rubbing a hand down her face. She turned toward her door—

—and froze.

Her hearing sharpened instinctively, wolf senses flaring without permission.

Wanda’s voice.

Close. Too close.

“…Vis—wait.”

Y/N’s head snapped toward Wanda’s door, heart stuttering. Her body tensed, muscles coiling, every instinct screaming alert.

What’s happening?

Is she okay?

Is he hurting her?

Then—

A soft, breathless sound.

A moan.

“There…” Wanda breathed.

Vision’s voice followed, low, asking something Y/N couldn’t quite make out.

The world tilted.

Y/N’s stomach lurched violently, bile burning her throat. Her chest constricted like a fist had closed around her heart, squeezing until it hurt to breathe.

She’s fine, her mind said distantly. She’s more than fine.

Her paws were already moving before she realized she’d turned.

Before she realized she was running.

She didn’t remember shifting—only the rush of it, bones folding, skin giving way to fur as she burst out of the compound doors and into the night. Cold air tore past her as she sprinted, lungs burning, legs pumping harder and harder as if she could outrun the sound still echoing in her head.

Wanda’s voice.

Happy.

Breathless.

Not meant for her.

The trees swallowed her whole as she fled into the woods, branches whipping past, the earth pounding beneath her paws. She ran until the compound was nothing but a distant memory. Until the bond in her chest stopped screaming quite so loudly.

Only then did she slow, collapsing into the shadows between the trees.

Y/N curled in on herself, massive body trembling, golden eyes squeezed shut.

All she wanted—all she had ever wanted—was for Wanda to be happy.

So why did it hurt like this?

---

Wanda lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, the room dim except for the faint city glow bleeding through the curtains.

Vision was beside her—still, composed even in rest, an arm loosely around her waist. His skin was cold, artificially so, steady and familiar. The sheets were tangled around their legs, the air heavy with the aftermath of intimacy.

It had been… nice.

Good, even.

And yet.

Wanda swallowed, her chest feeling oddly hollow.

Vision had come to her room on his own tonight. That alone had surprised her. It had been a while since they’d been intimate—mostly because Vision didn’t need it. Before, it was almost always Wanda who initiated, who reached first, who bridged that gap between want and action.

Tonight, he had started it.

She’d felt seen. Chosen. Wanted.

She’d smiled into his kiss. She’d welcomed him gladly, relief and happiness blooming warm in her chest as they came together.

So why—

Why did she feel like this now?

Empty.

Like something essential was missing, just out of reach.

Wanda turned her head slightly, studying Vision’s profile in the low light. He looked peaceful. Content. As if everything was exactly as it should be.

This is what you wanted, she told herself. You love him. You’re happy.

But her heart didn’t echo the thought the way it should have.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to golden eyes and soft fur. To three scratches on her door. To quiet nights spent with a presence that asked for nothing and somehow gave her everything—comfort, safety, warmth.

Wanda frowned faintly, confusion tightening her throat.

What is wrong with me?

She closed her eyes, pressing her face briefly into the pillow, trying to will the feeling away. Guilt prickled beneath her ribs—not because of what she’d done, but because of what she was thinking after.

Vision shifted slightly, drawing her closer, and she let him. She didn’t pull away.

But the emptiness stayed.

And somewhere deep inside her chest, a quiet, aching awareness whispered that tonight—despite everything—she had never felt so alone.

Wanda hadn’t slept.

Not really.

She lay there through the long stretch of night, eyes closed, breath measured, listening to the quiet hum of the compound and the too-even rhythm of Vision beside her. Every time she drifted close to rest, that hollow feeling surfaced again, pulling her back to awareness.

When morning light finally crept in through the curtains, she was already awake—tired in a way sleep wouldn’t fix.

She felt it before she heard it: Vision shifting, his cool body pressing a little closer as he angled himself toward her. His voice dropped to a whisper, careful, gentle.

“Wanda?” he murmured. “Are you awake?”

She didn’t answer. She let her breathing stay slow, even. Pretended.

There was a pause. Then his lips brushed her cheek, soft and reverent.

“I’m going to my room to prepare for the day,” he whispered near her ear.

She felt the faint displacement of air as he phased away, the subtle wrongness of it always making her chest tighten. The room settled back into silence.

Only then did Wanda open her eyes.

She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then exhaled—a quiet, shaky sigh she hadn’t realized she was holding. One hand came up to press lightly against her chest, as if she could soothe whatever was twisting there by touch alone.

Why am I like this? she wondered.

She turned her head toward the floor beside her bed.

Empty.

No soft weight. No warm presence. No golden eyes watching her like she was something precious.

Her throat tightened.

Wanda pushed herself up slowly, wrapping the sheet around her as she sat on the edge of the bed. The morning felt off, tilted, like she’d woken up in the wrong version of it.

---

Y/N’s POV

Y/N woke to the smell of damp earth and pine.

For a moment she didn’t move, body heavy, muscles pleasantly sore in that way that only came from hours of running without thought or destination. Birds were already awake, chirping somewhere above her, and sunlight filtered through the canopy in soft, broken patches.

…Right.

Memory slid back into place.

Running.

Too fast.

Too far.

Too much.

She pushed herself up onto her paws and stretched, spine arching, claws digging into the forest floor. A low huff escaped her chest as she shook out her fur, leaves and dirt scattering.

Great. I slept out here.

She lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she caught her own scent trail—familiar, winding, leading back toward the compound.

Mission this afternoon, she reminded herself. Nat will actually murder me if I’m late.

With a resigned huff, she started down the path.

She hadn’t gone far when another scent cut through the air—thick, musky, wrong.

Y/N stopped.

Her ears flicked forward. Her body stilled.

A shape shifted between the trees ahead.

A bear.

It was large. Broad. Standing its ground like it owned the forest.

The bear lifted its head and growled, deep and rumbling, a sound meant to warn.

Y/N stared at it.

Just… stared.

Her head tilted slightly, expression unmistakably unimpressed.

Really?

The bear took a step forward, teeth bared.

Y/N sighed—actually sighed—chest deflating as if she were deeply inconvenienced by the entire situation.

She let out a low growl in return, power rolling through the sound, something ancient and dominant woven into it.

Any normal animal would have backed down.

This one didn’t.

With a roar, the bear charged.

“Of course,” Y/N thought, just before she moved.

She launched forward, fast—too fast—darting to the side as the bear swiped where she’d been a second earlier. Claws tore through bark instead of fur.

Y/N circled, paws light, eyes sharp. The bear turned to follow her, slower but relentless, rearing up with another roar.

She leapt.

Not to attack blindly—but to redirect.

Her weight slammed into the bear’s shoulder, throwing it off balance just enough for her to roll away as it crashed back down. The ground shook beneath the impact. Birds exploded into the air, wings beating frantically as the forest erupted into noise.

The bear roared, furious now.

It charged again.

This time, Y/N didn’t dodge.

She met it head-on.

She ducked low beneath snapping jaws, momentum carrying her forward as she slammed her shoulder into its chest with a deep, vibrating growl. They collided hard—muscle against muscle, strength against strength—tumbling through dirt and leaves. Pain flared along her ribs, but she pushed through it, claws digging in, teeth flashing as she snapped near its throat—not to kill, but to warn.

Dominance.

Control.

Enough.

With one final surge of power, she broke free and landed several feet away, stance wide, hackles raised, golden eyes blazing. She let out a sound that wasn’t just a growl—it was a command.

The bear hesitated.

Snorted.

Then, finally, backed away, turning and crashing off through the trees, retreating deeper into the forest.

Y/N stood there for a moment, chest heaving, blood warm on her fur—not all of it hers. She shook herself once, hard, then shifted back to human form with a sharp breath, pain flaring briefly before settling.

“…Great,” she muttered, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

She followed her scent trail back toward the compound, already dreading the questions.

---

Wanda’s POV

Meanwhile, back at the compound—

Wanda stood near the kitchen island, unease curling tighter in her chest with every passing minute.

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Steve glanced up from his coffee. “Not since yesterday.”

Nat frowned slightly. “Thought she’d be up early for the mission later.”

Vision leaned in and kissed Wanda’s cheek, smiling softly. “She is capable of taking care of herself, Wanda. Last night was perfect, wasn’t it?”

Wanda nodded automatically.

“Perfect,” she echoed, though the word felt hollow.

Her eyes scanned the room again.

No Y/N.

Breakfast finished. Chairs scraped back. People filtered out.

The feeling only worsened.

Wanda excused herself and went straight to Y/N’s room, knocking once before opening the door.

Empty.

Her heart skipped.

“FRIDAY,” Wanda said quietly. “Where is Y/N?”

“Y/N left the compound last night,” the AI replied. “Destination: forest perimeter. She has not yet returned.”

Wanda’s breath caught.

“She hasn’t—” Wanda began, then stopped as the elevator dinged at the end of the hall.

Her head snapped up.

The doors slid open.

Y/N stepped out.

Human form.

Blood streaked along her arms, dried dark against her skin. A smear marked her neck. Rust-colored stains lingered around her mouth. Her clothes were torn, scuffed with dirt and leaves. She looked tired—but upright.

Alive.

Wanda froze.

Then panic hit her all at once.

“Oh my god—Y/N,” Wanda breathed, already moving toward her, fear flooding her chest as she took in the blood, the injuries, the exhaustion written across her face.

Wanda closed the distance in two quick steps.

She took Y/N’s face in her hands without thinking, thumbs brushing her jaw, fingers cradling her cheeks as her eyes scanned frantically—neck, eyes, mouth, skin—looking for anything she might have missed.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked, voice tight, breath uneven. “You’re bleeding—Y/N, you’re covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine,” Y/N said quickly, steady despite the adrenaline still buzzing under her skin. “I swear.”

That didn’t help.

Wanda shook her head, panic refusing to loosen its grip. “No. No, you need to go to the med bay. Bruce needs to—”

“I’m fine,” Y/N insisted, already unlocking her door and stepping inside. “Really.”

Wanda followed immediately, not giving her a second to shut the door. The moment it closed behind them, Wanda grabbed the hem of Y/N’s torn shirt, fingers curling tight.

“Let me see,” she said, almost pleading. “Just—let me see where you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” Y/N repeated, gentler now. “Wanda, it’s not my blood.”

Wanda didn’t answer. She lifted the shirt anyway.

Her breath stuttered.

There were no wounds.

No gashes. No blood seeping from skin. Just warm, toned muscle, faintly marked with dirt and dried streaks that clearly didn’t originate from her body.

Only then did Wanda feel her own heartbeat slow, the panic ebbing just enough for air to reach her lungs again.

Her hand—still pressed flat against Y/N’s abdomen—hadn’t moved.

“I told you,” Y/N said softly. “See? I’m okay.”

Wanda swallowed, eyes lingering for half a second too long before she forced herself to look up.

“…Then whose blood is it?” she asked quietly.

