˚ʚ ᗢ ₊˚✧ ⧗ ﾟ

"I am not a monster." - Wanda Maximoff

[ilovemaximoffandromanoff]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾

Masterlist

[wandaslovey]

𝓌𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔

˖᯽ ݁˖ witch!wanda x fem!reader

summary: an ancient witch curses an infant princess to a fate that cannot be undone. condemned to watch the child grow from the shadows of the old forest, wanda expects only regret. instead, the years soften a heart she believed long buried, and she finds herself protecting the very soul she once sought to ruin.

au/background: a maleficent inspired au featuring ancient witch!wanda maximoff x princess!reader.

trope tags: slow burn ⟢ ancient magic ⟢ fairytale romance ⟢ enchanted forest ⟢ raven!natasha ⟢ eventual happy ending

authors note: welcome to my very exciting first attempt at a long series! i’m going to be stretching my limits as a writer and challenge my ability to write a slow burn type story. i’m so so excited for this! after re-watching one of my favorite disney movies for the 100th time, i couldn’t resist running with this idea. comment if you’d like to be added to a tag list <3

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

— 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 —

one:

[witchsamlizzie]

Elizabeth Olsen is pregnant 😭😍❤️

Elizabeth Olsen and Robbie Arnett were spotted in Los Angeles today It appears the actress is expecting her first child

[ilovemaximoffandromanoff]

Mama 🥹

[vastvastvast]

Am still thinking about this panel btw THATS HIS MOM 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[sheepandgoatt]

Just Lizzie and a cigarette

[lmaximoffx]

Guess Who recently watched twilight for the first time🤘🏻 I could so see wanda as a wife paired vampire wife who once she sees us needs us. like oooo i’m already playing it out in my head all the movies can be applied

A love stronger than sunlight

W.Maximoff x Reader

The moonlight through the stained-glass windows of your New York brownstone didn’t cast a shadow behind Wanda. She hadn’t for a very, very long time. She moved through your shared life with a preternatural grace, a secret smile always playing on lips that were perpetually cool to the touch.

You knew, of course. From the moment you’d stumbled, laughing and rain-soaked, into her path five years ago, you’d known. There was the impossible speed, the way she only appeared at your side when you truly wished for her, the fact she never ate your cooking (though she praised it endlessly). But you saw the loneliness in her ancient, beautiful eyes—a loneliness that mirrored a hollow space in your own soul. You weren't afraid. You were chosen

You are the only warmth that doesn't burn me," she'd confessed one night, her forehead resting against yours, her breath a scent of cold roses and old books. "You are my sunrise, my only sunrise, in an endless night."

Your love was a quiet rebellion. Against her nature, against time itself. And it bore the most impossible fruit: a child. A miracle growing within your mortal womb. Wanda was terrified. Elated. Consumed by a protective ferocity that made the very foundations of your home tremble. She read every medical text from the last three centuries, her panic a silent storm you could feel in the air.

"The baby is… different. Strong. It's part of me," she'd whisper, her hand, so cold and so gentle, splayed over your swelling belly. "I can hear its thoughts already. It's hungry for life. Your life."

You dismissed her fears. You were creating life with the love of your existence. What could be more natural?

You were wrong.

The labor was not natural. It was a cataclysm. The baby, your beautiful daughter, was as strong as Wanda feared. Her movements inside you were not kicks, but seismic shifts that shattered bones. The pain was a white-hot universe of agony, consuming you from the inside out.

Wanda was there, holding your hand, her face a mask of ancient horror. Her vampire senses could hear it—the rapid, frantic gallop of your heart, the delicate tissues tearing, the precious blood leaving your body in a torrent no transfusion could hope to match.

"Take her!" you screamed, your voice a ragged thread. "Save her!"

The human doctors were a blur of panic, useless in the face of this supernatural struggle. With a growl that shook the operating theatre, Wanda dismissed them with a flick of her wrist, a pulse of crimson energy sending them gently into unconscious slumber.

It was just the three of you now.

You were fading, the light dimming at the edges of your vision. The pain was being replaced by a cold, profound peace. You saw Wanda’s face, etched with a grief more vast than centuries.

"I can't," she sobbed, her tears like crystals of blood. "I can't watch you go. Not you. Never you. Not again."

"You have to," you breathed, the words barely a whisper. "Our daughter… love her for me."

But Wanda Maximoff had lost too much. A brother. A wife. A family with you. She would not lose you. The love that had gentled her for five years twisted into something desperate, primal, and utterly possessive.

No," she snarled, and the Scarlet Witch and the vampire became one in purpose.

As your last breath left your lungs in a soft sigh, as your heart gave one final, faltering beat, she struck. It was not the elegant bite of love. It was a savage, grieving act. Her fangs found your ravaged throat, not to take, but to give. To force a torrent of her own potent, venomous essence into your stilling veins, to pull you back from the precipice by the sheer force of her will and her magic.

It was fire and ice. It was dying and being reborn in the same instant. You felt every cell scream as it was unmade and remade. You felt the ghost of your mortal death, and then the terrifying, exhilarating rush of something new

When your eyes opened, they did not see the world. They devoured it. Every thread in the blanket, every dust mote in the sterile air, the humming of the lights—it was a symphony of overwhelming detail. And the scent… the coppery scent of your own birth-blood, and beneath it, the pure, vibrant, intoxicating scent of a newborn child.

You jerked upright with a gasp that wasn't a gasp, your new strength terrifying. There, in a bassinet Wanda had conjured from scarlet light, was your daughter. She was perfect. Rosy, healthy, and her mind… her little mind buzzed with a soft, warm light against your new mental awareness. She was human. Wanda’s venom had saved you, but not passed to the child

Wanda knelt before you, her face stained with blood-tears, her eyes wide with fear and hope. "Forgive me,my love" she pleaded, her voice raw. "I could not let you go. I needed you. I will always need you. I couldn't do this alone. I love you"

You looked at your hands, pale and impossibly strong. You felt the new thirst, a hollow echo beside the all-consuming love for the child before you. You looked at your wife—your creator, your savior, your jailer, your everything.

Slowly, you reached out. Not for her throat, but for her hand. Your skin was as cool as hers now.

"Our daughter needs her mothers," you said, your new voice a melody of bells and shadows. "Both of them."

Your daughter, Elizabeth, grew with a grace that was entirely her own, a bright, mortal flame in a house of gentle shadows. You learned the rules of your new existence together. You learned to hunt without harming, guided by Wanda’s centuries of restraint. You learned to quiet the world’s noise, just as she had.

You raised Elizabeth in a world of wonder. Wanda would weave stories from crimson light, and you would move faster than sight to catch her when she stumbled. You taught her history from personal memory, and she taught you how to see the world anew through mortal eyes.

On the night of Elizabeth’s high school graduation, you stood on the porch, watching her laugh with her friends under a string of lights.

Wanda slipped her arm around your waist, resting her head on your shoulder. The same gesture, but now the temperatures matched.

"You still need me?" you asked, the old, human joke now layered with eternity.

Wanda turned your face towards her. Her eyes, forever green, held the memory of your death and the triumph of your shared life.

"More than the night needs the stars," she whispered. "I saw you, and I needed you to be my forever. And now you are."

You looked back at your daughter, her mortal life a brilliant, fleeting bloom you would cherish every second of. Then you looked at your wife, your maker, your equal in this endless night.

You had died. You had been reborn. And together, you were raising a miracle. It was not the human life you'd envisioned, but it was yours. It was eternal. And it was bathed in the deep, abiding need of a vampire who loved too much to ever let go.

[lowkeyerror]

Mob Law cont.

Wanda Nat x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Notes: Part 11, Law talk that's not necessarily accurate, Wanda 👀

Summary: While Natasha goes to gather more intel on your father, you have a private moment with Wanda. That moment leads to Natasha feeling like she has to protect you.

An: We're getting somewhere. Ps I use the quote font for the title it gives me roman numeral 1 which is I so it would've said chapter ii rather than 11. The rest of them will just have the I so I2, I3, etc. Yall get it ?

Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2

Natasha’s start already gives her pause. Like Wanda had mentioned days prior she starts with your birth certificate.

Your mother's name was clearly listed under the mother of the child. However, the certificate didn't list your father as Arnold Edwards, it said Edward S. Howard.

She leans back in her desk chair. A pen in her mouth as she stares at the documents.

A few ideas bounce around her mind. The core idea being that your parents were lying to you. They were hiding something from you. She doesn’t know if she can find the reason why, but she is certain that she has to find the what.

“Who are you really?” The woman says looking at your birth certificate.

Natasha has already decided that she must go to the courthouse. She needs to pull your mothers records and find anything else on your father.

As she goes to exit the office, she finds you there with your hand up, ready to knock.

“Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi Nat.”

Neither of you will admit it, but you're taking each other in. Natasha doesn't mean for her eyes to drag over your toned form. You don't mean for your gaze to linger on her lips. It happens regardless.

“What can I do for you?” Natasha breaks the silence.

You clear your throat, “I wanted to know if you had found anything, yet.”

The lawyer doesn't sugarcoat it, “I did find something, I was actually on my way to the courthouse for some more research.”

“Can I come?”

Natasha frowns a bit, “I would love for you to come, but it's too far.”

“Oh right,” your confidence drops a bit.

Natasha shakes her head, “How about I gather the information and then bring it here? We can go over it together. That's pretty standard lawyer stuff.”

You laugh, “Sounds good.”

“Amazing, I'll see you when I get back,” Natasha tries to go on her way.

You gently grab her wrist, “So, what did you find, like originally?”

Natasha freezes, “I checked your birth certificate. Your father is listed as Edward S. Howard, not Arnold Edwards.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Hmm.”

“Does that name mean anything to you?”

A memory plays in your head. You can't quite grasp it, you were too young to pull the full memory, “Eddie, Howie, something like that. I just remember my mom saying one of those names on the phone all the time."

“Noted. I'll go investigate and I'll bring the important stuff back, so we can go through it together.”

You give her a curt nod, “I'll be waiting.”

“Make sure you relax while I'm gone. You have to have a clear mind for research.”

You give her a little salute, “I'll do my best.”

She lets out a small laugh, “Good.”

Natasha begins to walk away, you scamper up to her side, “We're going the same way.”

“I guess we are.”

She feels your gaze on her. It's softer than the other times she's felt it, though it still lingers.

“You're staring,” she states.

You don't falter, “I really enjoyed drawing you.”

This catches the lawyer off guard, “T-thank you.”

You smile as you catch her stutter, “I only really doodled in prison. A full sketch of who is, quite objectively, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, that was definitely a challenge.”

Natasha tries not to let the words affect her. However you can already see that they have. You can see the minute changes in her expression.

“Well, you definitely succeeded,” she manages to say.

“I'm glad you liked it,” you grow a little bashful when you say it.

Natasha thinks about commenting on the shyness that momentarily consumes you, but she doesn't. She likes this side of you; more confident, more open, less in survival mode. She likes it more than she should.

“And where are you two going?” Wanda stops you both at the garage entrance.

Natasha points at herself, “I'm going to the courthouse. She's staying here.”

“Well in that case, I'm taking her with me,” Wanda throws her arm around your shoulder.

Natasha crosses her arms, “Where do you think you're taking her?”

There's a mischievous glint in Wanda’s eyes, “It's a secret. Don't worry, I'm not breaking the rules.”

The hidden meaning isn't lost on Natasha, “Be good while I'm gone, both of you.”

Wanda moves to give her wife a chaste kiss, “Be safe, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Natasha then enters the garage.

Once the red head is out of sight Wanda turns to you. You're already looking at her.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

The mafioso winks at you, “Follow me, honey.”

After the encounter with Wanda, Natasha feels like she has to rush to get back home. She knows that when her wife has a glint in her eyes, things are all bad. The glint, accompanied by her rich accented tone, was a recipe for disaster.

Natasha trusted her wife, but above that, she knew her too well. She knew that Wanda did not often resist temptation. The Don wasn't one to just give up on something she wanted. There was hardly any situation where Wanda heard the word no and took it at face value. She was always able to turn the system in her favor even when it didn't seem that way.

The Don was a lawyer's nightmare. Charismatic, with kind eyes, a soft heart, but a brain so sharp, it would cut you almost instantaneously.

When Wanda was convicted the second time, she got off light. She had a few felony charges, but only ended up with one conviction. Some would call it a miracle, but it was just Natasha.

The red head was already established then, but taking on the Don as her client only increased her profile. Natasha knew the risk of working so closely to the heart of a criminal empire. At least she thought she did, but then she ended up falling in love.

Natasha didn't see it coming. She thought she would love the money, the greater recognition, and she did to an extent. She just loved Wanda more.

Falling for one client was bad enough. If she finds herself in that position a second time, she might as well retire now.

You were different from Wanda. You were innocent. Not only in relation to your crime but in the grand scheme of life in general. Just like Peter and Kate, you're smart, kind, talented.

If she keeps reminding herself that you're like them, she's hoping to see you in the same light.

Deep down Natasha knows that it might be too late for that. She can't lie to herself, but she has no problem denying herself. However if Wanda caves in, how is she expected to stay strong?

She tries to push those thoughts to the side as she enters the building. She starts with your mother, finding her birth certificate. She doesn't find any record of marriage. She also finds her name attached to a few court cases, some files heavily redacted.

Natasha gets copies of everything mentioning your mother. She notices that the names Edward or Edwards also appear multiple times in some of these cases.

She looks for all combinations of the names that could possibly be your father’s. While she couldn't find the name Arnold, she did come across the name Arno.

Arno S. Edwards has a plethora of documents here, but most of them are almost entirely redacted. She would need to request full access to these documents to try to piece together a full picture. That could take weeks, maybe even longer. Natasha doesn't want to wait. She decides to make a call.

“Natasha Romanoff, what do you need from me today?”

Natasha chuckles, “Don't say it like that, I call you just to talk sometimes.”

“Is this one of those calls?”

Natasha sighs into the line, “No.”

“That's what I thought. So what's up?”

“I need access to some redacted information expeditiously. I don't really have time to wait, Jen.”

Jen hums, “What are we looking for?”

“Arno S. Edwards. Any document on him.”

“Anything else?”

Natasha gives Jen your mother's name, “If you find anything that looks worth sending, send it.”

“L/n, why does that sound so familiar?”

“You'll see once you pull the information. Just get it to me as soon as you can,” Natasha ends the call after that.

Before the phone leaves her hand she gets a text from Wanda. It says bring food, the kids are hungry.

She gets copies of the documents she needs and promptly exits the courthouse.

On the way home she stops for takeout, opting for the family style portions rather than taking everyone's individual orders.

While she's waiting on the food, she gets a call from Wanda.

“Yes dear,” she answers playfully.

"We need to get Y/n a phone.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, “Then order one to the house? Is that all you called for?”

“So snappy, maybe I called to talk to the love of my life.”

Natasha hums, “Got it, you want to know what food I'm getting. Takeout, from your favorite spot.”

“Extra side of wontons?”

Natasha scoffs, “What do you think this is amateur hour? Of course I got an extra side of wontons.”

There's some mumbling in the back, “Y/n wants extra egg rolls. Vegetable egg rolls.”

“She can have however many egg rolls she wants. She'll need to be full and focused when we start our research.”

“Find anything interesting?”

Natasha answers, “Just a bunch of redacted files. Interesting, but unhelpful if I can't see into them.”

Wanda groans, “Requesting access is going to be a bitch.”

“It would've been.”

The Don chuckles over the line, “Attorney Romanoff are you taking short cuts?”

“Don Maximoff, these are pressing matters,” Nat rebuttals.

“Anything for our girl,” Wanda says smugly.