Y/N shrugged, casual despite the morning she’d had. “Ran into a bear. Big one. Didn’t know its place.”

Wanda blinked. “A… bear?”

“It attacked me,” Y/N explained. “Didn’t listen when I told it to back off. So… yeah. That’s his blood.”

Wanda stared at her, stunned.

A bear.

She exhaled shakily, one hand still resting on Y/N’s stomach, completely unaware of it, as if touching her was the only thing anchoring her to the fact that Y/N was standing here—alive, unbroken.

Her voice came out softer. “You can’t just… fight bears.”

Without realizing it, Wanda leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently against Y/N’s collarbone.

It was instinctive. Seeking. Needing.

Y/N froze for half a heartbeat.

Then her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

A low, rumbling purr vibrated from her chest—deep, steady, unmistakably wolf.

“Oh—” Y/N said quickly, heat rushing to her face. “I—uh. I won. Against the bear. I mean.”

Wanda shifted, about to protest the recklessness of that statement—

And stopped.

She became acutely aware of everything all at once.

How close they were.

How Y/N’s breath brushed her hair.

How solid she felt beneath her hand.

How that sound—that sound—was resonating through her bones.

Y/N was still purring.

Wanda swallowed.

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs, but instead of panic, she felt something else—something warm and grounding. The heaviness that had sat in her chest all morning eased, melting away under that quiet, vibrating reassurance.

Safe.

She realized then where her hand was.

Her breath hitched.

Color rushed to her cheeks as she pulled back abruptly, hand dropping from Y/N’s abdomen like it had burned her.

“I—” Wanda cleared her throat, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

The purring stopped instantly.

Y/N straightened too, just as embarrassed, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s—yeah. Instincts. Sorry.”

Silence fell between them—thick, charged, but not uncomfortable.

Wanda took another breath, steadier this time, eyes flicking up to meet Y/N’s.

“…I’m glad you’re okay,” she said quietly.

Y/N nodded. “Me too.”

Neither of them mentioned how close they’d been.

Neither of them forgot it either.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The room felt smaller somehow—too warm, too quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath. Wanda busied herself smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her jacket, anything to give her hands somewhere to go that wasn’t… *there* again.

Y/N watched her quietly, Y/E/C eyes softer now, careful. Like she was afraid one wrong movement might spook Wanda and make her bolt.

“You’re bleeding,” Wanda said finally, grasping at something practical. Her gaze flicked to the dried red along Y/N’s jaw and neck. “Even if it’s not yours, you should at least clean up.”

Y/N blinked, then nodded once. “Yeah. I was going to shower.”

“I’ll—” Wanda started, instinct tugging her forward.

Then she stopped herself.

She inhaled slowly, grounding, pulling her shoulders back like she was bracing against something invisible.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said instead.

Y/N’s ears—human now, but the wolf still close beneath the surface—might as well have flattened. She hid it well, offering a small, understanding nod.

“Okay.”

Wanda hesitated at the door, hand resting on the frame for just a second too long. She didn’t look back—she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to.

Then she stepped out and closed the door softly behind her.

The hallway felt cooler.

Quieter.

Too quiet.

Wanda leaned her back against the wall just outside Y/N’s room, eyes closing as she pressed her lips together, trying to steady the uneven rhythm in her chest.

Get it together, she told herself. You’re fine.

But even as she pushed away, the warmth of Y/N’s presence lingered—like an echo she couldn’t quite shake.

---

Later that night, the compound felt unusually empty.

Both Vision and Y/N were on a mission—separate assignments, overlapping timing—and for the first time in a while, Wanda went to bed alone. No quiet conversation. No steady presence nearby. No familiar weight curled on the floor beside her bed.

She told herself she didn’t need it.

She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, letting exhaustion pull her under.

Sleep came hard—and wrong.

The dream hit without warning.

Flashes of fire. Screams. Metal tearing through stone. Hands slipping from hers no matter how tightly she tried to hold on. The familiar helplessness wrapped around her chest, crushing, suffocating.

“No—” she gasped in the dream, voice breaking.

Wanda jolted awake with a sharp inhale, lungs burning as if she’d been underwater too long. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. She pushed herself upright, fingers digging into the sheets as she tried to remember where she was.

Her room.

The compound.

Safe.

She dragged in another breath. Then another.

Still, the panic clung to her skin, cold and persistent.

And then—

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Three soft, deliberate sounds against her door.

Wanda froze.

Her breath caught—not in fear this time, but something close to disbelief.

She turned her head slowly toward the door, heart still racing, but now for a different reason entirely.

Another breath.

Another heartbeat.

The scratches came again—gentle, familiar, unmistakable.

A shaky laugh slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

“Y/N…” she whispered, already pushing the covers aside as she stood.

She crossed the room quickly and opened the door.

Golden eyes met hers in the dim hallway, glowing softly. Y/N stood there in her wolf form, fur slightly ruffled from travel, chest rising and falling as if she’d come fast.

Without a word, Wanda lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Y/N’s head.

The wolf leaned in immediately, pressing her head into Wanda’s chest, solid and warm and real.

Wanda buried her fingers in thick fur, breath finally evening out as she clung to her like a lifeline.

“I had a nightmare,” she admitted quietly, voice muffled against Y/N’s neck.

A low, soothing rumble answered her—deep and steady—vibrating through Wanda’s bones.

She smiled weakly, eyes stinging.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”

And for the first time that night, the fear loosened its grip.

Y/N let out a soft, broken whimper against Wanda’s chest.

It wasn’t loud—but it carried.

Wanda blinked, surprised, only then realizing her cheeks were wet. She hadn’t even felt the tears fall.

“It’s okay,” she whispered automatically, though her voice trembled. “I’m okay.”

Y/N didn’t look convinced.

She followed Wanda inside without hesitation, padding quietly as the door closed behind them. When Wanda sat down on the edge of the bed, shoulders still tense, Y/N settled herself in front of her instead of curling up on the floor like usual.

The wolf leaned forward, gently pressing her muzzle into Wanda’s hand.

Another whimper—low, worried.

Wanda’s fingers curled instinctively into the fur between Y/N’s ears. “Hey,” she murmured, trying to smile. “It was just a nightmare. That’s all.”

Her breathing finally slowed.

For a second, there was only the quiet hum of the compound at night.

Then—

Then why are you crying?

The thought hit her clear as day.

Wanda froze.

Her breath caught sharply, eyes widening just a fraction as she stared down at Y/N. Before she could even process it—before she could answer—

Y/N lifted her head.

And slowly, deliberately, she licked the tear from Wanda’s cheek.

One long, gentle swipe. Warm. Careful. Almost reverent.

Wanda gasped softly at the sensation, fingers tightening in Y/N’s fur as something deep in her chest ached. Not fear. Not sadness.

Relief.

“You…” she whispered, voice unsteady. “You heard me.”

Y/N tilted her head, golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, worry still etched into every line of her posture. Her tail thumped once against the floor, hesitant.

Wanda let out a shaky laugh through her tears and leaned forward, resting her forehead against the wolf’s.

“I’m okay now,” she promised quietly. “You’re here.”

The whimper faded, replaced by a low, steady rumble—comforting, grounding.

And Wanda stayed there, hand on Y/N’s muzzle, letting the last of the nightmare dissolve in the warmth between them.

---

Few Hours Later

Morning crept in quietly, pale light slipping through the windows.

Vision returned from his mission just before dawn, movements precise, controlled. Habit guided him straight to Wanda’s room. He phased through the wall without knocking—something he’d done countless times before.

He stopped short.

Y/N was there.

In her wolf form, curled up beside Wanda’s bed, massive body tucked protectively close. Wanda was still asleep, face soft for once, one hand dangling over the edge of the mattress—fingers buried in thick fur as if she’d reached for Y/N even in her dreams.

Vision’s jaw tightened.

Y/N’s ears twitched.

Golden eyes snapped open the instant Vision materialized. Her head lifted, body tensing, but she didn’t growl. She just stared at him, alert and wary.

“What are you doing here?” Vision asked sharply, voice low but edged with anger.

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t bare her teeth either. She simply held his gaze, unmoving.

That silence snapped something.

Vision moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Y/N barely had time to rise into a defensive stance before his hand closed around her and hurled her away from the bed.

“NO—!” Wanda gasped, jolting awake as the world exploded into motion.

Y/N smashed through the door with a violent crack, wood splintering outward as her body flew into the hallway. She hit hard, skidding across the floor before rolling to a stop.

Wanda shot upright on the bed, heart slamming painfully against her ribs. “Y/N!” she cried, panic raw in her voice.

She whirled on Vision, eyes blazing red. “What did you do?!”

Before he could answer—

A blur of fur and fury surged back through the shattered doorway.

Y/N slammed into him with a snarl, jaws clamping down on his arm. Metal screeched as her teeth bit deep, claws scraping against the floor as she dragged him back a step.

The room exploded into motion.

Vision wrenched his arm free, metal scraping as he twisted out of Y/N’s grip. He pivoted instantly, fist drawing back as he aimed a sharp punch toward her head.

Y/N reacted on instinct.

She lunged again, jaws snapping toward his arm, a furious snarl tearing from her chest as she tried to clamp down before he could strike.

“Stop!” Wanda screamed, terror shredding her voice. “Vision—stop!”

He didn’t even glance at her.

Vision phased just enough to avoid her teeth and swung anyway, calculations cold and precise.

Then Wanda’s voice broke.

“Y/N—stop!”

The effect was immediate.

Y/N froze mid-lunge, jaws inches from Vision’s arm. Her growl cut off abruptly, body locking in place like she’d been commanded by something deeper than instinct. She turned her head toward Wanda, ears flattening, golden eyes wide and searching.

She took a step back.

That hesitation cost her.

Vision’s fist connected.

The blow slammed into the side of Y/N’s face with brutal force, the impact echoing through the room. A sharp yelp ripped from her as her body was sent flying, skidding across the floor before crashing into the far wall.

“NO!” Wanda screamed.

Y/N hit the ground hard, dazed, claws scraping uselessly as she tried to push herself up, vision swimming.

Wanda’s scream shattered into something else entirely.

Scarlet energy flared violently from her hands as she surged forward, fury and fear detonating together.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Wanda roared.

The force of her magic sent Vision stumbling back, boots scraping against the floor as he caught himself. The room vibrated with unstable energy, red light flickering along the walls.

“Wanda, listen to yourself,” Vision snapped, straightening. His voice was tight now, edged with something sharper than logic. “This is exactly what I warned you about.”

He lifted his arm—the vibranium surface marred with deep scratches, metal scored where Y/N’s teeth had bitten down. The marks were raw, unmistakable.

“She attacked me,” he continued, gesturing to the damage. “That is dangerous. Uncontrolled. Feral.”

Wanda shot to her feet, positioning herself squarely between him and Y/N, who was still struggling to rise behind her, growling low despite the pain.

“You threw her through a door,” Wanda shot back, voice shaking with rage. “She was sleeping. You attacked her first.”

“She was in my place,” Vision replied coldly. “In your bed. You don’t see the pattern because you don’t want to.”

His gaze flicked briefly to Y/N, lip curling in disgust.

“I told you what she was,” he said. “A weapon Hydra barely contained. An animal pretending to be civilized. A—”

“Don’t,” Wanda warned, eyes glowing brighter.

Vision didn’t stop.

“A mongrel,” he finished.

The word landed like a slap.

Y/N froze completely.

Not snarling. Not moving.

Just… still.

Something in Wanda snapped.

Her power surged violently, slamming Vision back against the wall hard enough to crack the concrete. She stood trembling, fists clenched, eyes burning.

“You do not get to call her that,” Wanda said, voice low and lethal. “You don’t get to decide who she is.”

“She bit me,” Vision argued, straining against the pressure of Wanda’s magic. “She lost control. Again. That proves my point.”

“That proves nothing,” Wanda shot back, voice shaking with restrained fury. “You attacked her while she was sleeping—”

A door down the hall slid open.

Nat stepped out, hair mussed, eyes sharp despite the early hour. One look at the shattered door, the cracked wall, the red energy still humming in the air—and her expression hardened.

“Okay,” she said calmly. “Someone want to explain why it sounds like a war zone out here?”

No one answered her.

Vision pushed forward instead, anger bleeding through his composure now. “You’re blinded, Wanda. That thing is unstable. It’s a mongrel—”

The word echoed.

Y/N moved.

The massive wolf rose fully to her paws, claws scraping against the floor as she stepped forward in one smooth, powerful motion. She positioned herself behind Wanda and then *around* her—huge body curling protectively, thick fur brushing Wanda’s back. Her tail wrapped firmly around Wanda’s waist, heavy and solid, anchoring her in place.

A deep, thunderous growl rolled from Y/N’s chest.

Not feral.

Not uncontrolled.

A warning.

Her lips pulled back, exposing long, sharp canines. Golden eyes locked onto Vision with focused, lethal clarity. Ears flattened against her skull, stance low and braced—every inch of her massive wolf form screaming stay away from her.

Nat’s hand drifted subtly toward her weapon.

“Vision,” Nat said carefully, “take a step back.”

He didn’t.

“She’s threatening me,” Vision snapped. “Do you see that? This is exactly—”

The growl deepened, vibrating through Wanda’s spine. Y/N’s tail tightened just slightly, not restraining—protecting.

Wanda felt it then.

Not fear.

Not panic.

Safety.

“Stop,” Wanda said quietly.

Not to Y/N.

To Vision.

“She hasn’t moved toward you,” Wanda continued, voice steady despite the chaos. “She hasn’t touched you. She’s standing between you and me because you are the one escalating.”

Vision stared at the sight in front of him—Wanda framed by red magic, guarded by a massive wolf who would clearly tear the world apart before letting him near her again.

“This is unhealthy,” he said tightly. “You’re choosing her over me? Your boyfriend?!”

His voice rose, composure finally cracking. Anger flared in his eyes as he took another step forward, frustration bleeding into something sharper, uglier.

Y/N answered instantly.

A deep, thunderous growl tore from her chest, louder now, vibrating through the hallway as she stepped forward as well, massive body shifting to block Wanda even more completely. Her claws dug into the floor, lips peeling back farther to bare every tooth she had.

Nat stiffened. “Easy—”

Wanda didn’t raise her voice.

She raised her hand.

Her fingers slipped into Y/N’s thick fur, right between her ears, pressing there gently but firmly. It was a familiar touch. A grounding one.

“Y/N,” Wanda said softly.

The growl faltered.

Y/N froze, breath still heavy, muscles coiled tight beneath her fur. Then, slowly—reluctantly—she stepped back half a pace. Her tail loosened around Wanda’s waist, though she didn’t uncurl completely. Golden eyes never left Vision, but the fury in them dimmed, replaced by watchful restraint.

Wanda kept her hand there, steady.

“I’m not choosing anyone over anyone,” Wanda said, finally looking back at Vision. Her voice was calm now, but it cut deeper than shouting ever could. “I’m choosing not to let you hurt someone who trusts me.”

Vision’s jaw clenched hard. “She attacked me.”

“She defended herself,” Wanda replied. “And then she stopped. When I asked her to.”

Her hand tightened slightly in Y/N’s fur. The wolf leaned into the touch despite herself, grounding further.

For a long moment, Vision said nothing.

His eyes flicked once more to the marks on his vibranium arm, then to the massive wolf at Wanda’s back—still, controlled, watching. His jaw tightened, emotions churning behind a carefully restrained expression that was fraying at the edges.

“This isn’t over,” he said coldly.

Then he turned sharply and walked away, footsteps heavy and clipped as he disappeared down the corridor, anger practically radiating off him. The hum of his energy faded with distance, leaving behind a charged, echoing silence.

Only when he was gone did Wanda’s shoulders sag.

She exhaled shakily, fingers still buried in Y/N’s fur. Y/N let out a low, wounded sound—not a growl, not a snarl, but something softer. Protective. Apologetic.

The massive wolf lowered her head, nudging closer until her muzzle brushed Wanda’s side. She sniffed her carefully, slow and thorough, as if committing Wanda’s scent to memory again—checking for fear, for pain, for anything wrong. A soft huff left her nose, followed by another small whine when she reached Wanda’s hands.

Wanda let out a broken little laugh that was half a sob, cupping Y/N’s face despite its size.

“I’m okay,” she murmured shakily. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Y/N’s thoughts swelled again—too loud, too raw to keep contained.

I didn’t mean to hurt him.

I didn’t mean to make you fight with him.

I just—he scared you.

Wanda’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened in Y/N’s fur instinctively, ready to answer, to reassure—

“Not gonna ask,” Nat said calmly from the end of the hall.

Both of them startled.

Nat stood there in a loose tank and sweatpants, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded but sharp enough to take in the shattered door, the cracked wall, the massive wolf, and Wanda standing in the middle of it all with red still flickering faintly around her fingers.

She sighed. “But you two should probably clean this up before Tony wakes up and loses his mind.”

Her gaze softened just a fraction as it landed on Wanda. “You good?”

Wanda nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Nat said, already turning away. “I’m going back to sleep. We’ll pretend this was… structural stress.” A pause. “Good night.”

She disappeared back into her room, door clicking shut.

The hallway fell quiet again.

Wanda let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Red light bloomed around her hands, gentle this time, precise. The broken door slid back into place, splintered wood knitting together seamlessly. The cracked concrete smoothed as if it had never been struck, the air settling with a soft hum as her magic faded.

When she was done, Wanda sagged slightly, exhaustion finally catching up to her.

She turned back to Y/N, reaching up to cradle her massive face.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said softly. “You protected me.”

Y/N’s ears drooped a fraction, guilt still clinging to her despite the words.

Wanda pressed her forehead briefly to Y/N’s muzzle, grounding them both.

“And I don’t regret standing up for you,” she added, quieter but firm.

---

For the rest of the day, Wanda didn’t speak to Vision.

She moved through the compound like he wasn’t there—silent, distant, her shoulders tense whenever she sensed him nearby. At breakfast, she sat at the far end of the table and left early. During training hours, she chose the empty rooms, the quiet corners. If Vision tried to catch her eye, she didn’t look back.

Y/N was gone on another mission, and the absence felt heavier than it should have.

Without her, the compound felt colder. Too clean. Too still.

Vision watched Wanda from a distance, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, only to stop himself. When he finally approached her in the common area that afternoon, she stood before he could say a word.

“I need space,” Wanda said flatly.

Her tone left no room for debate.

Vision stiffened. “You are avoiding an important discussion.”

“No,” she replied, meeting his gaze at last, eyes tired but unyielding. “I’m avoiding being told who I’m allowed to trust.”

Silence stretched between them.

“You chose her,” Vision said quietly.

Wanda’s jaw tightened. “I chose myself.”

She turned and walked away before he could respond, retreating to her room and closing the door behind her. The lock clicked, final and deliberate.

When Vision caught her again it was outside the library.

Wanda had sensed him before she saw him—his presence always carried that faint hum, like pressure in the air—but she still flinched when he stepped into her path, effectively boxing her in between the wall and his tall frame.

“Wanda,” he said. Calm. Controlled. Like always. “We need to talk.”

Her shoulders sagged a fraction. She was tired. Emotionally wrung out, running on caffeine and stubbornness and the echo of claws scraping against concrete.

“I don’t want to,” she replied, trying to step around him.

He shifted with her, blocking her again. “Avoidance will not resolve this.”

Something sharp twisted in her chest. “Neither will you lecturing me.”

His jaw tightened. “You are allowing your judgment to be compromised.”

That did it. She laughed—short, brittle, humorless. “Oh? And here I thought I was finally seeing clearly.”

“Wanda,” Vision said, firmer now, “what happened this morning was unacceptable. She attacked me.”

“She defended herself,” Wanda snapped, the words coming faster now, heat rising. “You grabbed her. You threw her through a door.”

“She is dangerous,” he insisted. “You saw it. She lost control. That creature—”

Wanda stopped walking.

Slowly, she turned back to him.

“…Don’t,” she warned quietly.

Vision didn’t hear the warning. Or worse—he did, and ignored it.

“That mongrel has no place here,” he continued. “And certainly no place near you. You are putting yourself at risk because you are emotionally compromised. You are confusing dependence with—”

Scarlet energy crackled to life around her hands.

“Stop calling her that,” Wanda said, voice shaking now—not with fear, but with fury. “You don’t get to talk about her like she’s an animal you can categorize and discard.”

“She is an animal,” Vision shot back. “By nature. By instinct. And one day she will turn on you too. I am trying to protect you.”

The word protect hit something raw.

Wanda stepped closer, eyes blazing. “No. You are trying to control me.”

“That is not true.”

“You don’t listen,” she said, voice breaking through clenched teeth. “You never listen. You decide. You calculate. You tell me how I feel, what I should fear, who I should trust.”

Her magic flared brighter, the lights overhead flickering in response.

“She stops when I ask her to,” Wanda continued, breath uneven. “She hears me. She feels me. When I’m terrified in the middle of the night, she comes without being called. When I’m breaking apart, she curls around me like the world is ending and I’m the only thing that matters.”

Vision’s eyes narrowed, the words clearly striking somewhere raw.

“So,” he said slowly, dangerously calm, “you’ve been cheating on me?”

The accusation landed like a slap.

Wanda froze—then turned on him fully, fury flashing so sharp it almost hurt to breathe.

“No,” she snapped. “Absolutely not.”

Her voice shook, but it didn’t waver.

“She is my friend,” Wanda said, emphasizing every word like she needed him to finally hear it. “My protector. My anchor. Nothing more has happened.”