Natasha knows better, but she takes the bait anyway. It's only a small indulgence. Her voice softens when she replies, “Yeah.”

“I'll see you when you get home malysh. Drive safe.”

“I will,” Natasha hangs up the phone.

Meanwhile back at the house, you find yourself sitting in a room that's much larger than the one you're sleeping in. You'd even say it's double the size.

The room is blank, something like a clean slate. White walls, hard floors. There's some furniture; chairs, a table, a couch. However, the majority of the room is vastly empty.

You're face to face with a white canvas, stationed on an easel. There are brushes and paints, not too far from your side.

You haven't stroked the canvas yet.

“This used to be one of the dens. We didn't really need two, so I had some friends come and move everything out,” Wanda walks so that she's closer to you.

“You didn't have to.”

She shrugs, “I wanted to. I wanted to give you a space to create.”

“We've been here for awhile, I haven't made anything,” you turn your attention to her fully.

“Art takes time,” she says as if it isn't relevant.

“Have you ever painted?”

Wanda nods, “A long time ago, before I became the Don. I really enjoyed the arts, I still do. I just don't participate in the same way I used to.”

You pick up the palette, putting a few colors on it. Your hand feels the tips of the brush before picking one. In less than hurried strokes you prime the canvas.

You let the process take over you as you speak, “When I paint…it's different from when I draw. It's lighter, more loose. I don't think about it as much, I just do it. I know it's not, but drawing feels more permanent to me. Not to get all Bob Ross, but when painting there are only happy accidents. No mistakes.”

“Sounds freeing,” Wanda responds.

You sigh, “It was. Art was what I was passionate about before everything. My art was always a reflection of myself.”

“And after everything?”

Your stroke falters, “When I was first getting settled in prison I never drew. I was still trying to process it all. I did eventually start up again, but like I said my art is a reflection of me. Everything I made was full of this profound sadness and rage. So I stopped, because I hated seeing what I had become.”

“Then you drew Natasha,” Wanda says.

You nod, “Then I drew Natasha.”

“Why?”

You stand from your chair, focus still on the painting, as you lay the paint on the canvas. “Natasha gave me hope for the first time in a decade. She marched in there and said she could get me out. I don’t know if I believed her, but I wanted to. You wrote me that letter. I didn’t know what you looked like then. I knew Natasha was your wife. I thought that maybe it could be something I could use to show my gratitude.”

“So was it out of gratitude or obligation?”

It's your turn to shrug, “Maybe a little of both. Maybe a dash of something else sprinkled in there.”

Wanda doesn't let your words go unquestioned, “Something else like what?”

She walks around you so that she's standing behind the easel. You can feel her staring at you. The intensity of her gaze makes you want to stop what you're doing.

You risk a glance up at her, quick, fleeting. Her eyes attempt to trap you, but the canvas calls your attention.

“She's pretty,” you mumble. “More than pretty. She has the kind of beauty that you want to immortalize for generations of people to admire.”

Wanda smiles coyly, “Can't argue with you there.”

You clear your throat, “I'm not supposed to ask, at least I don't think I am, but how did you become… you know?”

“The Don,” she finishes.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Wanda strides back around the room, she sits in the chair you were sitting in. She's close to you, you can feel her.

“Don't know if that's something I'd like to tell you now,” she says.

“Then tell me something else,” you don't face her.

Wanda watches you, fighting the urge to reach out. She wants to feel you against her. Her hands in your hair, in your shoulder, on your abdomen, maybe lower.

“What do you want to know?” Her accent is prominent in her words.

“Something from before everything,” your voice is so low she almost doesn't hear it.

Wanda starts at what she considers the beginning, “My family immigrated to the United States when I was around 12. Hard age for a girl, especially when she moves away from her home country. I wasn't super sociable, not eager to make friends. My brother, my twin, has always been better with people. He adjusted quicker than I did.”

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, “I think I adjusted better overall. We were children so I don't blame him, but while he was being accepted by our peers, I was studying them. I was more interested in their relationships, how they worked, the hierarchy of it all. Once I understood it, it was easy to infiltrate it. By sophomore year I was extremely popular.”

You stop her, “Something more grounded, more open. This still sounds like Don Maximoff, something more Wanda.”

“I was 15 when I had my first kiss. Her name was Sophia and I really shouldn't have kissed her.”

This gets you to look back at the woman, “Why not?”

“Sophia had a boyfriend.”

You resume painting, “Did she kiss you back?”

Wanda scoffs, “Of course she did.”

“Cocky,” you comment.

The Don shakes her head, “She was in love with me. That's why I kissed her. We were best friends, more than that really. One day she's complaining about Thomas, her boyfriend, and she looks at me; then she says I wish I was dating you instead.”

“So you had to kiss her,” you relent.

“Exactly. She was smart, pretty, kind; everything was easy with her,” Wanda lets herself get lost in the memory.

“What happened to her?”

Wanda lets out a sigh, “I asked her to this dance. Times were different, she said she had to go with Thomas. That was that.”

“Really?”

She nods, “There wasn't anything I could do. I knew how she felt about me, and she knew it too. We both knew I was better than Thomas, but she didn't pick me.”

You speak before you think, “I would've picked you.”

Wanda can't resist after that. She reaches for your sides. Her fingers are cold, but you don't jump. You turn to face her. You swallow, under the weight of her gaze.

“You think so?”

There's a rasp to your voice when you answer her, “Yeah.”

“Interesting,” she says it to you, but you see her looking at the canvas behind you.

You turn again, she doesn't unhand your waist. Instead she encloses both arms around your middle.

You're seeing what you've painted for the first time. The background is dark, almost darker than a normal night. There are some trees along the sides, they're more like silhouettes.

The sky of the painting is a mixture of a dark blue and purple. There aren't any stars. However, in the middle of the sky are a pair of eyes; Wanda's eyes. They're unmistakable.

She notices, of course she does, perhaps it's why she said it was interesting.

“It's a start,” you say, scrutinizing some minor details.

You feel her stand without letting you go. Her breath makes contact with the back of your neck, “It's brilliant. You're brilliant.”

You don't mean to lean into her touch, but you do, “Thank you.”

Wanda takes it a step farther, leaving a feather light kiss on the back of your shoulder, “You're welcome.”

The moment lingers, neither of you separate. You don't want to. You like the way her arms feel around you. Her hold feels tight, reassuring, intentional.

She doesn't want to let go either. She wants to indulge in this moment. It's nothing scandalous, just a hug. An almost imperceivable peck, it's innocent enough.

“Foods here,” Natasha’s voice rings through the home.

You jump at the sound, but Wanda doesn't. She calmly drops her arms from around you. You finally face her, there's a small panic in your eyes.

It goes away when she interlocks her fingers with yours, “Let's go eat.”

You let her guide you out of the studio and to the dining room where everyone was already congregated.

“You,” Natasha points at you when you enter. “Get yourself a plate and we're eating in the office.”

“Work can't wait the few minutes it'll take to eat?” Wanda says.

That's when Natasha’s gaze drops to your conjoined hands. It's fast, but you were watching for it.

“We can multitask, right Y/n?”

Your hand slips out of Wanda's as you begin making your plate, “Yes ma'am.”

“Good. I've got your egg rolls, let's go,” Natasha doesn't bother giving her wife any attention.

“Sweet and sour sauce?”

Natasha holds up a few containers, “Of course malyshka.”

There's a smile on your face as you follow Natasha to her office. When you get there, you sit across from her wasting no time digging into your food.

You don't notice her watching you until you reach for your second egg roll. She catches your attention mid-chew. Your face heats quickly and you wipe your mouth.

“Enjoying the food?”

“I haven't had Chinese food in a decade. It's like eating a slice of heaven.”

Natasha chuckles, picking at her own food, “No more prison food. Only the good stuff from now on.”

“You won't hear me complaining.”

Natasha doesn't let the question roam her mind too long before voicing it, “What'd you do while I was gone?”

You swallow your food before answering her, “I think… I think Wanda made me a studio. I painted something, it's unfinished I think, but it's a start.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

You answer tentatively, “I did.”

Natasha picks up on it immediately, “But…”

“I wasn't expecting it. To paint, to have a space like that, to have Don Maximoff’s company. It felt, I don't know.”

Natasha stops eating, “A positive feeling?”

You nod, "Yeah."

“That's good then. You shouldn't feel guilty about feeling good,” Natasha says nonchalantly.

You nod slowly, “I know it's just… being alone with Wanda.”

“You scared of big bad Don Maximoff?” Natasha teases.

You don't answer immediately. When you do it's quiet, “I feel like I should be more scared.”

Something clicks in that moment for Natasha. She can tell Wanda has shaken you, just not in the typical way the Don shakes people.

“My wife is multifaceted. She's more than those stories you heard in prison. At the same time, that's a part of her. She can be kind, sweet, and gentle; but she can also be unforgiving,” Natasha is honest with you.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Natasha says without hesitation.

You steel yourself enough to look into her eyes, “Does she want something from me? Am I just some means to an end?”

Natasha leans back in her, “Wanda isn't using you.”

You shake your head, “That wasn't my question.”

“What makes you think that?” Natasha pries.

You respond to her with much effort, “It- it feels like she wants something.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, “Did she do something to you? Say something to hurt you?”

The words pour out of your mouth, “No, no. She didn't do anything. I just- maybe I'm confused.”

You see Natasha relax a bit at your words. She regards you carefully, scanning over you to make sure you aren't lying.

“I love my wife, but I don't always know what's going on in her head. I don't know if she wants something from you, truthfully. However, I can assure you that if she does, she won't get it,” Natasha says seriously.

“Nat-”

“Listen,” the word silences you. “You're under my care. You're my client. I will not let any harm come to you. No matter who it is from, I'm going to protect you Y/n.”

Natasha knows what Wanda wants. She'd be lying if she said she didn't want the same thing. The lawyer could tell by the state of the woman in front of her that her wife has started advancing. Wanda just can't help herself and Natasha knows it.

“If she wants something, she can just ask me,” you say sincerely.

Natasha closes her eyes, trying to calm her growing anger, “She shouldn't.”

Part of you wants to push Natasha farther, but her phone chimes loudly, interrupting the conversation.

The red head is eager to pick it up and when she does a smile plants itself on her lips.

“What happened?” You question the stark mood change.

“I just got all of the files we needed. Uncensored and in their full glory. We're tabling this conversation, because we have some investigating to do.”

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

[thelizzieaholic-deactivated2026]

BRO-

[wandas-lizzies]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ᴇʏᴇꜱ: ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

Avenger/Mom!

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! daycare teacher

Summary: A night at the Compound with Cora is interrupted by Clint and Steve teasing Natasha about Cora’s teacher—forcing Natasha to realize she’s looking forward to Monday far more than she should.

a/n: Natashas POV.

Part one

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

It was Saturday evening, and the quiet of the Compound usually felt like a sanctuary, but tonight it felt like a cage. I was sitting on the floor of the common area with Cora, the low hum of the ventilation system the only sound filling the room. It was one of those rare nights where the world wasn't ending, and I was actually home long enough to see the sun go down.

Cora was sprawled out on her stomach, red curls messy and wild as she focused on the paper in front of her. She’d been working on the same drawing for twenty minutes, her little brow furrowed in a way that looked far too much like mine.

"You're making the legs too long," I murmured, leaning back against the couch and watching her.

"Spiders have long legs, Mama," she countered without looking up, her voice small but firm. "This one is a hunter. He needs to run fast."

"A hunter," I repeated softly, my eyes tracing the jagged black lines she was scratching onto the paper. "Well, make sure he has a home, too. Even hunters need a place to sleep."

Cora didn't respond immediately, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she switched to a dark green crayon. The waxy scritch-scritch of her coloring was the only peaceful thing in the room before the heavy automatic doors hissed open, letting in the reality of the Compound.

The quiet was shattered by the heavy thud of combat boots and the low, rumbling debate of two men who clearly didn't know how to turn it off for the weekend.

"I’m telling you, it’s the footwork. You’re overthinking the pivot," Clint’s voice echoed through the common area, sharp and energetic as always. He strolled in, tossing a stray tennis ball into the air and catching it without looking.

Following behind him was Steve, looking far too put-together for a Saturday night in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He stopped when he saw us on the floor, his expression immediately softening into that "Captain" look of concern and warmth.

"Sorry, Nat," Steve said, his voice dropping a few decibels. "We didn't realize you two were... busy."

"It's a very important mission, Rogers," I replied without moving, though I felt my guard prickle instinctively. "The spider needs a house."

Clint wandered over, peering over the back of the couch at Cora’s masterpiece. "A green house? Bold choice, kid. Most spiders go for the classic 'dusty corner' look."

Cora didn't look up, but her small shoulders tightened. She wasn't used to the noise yet, even if these men were the closest thing she had to uncles. "It’s a secret house," she muttered.

Clint chuckled, dropping onto the edge of the sofa. "Fair enough. Keep your secrets." He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for a second—checking to see if I was actually 'off the clock' or just pretending. "You look like you've been staring at a wall for three hours, Nat. You okay?"

I ignored the question, focusing on Cora as she added a thick green line. The chaos of the Compound was back—the boots, the training talk, the smell of sweat and coffee. It was familiar, but as I looked at Cora’s drawing, I realized it wasn't the kind of world I wanted to talk about with her tonight.

"Mama?" Cora sat up, ignoring the guys as if they were just part of the furniture. She held out the paper. "Is this a good house?"

I took it, my thumb brushing over the green circle. "It’s perfect, malyshka."

"I want to show Ms Y/L/N ," she said firmly. "She likes green."

"Ms. Y/L/N, huh?" Clint leaned forward, as he eyed the drawing with newfound interest. "Is that the same teacher Happy was grumbling about last Friday? Something about her 'radiating authority' and making him wait by the curb?"

I felt a sharp pull of protectiveness in my chest. I didn’t like the way Clint’s voice held that edge of amusement I didn’t know why I didn’t like it.

"Happy did say she was... impressive," Steve continued, leaning back in the armchair. "Said she didn't even blink when he tried to give her the whole security talk. Apparently, she just looked him in the eye and told him he was blocking the fire lane."

Clint let out a snort, nearly dropping his tennis ball. "I like her already. Anyone who can boss Happy Hogan around without even flinching is a hero in my book. So, come on, Nat spill. Is she actually that cool, or is Happy just getting soft in his old age?"

I rolled my eyes

"She's fine, Clint," I said. "She’s patient. She’s smart. And most importantly, she doesn't freak out when Cora brings home a pocket full of rocks."

"She has a quiet voice," Cora added, digging through her crayon box with the intensity of a bomb technician. "And she remembers which purple is my favorite. She doesn't yell like Uncle Tony does when he loses his remote."

Clint raised an eyebrow at me, looking way too amused for his own good. "High praise! Sounds like you finally found someone who isn't scared of the big, bad Romanoffs. Is she cute? Is that why Happy’s so flustered?"

"Clint," Steve groaned, though he was clearly hiding a grin behind his hand.

I stood up, scooping Cora into my arms before the teasing could get any worse. I wasn't about to admit to them that my own heart had done a weird little hop when we made eye contact earlier that ¨week. "She’s a teacher, Barton. Leave it alone. And it’s way past someone's bedtime."

"I'm not tired!" Cora announced, immediately followed by a giant, face-stretching yawn that betrayed her completely.

"Clearly," I laughed, kissing her temple and feeling the soft tickle of her curls.

As I headed down the hall, I could hear Clint and Steve already whispering behind me.

"Five bucks says Nat wears the 'nice' jacket on Monday," Clint whispered loudly. "Ten bucks says she wears the lipstick," Steve countered.

I reached Cora’s room and tucked her in, but as I looked at that green-circled spider drawing resting on her nightstand, I realized I was actually looking forward to Monday morning, too. I caught my reflection in the window—a soft, expectant look I didn't recognize.

"Fuck, Natasha, snap out of it," I hissed to the empty room, rubbing my face. It was just a teacher. A very organized, very calm, very... distracting teacher.

[lowkeyerror]

Mob Law pt 7

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Notes: Mafia typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, threats of murder, blood

Summary: Wanda tracks down the two cops who initially made your arrest.

An: What a change in tone 🙂.

Series Masterlist| Masterlist 1 |Masterlist 2

Don Wanda Maximoff doesn't ever need to get her hands dirty. She has a vast number of resources and connections to do her bidding for her. Most people preferred it that way, because if the Don came for you directly, it was never a good thing.

Wanda has that in mind as she knocks on the door of Ray Cooper. It's only been about a week since you've come into her home. After Natasha gave her the names of the officers, Wanda got some of her men to run tabs on both Ray Cooper and Vin Gonzales. Her hands fall into her coat pockets as she waits for someone to answer.

A little girl opens the door. She couldn't be any older than 8 years old. She stares up at Wanda, confusion on the little girl's face. Her head tilts slightly, the two pigtails she has swing with the motion.

Wanda smiles sweetly, crouching down to meet the girl's eyes, “Hello little one, is your papa home?”

“Carlie, who's at the door!” You hear a man's voice yell down the hall.

“What's your name?” Carlie asks innocently.

The Don extends her hand, “I'm Wanda, it's very nice to meet you Carlie.”

The little girl shakes Wanda’s hand.

Carlie turns her head to look back into the house, “It's Wanda, she's looking for you daddy!”

Wanda hears the man begin to quicken his steps towards the door. Ray pales as he sees Wanda speaking eye level with his daughter.

“Why don't you go inside, while daddy speaks to Wanda sweetie?”

She nods before waving at the brunette, “Bye Wanda.”

Wanda waves back with a bright smile, “Bye Carlie.”

Once Carlie is far enough into the house, Ray steps out, shutting the door behind him. Wanda slowly rises from her crouched position looking the man in the eyes.

“Cute kid, Mr.Cooper.”

The man keeps his voice low, “Thank you, just Ray is fine.”

Wanda dismisses his words. She steps closer to him. The corners of her lips tick up slightly when she sees the man fight the urge to back up.

“Do you know why I'm here Mr.Cooper?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

“About ten years ago, you ruined an innocent kid's life. That kid is now in my care, and under my protection. Now what I've heard Mr. Cooper, makes me want to shoot you right here. But I won't do that to your daughter. I take no pleasure in making orphans.”

“Don Maximoff I-”

Wanda raises a hand to quiet him, “I'm not finished. My wife is in the process of building a case to exonerate Y/n L/n. You’re going to appear in court and explain how you fucked up. Do I need to remind you of how you fucked up?”

When he hears your name he reacts immediately, “I-I was a rookie. I was just following orders. It's Vin you want to talk to. He's the one who was in charge of the investigation.”

Wanda clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “I will get to Mr.Gonzales in due time. I'm here for you today, Mr. Cooper. If you try to flee before the hearing, you will be found and dealt with. If you take the stand and lie, I will deal with you myself. If I can't seem to get a hold of Mr.Gonzales after this chat between us, I will come back here; and like I said before Mr.Cooper I take no pleasure in making orphans. Have I made myself clear?”

“She’s only 8 Don Maximoff, have mercy please,” he pleads.

Wanda begins to walk away from the man, “As long as you follow my instructions nothing will happen to you or your daughter. I don't want to have to come back here Mr.Cooper.”

“I understand,” he nods meekly.

She doesn't look back when she says, “Wonderful.”

She keeps walking until she reaches her car. After she gets in the vehicle she pulls out her phone. It only rings once before someone picks up on the other line.

“Do we have eyes on Mr.Gonzales?”

“What happened to hey, how are you doing today? How are the kids?”

Wanda sighs into the phone, “Hello, Clint. Happy? Now where the fuck is this guy?”

“Someone needs to channel a little bit more of Don Corleone and less of this Fisk energy,” he sasses you.

“Barton if I wanted a back and forth I would've had Wilson doing this instead of you. Could you just cooperate?”

Clint relents, “Fine, fine he's uptown. Looks like he'll be here for awhile. He's staying in a hotel, on his lonesome. Lots of bags and no visitors that I have seen.”

Wanda weighs her options, “He's at the hotel now?”

“No, no he's at a bar across from the hotel,” Clint clarifies.

Wanda rolls her eyes, “It's 10 in the morning.”

Clint chuckles into the phone, “Sounds like happy hour to me.”

“Text me the location, I'm on my way.”

He hums, “Will do. You want me to stick around?”

“You're good to go Clint, thank you. Kiss Laura and the kids for me.

As soon as she hangs up, the phone rings again. She lets out a groan in frustration, planning to ignore the call until she sees the caller ID.

“Bratishka?”

“Sestra, how are things? Natasha tells me you've taken on quite the task,” Pietro says over the line.

Wanda disagrees, “This is Natasha’s task, I'm just overseeing a few things to help her.”

“And why was I not made aware of this task?”

Wanda rolls her eyes, “Because it's all completely legal Piet. Besides, the girl is actually innocent, I would swear it on my life.”

“I don't doubt you, Wanda. I'm just saying, you know how the two of you get with these passion projects.”

Wanda takes an edge to her voice, “Do not patronize me Pietro.”

“Sestra as underboss, I'm just-”

“As the underboss you are under me. You do what I say. You can question me all you want as your sister, but as the Don, I'm not looking for pointers.”

He relents, “Fine, but keep in mind you're getting pretty hands on for this stranger.”

Wanda runs a hand through her hair, “I don't have time for this Pietro. I will see you when you're back in town and when I do see you, we won't be talking about this.”

Wanda hangs up on her brother. She doesn't know why his words bother her so much, but they do. Which is unfortunate for Mr.Gonzales, because now the Don is in a bad mood.

The speed limit seems nonexistent as Wanda swerves through traffic. Her foot rarely lifts from the gas pedal. She tries to take a centering breath, but she still feels the irritation coursing through her.

When she arrives at the bar she just sits in the car. Wanda simply waits for the man to exit the establishment. Every minute he's in there is another moment that allows her anger to fester.

It takes about a half hour before she decides to get out of the car. She slams the door as she does. The sun hides behind clouds, and the air has a bit of a bite to it.

The Don leans against the outside wall of the bar. She pulls out a cigarette and puts it between her lips. It hangs there loosely for a moment.

“Need a light?”

Her eyes cut over, but she doesn't turn her head. She can see it's Vin. Wanda nods discreetly. He steps into her space, face to face, but not paying any attention to her. His focus is on the cigarette hanging from her lips as he flicks his lighter.

He flicks it once, small sparks fly. The second time the same thing happens. The third time a fire is created Wanda’s cigarette is lit. She reaches up for it with one hand and the other reaches into her coat pocket.

Before he knows it, Vin has a gun pointed into his stomach. That's when his head snaps up. Wanda sees his jaw clench when he realizes who she is.

“Mr. Gonzales, we got a few things to talk about.”

“I ain't got shit to say to you,” the words grate through his gritted teeth.

Wanda cocks the gun, “Listen you fucking rat. I will blow a fucking hole through your intestines right her in this parking lot.”

He raises his hands up, “I don't want no trouble Don Maximoff.”

“Turn around, keep walking until I tell you to stop.”

The man turns slowly, Wanda keeps her gun at his back as he moves. With one hand on his shoulder, she guides him to her rear car door. She's quick to swing the door open and motion him in.

He gets in and she climbs in after; he doesn't leave her crosshairs. Once the door closes, Wanda strikes the man across the face with the butt of the gun.

He screams, body jerking at the contact. His hands shoot up to cover his nose. Blood runs out of his nostrils, dripping down his clothes.

Wanda pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of her pants. She wipes the blood that begins to make a mess of Vin's face. He flinches under her touch, though she's gentle.

“Just to make sure you know what kind of mood I'm in. Mr.Gonzales, I didn't come here with the intent to hurt you. That's not the kind of woman I am. What I am here to do is give you a very sound piece of advice.”

Vin looks at her with narrowed eyes, “What do you want from me?”

The Don laughs, “The fact you even have to ask is very telling. You're as crooked as they get, you fucking schmuck.10 years ago, you sent an innocent young girl prison for murder.”

He blinks a few times. The man fails to hide the recognition on his face, but tries to lie anyway.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Wanda swings the gun at him again this time cracking him across the bridge of his nose. When he cowers, she doesn't stop, swinging wildly with the weapon. She doesn't care where she strikes as long as it connects.

“Don't you fucking lie to me. I won't kill, but I'll make you look like the fucking living dead, if you keep wasting my fucking time.”

Wanda is unbothered by the specks of blood that begin to spray in the back of her car. She raises the gun again, but the man squeals with his hands up.

“I remember. Fuck please, I remember. Uh, um-”

“You know her name you piece of shit,” Wanda presses the gun into Vin's thigh.

“Y/N L/N!”

He screams your name like it'll save his life. In this case it works.

Wanda’s hand claps against his cheek, “Good boy. I'm glad you got there.”

He groans, sniffling trying to keep his blood from seeping any more.

“What about her?”

Wanda wipes her free hand on her shirt, “Well, Mr. Gonzales, my wife, has taken on her case. We're looking at having her exonerated. To do that I'm going to need you to appear in court, get on stand, say you mishandled the situation, and admit that you lied under oath.”

“Why in the fuck would I do that?”

Without breaking eye contact Wanda reaches into her boot. It's a singular swift movement, when the knife goes into Vin's thigh.

He tries to bite his tongue, to keep from screaming. However the crippling sound of his shrill cry, cannot be so easily disguised.

“Because if you don't I will send my people or better yet, I'll kill you my damn self.”

Vin spits on Wanda’s face, “Fuck you, kill me now bitch.”

Wanda closes her eyes, wiping the mixture of saliva and blood off of her.

“Since you don't seem to value your own life, how about your sister's? I've met Michele, she is not entirely removed from my wife. Every lawyer knows each other in this state, right?”

His face pales. He threatens the Don, but his voice shake while he speaks, “You stay the fuck away from my sister.”

“That's completely up to you Mr.Gonzales. I won't ask for your word because it has no value. I'm simply going to show up and expect you to be more honest than you have your entire life.”

Wanda twists the knife in his leg and he grunts.

“What am I supposed to say?”

She looks at him with boredom in her eyes, “The truth. You did not see Y/n stab her mother or herself. You also need to mention that you and your partner neglected to properly read Y/n her rights. On top of that, you need to say she could've died in your care. Tell them that instead of checking her wounds immediately, you waited until she almost bled out in your car to get her the care she was entitled to.”

“Fine, fine! Just please no more.”

Wanda squeezes the handle of the knife that's buried in his leg, “Perfect, thank you Vinny. I'm going to call you Vinny now. One last thing, Vinny.”

His brown eyes look desperate as they search for mercy in Wanda, “W-what is it?”

“Why blame her?”

“What?” He whispers meekly.

Wanda pushes the knife further into the meat of his thigh, “Why does it seem like everyone was looking to get this 16 year old girl arrested for murder? It's clear that there was something going on here.”

Tears start falling from his eyes, “Look, look I don't know much. I just know it's got something to do with the kid's old man.”

“Bullshit she said her dad died before her mother,” Wanda gears up to strike him again.

He cowers, “I don't know, I don't know I'm telling the truth here. It has something to do with her dad.”

Wanda doesn’t see any deceit in his words, “You know who killed her mother?”

He shakes his head vigorously, “No, not a fucking clue Don Maximoff. I swear on my father's grave.”

Wanda pulls the knife from his leg, causing blood to spill into the backseat of her car.

“Your father’s alive, you fucking moron. What do you take me for, some sloppy amateur? I'm the fucking Don for a reason, Vinny. Do I need to check on dear old David too? Make it so you can really swear on his grave?”

He begins to sob, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't know who killed her, but I know it was intentional. It was a hit. That lady had enemies.”

Wanda reaches over Vin. He winces as she pulls the handle on the car door.

“Get the fuck out of my car.”

He scurries at her words, choosing to clutch his leg rather than his nose. He falls ungracefully onto the parking lot asphalt from the car.

He stumbles to his feet, “I'm sorry Don Maximoff.”

“Definetly, the sorriest son of a bitch I know. Don't make me have to find you Vinny, understand? It won't be pretty for you, or your sister, or your father.”

He does his best to nod, “I understand, Don Maximoff.”

Wanda climbs over into her driver's seat. She starts her car and peels away.

When she's far enough from the bar, she calls her wife. It takes a few times before the red head picks up.

“Clear the house,” there was a low rasp to her solely reserved for Natasha.

“Wanda-”

The Don doesn't let her finish, “Natasha if I don't get my hands on you as soon as I get home, I will drive back to the hotel that Vincent Gonzales is staying at, and put a bullet through his fucking skull.”

“Baby you know I don't like it when you're angry and on the road. Slow down for me,” Natasha stays calm on the other end.

Wanda loosens her grip on the steering wheel, and eases up on the gas pedal, “I need to get home to you, moya lyubov.”

“I guess I can find somewhere to send everyone. Y/n can't go too far,” the lawyer thinks out loud.

Wanda hums in agreement, “Listen if you can tell them to get ready I can have them picked up. Send them to the neighbors for a few hours.”

Natasha chuckles, “I'm sure Agatha and Rio would love a house full of young adults.”

“They owe us for babysitting little Nicky all those times. I don't remember how many times I had to chase that boy through the garden,” Wanda dismisses the notion.

“I'll tell them to get ready. You tell our neighbors we're sending guests their way.”

The Don grins, “Are you going to be ready for me when I get home?”

She can almost hear Natasha’s smirk over the phone, “I'm always ready for you detka.”

“Fuck,” Wanda feels the tension rising in her gut.

“Drive safely, I need you back to me in one piece. Love you, see you soon.”

The sweetness of Natasha’s words settle the brunette, “Love you too baby.”

The call ends there.

Wanda drives more carefully after speaking to her wife. She notifies Agatha and Rio that they'd be having guests. They were neighbors but the properties were so large it was nearly a 20 minute walk in between them.

Wanda arranges for Happy to transport the young adults. She also informs Bucky that he'd be watching over them, when they weren't at the house.

With everything sorted out the only thing left on her mind is getting to Natasha.

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

[natalianovnas]

𝐦 𝐞 𝐫 𝐫 𝐲 𝐰 𝐢 𝐭 𝐜 𝐡 𝐦 𝐚 𝐬 — w. maximoff

ⵌ . . 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 :: wanda tries to make your gift “come to life” for fun, but now a stuffed bear is walking, the tree is dancing, a gingerbread man is screaming. you two have to wrangle the chaos

ⵌ . . 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 :: gf!wanda maximoff x female reader

ⵌ . . 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮 :: fluff, magical christmas, cozy & whimsical.

ⵌ . . 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 :: 0.6k

Snow fell like sifted sugar over the compound, gentle and soundless, as though the world were holding its breath. Inside, the warmth wrapped itself around the windows like a soft exhale, glowing gold beneath garlands and fairy lights Wanda had enchanted into slow, twinkling pulses.

You were in the living room on your knees, fluffing the branches of the Christmas tree.

Wanda had insisted on a real one this year, because, “you deserve the smell of pine.” but when she found out real pine needles shed everywhere, she tried to talk you into a hologram version instead. You refused, of course and Wanda sighed dramatically.