Vision tilted his head. “You share a bed. You seek comfort from her. You allow physical closeness.”

“And?” Wanda shot back. “Do you know how many times I’ve begged you to stay when I couldn’t breathe? When the walls felt like they were closing in? You phased through me and told me I’d calm down.”

Her eyes burned. “She stayed.”

Vision’s jaw clenched. “Emotional intimacy can be as significant as physical betrayal.”

Wanda let out a hollow laugh. “Then maybe ask yourself why I needed it from someone else.”

She stepped closer, tears spilling freely now. “She doesn’t touch me like that. She doesn’t push. She doesn’t take. She listens. She responds. When I’m shaking, she makes herself smaller. When I’m afraid, she becomes a wall.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “If that feels like cheating to you, then maybe the problem isn’t her.”

Silence stretched between them.

Vision searched her face, clearly recalculating, reanalyzing—but missing the point entirely.

“You are prioritizing her needs over our relationship,” he said.

Wanda shook her head slowly. “No. I’m prioritizing my survival.”

Her voice cracked. “And the fact that you see that as betrayal tells me everything I need to know.”

She wiped her cheeks angrily. “Y/N never asked me for anything. Never demanded my loyalty. Never made me choose.”

Her eyes locked onto his, steady now despite the tears.

“You did that all by yourself.”

Vision stared at her like the answer was a faulty equation he couldn’t quite balance.

“You are being influenced,” he said finally. “Her presence alters your emotional responses. Your judgment. I have observed it.”

Wanda let out a sharp, humorless breath. “You studied me?”

“I assessed variables,” he corrected. “And she is a dangerous one.”

That was it.

Something in Wanda snapped—clean and final, like a thread pulled too tight.

“You don’t get to call her that,” she said quietly.

Vision frowned. “Wanda—”

“No,” she interrupted, voice rising now, shaking with something raw and furious. “You don’t get to talk about her like she’s a malfunction. Or an animal. Or a thing you need to fix.”

She took a step back, as if seeing him clearly for the first time.

“You are being irrational,” he said.

“And you are being cruel,” Wanda shot back. “And I will not keep explaining my pain to someone who keeps turning it into a math problem.”

She took a deep breath, shoulders rising, falling.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Wanda said.

Vision blinked. “Do what?”

She met his gaze, eyes blazing, unflinching.

“Us.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You are ending this relationship,” Vision said slowly, like he was testing the phrase.

“Yes,” Wanda replied. “I am.”

His jaw tightened. “Because of her?”

Wanda shook her head. “Because of you.”

Her voice softened then, devastatingly so. “Because you don’t trust me. Because you don’t respect her. Because every time I ask for understanding, you give me control instead.”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I won’t be managed. I won’t be monitored. And I won’t stay with someone who thinks the thing that keeps me sane is something to be eliminated.”

Vision stared at her, visibly struggling—processing, recalculating—but there was nothing left to compute.

“This is a mistake,” he said.

Wanda nodded once. “Maybe.”

Then she lifted her chin. “But it’s mine.”

A long moment passed.

Vision’s jaw tightened, the faint hum beneath his skin spiking—an edge of something sharp and unstable slipping through his usual composure.

“You will regret this,” he said, voice low, clipped with anger. “You are making an emotional decision that will have consequences.”

Wanda didn’t flinch.

“Then I’ll live with them,” she replied. “I always do.”

His eyes lingered on her, searching—calculating—for something to counter with. Finding nothing.

With a stiff turn, Vision stepped back, the space between them widening like a wound finally exposed. He walked past her, shoulders rigid, anger coiled tight and unresolved.

Wanda stood there long after he was gone, chest rising and falling, red energy fading from her hands as the reality settled in.

It hurt.

But beneath the ache, there was something else—quiet, steady.

Relief.

---

At night, Wanda lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling, the lights dimmed low enough that shadows stretched along the walls like memories she couldn’t shut off.

Her mind refused to rest.

Vision’s hand closing around Y/N and the sound of her body crashing through the door.

The word he’d used—sharp and ugly, still ringing in her ears.

The way his voice had hardened, how easily he’d ignored her when she told him to stop.

How Y/N had listened. Immediately. Without hesitation.

That part twisted something deep in her chest.

She pressed a hand over her sternum, breathing slowly, grounding herself the way she always did. She had cared for Vision. She still did, in a quiet, complicated way. He had been kind, attentive, safe in the ways she thought she needed.

But trust wasn’t something you negotiated.

If he couldn’t trust her—couldn’t trust her judgment, her boundaries, the people she chose to keep close—then there was no version of them that didn’t end like this.

Wanda exhaled, eyes stinging, and turned onto her side.

That was when she heard it.

Three soft, familiar scratches against the door.

Her breath caught.

She didn’t even think—didn’t question how Y/N was back already, or why her heart leapt the way it did. She was out of bed in seconds, bare feet padding across the floor as she opened the door.

Y/N sat there in her massive wolf form, ears low, tail curled close to her body. Her golden eyes lifted the moment the door opened, searching Wanda’s face with an intensity that made her chest ache.

“You’re back,” Wanda whispered.

The wolf gave a small, uncertain huff, as if asking permission.

Wanda stepped aside immediately. “Come in.”

Y/N padded inside, careful despite her size, nails clicking softly against the floor. She paused just past the threshold, glancing back once—checking, always checking—before Wanda closed the door behind her.

The room felt warmer the second she did.

Wanda sat back down on the bed, pulling her knees up, exhaustion finally settling into her bones. Y/N approached slowly, then curled at the side of the bed like she always did, her body angled protectively, close enough that Wanda could feel the steady heat of her through the mattress.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then Wanda reached down, fingers sliding into thick fur, resting there as if she’d been holding something fragile all day and had only just been allowed to set it down.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, not entirely sure which part she meant.

Y/N’s thoughts brushed against her mind—gentle this time, subdued.

You don’t have to apologize. Not for anything.

A pause. Heavier. I should be the one who’s sorry.

Another breath of thought, raw and honest. I know my presence makes things complicated. He’s your boyfriend. I shouldn’t keep coming here. I should give you space.

Then, softer still—almost ashamed. But I can’t. Being near you makes everything quiet. It makes me calm.

Wanda’s fingers stilled in her fur.

“Me too,” she whispered.

Y/N’s head lifted instantly, ears pricking up, golden eyes widening in confusion as she looked at Wanda.

Wanda swallowed, heart pounding, then met that gaze. “I feel it too,” she said, voice steady despite the way her chest fluttered. “When you’re here… I sleep. I breathe. I don’t feel like the world is about to fall apart.”

Y/N’s thoughts spiked in startled disbelief. How—?

Wanda broke into a small, tired giggle, the sound warm and real in the quiet room. “I’m a telepath,” she reminded her gently. “You’re not exactly subtle when you think.”

The wolf froze.

Then her ears flattened dramatically. Her head tilted. She let out a low, incredulous huff, as if personally offended by this information, followed by a soft, questioning whine.

Wanda laughed—really laughed this time—and reached up with both hands, cupping Y/N’s massive head and rubbing between her ears. “That face,” she murmured. “I wish you could see it.”

Y/N responded by flopping her head back down onto the mattress with exaggerated resignation, tail thumping once against the bed frame like she’d been betrayed by the universe.

Wanda smiled, warmth spreading through her chest, and kept her hands in Y/N’s fur.

Y/N lifted her head again abruptly, eyes wide, ears snapping upright.

Wait—!

Her thoughts burst out in pure alarm. So this whole time you could hear me?!

Wanda laughed softly and shook her head. “No, no. Not like that.” She slid her fingers reassuringly behind Y/N’s ear. “I don’t read minds. I don’t like doing that. People deserve privacy.”

Y/N squinted at her suspiciously.

“I only hear things when they’re… loud,” Wanda continued, a little sheepish. “Strong emotions. Unfiltered thoughts. And you—” she smiled apologetically, “—do that a lot. Especially when you’re like this.”

Realization dawned.

Y/N froze.

Then, with a small mortified whine, she leaned forward and covered her face with both massive paws, curling in on herself like she wanted the bed to swallow her whole.

Wanda burst out laughing, unable to help it. “Oh my God,” she said between giggles. “You’re adorable.”

A low, embarrassed huff came from beneath the paws.

After a moment, Y/N slowly lowered them again, expression sobering. Her ears drooped slightly, tail going still.

Is he still angry? she thought, more carefully now. Vision. Maybe… maybe I should sleep in my room. I don’t want to make things worse.

Wanda’s laughter faded. She took a breath.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. Then, just as softly, “I broke up with him.”

Y/N’s head snapped up.

Her thoughts spiked, tangled and panicked. What? No—no, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t—

A distressed whine slipped out of her chest, ears flattening as guilt rolled through her in waves.

Wanda immediately cupped Y/N’s face, thumbs brushing into fur, forcing her to look up. “Hey. No.” Her voice was firm, grounding. “That wasn’t because of you.”

Y/N’s eyes searched hers, unconvinced.

“I broke up with him because he didn’t trust me,” Wanda said, every word deliberate. “Because he hurt you. Because when I asked him to stop, he didn’t—and when I asked you to stop, you did.”

She rested her forehead against Y/N’s, breathing her in. “That choice was mine.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath hitching. Even pressed close like this, even wrapped in Wanda’s warmth, the guilt wouldn’t loosen its claws.

I still think it’s my fault, her thoughts whispered, quieter now but heavier. I would be angry too… if my girlfriend let someone else sleep beside her all the time.

Her ears flattened.

Slowly, carefully, Y/N pulled back just enough to look at Wanda. Golden eyes shone, conflicted and earnest.

I’m… sorry, Y/N thoughts continued loud. I never meant to cross a line. I just— She faltered, then forced the words out. Being with you makes everything stop hurting. But I didn’t want to hurt you. Or your relationship.

Her tail curled tight around herself, protective and ashamed all at once. If you want me to stop coming… I will.

The words cost her something. It showed in the way her jaw trembled, in how her gaze dipped like she was bracing for impact.

Wanda’s heart clenched.

She reached out immediately, hands framing Y/N’s face again, refusing to let her retreat into herself. “Hey,” she murmured. “Look at me.”

When Y/N did, Wanda shook her head gently. “You didn’t steal anything from me. And you didn’t take anything from him.”

She leaned in, touching her forehead to Y/N’s again, breath warm, steady. “I chose who I let close. I chose who I felt safe with. And I chose to end something that wasn’t right for me anymore.”

Her thumb brushed under Y/N’s eye, tender. “You don’t have to disappear to make things easier for me.”

Y/N’s breath stuttered. A soft, almost inaudible whine escaped her before she could stop it.

Wanda smiled sadly. “You matter,” she said. “To me.”

The room went quiet again—but this time, it wasn’t heavy.