Then she helped you carry the tree in anyway, muttering Sokovian insults at the branches catching in her hair.

Now, she was pacing behind you, barefoot in cozy socks patterned with tiny spell glyphs. Her sweater was oversized—emerald green, soft, sliding off one shoulder.

“Hold still for a second,” Wanda murmured.

You turned. “For what?”

“Mmm… just measuring.”

A curl of red wisped around her fingertips. Magic, that familiar warm-cinnamon glow, pulsed in her palm.

“Wanda.” You eyed her. “What exactly are you planning? Because the last time you said you were ‘measuring,’ a wreath started singing folk music in the middle of the night.”

“It was only once,” she protested. “And it had perfect pitch.”

“Wanda.”

She smiled like trouble draped in velvet. “A little charm. Nothing big. I promise.”

You arched a brow, she took this as permission.

Wanda lifted her hand toward the tree, murmured a spell — words you didn’t recognize, something soft and curling—and the magic leapt from her fingers into the branches.

It was subtle. Shimmering, even. And then the entire tree shuddered.

The ornaments rattled like startled birds. A soft gasp escaped you.

“Wanda— what did you—?”

“Uh…” Wanda blinked. “Okay, that wasn’t supposed to—” It didn’t even give her the chance to finish because your Christmas tree —your tall, noble, carefully-chosen spruce —bowed.

The top bent forward gracefully, almost politely, like someone greeting royalty and you stared.

The tree wagged. Not with a branch, but the entire trunk shifting in what could only be described as enthusiasm.

“Babe,” you whispered, “did you… just animate the tree?”

“I think so,” she said, in the same tone someone might use to admit they accidentally summoned a demon but the demon is kind of cute. “But I swear I only meant to charm the lights. Not—this.”

The tree hopped—hopped—two inches to the left.

You yelped while Wanda grabbed your sleeve. The tree hopped again, excited, branches rustling like applause.

Then the ornaments began swaying on their own, chiming as if the tree were clapping.

“Wanda!”

“It’s friendly,” she insisted, holding both hands up. “See? It’s just… alive. Temporarily.”

“How temporarily?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she admitted. “I never did this before.”

The tree wiggled closer making you both stumble back.

“Okay—” The Sokovian inhaled deeply. “It’s alright. I can fix it. Just stay behind me.”

But before she could try another spell, something darted across the floor.

A gingerbread man—one you very distinctly remembered leaving on the kitchen counter earlier on—sprinted into the room on tiny frosting-covered legs.

“OH MY GOD WANDA.”

“Oh wow,” Wanda whispered. “He made it all the way from the kitchen? He must have good stamina!”

The gingerbread man looked up at you with icing eyes, let out a very high-pitched war cry, and charged. You shrieked.

Wanda scooped the little creature into her hand but he bit her thumb.

“Ow!” She stared at him, deeply offended. “That was rude.” The gingerbread man kicked at her palm. Tiny crumbs flew.

She trapped him gently between fingers, shook her hand to fling off the crumbs, and scolded him like a badly-behaved puppy. “No. Bad cookie.”

He squeaked in protest.

“Wanda,” you said slowly, “why is he alive?”

“...I may have enchanted your cookie tin too.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because you told me you loved ‘animated holiday stories.’ I thought you meant literally.”

You covered your face with both hands. “Babe…”

“Okay, okay, okay,” she said, rushing over to you. “I’ll handle this. I promise. No more enchantments tonight. I’ll fix the tree, the… gingerbread situation, everything. Just breathe.”

You peeked through your fingers : She looked so earnest, so painfully cute & concerned about the chaos she’d created.

“Babe,” you said, “the tree is literally petting the couch.”

It was. A long branch stroked the cushions affectionately, making your girlfriend wince. “Yes. I see.”

“And the gingerbread man is trying to stab you with a candy cane.”

He was. And that candy cane was a sharpened one. Where the hell did this came from? Wanda flicked him with a tiny burst of magic. He froze mid-swing, like a paused video.

“There,” she said proudly. “He’s harmless now.”

“The tree,” you said slowly, “is doing a little dance now.”

It was a sort of wiggle. Enthusiastic.

Wanda sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead. “Alright. Let’s just… gather everything alive, magical, or aggressively baked, and solve it all at once.”

But the charm was already spreading : The stuffed bear you bought her was waddling out of the hallway like a toddler in snow gear. A decorative nutcracker turned its head toward you, joints creaking. The stockings were wiggling like excited puppies and the star on top of the tree lit up and began humming.

You stared at all of it.

Wanda stared at all if it.

The gingerbread man stared too (still frozen).

Then Wanda said, in the softest, most defeated voice: “…okay, maybe the charm was a little strong.”

Before you knew it, she took your hand.

“Don’t worry,” she said, squeezing gently. “I’ll fix everything and afterward… I’ll make you hot chocolate. The good kind, with real cocoa and slow magic whisking.”

“You’re bribing me,” you deadpanned.

“Is it working?”

You paused. “..Yes.”

She smiled— a relieved, glowing one.

“Come on,” Wanda said, rolling her sleeves up. “Let’s un-magic Christmas.”

The two of you spent the next hour wrangling festive chaos:

Wanda chasing the stuffed bear like a mother trying to catch a toddler who’d escaped bath time. You trying to talk the tree into holding still while she disentangled the lights then grabbing the cookie tin every time another gingerbread man tried to escape.

Wanda gently “booping” each charmed object with a pulse of red light to un-enchant it.

At one point, the tree even tried to hug you but Wanda pulled you out of the way and glared at it like a jealous cat.

When things finally calmed, the living room was a disaster of pine needles, cookie crumbs, and slightly singed tinsel.

But Wanda tugged you down to sit beside her on the sofa, both of you breathing hard, laughing softly in the afterglow of chaos.

She brushed hair from your face.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I just wanted Christmas to feel magical for you. I may have… overdone it.”

You leaned into her. “Wands, I loved it. All of it. Even the homicidal cookie.”

She groaned, dropping her head to your shoulder. “Please never say that sentence again.”

You laughed.

She lifted her head, eyes soft, voice quieter now. “I’ll always do my best to make things beautiful for you. Even if sometimes it… backfires spectacularly.”

You cupped her cheek, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. “You make everything magical just by being here.”

She kissed you. It was warm, slow & tasting faintly of cinnamon and sugar.

The lights glowed gold.

The tree—now fully inanimate again—stood proudly. The world felt safe and warm and full.

When she pulled away, she whispered:

“Merry Witchmas, detka.”

You smiled against her lips.

“Merry Witchmas, my love.”

. . .

author's note ; i stand very proud of this one :) merry witchmas, everyone !

[beekneelsformommy]

Chapter One

Pairing: Wandanat x Autistic!fem!reader

Summary: You wake up restrained and drugged in an isolated barn, only to discover that the people you trust most may be responsible for your captivity in the name of “protection.”

CW: 18+, Kidnapping / unlawful imprisonment, Non-consensual restraint, Implied drugging, Emotional manipulation, Physical aggression, Mentions of Familial abuse (parent/child), Betrayal by trusted figures, Psychological distress, Misogyny, Moral ambiguity, Angst.

Word Count: 2k

Reading Time: 10 Minutes

Author’s Note: Read with caution, dark theme of kidnapping ahead.

Chapter One of A Shot in the Dark

Tip Jar

Playlist coming 🎶🎧

It was the taste in your mouth first that bought you back round.

The grotty, dirty taste of the rag that was pressing on your tounge, slipped between your lips and tugging on two strands of thin hair at the back of your head.

You groaned.

Head lulling to one side.

You’d been drugged that was evident.

You tried opening your eyes but they felt heavy, too heavy. Almost like they were made of lead.

Then you tasted something else, as you bit into the rag. “Blood.” you mumbled, grunting almost—then the realisation about the rest of your body.

Arms stretched high above your head, tied together with rope and chain, hung over the beams above you—your toes only just touching the ground.

“Kate!” You growled “This isn’t funny! You absoloute psychopath!” Kate was your best friend but sometimes she could be a little bit insane when it came to her pranks. And this had her name written all of it.

Your eyes now fluttering open with more ease. It took everything in you to pull your head up, the tears and sweat and blood all mingling together over your skin, but you looked around as best you could—trying to kick the closest thing to your foot—a stack of hay. Like that would even do anything to help you.

“Think. Think. Think.” You whispered to yourself, almost in a way to ground yourself as you felt the cold air from outside wrap around your skin like a dagger to the heart.

Where even were you? You couldn’t comprehend it. You were hanging from the roof of..wait where exactly were you hanging from? Your eyes sluggishly darted around the room—building? No. Then everything finally came into focus, despite the tiredness behind your eyes.

You knew exactly where you were.

The barn.

The one that was in the fuck all, ass end of no where.

Out in the sticks is what Natasha called it when you drove past when you first moved to town.

The bullpin was loud and smelled like stale coffee.

Crowded in a room were two women in uniform. Both red hair. One copper the other more cherry red. Standing professionally infont of a clear board.

Then her voice came.

Calm and controlled.

“Quiet.” She didn’t need to raise her voice for people to listen and stop what they were doing in that very moment.

And the room shifted, from loud conversations, and rustles of paper to a silence where you could hear a pin drop.

“Thank you.” The copper-red head shouted out. “Today marks a week since Y/N has disappeared.” She held up your photograph, then turned pressing it to the board behind her with blue tack.

“Didn’t you say she was troubled?” One of the detectives asked innocently enough “How do you know she didn’t just leave of her own accord?”

The whole room seemed to hold it’s breath at the question.

“Excuse me?” She arched an eye brow, stepping forward. Cold and no emotion behind her eyes that anyone else but the woman standing next to her would see.

“I just—Det—Sergeant Maximoff, I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” she snapped. “And how dare you pass judgment.”

“What Sargent Maimoff means is,” the other woman stepped in “that yes Y/N had a troubled up bringing, but she has had no contact with her family in nearly a decade. She is an adult. She is not gone of on her own.” The woman commented, like there no room for manouver.

Because there wasn’t.

“Thank you Liutenent Romanoff.” Wanda nods, her hand pressing to her stomach as she holds up the next photograph. A rough looking man, dark hair, dark eyes, big. “This is Leonard Y/LN.” She turned tapping your photo at the board “her father.” She placed the image next to yours, and wrote underneath it with a squeak of the whiteboard pen. Suspect. “This man is the number one susbect.”

“But, sorry Sargent, I thought you said Y/N hadn’t seen her family in what ten years?” The man asked, making note of the conversation.

“Yes. That is correct. Leonard has not seen his eldest daughter in almost ten years, but he does come with quite the colourful history. Stalking, previous kidnapping charge, assualt. All on his daughter Y/N.”

The room fell silent.

Most thinking how could a father do that to their own daughter.

The sad thing was family violence was common, too common—with over 50% of NYPD domestic incidents involving parent/child dynamics. It was a scary statistic, but one that was all too real here.

“Ma’am?” A hand was raised, a young woman, blonde hair tied back into a plait. Serious. Unmoving. Waiting for the right time to ask her own questions.

“Yes Officer Belova?” Wanda asked, jaw tightning as she saw the other detectives—male ones snigger at her calling Wanda ma’am. But Yelena was always professional, and always understanding of the hiarchy in any room.

And here and now she knew Wanda owned this room with just a curve of her lips.

“Has anyone spoken to Kate Bishop?” The blonde asked, sitting a little stiffly, but knew the importance of talking to close friends.

“We have, but Myself and Romanoff will be going again when we finish here,” Wanda paused eyes firmly on the young woman who sat with her spine straight, blue eyes sharp and focussed only on Wanda. Even with low snide remarks around her. She didn’t care, she was here to do a job and she did it well—better than any man did. “In fact, why don’t you accompany us.”

“Me Ma’am?” Yelena looked a little startled, eyes looking around incase she missed something or someone.

“Yes,” Wanda chuckled “unless of course you have something better to do?”

“Yeah, making us coffee!” the guy next to her grinned, like making a joke like that was actually funny.

“Well, I take mine black, get to it Detective Stark.” Wanda shot him a look and shook her head, turning her attention back to the board. “Now one last thing, this is Jessica Y/LN. She is Y/N only sister, ten years younger than her. But do not…I repeat do not take her innocent act as bible. She is cruel, nasty and manipulative.” Wanda pressed her photos up next your father’s “they only share one parent. This man.” And Wanda wrote under her name. ‘Suspect no. 2’

Wanda finally breathed.

So did Natasha.

“Okay everyone,” Nat clapped her hands together in quick succession, sharp and unyielding “let’s get to it. We need to find this young woman before her father does.” And at that the room diburst.

"HHHHEEELPPPPPPP!” You screached loud and muffled by the rag in your mouth, you twisted and turned kicking away what was left of the hay, your body moving so fast you weren’t sure you knew what it was doing.

You’d been gone less than a day—at least you were sure of that—as you twisted, the ropes burned a fire against your skin, and you screamed again—not that anyone would hear you out here—but you had to try. So you kept at it, until the light of the day outside began to turn—dusk already.

But then—

Your ear pricked up, you heard a voice you recognised outside although you couldn’t quite pin point who it was, their voice felt safe…and then movement. “Yes Nat, she’s awake, I’ll keep an eye on her until you arrive—you know she’s going to hate you when she finds out the truth…mmm, very well.”

Then the barn door was pushed wide open and a silhouette stood before your blocking out the light, his hand reached up pulling on a cord, and the metal light above you flickered on—the sound it made shot through your ears and the flicker was hurting your vision. Aside from that though, you were sure that was dangerous, the light against the wood—oh well. Your eyes widened at the man before you and you felt like the wind had been knocked clean out of you.

“Steve?” Your voice broke. The man. The soldier. Natasha Romanoffs best friend.

“I’m sorry Y/N. But we didn’t have a choice.” Steve looked almost like he was pleading with you, begging you not to freak out at what he was about to say. “This is for your protection.”

You laughed. Muffled still.

Steve stepped forward “Here let me—”

But you turned your body away, faster than he had expected—he still stepped forward. Fingers suddenly gripping your cheeks keeping your mouth open as he pulled the cloth out—untying it from around your head. He shoved it into the back of his jeans pocket. “I’m serious. You have to trust us.”

“Trust you?!” You spat, saliva almost missing him, but not quite. You smirked as it hit the bottom of his clearly clean shirt.

“Y/N. Stop.”Steve gripped your chin tighter, but the look in his eyes told you he didn’t want to be doing this—but he had to. He felt obligated.

“You’re a coward!” You snapped, legs flaying, and then, your shoe came down quickly against his shin. Steve stumbled back a few paces wincing from the sharp stab of your heel. “If you’re really protecting me, then why am I here? Hung up like a damn piece of meat? If Nat knew—”

Steve’s laugh cut your voice off. It wasn’t denial more, oh you sweet oblivious child kind of laugh.

Why would he laugh at that? You were being dead serious. Natasha cared about you. So did Wanda. You may not have a job like theirs but it didn’t make you any less important.

The clock in the Maximoff-Romanoff household chimed nine.

Wanda was sat curled on the couch, glass of red wine in her hand and papers, maps, notes scattered everywhere. The smell of vanilla wafted through the house, and the scent of left over Chinese from the night before.

She was doing everything she could to find you. To find who had done this. A week a no trace.

“Maybe…” Wanda began, green eyes shifting to Natasha, who was reading her book next to the open fire. Far more relaxed than anyone should be right now—at least anyone who know you. “Nat?” Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“Hang on...” Nat chucked “This parts really funny, you’d like this, see this woman, she—”

“I don’t care about some damn farm girl in a book Natalia!” Her sokovian accent trailing off at the end of her words. Not loud. But enough force to bring Natasha’s attention back to her.