Y/N leaned forward once more, carefully, reverently, resting her head on Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda wrapped her arms around her without hesitation, holding her there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

---

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[ilovemarvel97]

Marked By You - Chapter 4

First Mission

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Wolf Reader

Summary: Reader goes on their first mission.

Words: 7,904

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Soulmate AU

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

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A few weeks later, it had become routine.

Y/N walked into the kitchen early, shoulders loose, steps quiet. She wore one of the sleeveless shirts Wanda had picked out—soft fabric, breathable, familiar now enough that no one commented on it anymore. It suited her. She barely thought about it.

What she did notice was Wanda.

She was already there, standing at the counter, plating food with practiced ease. When she glanced up and saw Y/N, her face softened instantly.

“Good morning,” Wanda said.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, voice still rough with sleep.

Y/N was reaching for a plate when Vision appeared.

His gaze flicked to her—brief, sharp—before he stepped past and leaned down to kiss Wanda. Wanda returned it easily.

Y/N held back the urge to roll her eyes, turned on her heel instead, and walked away before the moment could linger. She sat beside Bucky at the table, setting her plate down with a quiet clink.

“Morning,” Bucky said.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, already eating.

The kitchen filled quickly after that—voices overlapping, chairs scraping, Sam and Clint arguing over something stupid, Tony providing unwanted commentary. Chaotic. Familiar.

Breakfast was the same as always. Maybe louder.

Then the doors slid open.

Nick Fury entered, and the room stilled in waves.

“I hope you all enjoyed breakfast,” he said flatly. “Because we’ve got a mission.”

Groans followed immediately.

“Easy one,” Fury continued. “Small team. In and out.”

Y/N slowed, instincts sharpening.

Fury’s eye locked onto her.

“And I want you there.”

A few heads turned. Vision frowned.

“Is that necessary?” he asked.

Fury didn’t even look at him. “Yes.”

Y/N set her fork down calmly. “Who else?”

“Not everyone,” Fury said. “Rogers. Romanoff. Barnes.”

Bucky lifted his mug in mock salute. “Guess I’m up.”

Y/N nodded once. “When?”

“Briefing in thirty,” Fury replied. “Gear up.”

As Fury left, Wanda’s gaze found Y/N across the room.

Y/N held it for a second—long enough to catch the concern there, the quiet faith underneath it. She gave Wanda a small nod, steady on the outside even as her pulse picked up.

Then she stood.

She returned to her room and closed the door, the familiar calm of preparation settling over her. Combat clothes replaced the sleeveless shirt—dark, flexible fabric, reinforced at the shoulders and chest, gear fitting her like it had been made for her body. She strapped on her boots, adjusted the holster, rolled her shoulders once.

By the time she reached the briefing room, Nat was already there, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. Her eyes flicked up, assessing—and then softened just a little.

“First mission,” Nat said casually.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

Nat stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You nervous?”

Y/N hesitated, then answered honestly. “A little.”

“That’s normal,” Nat said. “Means you’re paying attention. Stick close to Steve, watch Barnes’ six, and don’t hesitate if you need to shift.”

Y/N let out a quiet breath. “Okay.”

The rest of the team filed in—Steve calm and focused, Bucky already checking his gear. Fury took his place at the front, hologram flickering to life.

“HYDRA outpost,” Fury said. “Minimal resistance. Intel retrieval. No hostages, no civilians.”

Images rotated. Maps. Entry points.

“Y/N,” Fury continued, eyes on her, “you’re backup and extraction support. You move when Rogers moves. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied without hesitation.

“Good. Wheels up in ten.”

The room cleared quickly after that.

As they headed for the quinjet, Y/N took one last steadying breath.

First mission.

She was ready.

---

The quinjet cut through the clouds in silence.

Y/N sat strapped in across from Steve, hands resting on her thighs, fingers flexing once before stilling. She focused on her breathing—slow, even—letting the hum of the engines ground her. Nat stood near the ramp, checking weapons with practiced ease, while Bucky stared out at nothing in particular, already somewhere else.

“Two minutes,” the pilot called.

Steve looked at Y/N. “Stick with me. You’re on my left.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nat shot her a glance. “Relax. You’ll do fine.”

Y/N nodded, jaw tight—but steady.

The ramp lowered into cold night air.

They dropped fast, clean, landing in a wooded perimeter just outside the HYDRA outpost. No alarms. No movement. The building ahead was concrete and steel, half-buried into the hillside.

Steve signaled. Move.

They advanced in formation. Y/N stayed exactly where she was told—left flank, eyes up, senses sharp. Even without shifting, she could feel everything: the vibration of distant generators, the faint chemical tang of weapons oil, the uneven rhythm of guards inside.

At the first checkpoint, two sentries stood talking.

Bucky moved first—silent, brutal efficiency. Nat followed, precise. Y/N watched, learning.

Inside, the corridors narrowed. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

A guard turned the corner—

Y/N reacted before thought caught up.

She stepped in, grabbed his wrist, twisted hard. Bone cracked. Her other hand struck his throat, dropping him silently. She eased him down, breath controlled, heart pounding but not panicked.

Nat glanced back, approving.

They reached the main server room faster than expected.

“Too quiet,” Bucky muttered.

Then the doors slammed shut.

Red lights flared.

“Contact,” Steve said.

HYDRA agents poured in from both sides.

Training took over.

Y/N moved—fast, decisive. She ducked under a swing, drove her elbow into a ribcage, spun and kicked another agent back into the wall. A baton came at her head; she caught it mid-strike, yanked the man forward, and slammed him down.

She didn’t shift.

Didn’t need to.

Gunfire echoed. Steve’s shield ricocheted. Nat cleared the right side. Bucky held the rear.

An agent lunged at Steve from behind—

Y/N tackled him, rolling across the floor, knocking the weapon loose. She pinned him with her knee, disarmed him, and knocked him out cold.

Steve met her eyes briefly. A nod.

Trust.

The doors finally blew open—Nat’s work.

“Data secured,” she called.

They moved for extraction as alarms wailed through the facility. More guards tried to cut them off near the exit. Y/N took point this time, clearing the path with efficient strikes, covering Bucky when his arm jammed, pulling Steve back when debris collapsed.

They burst out into the night just as the quinjet swooped in.

Extraction was clean.

Only once they were airborne did Y/N let herself exhale fully, muscles trembling faintly now that it was over.

Nat smirked. “First mission, huh?”

Y/N nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”

Steve smiled at her, warm and certain. “You did good.”

Y/N blinked. “…I did?”

“Absolutely,” Steve said without hesitation. “You followed orders, adapted fast, and covered your team. That’s what matters.”

Bucky nodded once in agreement. “You didn’t freeze. That’s more than most on their first run.”

Nat added, a little softer, “And you didn’t rely on brute force. You thought your way through it.”

Y/N swallowed, something easing in her chest. She looked down at her hands, still faintly shaking, then back up at them.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Then… okay.”

Nat bumped her shoulder lightly. “Get used to it.”

As the quinjet turned toward home, Y/N leaned back in her seat, exhaustion finally catching up—but beneath it, something steadier had taken root.

She wasn’t just surviving anymore.

She belonged.

---

The quinjet touched down smoothly, the ramp lowering with a hiss of hydraulics.

As the others disembarked, voices overlapping—debrief chatter, dry jokes, relief—Y/N slipped away without a word.

She didn’t head toward the elevators.

Didn’t go to her room.

Instead, she turned the opposite direction and walked straight for the open doors leading outside.

The evening air hit her first—cool, clean, real. She breathed it in deeply, chest expanding, the tension of the mission still buzzing under her skin. Only when she reached the edge of the compound grounds did she stop.

She shrugged off her jacket and let it fall to the ground.

Then her boots—one, then the other—placed neatly beside the fabric, muscle memory precise even now. She stood there in her sports bra and combat pants, shoulders rising and falling as she centered herself.

For a moment, she just stood.

Then she let go.

The shift rolled through her like a deep exhale finally allowed. Bones realigned smoothly, muscle stretching and reforming, heat blooming under her skin. In seconds, where Y/N had been standing, there was only the massive dark wolf—fur rippling, golden eyes sharp and alive.

She shook herself once, grounding.

And then she ran.

The woods welcomed her instantly, trees blurring past as her paws hit earth and leaf litter with powerful, silent strides. Branches whipped by overhead, the scent of pine and soil flooding her senses. Each breath burned clean, clearing out the last traces of gunpowder, adrenaline, and command voices.

She ran hard.

Fast.

Free.

Deeper into the trees.

---

Wanda’s POV

Meanwhile in the compound, Wanda stood in front of Y/N’s door longer than she meant to.

She knocked once.

Then again, softer.

No answer.

Her brows knit together as she reached for the handle, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside. The room was empty—bed untouched, lights off, the air still and quiet in a way that felt… wrong. Like Y/N had never come back at all.

Wanda’s chest tightened.

She had been worried. More than she wanted to admit. Y/N’s first mission, real combat, real danger—Wanda had watched her walk onto the quinjet with that same guarded focus she always wore, and she’d waited all day for her to come back safe.

She stepped fully into the doorway, eyes scanning the room again, as if Y/N might suddenly appear if she looked hard enough.

She didn’t.

“Looking for the Y/N?”

Wanda turned sharply.

Nat was leaning in her doorway across the hall, arms crossed, expression knowing but not unkind.

“She’s not here,” Wanda said, trying to keep her voice casual and failing just a little.

Nat nodded toward the windows. “Yeah. She bolted the second we landed. Didn’t even look back.”

Wanda’s heart jumped. “Bolted?”

“To the woods,” Nat clarified. “Shifted right outside.”

Wanda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, relief mixing with concern. “She didn’t say anything.”

Nat shrugged. “Didn’t need to. First mission does that to people. Some need a drink. Some need silence.” Her eyes softened. “Some need to run.”

Wanda nodded slowly, fingers curling against the doorframe.

The woods.

She thanked Nat quietly and closed Y/N’s door behind her, the soft click echoing in the quiet hallway. For a moment, she stood there, staring at the door like it might offer answers if she waited long enough.

Then she let out a small breath and shook her head at herself.

It was fine.

Y/N was fine.

She had survived Hydra. Survived the mission. She knew the forest better than anyone else in this place.

Wanda returned to her room and went through her evening routine—shower, pajamas, brushing her hair—but her attention kept drifting. She found herself listening between sounds, half-expecting to hear familiar, gentle footsteps… or three soft scratches against her door.

She climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up, staring at the ceiling.

“She’ll come later,” Wanda murmured to herself, almost amused by her own impatience. “She always does.”

So she waited.

Patient.

Understanding.

Pretending her chest didn’t feel just a little too quiet without the steady presence of a wolf curled beside her bed.

Soon enough, she told herself.

Soon enough, there would be scratches.

---

Y/N’s POV

The run burned everything else away.

The mission. The gunfire. The tightness in her chest from holding herself together for hours. The forest took it all—the pounding of her paws against earth, the cold air rushing into her lungs, the familiar rhythm that reminded her who she was when no one was watching.

When she finally slowed, the compound lights were glowing through the trees.

She circled wide, silent as shadow, and padded back to the edge of the grounds. Her jacket and boots were still where she’d left them. She picked them up carefully in her mouth, careful not to tear the fabric, and slipped back inside through the service entrance.

She stopped only long enough to duck into her room and drop them neatly on the floor.

Then she turned down the hall she knew by heart now.

Wanda’s door.

She paused outside it, listening.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Only one presence inside.

Good.

She lifted a paw and scratched.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The door opened almost immediately.

Wanda stood there in soft clothes, hair loose, green eyes lighting up the second she saw her. “Hey,” Wanda whispered, like she didn’t want to scare her away.

Y/N padded inside without hesitation.

She went straight to her spot beside the bed and lowered herself carefully to the floor, sitting instead of lying down—still keyed with leftover energy, ears flicking, tail giving one slow sweep against the carpet.

She felt it before she heard it.

The door closing.

The soft click behind her.

Y/N turned her head just in time—

—and Wanda was suddenly there.

Arms slid around her neck, warm and firm, pressing close without fear or hesitation. Wanda’s cheek brushed against the thick fur at her shoulder as she hugged her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Her heart didn’t just race.

It exploded.

Heat surged through her chest, up her spine, down to the tips of her paws. Every instinct screamed protect, hold, don’t move, don’t scare her. She froze for half a second—then slowly, carefully, she leaned into the embrace.

A low, involuntary rumble escaped her chest.

Not a growl.

Not a warning.

Something soft. Something broken open.

Wanda’s arms tightened just a little. “I was worried,” she murmured into Y/N’s fur. “You didn’t come earlier.”

Y/N swallowed hard, golden eyes burning as she lowered her head slightly so Wanda could hold her more comfortably. Her tail curled closer to her body, grounding herself, containing the chaos inside her chest.

She hadn’t known she needed this.

Hadn’t known someone could choose her like this—wolf and all—without hesitation.

So Y/N let herself be hugged.

Wanda’s voice came soft, warm, right against her fur. “Nat told me,” she murmured. “She said you did really well today.”

Y/N made a quiet sound in her throat—something small and startled, like she hadn’t expected the words to matter as much as they did.

They stayed like that for another second. Maybe two. Time felt strange when Wanda was holding her.

Then Wanda pulled back slightly, hands still resting on Y/N’s shoulders as she looked her over.

“…You’re dusty,” Wanda said, blinking.

For a heartbeat, Y/N froze.

Then her ears flattened in pure panic.

She looked down at herself, then back up at Wanda, tail flicking once, then twice, like she’d been caught doing something terribly wrong. Her body stiffened, posture screaming apology, embarrassment, I didn’t mean to—

Wanda laughed.

Not mean. Not sharp. Just warm and genuine, the kind that bubbled out of her chest. “Hey—hey, it’s okay,” she said, still smiling. “I just meant you went pretty hard out there.”

Y/N huffed loudly, mortified, then stood abruptly and padded toward the door like she could escape the moment if she moved fast enough.

Before Wanda could even ask, it hit her—

loud, unfiltered, rushing straight into her mind.

I’LL BE RIGHT BACK—

Wanda blinked, startled, then smiled as realization set in.

“Okay,” she said gently, watching Y/N pause at the door, glance back once with those glowing eyes, and then slip out into the hallway.

The door closed softly behind her.

Wanda touched her own cheek, still warm from laughter and Y/N’s fur, her heart lighter than it had been all day.

Wanda didn’t need to wait long.

She had just curled up on her bed, switching on the lamp and scrolling through channels, when she heard it—soft footsteps in the hall, familiar and unhurried.

Then the door creaked open.

Y/N padded back in, still in her wolf form. Her fur was darker now, damp in places, little droplets clinging to the thick coat along her shoulders and chest. She gave a small shake just inside the doorway—careful, restrained—before padding over like she always did.

Wanda had already queued up a new sitcom, the theme song playing softly in the background.

“You’re back,” Wanda said quietly, smiling.

Y/N dipped her head once in greeting and went straight to her spot beside the bed. She lowered herself carefully, curling onto her side with her back to the mattress, paws tucked in close. Her fur brushed the edge of Wanda’s blanket, still warm even through the lingering coolness of the water.

Wanda glanced down at her. “Feel better?”

Y/N let out a soft, satisfied huff.

Wanda laughed under her breath and leaned back against her pillows, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. The room filled with gentle dialogue and canned laughter, harmless and steady.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

Y/N’s breathing gradually slowed, each rise and fall deep and even. Her ears twitched occasionally at louder sounds, but she didn’t lift her head again. Wanda felt herself relax too, the tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying finally easing out of her shoulders.

At some point, without fully waking, Y/N shifted closer—just an inch, maybe two—until the side of her body rested lightly against the bedframe.

Wanda’s hand slipped over the edge of the mattress, fingers brushing warm, damp fur.

Neither of them moved after that.

The sitcom kept playing, unnoticed.

And somewhere between one episode and the next, both of them drifted off—safe, warm, and no longer alone.

---

Few weeks later…

The street was chaos.

Shattered glass crunched under boots, smoke curled from overturned vehicles, and the sharp crack of gunfire echoed between buildings as the bandits scattered in every direction. Civilians were already cleared, but the fight was far from over—shouts, metal clashing, the roar of engines starting up in panic.

Y/N ducked under a wild swing and drove her elbow into the man’s ribs, following it with a sharp strike to the jaw. He went down hard, sprawling across the pavement.

She barely had time to breathe.

“Y/N!” Steve’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. “Two targets—northbound!”

She snapped her head up just in time to see it: a motorcycle tearing down the street, two men on it. The one in back clutched a reinforced briefcase to his chest like his life depended on it.

“Go!” Steve shouted. “Don’t let them get away!”

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She pivoted, breaking into a sprint—but even as she ran, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. The bike was already gaining speed, engine screaming as it weaved through debris.

So she let go.

Mid-stride, the shift rolled through her—fast, fluid, practiced. Bones realigned as her momentum carried forward, hitting the pavement not with human feet but with powerful paws.

The wolf burst into being.

She hit the ground running, muscles coiling and releasing with brutal efficiency as she surged forward. Wind tore through her fur, the world sharpening into scent and motion—the hot tang of exhaust, burning rubber, fear-sweat.

The motorcycle swerved as the riders glanced back.

Golden eyes locked onto them.

She gained fast.

Cars blurred past, storefronts streaking by as the wolf closed the distance, claws sparking briefly against asphalt when she pushed herself harder. The rider swore, twisting the throttle, but it didn’t matter.

Y/N was faster than a car.

The distance between her and the motorcycle vanished in seconds—each stride eating meters of asphalt like it was nothing. The engine screamed, the rider twisting the throttle desperately, but panic had already set in.

The man on the back turned fully in his seat.

Gun up.

Shots rang out.

Y/N veered sharply left—bullet cracking past her ear—then right, claws scraping sparks as she cut across the street. Another shot. She ducked low, muscles bunching, then surged forward with a snarl that ripped from her chest.

Enough.

She lunged.

Her shoulder slammed into the side of the bike with brutal precision.

Metal screamed.

The motorcycle fishtailed violently, balance gone in an instant. Both men were thrown free, bodies rolling across the asphalt in a tangle of limbs and curses.

Y/N didn’t slow.

She was on them before they could even try to stand—one swift snap of her jaws near a throat, a paw crashing down on a chest. A sharp strike. A growl vibrating through bone.

Both men went still.

Unconscious.

Breathing.

Secure.

Y/N turned to the dropped briefcase. She lowered her head, teeth closing around the reinforced handle, lifting it easily despite its weight.

Mission objective secured.

Red mist spiraled into existence beside her.

Wanda landed lightly, eyes already scanning the area before they found Y/N. “That was fast,” she said, relief clear in her voice. “You good?”

Y/N huffed once—short, affirmative—tail giving a single sweep.

Wanda smiled faintly. “Okay. Let’s bring it back to the others.”

Y/N took one step—

Then froze.

Her ears snapped upright.

A sound cut through everything else—tiny, sharp, unmistakable.

Click.

Her blood went cold.

Bomb.

There was no time to think.

Y/N whipped her head and threw the briefcase away from them with all the force in her body. At the same instant, she lunged—

—slamming into Wanda.

They hit the ground hard, Y/N twisting midair so her body took the brunt of it. She curled instinctively, massive frame wrapping around Wanda completely, paws braced, head tucked down, ribs shielding her.

Cover. Protect. Don’t let it touch her.

The explosion tore through the street.

Heat roared over Y/N’s back, the shockwave hammering into her like a wall. Glass shattered. The ground bucked. Sound vanished into a ringing void as debris rained down.

Y/N didn’t move.

Didn’t loosen.

She stayed curled over Wanda, muscles locked, every instinct screaming alive—keep her alive—

Only when the fire faded and the dust settled did she dare lift her head.

Her fur was singed in places. Her ears rang.

But Wanda—

Wanda was beneath her. Breathing. Warm. Alive.

Y/N let out a broken, shaking breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Y/N lowered her head, nose brushing over Wanda’s cheek, her jaw, her hair—quick, frantic checks. Blood. Smoke. Heat. But underneath it all—

Alive.

Wanda’s breath puffed warm against her muzzle.

Relief hit Y/N so hard her legs nearly gave out.

Then—

CRACK.

Something slammed into Y/N’s side with crushing force.

The world exploded into motion.

She was ripped away from Wanda, body flung through the air. She hit the pavement hard, skidding across broken glass and debris, claws scraping uselessly as she tumbled to a stop several meters away.

Pain bloomed sharp and immediate, white-hot through her shoulder.

---

Wanda’s POV

Everything was noise and heat and then—

Darkness pressed in.

Wanda lay stunned beneath a heavy, solid weight, ears ringing so badly the world felt underwater. Dust clung to her lashes, her lungs burning as she sucked in air that tasted like smoke and metal.

Then she realized—

She was being covered.

Protected.

Warm fur shielded her from the worst of the blast, a living wall curled around her body. Wanda’s fingers twitched, instinctively clutching at what was over her, panic spiking—

“Y/N—”

Before the name fully left her mouth—

CRACK.

The weight vanished violently.

Something tore Y/N away from her with brutal force, and Wanda’s scream ripped free as she saw the massive wolf body flung through the air like it weighed nothing at all.

“NO!”

Y/N hit the ground hard, skidding across shattered pavement, her body twisting unnaturally before she finally stopped. Wanda’s heart stopped with her.

Pain punched through Wanda’s chest as she scrambled upright, vision still blurred, head pounding.

“What—?” Her voice broke.

She turned—

And saw him.