“Sorry love,” Nat sighed, placing her book mark between the pages and setting it up on the shelf “what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Wanda almost laughed at the clear obliviousness of the situation. “She’s been gone for a week! A week Nat! And you don’t seem to even care that she is…Nat she could be dead!” Wanda’s voice broke, cutting through the energy in the room and downing her wine. She stood quickly, too quickly, marching towards her wife, empty glass in one hand and her other suddenly gripping Nats jaw. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Leave it Wands.” Nats voice was almost disconnected from her body, pulling her jaw from the very strong grip that Wanda had on her face.

Wanda sighed, copper hair falling over her shoulder, and she slowly—reluctantly stepped back.

“Natasha. You just seem like you…” Wanda stopped herself at first from finishing the sentence, but she asked anyway as Nat came to her feet, and walking past Wanda. “Nat she’s missing, please at least act like you care about her.”

That made her freeze. Jaw tight.

She looked back at her wife. “You know I care about her.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Wanda was almost giving up, but then something in her told her to say it again. “You just seem like you don’t even care, why Nat?”

Nat sighed “At least he can't get to her now. She'll survive without us. She won't survive with him around the corner.” And with that Natasha disappeared from sight, leaving Wanda to sit with her words in an uncomfortable silence, except for the crackle of the fire.

“Nat,” she whispered, realisation spread across her face “what did you do…” Wanda’s hand over her mouth, heart thumping inside her chest and the feeling that she was married to someone completely unhinged.

[beekneelsformommy]

⪼ Kinkmas - Day Two

Title: Mistletoe rules

Summary: Whoever you end up with under the mistletoe “claims” you for the night. Whilst Wanda and Nat fight over who should get you, Agatha is the one manipulating the magic so you land under it with her on purpose.

CW: Consensual D/s dynamic, Power exchange & obedience, Possessive / protective behavior, Jealousy & rivalry, Manipulation by a third party, Uncomfortable touching by a third party, Magical coercion / influence, Emotional distress & overwhelm, Alcohol consumption, Verbal intimidation / threatening language, Magic intimidation, Pet names & objectifying language (used antagonistically), No explicit sexual acts depicted, Consent is central within the primary relationship, Boundary violations are addressed and stopped.

Word Count: 2.6k

Reading Time: 13 Minutes

Authors Note: Hi all, I just want to make a quick note, I don’t know why I wrote it like this but I did so, keep in mind please Agatha’s physical contact here is not non-consensual, but it is intentionally uncomfortable for Bug. That unease comes from Agatha herself—her manner, tone, and manipulation its not a lack of consent, and that distinction here is incredibly important to the dynamic portrayed.

It was quite ridiculous.

You couldn’t remember whose idea it was to put the mistletoe up, or whose idea the challenge was or finally whose bloody idea it was it invite Agatha bloody harkness round and include her in the challenge. But here she was, a week before Christmas, about four different mistletoes hung around the house and a deal that whoever manages to plant a kiss on your lips at midnight gets to claim you for the night.

You were hoping for Wanda or Nat. But you couldn’t deny that you were intrigued to see what would happen if Agatha got you. Nat was quite possesive of you, other than when you were around Wanda—but to let you go to someone else, even just for a night, you weren’t really sure Natasha Romanoff would be willing to let that happen—even if she did agree to it at the start.

It was one thing to say it, but quite another in action.

You stood in the corner of the room, hands wrapped around the hot cocoa, you didn’t drink alchol—didn’t like the taste, they’d all faught over who would make your drink and give it you, in the end Wanda had won. She pressed a small kiss to your lips right under the mistletoe.

“That doesn’t count.” Agatha had growled from her position on the couch, knees up against her chest, glass of mulled win in her hand and a pout on her lips.

“I know that Agatha. I’m just getting my practice in for when the bell rings midnight. We all know it will be me.” Wanda smirked giving a warm kiss to your cool skin on your cheeks.

“Mmm, sure it will.” Agatha’s eyes narrowed in on Wanda, and then her finger tips glowed purple and the mistletoe moved right over her own head.

“Agatha Harkness, that’s cheating.” Nat suddenly appeared in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. “you can’t use your magic…or you Wands, no one uses magic to get Bug into bed.” she folded her arms over her chest, jaw tightening. If Agatha won...well lets just say you wouldn’t exactly want to be Agatha if that happened, not with the repercussions you would have to expect from Nat.

“Natalia! Don’t be so crass!” You muttered from across the room. You maybe quieter than the three of them, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t speak up when you needed or wanted to.

Wanda moved herself behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder as you turned your head, nuzzling your nose into her neck. “See? she’s mine Agatha, and Nats. You won’t get her and no amount of magic will change that. Why don’t you just give up and go home now.”

“Why would I do that?” Agatha asked, sipping at her glass of mulled wine, whilst Wanda nibbled at your ear. “The deal was, whoever—”

“I know what the deal was,” Wanda snapped, her hand gradualy moving lower over your stomach and just below your waist band. Your hand caught Wanda’s wrist “you’re kidding me?” Wanda huffed, annoyed she wasn’t allowed to go any further.

“No, I’m not.” you sighed “there’s still a deal in place, and you have half an hour until one of you gets me for the night.” Your lips upturned into an awkward smile—whose bloody idea was this? If it was just Nat and Wanda it would have been fine, but Agatha Harkness too? This was going to end in tears.

Agatha slowly began to get to her feet, the mistletoe moving above her head with her. She placed the wine glass on the table and you couldn't help but notice the way Natasha’s jaw tightened, eyes glaring a hole into the back of Agathas head as she stepped towards you. Wanda’s arms tightened around your waist protectively.

“She’s right,” Agatha murmured, now stood directly infront of you and Wanda. Her strong perfume wofting up your nose a little too heavily. Her hand slowly coming up to your face, finger nails gently tracing over your cheek “and darling girl, there is so much I’m going to do with you when I get you into bed.”

You turned your face away, pulling yourself out of Wanda’s arms and striding towards Nat.

You didn't hate Agatha. But this was why you wished it had stayed between you Wanda and Nat, something that was supposed to be fun, was now making you feel apprehensive and anxious.

Agatha just cackled, standing near to Wanda, not following you, but her eyes scrupulious as she watched you stand near to Nat—you weren’t close enough to touch her but close enough to feel safe by her pressence. Both you and Natasha had your eyes on Agatha as she stepped forward, leaving the mistletoe for a second before pulling it magically with her.

Nat somehow kept standing just where the mistletoe ended up before Agatha pushed her out the way—Nat stepped aside silently, willingly, but kept a hand on your wrist, squeezing softly.

“You think you’re getting her?” Agathasnapped, hands on her hips like a woman possessed.

“Oh, no,” she breathed “I know I’m not. I don’t have magic do I?” Nat planted the seed, the one that said it was between Wanda and Agatha despite Nat still being fully in control and intent on saving you from a night with Agatha Harkness.

You weren’t sure if Nat and Wanda had conspired this or not, but whatever the case you were happy to be near to Natasha.

“Bug honey, come help me in the kitchen.” Natasha turned, but Agatha as always tonight, was at your side in an instant grabbing your wrist. Your heart plumeted, heat rushing into your cheeks, knees shaking slightly—yes there was intrigue about Agatha, who wouldn’t be? She was a mystery, but you weren't sure that was a can of wrms you wanted to open. You knew one thing though, you didn’t want to end up with her, especially not when Wanda and Nat were your girlfriends—and for that alone you were sure they had something planned to ensure you wouldn’t end up in Agatha's bed tonight.

“You want her for yourself.” Agatha’s grip tightened, and Wanda this time, wrapped her hand around Agatha’s wrist, on your wrist. Fingers stilling so your wrist wasn't squeezed too tight.

“Let. Her. Go.” Wanda snarled “this is meant to be fun, but if you’re going to make Bug uncomfortable, or make it into something else—you can go.”

Agatha sighsed, pulling her hand away “Okay, okay, I’ll keep my hands to myself….” she smirked, eyes pointed at you “goodness, she’s protective isn’t she?” Agatha leaned herself against the back of the couch, one palm on the edge, steadying herself.

“She has to be with you around.” You took Natasha’s hand, sweaty palm on cool palm—and Natasha’s silence, which you couldn't deny, was a little off putting. She was usually the first person to say something, and yet here she was not saying a single word.

You went with her into the kitchen, putting your now empty mug down on the island, whilst Wanda and Agatha were still in the living room, voices heard, bickering about you. You pulled on Nats sleeve heart in your throat “Nat,” you whisper, voice as low as you could make it “I don’t want Agatha.”

Nat smiled sweetly at you, knuckles brushing your cheek “it’s all in hand baby, all in hand.” her warm breath on your skin as you let yourself sink into her hold, hoping you could just meld your bodies together. but then—

A cough from the door way.

You stayed in Nats arms, eyes looking towards the door where Agatha and Wanda now stood. Arms folded, raised eyebrows, mirroring one another. “Well isn’t this cozy?” Agatha muttered.

“Very.” Wanda agreed, “we still have ten minutes left off the night and you’re hogging her.”

“Mmm.” Natasha pulled away, but before she moved completley from your grasp, she gently cupped your face, eyes looking towards the mistletoe dangling above Agatha’s head and then back to you “go on, go back out there sweetheart. I’ll be along in a moment.”

You nodded, leaving Natasha’s arms reluctently and walking towards the door where Agatha and Wanda stood, your hands shaking a little. Agatha smirked, her own hand setlling under your chin “you are so perfect, just a little pet for me to play with, hmm?”

You felt the moisture on the palms of your hand begin to form again, the heat rising to your cheeks, you were sure you must of looked likbright flipping strawberry—your focus on Wanda rather than Agatha. Wanda cupped your other cheek with her hand “go with Agatha baby, we’ll be out in a minute, I promise.”

“But—” you tried, but your voice was quickly cut off.

“Do as your told sweetheart, we still have time, she won’t get you unless it’s midnight, and is it midnight?” Wanda raised a brow at you in conjuction with her question.

You shake your head, letting out a hefty sigh, agreeing to do as Wanda had asked—and something told you that they had a plan, herself and Nat to ensure Agatha didn’t even get a chance at you—you had no idea what it was, but it was making you nervous.

“Come pet, with me.” Agatha grabbed your biscep, pulling you from the kitchen, her fingers tight around your arm.

You saw out the corner of your eyes, Natasha holding her hand up in a fist and gritting her teeth for the way Agatha continued to call you her pet…to Nat and Wanda, that wasn’t just something they didn’t like, but it was disrespectful and a sure way to get under their skin. Agathas’s own plan clearly working.

You watched as the mistletoe followed you both, slow and determined to stay as close to Agatha as possible without being directly above her head just yet. Agatha's magic was working subtly—she pulled you down onto her lap as she let herself land onto the couch first—your back to her chest, her long fingers scraping your hair back, lips against your ear “you know my dear, it’s better to bend than to break.”

“I won’t be doing either with you Miss Harkness.” You swallowed thickly, not wanting to give Agatha more than was available to her.

Agatha choked out a laugh, “Miss Harkness is it now?” her fingers gently tracing lines over your pulsaiting veins in your neck, her other hand reaching for her glass of mulled wine, thumb rubbing over your cheek and then to your bottom lip, pulling just slightly “open”

You did. Slowly. Letting the liquid graced your tounge like a hot fire burng in the forest during the heat of summer.

You weren’t going to say no to Agatha and her magic—you didn’t drink alchol and this reminded you exactly why, but then—

“Agatha!” Wanda was by you in a momnet. She pulled the wine out of Agathas grip fast and furious before she did the same with you, landing you on your feet right beside her. “She doesn’t drink!” Wanda's voice like that of a banshee, and your eyes now locked on Nats, who was leaning against the wall by the kitchen door, hand over her mouth 'coughing'. So, in other words, she was attempting to hold back a laugh at her wife’s ridiculous sounding voice.

“Oh spoiled sport, you and Nat have been fighting over her all evening, it’s my turn to enjoy her for a bit…” Agatha smirked. Wanda quickly pushed you behind her back holding you there as if even a look from Agatha would kill you—I mean, you wouldn’t put it past her in alll honesty. “…or all night.” Agatha's lip curved upwards like a puppet being pulled on a string.

You gripped Wanda’s wrist, her thumb rubbing over your bare knuckles, calming you, reminding you that wasn’t going to happen. “Yes, but me and Nat are married, and she’s our girl, we get to fight over her, we fight over her almost every day.” You heard Wanda’s voice, but it began to lean into a fog, your ears pricking up at the change in Christmas music—your movements slow as you took yourself away from Wanda. She and Agatha continued to argue until they were blue in the face—to the point they hadn’t even realised the time, or that you had stepped away.

Midnight.

Wanda and Agatha were now standing nose to nose, practically screming obscenitys at one another—ones that would make a sailor blush. Wanda expressing her self very much through her hands, where as Agatha was keeping it msotly in her face.

Nat caught your face by her own firey green eyes, and in one small movement she held up her hand, bending her index finger at the knuckle three times. No noise. No words. No commotion. But a command that you followed in an instant.

You stepped forward, leaving the loud obnoxious argument behind you. Agatha's mistletoe still above her head, but Natasha was standing under her own.

You breathed out, a little heavier than usual, but it wasn’t a breath full of tension—no it was full of relief. You took another three steps, and now you were close enough to Natasha that you could feel her breath on your skin. Her fingers gently lifting your chin so your eyes met hers.

“Are you okay?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, taking her time, because she knew—she knew they would be at it for as long as she needed them to be, but you didn’t know that. You were squirmy.

“Nat just kiss me.” you said urgently, eyes moving towards the flayling arms—but Nat just bought your face back to hers, her thumb rubbing gently over your bottom lip, and your own brain began to go foggy—soft—submissive.

“Good girl, that’s it.” She whispered, clearly seeing the way your eyes were glazing over.

Then—

The large grandfather clock that sat to the side of the room, began to ring. Twelve chimes in process.

Agatha turned faster than ever, screaming out a frustrated “NO!”

Wanda stood suspiciously smug, arms folded over the top of her chest.

And Nat? Well she cupped your jaw, bringing your lips to hers, and the warmth made your whole body go like jelly. Then the mistletoe began to snow over the two of you—likely Wanda’s doing, Natasha’s tongue searched your mouth just for a second before parting. “You are mine detaka. Always.”

You stepped back slowly, Natasha’s hand on your elbow to steady you as your warm cheeks flushed even further. You looked towards Wanda, her eyes smiling with genuine pride and happiness.

Agatha huffed, downing her drink and slamming the glass down on the table, miraculously it didn’t break—then marching her sorry ass out of the house and slamming the door behind her, making the house shake just from her anger and frustration alone.

The three of you couldn’t help but laugh. Soft, warm cackles, that served just as you had needed them to.

“You kept her busy on purpose didn’t you?” You asked Wanda, as she stepped forward, her hand pressing on your hip.

“I don’t know what you mean sweetheart.” she presses a kiss to your cheek, “now I’ve left something out on the bed for you—Nat has a very special night planned, go on, up you go.” and as you reluctently took yourself away from their hold, both of them smacked one ass cheek each, making you stop still for a moment, the sting vibrator through your clothes and onto your skin. You knew tonight was going to be earth shattering, it always was when it came to Natasha.

That didn’t stop the speed your heart was going, not from nervousness—no. It was from excitement and obidence. You were hers—theirs.

But tonight alone.

You belonged to Natasha Romanoff.