Vision stood between her and Y/N, one arm still raised from the strike, expression cold, eyes glowing faintly. Controlled. Calculated.

“You are not safe,” he said flatly, stepping forward, positioning himself in front of Wanda like a shield. “Get back.”

Wanda stared at him, disbelief crashing into horror as the pieces clicked together.

“You—” Her breath caught. “You hit her?”

Vision didn’t look away from the wolf struggling to rise in the distance. “She was unstable. Feral. She had you pinned beneath her.”

“She was protecting me,” Wanda shouted, pushing herself fully to her feet. Her head spun, but anger burned clearer than pain. “She saved my life.”

Vision turned to her then, frown deepening. “Wanda, you don’t understand what she is. Her instincts—”

“Her instincts kept me alive,” Wanda snapped, red energy flickering at her fingertips without her realizing it. “She threw the bomb away. She covered me. She took the blast. And you—”

Her gaze flew back to Y/N.

The wolf was on her feet now—barely—one shoulder hanging wrong, breath coming in harsh pants. Golden eyes weren’t locked on Vision.

They were locked on Wanda.

Worried.

Fearful.

Still trying to protect.

Something inside Wanda shattered.

“Don’t you dare touch her again,” Wanda said, voice trembling with fury as she stepped past Vision, placing herself between him and Y/N now. “If you hurt her—if you ever hurt her again—”

Red light flared brighter, unstable and raw.

Vision froze.

And in that moment, Wanda knew—

This wasn’t about danger.

This was about fear.

And Vision was afraid of the wrong thing.

Y/N forced herself upright.

The motion drew a sharp, broken sound from her chest as her injured shoulder gave way. She staggered, one foreleg refusing to take her weight properly, limp obvious now—pain finally catching up, cutting through adrenaline.

“Y/N!” Wanda cried.

Before she could reach her—

“Over here!” Steve’s voice rang out as the rest of the team poured onto the street, weapons raised, eyes wide as they took in the destruction.

Nat was the first to move.

She ran straight to Y/N, dropping to a knee beside her without hesitation. “Hey—hey, easy,” she said firmly, hands hovering, assessing. “Talk to me. You with us?”

Y/N huffed weakly, golden eyes flicking once toward Wanda before her legs buckled.

That was it.

The shift tore through her, uncontrolled this time—pain-triggered and abrupt. Fur collapsed into skin, massive form shrinking in seconds until Y/N fell forward in her human body, breath hitching sharply as the agony fully hit.

Bruce was already there.

He swore under his breath and shrugged out of his jacket in one smooth motion, immediately draping it over her shoulders and torso, shielding her without comment. “Okay—okay, don’t move,” he said gently, fingers already checking her pulse, her breathing.

His hands moved to her shoulder and he stilled instantly.

“…That’s broken,” Bruce said, voice tight. “Clean break, but bad. We need to get her back now.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, teeth chattering as she fought to stay conscious.

Bruce slid an arm under her back, preparing to lift her. “I’ve got her—”

“No.”

The word snapped through the air, sharp and absolute.

Wanda stepped in front of him, eyes glowing red—not wild, not unstable, but focused. Protective.

Before anyone could protest, red energy unfurled from her hands, weaving itself into something solid and warm—a blanket formed midair, wrapping carefully around Y/N’s body, cocooning her without jostling her injured shoulder.

Y/N let out a shaky breath as the magic settled around her, grounding, gentle.

Wanda lifted her with her power, slow and controlled, cradling her like she weighed nothing at all.

“I’ve got her,” Wanda said, voice trembling but unyielding. “Just clear the way.”

No one argued.

Not Steve.

Not Nat.

Not even Bruce.

They moved fast.

The quinjet ramp dropped, and Wanda carried Y/N straight inside, never letting her touch the ground again. Nat followed close, one hand steadying the blanket, the other already calling in medical prep.

As the ramp closed and the jet lifted off, Wanda sat beside Y/N, one hand gripping the edge of the red blanket, the other hovering near Y/N’s cheek like she was afraid to touch her too hard.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open just once.

They found Wanda.

And even through the pain, she tried to smile.

The quinjet turned toward home, engines roaring.

And this time—

Wanda wasn’t letting go.

---

The quinjet barely finished powering down before they were moving.

Bruce and Wanda rushed Y/N through the halls, med bay doors sliding open at Bruce’s sharp command. Wanda guided Y/N onto the bed with careful precision, lowering her as gently as if even the air might hurt her.

Bruce was already scanning her arm and shoulder.

“…Damn it,” he muttered.

Wanda’s breath caught. “What is it?”

“It’s healing already,” Bruce said, frustration edging his voice. “Fast—and wrong. If I don’t reset it now, it’ll lock like this.”

Y/N stiffened immediately.

Bruce reached for a syringe, drawing anesthesia. The moment Y/N saw the needle, a low, instinctive growl rumbled from her chest. Her eyes went distant—sharp with old fear.

“No,” she said hoarsely.

Wanda stepped closer at once, heart pounding, panic clawing at her ribs—but she forced herself to stay calm. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Y/N needed her steady.

“Hey,” Wanda said softly, taking Y/N’s uninjured hand. Her grip was firm, grounding. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. With me.”

Y/N’s breathing hitched. “I don’t like injections,” she admitted, voice tight.

“I know,” Wanda said, voice low and unwavering. “But I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes locked on Wanda’s face. After a long moment, she nodded once.

Bruce administered the injection quickly. They waited.

Seconds passed.

Then more.

Bruce cursed under his breath. “It’s barely working. Her healing factor’s burning through it.”

Wanda’s jaw clenched. “So what does that mean?”

Bruce met Y/N’s eyes. “It means I have to do it anyway. Now.”

Y/N went very still.

“…Do it,” she said, teeth gritted. “Before it heals wrong.”

Wanda’s chest felt too tight to breathe, but she didn’t move. She stayed right where she was, hand still holding Y/N’s, eyes never leaving her face.

“Nurses,” Bruce called.

Two nurses rushed in and took position, steady but gentle.

Wanda leaned closer, forehead almost touching Y/N’s temple. “Look at me,” she said quietly. “Just me.”

Bruce moved.

Y/N’s scream tore through the med bay—raw, unrestrained pain. Her body strained against the nurses’ hold, breath coming in broken gasps as the bone was forced back into place.

Wanda’s fingers tightened around Y/N’s hand until her own knuckles went white. Red energy flared briefly at her fingertips, trembling, but she forced it down. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t afford to.

“I’m here,” Wanda said firmly, voice shaking but controlled. “You’re not alone. It’s almost over.”

Bruce worked fast—resetting, aligning, stabilizing.

“Almost—” he muttered.

Another sharp cry from Y/N—and then she sagged back against the bed, shaking, breath uneven.

“Done,” Bruce said.

He immobilized her arm against her torso and immediately injected morphine. “This will help,” he said quietly. “But it’ll wear off fast.”

Y/N lay still now, eyes unfocused, exhaustion overtaking pain. Her voice came out faint, barely a whisper.

“…Didn’t shift.”

Wanda’s throat tightened painfully, but she kept her composure. She brushed Y/N’s hair back carefully, reverently, her fingers lingering like she was afraid to let go.

“…Thank you,” Wanda said quietly. Her voice wavered despite her effort. “For saving me.”

Y/N turned her head just enough to look at her, eyes heavy but clear. “Anytime,” she murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

There was a short pause. Then Y/N cleared her throat weakly.

“Uh… Wanda?”

“Mm?”

“Could you… get me some clothes?”

It took a second for the words to land.

Wanda’s eyes flicked down—just for a heartbeat—taking in the fact that Y/N was still naked, covered only by the red blanket Wanda had conjured in panic.

Her face went instantly warm.

“Oh—! I—yes. Yes. Of course,” Wanda stammered, standing a little too fast. She avoided looking anywhere near Y/N again. “I’ll—I’ll be right back.”

Y/N huffed a faint, amused breath.

As Wanda turned toward the door, Bruce stepped closer to the bed, snapping on gloves. “I’ll take care of the shrapnel while you’re gone,” he said gently. “Try not to move, okay?”

Y/N nodded once, jaw tightening as Bruce carefully began removing the shards embedded in her skin.

Wanda slipped out of the med bay.

The doors slid shut behind her.

And there he was.

Vision stood in the hallway, hands clasped behind his back, expression carefully composed. “Wanda,” he said. “I’m… sorry. I reacted too quickly.”

Wanda stopped walking.

She turned slowly.

“You punched her,” Wanda said, voice low and sharp. Gone was the softness from the med bay. “You punched her while she was protecting me.”

“I didn’t know what she would do,” Vision replied. “She is feral. A bomb had just detonated—”

“She threw herself over me,” Wanda cut in, stepping closer. “She took the blast. She didn’t hesitate. And you hit her.”

Vision’s jaw tightened. “She’s dangerous. She can lose control. I was trying to remove a threat.”

Wanda’s hands curled into fists at her sides, red energy flickering faintly around her fingers.

“She didn’t lose control,” Wanda said, eyes blazing. “She heard the bomb. She saved my life. And now she’s in the med bay with a broken shoulder because of you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I am trying to protect you,” Vision said quietly.

Wanda laughed once—sharp, humorless. “No. You’re trying to protect your idea of me.”

She stepped past him, brushing his shoulder as she went.

Wanda goes to Y/N’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind her like Y/N might somehow hear it from the med bay.

The room still smelled faintly like pine and metal—like the woods clinging to her even in human form.

Wanda moved carefully, opening the dresser. She pulled out a pair of loose combat pants first, then hesitated before choosing a soft button-up shirt instead of a T-shirt, something easier to get on with an injured shoulder.

Then she opened another drawer.

Boxers.

Her cheeks warmed instantly.

She swallowed, grabbed a pair together with a sport bra anyway, and shut the drawer a little faster than necessary, scolding herself under her breath. Focus, Wanda.

Clothes gathered in her arms, she headed back to the med bay.

---

The doors slid open to the sound of quiet murmurs and soft clinks of medical tools.

Y/N was lying facedown on the bed now, the red blanket loosened enough for Bruce to work. Her back was littered with small cuts and embedded fragments, skin bruised and angry where the blast had thrown her. Bruce worked with practiced care, tweezers steady as he removed shard after shard.

Y/N’s fingers were curled into the sheet, knuckles white. She let out a low, strained breath through clenched teeth every now and then—but she didn’t scream. She didn’t even complain.

Wanda’s chest ached at the sight.

“I’ve got her clothes,” Wanda said softly, stepping closer.

Bruce glanced up. “Good. Almost done here.”

Y/N turned her head just enough to see Wanda, Y/E/C eyes meeting hers. They softened immediately.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, voice rough but warm.

Wanda moved to her side, setting the clothes down within reach. “Hey,” she replied, just as softly. Her hand hovered for a second before resting gently between Y/N’s shoulder blades, careful to avoid the injuries.

Bruce removed the last shard and straightened. “Okay. That’s it for now. Morphine’s still working, but not for long. She needs rest.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, tension finally easing from her body.

Wanda didn’t move her hand.

“I’m here,” she said quietly, more promise than reassurance.

And for the first time since the explosion, Y/N allowed herself to fully relax.

---

By nightfall, Bruce confirmed what he’d half-expected—Y/N’s shoulder had healed completely, bone set clean like the break had never happened. The bruising lingered, faint and yellowing, but she could move again without pain.

Wanda had stayed beside her for hours. Sitting. Watching. Making sure Y/N stayed still longer than she wanted to.

Eventually, Vision returned.

He stood at the foot of the bed, posture rigid. “Thank you,” he said to Y/N, voice measured. “For protecting Wanda.”

Y/N met his gaze evenly. “I would’ve done it again.”

Vision nodded once. He didn’t apologize.

Wanda noticed.

When they stepped into the hallway, the tension followed immediately.

“You don’t get to thank her and pretend the rest didn’t happen,” Wanda said sharply.

“I told you, I was worried,” Vision replied. “You were in danger.”

“She saved me,” Wanda snapped. “And you hurt her.”

Vision stopped walking. He turned, expression softening as he reached for her hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now. “I was afraid of losing you.”

Wanda’s shoulders sagged a little. The anger didn’t disappear—but it dulled.

“I know,” she sighed. “Just… not like that.”

He hugged her, holding on a second longer than usual. Wanda stood there, arms slack at her sides before returning it half-heartedly. She wasn’t in the mood, but she didn’t push him away either.

Later, when it was time to sleep, Vision left her at her door with a kiss to her temple.

The room felt too quiet after.

Wanda lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Waiting.

No scratches.

Minutes passed. Then more.

Her chest tightened.

Finally, Wanda pushed herself up and opened her bedroom door. There, in the dim hallway light, was Y/N in her wolf form, paw lifted delicately as if she was going to scratch her door. Wanda’s chest loosened, tension spilling out with a small, relieved smile.

“Come on in,” she whispered softly. Y/N padded forward without hesitation, the familiar warmth radiating from her massive form as she settled beside the bed.

Wanda climbed onto the mattress, reaching for the remote. The sitcom they’d been watching earlier flickered to life, casting a soft glow across the room. The canned laughter filled the space, comforting and familiar.

As the first few lines of dialogue played out, Wanda leaned down toward Y/N, brushing her fingers gently through the thick fur on her head, rubbing behind her ears. The wolf leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded, tail curling comfortably.

“Thank you,” Wanda murmured, voice low and sincere. “For protecting me… for always being there.”

Y/N made a soft huffing sound, almost like a contented acknowledgment, pressing her head closer for a moment before settling back beside Wanda.

The sitcom continued, laughter mingling with the quiet warmth between them, and Wanda was glad that Y/N was okay.

---

Wanda’s POV

The next morning felt… careful.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, and the first thing Wanda noticed was the weight near the bed. She glanced down and smiled despite herself.

Y/N was still there—curled up on the floor beside the bed in her wolf form, breathing slow and steady, fur rising and falling with each calm breath. She hadn’t left after they fell asleep. Somehow, that settled something deep in Wanda’s chest.

Wanda moved quietly so she wouldn’t wake Y/N and slipped out of the room.

The compound was already stirring when she reached the common area. Vision was waiting for her, hands folded neatly, expression earnest.

“Wanda,” he said gently. “May I speak with you?”

Wanda nodded.

He took a breath. “I’d like to take you on a date tonight. Somewhere outside the compound. I want to make it up to you.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“The person you should be making it up to is Y/N,” She said calmly. “Not me.”

His brow furrowed. “Wanda—”

“She protected me,” Wanda continued. “She took the blast without hesitation. And you hurt her. That matters to me.”

Vision was quiet for a beat. Then he nodded once. “You’re right. I should speak to her.”

“But,” I added after a moment, “I’ll go on the date.”

Relief softened his features. “Thank you.”

“It doesn’t fix everything,” I said, honest. “This—what happened—it can’t just be ignored.”

“I understand,” he said.

As he talked about dinner plans and times, Wanda’s thoughts drifted back to her room.

To the quiet rise and fall of a wolf’s breathing.

To warm fur beside her bed.

To how safe she’d felt waking up knowing she was there.

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur of debriefs and tense conversations.

They crowded into the briefing room, screens flickering with frozen frames from the mission. The explosion had done more damage than they’d hoped—the intel they were after was partially corrupted, large sections unreadable.

Tony paced in front of the table, arms crossed. “So let me get this straight,” he said, eyes locking on Vision. “We lose half the data, nearly lose a teammate, and somewhere in the middle of all that you punch your teammate?”

Vision remained composed. “It was a misunderstanding.”

That was it.

No apology. No explanation.

Wanda’s jaw tightened. Her irritation simmered, sharp and hot in her chest.

“A misunderstanding doesn’t usually involve a broken shoulder,” Tony muttered, but Fury cut in before it could escalate.

The meeting dragged on. By the time it ended, it was already past lunch.

That’s when Wanda noticed.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She hadn’t been in the debrief. She hadn’t passed through the hallways. No familiar presence at her side, no quiet weight nearby.

Wanda excused herself and went straight to Y/N’s room.

Empty.

The bed untouched. No clothes laid out. No sign she’d been there at all.

Her worry spiked.

Maybe she went out, Wanda told herself, trying to stay calm. She does that sometimes.

Still unsettled, Wanda headed back to her own room.

She opened the door—and stopped short.

Y/N was there.

In her wolf form, curled up exactly where she’d been that morning, tucked in close beside Wanda’s bed like she belonged there. Her fur rose and fell slowly, body warm and still.

Wanda’s breath left her in a rush.

She crossed the room quickly and knelt beside her. “Hey,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through the fur at her neck. “Are you okay?”

Y/N stirred, stretching long and slow, claws flexing against the floor as she yawned.

And then—loud, unfiltered, unmistakable—

I’m hungry.

Wanda blinked.

Then Wanda huffed a small laugh, relief melting into fond exasperation. “Of course you are,” she murmured, her hand still buried in Y/N’s fur. “You burned through half your energy while healing.”

Y/N lifted her head, golden eyes fixing on Wanda—confused.

…How did she—?

Wanda didn’t notice. She was too busy smiling, thumb idly tracing warm fur, comforted simply by the fact that Y/N was here, safe.

Y/N shifted, pushing herself up onto her paws. She hesitated, then her thoughts spilled out again, louder than she meant them to be.

I’ll go shower.

Wanda blinked as Y/N padded past her toward the door, already stretching like nothing had happened. “Okay,” she said automatically, still distracted by relief.

The door closed softly behind the wolf.

Only then did the confusion settle in Y/N’s chest—slow, creeping, unsettling.

Since when can she hear me like that?

Down the hall, Wanda remained kneeling by her bed for a moment longer, unaware of the look Y/N had given her—or the quiet shift that had just taken place between them.

---

The afternoon slipped by faster than Wanda expected.

After Y/N left to shower, Wanda busied herself—straightening her room, skimming through a book without really reading, trying not to think about the way Y/N had looked at her before leaving. Confused. Searching.

She pushed the thought aside.

By the time the sun began to dip, warm light spilling through the windows, it was already time to get ready.

Wanda stood in front of her closet, fingers trailing over familiar fabrics. She chose something simple in the end—a deep red top, soft and fitted, paired with dark pants. Comfortable. Controlled. She pinned her hair back, then let it fall loose again, unsure, before settling somewhere in between.

As she caught her reflection, she paused.

She didn’t look excited.

Not unhappy—just…

Vision knocked lightly a short while later.

“I’m ready,” he said, offering a polite smile.

Wanda grabbed her coat and nodded. “Me too.”

As they walked toward the elevator, her gaze drifted once—just once—down the hallway toward Y/N’s room. The door was closed, quiet, no sound from inside.

She frowned faintly.

Why am I thinking about her so much?

This was a date. With her boyfriend. Vision had planned it, wanted to make things right. He was the one she was supposed to be focusing on.

Wanda forced her attention back to him as they stepped into the elevator.

She listened as Vision spoke—about the restaurant, about how he’d reserved a table, about how he hoped the night would be relaxing. She nodded, responded at the right moments, even smiled when he reached for her hand.

Focus, she told herself. This is what normal is supposed to feel like.

The elevator doors opened. Night air greeted them, cool and crisp, and Wanda took a steadying breath. She leaned into Vision’s side as they walked, letting herself be guided, letting the routine carry her forward.

Still—unwanted, uninvited—images flickered at the edges of her mind.

Golden eyes in the dark.

Three scratches on wood.

Warm fur curled beside her bed.

Wanda pushed them away, tightening her grip on Vision’s hand.

I’m here, she reminded herself. With him.

And she tried—really tried—to be present.

The restaurant Vision chose was quiet and elegant, tucked away from the city noise. Soft lights glowed overhead, reflecting off polished glass and silverware. It was the kind of place designed for lingering—no rush, no chaos, just warmth and intention.

Vision pulled out her chair for her, as he always did. Wanda thanked him, a small smile playing on her lips.

Conversation came easily at first. Vision spoke about the mission debrief, about ideas he’d been turning over in his mind, about wanting things to feel normal again for them. Wanda listened, responded, even laughed once or twice when he made a dry observation that only he could make sound charming.

He was attentive—asking how she felt, refilling her water before she noticed it was empty, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand when he thought she looked distracted.

And for the most part… it was nice.

The food was good. The atmosphere calm. Vision was gentle and romantic, exactly as he’d always been. At one point, he leaned across the table and kissed her knuckles, earning a soft flush from her.

On the walk back, city lights blurred around them. Vision’s arm settled around her shoulders, and Wanda leaned into him. They shared a slow kiss under a streetlamp—unhurried, familiar, comforting.

Everything was right.

And yet—

When they arrived back at the compound, Vision carried her bag as they walked down the hall to her room. He paused at her door, still smiling faintly.

“I had a good evening,” he said.

“Me too,” Wanda replied honestly.

He tilted his head, waiting.

“I think… I’m going to sleep,” Wanda added.

Vision blinked. Just once. “Sleep?”

She nodded. “I’m tired.”

It was the first time she’d said that after a date. Usually, he stayed. Usually, she wanted him to.

Something flickered behind his eyes—confusion, maybe—but he didn’t press. “Of course,” he said gently.

Wanda leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. Soft. Chaste. Final.

“Goodnight, Vision.”

“Goodnight, Wanda.”

She took her bag, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her.

The room fell quiet.

Wanda leaned back against the door, exhaling slowly. Her hand rose to her chest, where her heartbeat felt just a little too loud.

Only then did she let herself admit it.

She wasn’t tired.

She just couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N.

---

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