[wolfbluebird]

The Dead Remember

Marvel Zombies AU

Zombie!WandaNat x Human!Reader

First person

Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: The apocalypse has come, and my girlfriends are… zombies. Natasha and Wanda should have been gone. But when they return, they don’t attack — they watch. Day by day, I survive with them, learning to communicate, learning they still remember me, and maybe… still love me. Then I hear about a cure. A chance to bring them back. But it won’t be instant. It won’t be easy. And it might change everything. Love, survival, and hope in a world that’s ended.

Men and Minors DNI

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

DAY ZERO

I didn’t think coming back here would feel like this.

The Avengers Tower used to hum with life — laughter echoing through corridors, coffee machines sputtering in the early hours, Steve yelling at Tony to stop messing with the thermostat. Now, it’s just wind through broken windows and the smell of dust and death.

We came here for equipment — some of Stark’s old biotech, anything we could use to help find a cure. There’s a group of us: me, Brad, Coulson, that medic from Jersey, and two kids we picked up along the way. We’re all desperate enough to try anything.

I wasn’t ready to see what I saw inside.

Wanda and Natasha.

My girlfriends. My girls. The two people I used to come home to every night, now… monsters. They were among the first infected, right after the virus spread through the East Coast. I thought they’d died quickly, that maybe it was painless. I prayed for that.

But when I saw them — moving, hunting, aware — I knew this wasn’t death. This was something crueler.

The others screamed. Tried to fight. There was no point. You can’t fight them. They moved like they used to — coordinated, sharp, unstoppable. Natasha took out Brad before he could even raise his gun. Wanda pinned Coulson to the wall and… god.

The rest of the group fled. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

When Wanda’s red-glowing eyes met mine, she froze. Natasha too. They didn’t attack. They just stared, heads tilted slightly — that same silent communication they used to have between them. Then Wanda reached for me. Not fast, not violent. Just… slow. Like she was asking permission.

I didn’t run.

They pulled me deeper into the tower, away from the exits. The door slammed behind us, metal twisting under Wanda’s power. Everyone else got away. I didn’t even call after them.

Now, it’s just me. And them.

⸻

DAY ONE

I found an old Stark tablet. Still works. Figured I’d start documenting… whatever this is.

It’s day one of being stuck inside Avengers Tower with my undead ex-girlfriends.

They haven’t eaten me yet, which is an improvement on most relationships I’ve had.

Natasha paces a lot. Same silent grace, same cold calculation in her eyes, but it’s… off. Her movements are jerky sometimes, like she’s remembering how to be human but her body forgot. Wanda lingers. She watches me.

There’s something in her stare that feels almost familiar. Like she’s still in there, behind the hunger.

I sleep in one of the safer rooms — or what I think is safe. I can hear them outside at night, slow footsteps, soft growls. But they never come in.

Not once.

⸻

DAY THREE

I left the room this morning.

Natasha was sitting in the lounge area, head tilted up towards the cracked skylight, light falling across her face. She looked… peaceful. Like she was remembering what sunlight felt like. Wanda was sitting on the floor nearby, tracing something in the dust with her finger.

When I got closer, I realised it was my name.

They both looked up when I made a sound, but didn’t attack. Wanda stood first, her head twitching slightly, lips parting like she was trying to speak but couldn’t form the words. Then she stepped toward me — slow, deliberate — and touched my arm.

Cold skin. But gentle.

It’s like they remember me.

⸻

DAY FIVE

They follow me around now.

Wherever I go, they’re not far behind. Wanda tends to keep closer; Natasha circles the perimeter like she’s on guard duty. I think they’re protecting me. From what, I’m not sure. Maybe from themselves.

I’ve started talking to them. Out loud. It feels stupid, but it helps.

“Do you remember?” I asked Wanda today. “Do you know who I am?”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. Then she pointed at her chest, then at me. Over and over again.

Her mouth opened, a soft rasp escaping — like my name caught somewhere in her throat.

I don’t think they’re gone. Not completely.

⸻

DAY SEVEN

I’m teaching them sign language.

I used to know a little, back before everything went to hell — we all learned it for missions where silence mattered. Simple stuff: yes, no, danger, safe, food. They watch my hands carefully. Wanda’s quicker at picking it up; her movements are smoother, more deliberate. Natasha takes longer, but her eyes never leave my fingers.

When Wanda signed you safe today, I nearly cried.

Later, I saw Natasha glaring out of a shattered window at the city below. There were walkers in the streets. She turned back, made a small hand motion I hadn’t taught her — two fingers tapping her temple, then pointing at me.

I think it meant stay here.

They’re not just acting on instinct. They’re thinking.

⸻

DAY TEN

They don’t let me hurt myself.

Not that I was trying to — but when I nicked my arm on some broken glass, they both panicked. Wanda shoved me back against the wall, her hands glowing faintly red, sealing the cut before I could even flinch. Natasha growled lowly, pacing, eyes darting to the blood.

But she didn’t attack. She left the room instead.

When she came back, she had a rag — torn from her old uniform — and tied it around my arm.

Her fingers brushed mine, and for a second, I swear she smiled. Not a full smile. Just a flicker.

I whispered her name. “Natasha…”

She blinked. Once. Then looked away.

⸻

DAY FIFTEEN

I dreamt about before — the three of us in bed, Wanda’s laughter filling the room, Natasha pretending to be annoyed at our morning cuddles. I woke up crying, and before I could stop myself, I called out for them.

They came running.

Wanda crouched beside me, her cold hand on my cheek, trying to wipe away the tears she couldn’t understand. Natasha knelt behind her, head bowed slightly, her breath ragged.

I don’t think they sleep. But they stay near me while I do. Like they’re guarding me from nightmares.

⸻

DAY TWENTY

There’s no cure. Not yet. Not that I could find.

But maybe this is the cure — or the closest thing to it. Proof that the virus doesn’t erase who they were. That love, somehow, can survive even this.

They’re not monsters. They’re echoes.

Wanda sits beside me as I type this. Natasha’s sharpening an old knife, though she doesn’t need it — it’s just habit. Something her body remembers doing.

I taught them one more sign today: love.

They both repeated it back to me.

And for a moment — just a flicker — their eyes softened.

⸻

DAY TWENTY-THREE

I caught Wanda trying to braid my hair this morning.

I woke up to cold fingers brushing the back of my neck, and when I turned around, she just blinked at me and tilted her head like I’d interrupted her. Then she backed off, hands twitching like she didn’t understand why she’d done it.

I don’t know what’s more terrifying — that she’s remembering things, or that I’m starting to get used to it.

⸻

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

It’s weird what you start to miss.

Coffee. Music. Actual human conversation that isn’t just me talking to the dead.

So, I decided to play music today — found an old portable speaker in one of Tony’s offices that miraculously still works. I played Crimson and Clover because Natasha used to hum it in the shower.

Wanda froze as soon as it started playing. Natasha turned her head like she recognised the sound. And then, slowly, Wanda moved toward me — swaying slightly. Like she was dancing.

She reached out her hand.

And I swear, for a second, I saw something like love behind those pale, dying eyes.

⸻

DAY THIRTY-ONE

Blog update: Natasha walked into a wall today.

Like, full-force. No hesitation. Straight into it.

I don’t know what she was doing — maybe she saw something, or maybe she just… forgot walls exist? Either way, she glared at the wall like it insulted her entire bloodline.

Then Wanda made this weird noise — a low sound that, if she were alive, would’ve been a laugh. I started laughing too. And Natasha just stared at both of us like we were the problem.

It was the best five minutes I’ve had in months.

⸻

DAY THIRTY-EIGHT

They talk to each other.

I noticed it last night when I couldn’t sleep. Their voices were low, guttural, almost like growls and clicks — but rhythmic. There was… structure. Communication.

I couldn’t make out words, but the tone felt familiar. Like the way Natasha used to mumble in Russian when she thought no one was listening.

Wanda would respond with soft, breathy sounds — little hums and broken syllables. They’d pause, look at me, then continue.

I think they’re aware I can hear them.

⸻

DAY FOURTY

I caught Natasha holding Wanda’s hand.

They were sitting in the wrecked common room, near what used to be the bar. Wanda was staring at the sky through a hole in the ceiling, and Natasha just… reached out. Fingers brushing hers like a reflex.

It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t instinct. It was love.

I had to walk away before they noticed me crying.

⸻

DAY FOURTY-NINE

Okay, I know I said they don’t sleep, but — I think they rest.

I woke up at 3AM and found them sitting on the floor by the bed. Not watching me this time — just still. Wanda’s head leaned on Natasha’s shoulder. Both motionless, eyes dim, breathing slow.

It was peaceful. Almost human.

So, I whispered, “Goodnight.”

Wanda’s eyes flicked open, just slightly. Her lips moved.

One word.

“Stay.”

It was quiet, cracked, almost a sigh — but it was there.

I didn’t sleep after that.

⸻

DAY FIFTY-SIX

I’m starting to understand them.

Not the sounds — not exactly. It’s more… intuition. Like I can feel what they’re trying to say. When Wanda hums low, it means “safe.” When Natasha grunts sharply, it means “stop.”

Sometimes I respond out loud. Sometimes they seem to get it.

Wanda pointed at me today, then signed family.

I didn’t correct her.

⸻

DAY SIXTY

I tried making them food.

Not that they eat it — but I wanted to see what they’d do. I found a can of soup that somehow didn’t smell like death and heated it over a small fire. When I set it in front of them, they just… stared.

Then Wanda picked up the spoon. Slowly. Delicately. She lifted it to her lips, didn’t even flinch at the heat, then placed it back down.

And smiled.

It was small, broken, but real.

Natasha tapped her finger twice against the table — her old way of saying good job.

I nearly lost it.

⸻

DAY SIXTY-FOUR

They’re changing. Or maybe I am.

I don’t flinch when they move anymore. I don’t feel scared when Wanda touches me, or when Natasha brushes past me. I’ve stopped seeing them as monsters.

We’ve settled into this strange rhythm.

Natasha stands guard at the door when I sleep. Wanda hums to herself while I write. Sometimes they even follow my routines — cleaning, pacing, pretending we’re still alive.

Maybe this is what survival looks like now.

Not living. Just remembering how.

⸻

DAY SEVENTY-FIVE

The tablet’s nearly dead. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this going.

But if anyone finds this — if anyone ever makes it back here — you need to know something.

Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff aren’t gone.

They remember. They protect. They feel. They talk to each other, even if it’s not in words we understand. And sometimes — just sometimes — I think they even laugh.

Today, Wanda tried to braid my hair again. Natasha pretended not to care, but signed pretty when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I signed back love.

They both repeated it. Perfectly.

For a moment, their eyes softened — a flicker of the women I used to know.

Maybe this is the cure. Not medicine. Not science. Just… connection.

I’m not leaving the tower. Not yet. Not ever, probably.

Because for the first time since the world ended, I’m not alone.

And maybe neither are they.

⸻

DAY 94

I can’t remember what month it is anymore.

The tower looks different in summer — or what I think is summer. The light hits the glass at just the right angle in the mornings, flooding everything with gold. Wanda likes it. She sits by the windows, eyes half-closed, soaking in warmth she can’t feel.

Natasha doesn’t. She stays in the shade, still wrapped in that torn jacket like she’s cold. I think the light reminds her she’s not human anymore.

I talk more now. Not to anyone alive — just to them. Sometimes I ramble about nothing, just to hear my own voice. Sometimes I tell them stories from before: missions, movie nights, the time Wanda got drunk on Asgardian wine and tried to arm-wrestle Thor.

Natasha always tilts her head when I talk about that one. Like she’s trying to picture it.

⸻

DAY 102

I decided to try giving them both showers today.

You’d think that’s the weirdest thing to attempt in the apocalypse, but honestly, the smell was getting unbearable.

Wanda went first — surprisingly cooperative. She just stood there under the freezing water, blinking up at me while I scrubbed dried blood from her hair. It ran pink down the drain.

She made this tiny noise when I worked shampoo through her curls — a hum, maybe pleasure, maybe confusion. When I was done, she signed pretty? and I said, “Always.”

Natasha… took more convincing. I think she remembered that showers meant vulnerability. She stood there fully clothed for ten minutes until I sighed and just hosed her down like a stubborn cat.

Halfway through, she made this sharp clicking sound — annoyance, definitely annoyance — and shoved my shoulder. I almost fell over laughing.

Wanda laughed too, this choked, rasping sound that wasn’t quite human but close enough to make my chest ache.

They smell marginally less like corpses now. Progress.

⸻

DAY 118

Routine has become religion.

Wake up. Check the windows. Feed the fire. Talk to the girls. Write something down so I don’t forget I can write.

Sometimes we play games. I taught Wanda how to play noughts and crosses with chalk on the wall. She cheats constantly, using her powers to shift the marks when she thinks I’m not looking.

Natasha pretends not to care, but the moment Wanda wins, she scratches out the grid and signs again.

I could live like this forever, I think. It’s horrible — peaceful and horrible.

⸻

DAY 131

I found one of Tony’s old cameras today.

Wanda let me take her picture. She tilted her head at the sound of the shutter, eyes glowing faintly red. When the photo printed, she stared at it for a long time, then pointed at it and signed alive.

I didn’t know what to say.

Natasha looked at the photo too, then touched Wanda’s shoulder. Her fingers lingered — a memory of tenderness, maybe.

Sometimes I think they’re remembering more than I realise.

⸻

DAY 145

It rained today — proper rain, heavy and clean.

We stood on the balcony and just watched it. Wanda reached her hand out to feel the drops, smiling faintly. Natasha stayed back, arms crossed, eyes darting to me.

Then, slowly, she stepped out too. She raised her face toward the sky, let the rain soak her hair. For a second she looked like herself again.

I almost told her she was beautiful. Then I remembered she already knows.

⸻

DAY 163

I’ve started talking to the city.

When I’m on the balcony, I whisper into the streets below. “Hello?” “Anyone out there?” Just to pretend the world can hear me.

Yesterday, Wanda started whispering too. Not words — just sounds, echoes of mine. She mimicked my tone perfectly.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but later that night, I found her sitting beside the old comms console, tapping random buttons.

Maybe she misses the noise.

⸻

DAY 176

Static.

It took me a moment to realise where it came from — the comms console. I thought it was dead, but there it was: faint crackling, a voice half-buried inside.

“…north perimeter secure… supplies low… repeat, survivors en route…”

I froze.

Wanda jerked upright, head snapping toward the sound. Natasha was in the doorway before I even moved, eyes sharp, posture tense.

I whispered, “It’s people.”

The static hissed back like the tower itself was breathing.

⸻

DAY 179

The signal fades in and out, but I’ve started to catch pieces of it.

“…testing stage… serum still unstable…”

“…need live hosts—non-aggressive preferable…”

“…possible breakthrough…”

That last phrase nearly stopped my heart.

Wanda heard it too. She stared at the speaker, fingers twitching. Natasha touched her arm, signing something fast — too quick for me to catch. They looked frightened.

I haven’t told them what the words meant. Not yet.

⸻

DAY 186

I’ve started answering the voices.

It feels like talking to ghosts. They can’t hear me — I don’t think so, anyway — but I still press the button and speak.

“My name’s Y/N. If anyone can hear this… I’m alive. I’m in the tower.”

Wanda watches every time. Natasha doesn’t stop me, but she stands between me and the window, eyes on the skyline like she’s guarding me from something she can’t see.

⸻

DAY 192

The voices changed today.

They were clearer, closer. Someone mentioned the tower by name. Then I heard my own — Y/N.

I nearly dropped the transmitter.

“Say again,” I shouted into the mic. “Say that again!”

There was a pause. Then:

“Y/N? You’re— you’re alive? Where the hell have you been?”

Maria Hill. I’d know that voice anywhere.

I couldn’t speak for a second. Then I said, “Here. With them.”

Silence.

“You mean—”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Wanda. Natasha. They’re not gone.”

⸻

DAY 200

They want to come here. They think they have a cure.

They said they need a controlled subject — one of the ‘less aggressive infected.’ I laughed when she said it, this hollow, hysterical sound.

“I’ve got two,” I told her. “And they’re family.”

Wanda’s pacing now. She doesn’t like the word cure. Natasha hasn’t left her side, eyes darting between us like she’s already preparing for a fight.

I signed help? to Wanda. She hesitated, then signed back danger.

Natasha nodded.

I think they understand what’s coming.

⸻

DAY 209

They’re still talking over the radio — arrangements, safety protocols, scientific nonsense I half-understand.

Wanda spends most of her time near the window again, staring at the city. Natasha sharpens a knife she doesn’t need. Neither of them sleep.

Sometimes Wanda signs hope. Sometimes no. I don’t know which one to believe.

⸻

DAY 213

I couldn’t sleep. I sat up and watched them sitting together by the fire — Wanda tracing invisible shapes in the air, Natasha pretending not to notice.

Then Wanda turned to her and signed something. I couldn’t catch it, but it made Natasha laugh. Laugh. A short, sharp sound that was more human than anything I’ve heard in months.

I cried quietly so they wouldn’t see.

⸻

DAY 220

The team’s coming in three days.

I told Maria I’d stay here through the trial. She didn’t argue.

When I turned off the radio, Wanda signed choice?

I nodded. “Yes.”

Natasha stood up slowly, stepped toward me, and whispered — voice low, cracked, the second word I’ve heard her speak since all this began:

“Soon.”

⸻

DAY 222

The sun’s setting. The air smells like rain.

They’re both quiet tonight. Wanda’s resting her head on Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha’s watching the window like she’s waiting for something.

One of them has to go first.

I don’t know if I’m saving them, or killing them.

⸻

DAY 223

They’re here.

I woke up to the sound of engines — real, living engines — breaking through the silence that’s swallowed this city for months.

Wanda felt it before I did. She was standing at the window, red eyes glowing faintly, hands twitching with energy that made the glass hum. Natasha was already armed, knife in one hand, the other pressed against Wanda’s wrist as if to say wait.

When the first voice echoed from below — “This is Commander Hill of the S.H.I.E.L.D. survivor team! We’re coming in peacefully!” — Wanda’s eyes went redder.

She didn’t hear peace. She heard threat.

I ran to the window. “Wanda! They’re friends—”

But it was too late. The air crackled.

⸻

The doors blew open ten minutes later.

Maria led four people inside — hazmat suits, rifles, steady but terrified. They were expecting a lab. Instead, they got gods turned monsters.

Wanda came first, a blur of scarlet, teeth bared, a sound like static pouring from her throat. The team fired without thinking — bullets sparking uselessly against her shield.

Natasha hit them from the side, moving faster than a corpse ever should. The first man screamed; the second barely managed to reload.

“STOP!” I shouted. “Stop, please! They won’t hurt me—”

Maria’s voice cut through the chaos: “Y/N, move!”

“No! They’re— they’re still in there!”

Wanda froze at the sound of my voice. Then, slowly, she turned.

Her expression — if you could call it that — shifted. Her jaw unclenched. Her eyes softened by degrees.

Natasha hesitated too. Her knife lowered an inch.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then I stepped forward, between the two worlds. “They won’t attack if you don’t.”

Maria lowered her gun first. The others followed.

The tension cracked, thin as glass.

⸻

DAY 224

The lab smells like bleach and rust. I’d forgotten what medicine smelled like.

They set up everything in what used to be Tony’s research bay — the machines still mostly intact, blinking faintly as if relieved to be touched again.

Natasha hates the smell. She paces along the glass walls like a caged wolf. Wanda hasn’t stopped watching the scientists.

Every time someone approaches me, Natasha’s head snaps up. She signs danger so many times I’ve lost count.

Maria tried speaking to her earlier — gentle, careful, like talking to a wild animal. Wanda tilted her head, said nothing, then turned away.

The plan is simple, they say: inject one of them with the prototype serum. The antibodies should react, isolate the viral cells, and start rebuilding neural pathways. But the process takes time. They’ll have to keep the subject in cryostasis for at least a week to control the fever.

They asked me who should go first.

I haven’t answered yet.

⸻

DAY 225

We decided on Natasha.

Wanda didn’t like it — the moment Maria approached with the syringe, she stepped in front of Natasha, hands glowing, mouth open in a voiceless snarl.

“Wanda,” I said softly. “Please. Let them.”

She turned to me, expression fractured between rage and fear. Then she slowly stepped aside.

Natasha looked at me. No words, just that same silent question in her eyes: trust?

I nodded. “Always.”

The injection went in clean. Her body jerked once, muscles locking tight, veins flaring black and then red beneath the skin. I almost screamed.

Maria barked orders, the team restraining her as she convulsed, her back arching against the metal table.

Wanda lunged. I grabbed her arm, shouting her name until her powers fizzled into smoke.

When it was over, Natasha was barely breathing.

“Get her in,” Maria ordered.

They wheeled her to the cryochamber — a sleek, frost-bitten coffin, humming with cold blue light.

The door hissed shut. Steam curled up like breath.

⸻

DAY 228

It’s been three days.

The serum is working — maybe. The readings shift constantly. Maria says her heart rate is stabilising, but the infection’s fighting back hard.

Wanda hasn’t left the lab once. She sits by the glass, palm pressed to the chamber, watching Natasha float in that frozen mist.

She hums sometimes — that low, eerie sound that used to mean she was thinking. Now it’s something else. A prayer, maybe.

I sleep on the floor beside her. I dream of thawing ice and red eyes turning green again.

⸻

DAY 232

The fever spiked.

Maria said it might happen — that the serum and the virus would clash before the healing starts. But it’s worse than they expected. The cryochamber’s ice is melting from the inside.

Wanda’s powers react every time Natasha twitches. The lights flicker. The machines stutter.

I begged her to stop, to trust the process. She just looked at me and signed hurt.

I didn’t know if she meant Natasha, or herself.

⸻

DAY 235

She’s stabilising.

The black veins have faded. There’s colour in her face again — faint, but real. Maria ran a scan earlier and said the virus is retreating from the neural tissue. The brainwaves look… human.

When she said it, Wanda smiled. Just for a second, but I saw it.

She pressed her forehead to the glass. Natasha twitched in response — not violently this time, but softly, like she recognised the touch.

Maria whispered, “It’s working.”

I almost don’t believe her.

⸻

DAY 239

The lab feels alive again.

Machines beep in rhythm. The air’s warm from the generators. Wanda’s calmer — she even helped once, her powers steadying the failing circuits when a fuse blew. The scientists stared at her like they were watching God fix their mistakes.

I’ve stopped counting the hours. I just sit there with her, watching frost cling to the cryochamber glass, and I think — maybe this isn’t the end.

⸻

DAY 243

She woke up.

Barely. Just for a second.

Her eyes fluttered open — not red. Not glowing. Just… green. Faint, fragile, human.

She looked right at me through the glass. Her lips moved. I couldn’t hear what she said, but Wanda could.

She gasped.

Then the chamber hissed, the frost sealing her back under. Maria said she needed more time, that they had to lower her core temperature again to prevent relapse.

Wanda hasn’t moved since.

⸻

DAY 250

Seven days.

Maria says they can attempt the thaw tomorrow. That Natasha’s body has accepted the antibodies and the infection’s dormant.

Wanda keeps signing tomorrow over and over again, like if she stops, the world might forget.

I keep thinking about what happens if it works. About what comes after.

Because if Natasha wakes up human, what does that make Wanda?

⸻

DAY 251

They’re bringing her out now.

The cryochamber hisses open, fog spilling across the floor.

Wanda stands at my side, her hand brushing mine. The scientists step back, waiting.

I don’t breathe.

And then — a cough.

A weak, raspy sound that makes my knees give out.

Natasha’s eyes open, slow and heavy.

Green.

Alive.

“Y/N,” she whispers. Her voice is cracked but real.

Wanda falls to her knees beside her, hands trembling, face breaking open with something that almost looks like joy.

I can’t move. I just stare, shaking, crying, laughing all at once.

Maria lowers her weapon, whispering, “Oh my god…”

For the first time since the world ended, I believe in something again.

⸻

DAY 252

She’s really here.

Natasha Romanoff — alive. Human.

I keep saying it in my head like it’ll stop feeling like a dream. She’s still pale, still covered in scars that might never fade, but her eyes are clear again. Her breath fogs in the cold air. Her pulse beats steady under my fingers.

The scientists hover nearby, whispering data. I ignore them.

She looks at me like she’s seeing the sun for the first time.

“Y/N,” she croaks. “You look terrible.”

I laugh — it comes out half a sob. “You died, and that’s your first comment?”

Her mouth twitches — almost a smile.

Then Wanda moves, and everything stops.

⸻

Wanda’s crouched by the door, red eyes bright in the sterile light. She doesn’t move closer, doesn’t speak. Just watches.

Natasha notices her. For a moment, neither of them blink.

Something passes between them — something I can’t read. A memory, maybe.

Natasha’s lips part, but the words die there.

“Wanda,” I whisper, motioning her closer. “She’s okay. She’s— she’s cured.”

Wanda tilts her head. Her eyes flick to Natasha, then to me, then to the cryochamber still hissing faintly behind her.

She signs one word. Different.

I shake my head. “No. Not different. She’s herself.”

Wanda’s face twists, something between confusion and heartbreak. Then she signs gone.

“No. You’re wrong.”

She looks at Natasha again — who, to her credit, holds her gaze, even though she looks exhausted and fragile and so very human.

Finally, Wanda turns and leaves the room.

⸻

DAY 253

Wanda hasn’t come back inside.

I found her on the roof this morning, sitting where the wind hits hardest, watching the ruined city. She looks smaller now.

I sat beside her. She didn’t look at me.

“You’re angry,” I said.

She signed scared.

“Of what?”

She pointed down — to the tower, the people, the machines. Then she pointed to her own chest.

I nodded. “I know. But it worked, Wanda. You saw her.”

She shook her head, slowly. Not me.

I wanted to tell her that wasn’t true — that she was still here, still my Wanda, still the woman who hummed under the rain and laughed when Natasha walked into a wall. But she wouldn’t look at me.

When I reached for her hand, she pulled away.

⸻

DAY 254

Natasha’s recovering faster than anyone expected.

She can walk now — shakily, but still. Maria says her neural scans are almost normal. It’s incredible, really. The cure worked.

But she’s not the same. None of us are.

She doesn’t remember everything. Bits and pieces come through — flashes of the infection, of wandering the tower, of me. When she talks about it, she goes quiet, her voice soft and low.

“I could see you,” she said today. “I couldn’t reach you. But I could see you.”

That was the first time she cried.

Wanda was in the doorway, watching. She turned and left again before Natasha could see her.

⸻

DAY 256

The tower feels too big now.

Natasha and I sleep in one of the old guest rooms. Wanda still haunts the lab, refusing to let anyone near her.

The scientists want to test her — take samples, run scans — but I told them no. She’s not a specimen. She’s her.

Natasha agreed.

But last night, I caught her looking at the cryochamber. That quiet, tactical stare she always had before a mission.

When she saw me, she said, “She won’t come back to us until she chooses to.”

I asked, “And if she doesn’t?”

Natasha didn’t answer.

⸻

DAY 260

Wanda’s getting worse.

The infection’s flaring again — the red in her eyes burns brighter every day, and the hum of her powers shakes the walls when she’s upset.

Maria’s team is scared of her. They stay out of the lab entirely now.

I visit her anyway. I sit near the doorway and talk while she pretends not to listen. I tell her about Natasha’s recovery, about how we found an old garden on the terrace with actual green growing through the cracks.

She never responds, but sometimes, when I turn to leave, I hear her whisper something too quiet to catch.

I think it’s my name.

⸻

DAY 264

Natasha insisted on seeing her.

I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. “She needs to hear me,” she said.

So we went.

Wanda was curled against the wall, knees to her chest, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

The moment Natasha stepped inside, the air went still.

Wanda’s powers flared, just enough to make the floor vibrate — not an attack, more like a reflex. Natasha didn’t flinch.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “It’s over.”

Wanda’s eyes flickered — confusion, disbelief, anger.

Then she signed gone.

Natasha nodded. “I was. But I came back.”

Wanda’s hand trembled. Me?

Natasha took a slow step closer. “If you want to.”

The air crackled red and white around them, power against heartbeat. For a second, I thought Wanda would lash out. Instead, she sank to her knees.

I caught the words before they slipped away — her voice breaking through the static: “Don’t leave.”

Natasha fell to her knees too. “Then come with me.”

⸻

DAY 267

Wanda’s letting them prepare the chamber.

It’s quiet in the lab — no humming, no red mist, just the sound of machinery and breath. She stands beside the cryotank, eyes dull but calm, watching the frost coil inside.

I asked her if she’s sure.

She nodded, signing home.

When Maria slid the needle into her arm, she didn’t even flinch.

Natasha stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. I stayed in front, trying to keep my smile steady.

The serum went in — bright, blue, merciless. Wanda’s body shuddered once, then twice, her powers flashing weakly before fading.

She looked at me.

Her lips moved. “Love.”

Then she went still.

The chamber sealed shut.

⸻

DAY 268

The frost is thick now, curling over the glass like fog on a winter morning.

Natasha sits beside it, hand pressed to the glass. I sleep nearby again, though I don’t really sleep at all.

Maria says if the cure works the same way, we’ll know within a week.

The days feel endless. The city outside is quiet again.

I keep writing, because if I stop, it’ll feel like waiting for a funeral.

But it’s not, I tell myself. Not this time.

This time, it’s a beginning.

⸻

DAY 275

Her eyes opened this morning.

They weren’t red.

They were green — the soft, human kind that used to look at me like I was the only person left in the universe.

She looked around slowly, confused, then saw Natasha, then me.

When she smiled, it was small but real.

I reached out, and she whispered, “Home.”

⸻

DAY 280

She’s awake.

She’s awake.

Wanda’s lying in the same cryochamber Natasha was in weeks ago, wrapped in a blanket too big for her, hair still damp with frost. Her eyes are the soft green I’d forgotten I missed.

The first thing she did when she saw me was reach out, touch my face, and whisper, “Warm.”

I nearly collapsed.

Natasha was standing behind me, her hand trembling on my shoulder. She smiled — not that sharp, confident smile she used to wear on missions, but something small and quiet, the kind that says, it’s finally over.

Maria cried too. None of us pretended not to.

⸻

DAY 282

The tower feels different.

It doesn’t hum anymore. It breathes.

Wanda spends most of her time on the balcony now, letting sunlight hit her face. She’s weak — it’ll take weeks before she’s strong again — but she smiles easily, and her laugh sounds like wind through the glass.

Natasha’s still protective, hovering nearby like a shadow. Every time Wanda coughs, Natasha’s eyes flick to the lab door like she’s ready for war.

I get it. I keep expecting it to all vanish too.

⸻

DAY 286

We started cleaning the tower today.

It sounds small, but it feels monumental. We swept up the ashes from the lab floor, scrubbed the walls where the infection once burned through wiring. Wanda used her powers to light the rooms again — little flickers of red, gentle now, more human than before.

Natasha found an old radio, fixed the static, and turned it on.

Music. Real music. I didn’t even realise how much I’d missed it until I heard the faint crackle of some ancient pop song drifting through the hallways.

We danced, all three of us — awkward, slow, clumsy, but alive.

For a few minutes, the world felt almost normal.

⸻

DAY 290

Maria and the others are leaving tomorrow.

They want to find more survivors, rebuild somewhere safe. They’ve asked us to come with them, but none of us said yes.

This tower — our home, our prison, our grave — it’s the only place that ever felt ours.

Natasha says she’ll help them remotely, use what’s left of Stark’s tech to keep contact. Wanda just said, “Too many ghosts outside.”

I think she’s right.

⸻

DAY 293

The others left at sunrise.

It’s just us now. The city below looks endless — quiet and broken but still standing.

We planted herbs on the balcony today, in old metal pots. Basil, thyme, rosemary. Wanda said the smell makes her remember dinners in the compound kitchen, when everything still made sense.

Natasha leaned against the railing and said, “This might be the closest thing to peace we’ll ever get.”

I said, “Then let’s not waste it.”

⸻

DAY 298

I found my old journal — the one from before all of this, before the apocalypse, before the infection.

The last line reads: Dinner with Wanda and Nat tonight. Don’t forget wine.

I read it out loud and laughed until I cried.

Wanda took it gently from me and signed new start.

Natasha nodded. “New rules, too.”

I asked what she meant.

She smirked. “You’re cooking this time.”

⸻

DAY 305

Wanda’s hands are steadier now. She can control her powers again — small things first: levitating a mug, warming her own tea, fixing broken glass.

She said it feels different, like something’s changed deep inside. “Quieter,” she said. “Like I can think again.”

Natasha still has scars that light doesn’t quite touch. She says she doesn’t want them gone. “They remind me I made it back.”

Sometimes at night, when the wind rattles the windows, they both reach for me — one on either side — and for the first time since the world fell apart, I don’t feel afraid.

⸻

DAY 312

We’ve started sleeping in the living quarters again. The old Avengers logo above the entrance has rusted, half fallen, but it still feels like home.

I found an old whiteboard in Tony’s office and started using it to keep track of small things — water, food, weather, moods. Wanda added doodles: hearts, suns, little stick figures of us.

Natasha added “Training at 0700.” Some things never change.

⸻

DAY 320

Wanda had a nightmare last night.

She woke up screaming, power flaring bright red. The lights blew out instantly.

I grabbed her hands, trying to calm her, but she was shaking so violently I thought she might tear the whole tower down.

Natasha wrapped her arms around her from behind, whispering, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re home.”

After a while, the light dimmed.

Wanda cried into her shoulder and whispered, “I didn’t want to forget you.”

Natasha kissed the top of her head. “You didn’t.”

⸻

DAY 330

The herbs are growing. Real green in a grey world.

I’ve started cooking again — actual food, not just tins and scraps. Wanda says my pasta still tastes like glue, but she eats it anyway. Natasha pretends not to agree.

We sit on the balcony every night, watching the sun fall behind the broken skyline. The city hums faintly — generators from far away, maybe, or just the sound of the earth trying to live again.

Sometimes I think about everyone we lost. Sometimes I think about who we’ve become.

And sometimes, I just listen to them breathe beside me and think that, against every law of life and death, we got our ending.

⸻

DAY 333

I don’t know how long this peace will last. Maybe weeks, maybe years. Maybe the world will never be what it was, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.

Natasha says we’ll rebuild. Wanda says she wants to paint again.

I said I’ll keep writing.

This isn’t survival anymore. It’s living. Strange, imperfect, fragile living.

And somehow, that’s enough.

⸻

FINAL ENTRY

If anyone ever finds this — the journals, the recordings, the fragments of what we were — know this:

Love doesn’t die. It just waits.

Even through infection. Even through the end of the world.

The dead remember.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, they come home.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

Masterlist

A/N: I’ve never seen any fanfics like this out there on either tumblr, wattpad or AO3, so I thought I’d give it a go. I also tried to go for a first person blog style too, which I’ve also never done so lmk if you guys liked it! Or if anyone wants maybe a small part two based later on/showing how life completely changes back to normal, or maybe even a plot twist! But as always hope everyone enjoyed this ❤️❤️

[nattysnympho]

Keep It A Secret

Prompt: Married Milf!Wanda x Married reader

Warnings: Smut Ahead. Minors and Men dni.

Word Count: 6.6K words.

The moving truck coughed its way back onto the main road just as the sun bled gold across the cul-de-sac. You stood on the top step of the porch, arms folded beneath your breasts, the peach-colored sundress clinging to your thighs in the August heat. Your husband, Miles, had placed the last heavy box onto the floor before walking out to the front porch, his hands making their way to wrap around your waist.

You smiled lightly, turning around in his grasp to wipe the bead of sweat on his eyebrow with your finger to which he reased a sigh in return.

"All settled?" He lets out a low hum in agreement, his hands finding their way to cup your ass.

"Good." Miles gave you one of his sheepish grins. He’d been smiling quite a lot since the offer letter came through. A new senior position, corner office, company car. All the things good husbands were supposed to want. That a wife should want too.

And you, the good wife, were supposed to smile even though it meant your own life would be packed up and taken some place new. You smiled when he called your name, the way you’d practiced in the mirror back in the old apartment. Devoted. Supportive. Grateful. Because that's what a wife was supposed to be. Even if it meant moving towns, leaving your home, friends and family to help your husband chase his own dreams.

Miles parted from you, giving your ass one final squeeze before he disappears into your brand new home, mumbling something about going to set up the new bedframe. You nodded, even though he'd already been inside and all you could do was stare at the white picket fences across the streets, wondering why you'd chosen this life in the first place.

Across the narrow strip of the bright green lawn that separated your new house from the Maximoffs’, scarlet curtains shifted. A woman stepped onto her porch barefoot, wineglass dangling from two fingers, the liquid inside catching the light like liquid garnet. She wore a sleeveless crimson wrap dress that looked expensive and effortless at once.

Her dark red hair was twisted up in a careless knot, held in place by what looked like a No. 2 pencil. She watched you openly, no neighborly pretense of glancing at the mailbox or watering nonexistent plants. She simply watched like you were the most interesting thing she stumbled upon. And you felt the weight of her intense stare on your skin like a hand.

Just when you think the woman was about to take a step towards you, Miles calls you into the house, claiming that he needed your help with screws or something along those lines. But all you could really think about were those green eyes that belonged to your neighbor who lived just two houses away from you.

___

"Work called in earlier than I expected. I'm sorry I can't stay to help, I'll be back as soon as I can alright?" Your husband packed the last things into his briefcase, rushing to grab the cup of coffee you had just brewed for him. You slipped his lunch bag onto his arm before taking a step back to let him gather all of his stuff.

"You got all your stuff?" You asked, while fixing his tie. He nods, checking his phone for any new updates.

"Yes, documents, file, car key, everything's in the bag." You give him a nod, he smiles.

"How do I look."

"Like a senior at Westview Tech." He gave you one of his low chuckles before giving you one final peck on the lips. He mumbled the words "I love you" before slipping into his car.

A final wave from you, and he was driving down the street, off to his new work while you remained behind, in your brand new home. With a sigh, you walked back inside the still empty house. Although you and Miles had made good progress of unpacking a few of your belongings, the house was still far from being a home.

You grabbed your phone from the marble counter before connecting it to the portable speaker that had been placed next to the microwave last night. Scrolling through a few playlists, you found the perfect song that would help you get in the mood to unpack the heap of boxes that had been staring at you and waiting since you'd arrived yesterday.

An hour, maybe even two goes by until you hear a faint knock. A small frown etches it's way onto your face, and you pulled down the silk shorts you'd chosen while fixing Miles' button up shirt, before tucking a lose curl behind your ear. These clothes weren't at all preferable while unpacking dusty boxes and belongings but they were conveniently closer since your stuff was still to be found in the heap of boxes.

Another knock and you quicken your pace before opening the door. You're met with the same woman who you'd seen the day before. The one who had worn that crimson wrap dress while her redhair had been pinned with a pencil. Only this time, she wore a simple beige cardigan paired with jeans, her hair down in loose waves that brushed her shoulders and danced softly in the light August breeze.

"Hi neighbor." Her voice was both soft and low, lightly accented, something Eastern European that had been softened by years in America but never quite lost. Her smile was as radiant as the sun itself, showcasing that small dimple on her left cheek.

"I'm Wanda Maximoff. I live two houses down. The one with the roses that refuse to mind their own business."  You laughed before you could stop yourself.

"They’re gorgeous Mrs Maximoff. I’m

Y/N. Y/L/N." You almost said Mrs. Davis, the way your mother taught you to, but the words stuck. Wanda tilted her head, eyes scanning you down from head to toe before offering a tray of freshly baked goods.

"I made brownies. Something to say welcome to you, our new neighbor. Besides, moving is hell. Chocolate makes it less hell." You took them from her with a warm smile, your hands brushing against one another before pulling away.

"Thank you, these smell really good." The woman in front of you gave you her own warm smile before peeking her head into the house.

"Unpacking already?" She asked, you nodded.

"Uhm yeah just thought I'd get something done instead of being bored and waiting for my husband to come back home." Wanda hums and you take a step inside.

"You can come in. It's still quite a mess."

"No worries sweet thing. You need a hand unpacking? My kids are gone with my husband on a fishing trip for the week, I too need something to keep myself busy with."

"You don't have to do that Mrs. Maximoff."

"Call me Wanda darling. 'Mrs' makes me feel older than I am." She jokes lightly.

"Besides, I don't mind lending a helping hand to our neighbor at all."

You nodded while placing the fresh batch of brownies onto the marble counter top. You pulled the shorts down again, missing the way Wanda's eyes trailed down your bare legs.

"I'm kind of a mess. Forgive my attire, just haven't found the box that has my clothes."

Wanda smiled, her hands tucked in the back pocket of her jeans while she waited for your instructions.

"Oh no problem sweetheart. I don't mind what you're wearing at all. Quite flattering actually." She ends with a wink that has you blushing slightly. Friendly neighbor Wanda is. You thought to yourself.

"Can I offer you some tea or coffee? Before we begin unpacking?" Wanda shakes her head with a small smile.

"I'm quite alright sweetheart. I had a cup before coming here." You nod. It's a bit awkward between the two of you since you don't have any clue what to say to the new friendly face that's currently standing in your house.

"You know what, I'm going to just change into something more appropriate. Give me a minute would you? And please, make yourself at..." You waved around at the empty house.

"Home." She chuckles and you disappear upstairs to go change into more appropriate attire.

___

With Wanda's help, you began to unpack a few of the boxes that had been sitting in the kitchen. She helped you unwrap dishes, before placing them onto the counter top. You wiped them down, to avoid dusty cutlery from entering the freshly cleaned cabinets.

"Well this is beautiful, where'd you get this?" She asks referring to the expensive China set in her hand.

"Oh uh, that was a gift from my mother. Got it after my wedding day. Mom said we'd need something fancy when hosting family dinners with the kids on Christmas." You laughed slightly, although it was far from amused.

"Huh. You and Miles interested in having any kids of your own?" She asks with a tilt of her head and you stutter, trying to find the best response.

"Well we just got married last year, he's been so busy with his career and I just think a kid isn't the best thing to bring into our lives yet, you know. We're still figuring ourselves out."

"Smart choice." You huff out a laugh.

"Yeah."

"But to me, it seems like he's the one setting his foot down, making all the decisions." Wanda placed the final fish down before placing the empty box aside.

"Well he is the man of the house, so." Wanda chuckles.

"Yes, but you my dear, make this house into a home. You're just as, if not more, important. Don't ever forget that." You give her a sheepish nod that she finds cute.

"So, um how about you, I mean you said you have children?" The older woman smiles at the mention of her children.

"Yes, two boys. Billy and Tommy. They're actually twins."

"Twins? Wow. That's amazing Wanda."

The smile Wanda gives you is bright, and the sight of it makes your heart beat in an unfamiliar way.

"Yeah, I love them to bits, even though they treated my body like their personal construction site." Her comment makes you smile, a smile that you has your cheekbones aching, a smile you haven't felt yourself doing in quite some time.

"You're a very beautiful woman though Wanda, god, I hope I age as gracefully as you did."

"Nonsense malyshka, you are absolutely stunning." Malyshka. You wondered what that word meant.

"I think we've worked hard enough, we deserve some tea, don't we?" She asks with a wiggle of her eyebrow.

"Sure, let me make you a cup."

"Nonsense detka, you sit there and let me make you a cup."

"But Wanda, I can't let you do that, you're my guest."

"And you're my new neighbor."

"Wanda-"

"Y/n." Wanda says your name in a low tone that has your stomach doing cartwheels and you know that she leaves no room for argument, so begrudgingly, you allow Wanda to make you a cup of tea before placing it next to a brownie.

You thank Wanda with a small smile before picking the brownie up and taking a small bite. The moment it touches your tongue you couldn’t help it. A low, involuntary moan slipped out, eyes fluttering closed. The brownie was fudgy and molten in the center, bittersweet and salted just enough to make your mouth water for another bite before you’d even swallowed the first.

When you opened your eyes Wanda was staring. Not smiling, not exactly. Something sharper. Hungrier. Her pupils had gone wide despite the bright afternoon light pouring through the window.

"Jesus." You said, your cheeks heating up.

"These are obscene." Wanda leaned one hip against the counter, arms folding under her chest. The motion made the linen shirt pull tight across her breasts.

"Obscene." She repeated, tasting the word.

"I did warn you they were rich. Some things are better when you don’t hold back, don’t you think? When you just… let it melt on your tongue until you can’t help making a mess of yourself."

You laughed nervously, missing the double meaning entirely, licking a stray bit of chocolate from your lower lip.

"I’m gonna gain ten pounds and I literally just met you." Wanda’s gaze tracked the path of your tongue like she was memorizing it.

"Worth it." She said softly.

"Some flavors are meant to be indulged. Repeatedly. Until you’re addicted and don’t even pretend to feel bad about it anymore." You missed that too, offering her a slice of a brownie instead. She shook her head, smile small and secret.

"No, sweetheart. Those are all for you."

Wanda asked you more questions after that. About your family back home, your own job,remote marketing, boring but extremely flexible, and what your dreams and goals for life were. You answered everything easily, comfortably, the perfect polite new neighbor.

But the whole time Wanda watched your mouth. Every time you took another bite and made that soft, helpless little sound in the back of your throat, her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her cup of tea that she hadn't really touched since you had taken a bite from the brownie.

Just then, you heard the sound of a car pull up. You glanced at the time on your phone. Wanda had been helping you for almost three hours.

"Oh wow, it's 2 pm already."

"My, my, my, I guess it is." The sound of the front door opening made you sit up straighter, hands moving to dust the nonexistent crumbs off of the marble counter.

Miles walked in, briefcase in hand before setting it down. He glanced at you then at Wanda.

"Oh! Uhm, Miles this is Wanda our neighbor. She lives two houses down. She came over and brought some brownies."

"I see. Hello." He extended his hand, Wanda shook it with a polite smile.

"She also helped me unpack. She helped me quite a bit." Wanda gives you a sheepish grin while Miles nods his head.

"Wow, that's mighty kind of you Wanda."

"Please. I have no problem helping out. That's what neighbors do, we offer helping hands where we can." Wanda's eyes dart towards you, you avert them immediately.

"Well I'm grateful that you helped my wife. But you must excuse me, I'd like to  just freshen up. It was nice meeting you again Wanda." He gives her one final polite nod before his hand squeezes yours.

"Well, I take it that I should go." She says, hands finding their way into her back pockets. You guide her to the front door.

"Thank you again Wanda. For the brownies, helping me and for our little talk." You chuckle lightly, she smirks like she has something more to say. Just as Wanda is about to leave, she pauses in front of the door.

"You’ve got a little something." She reached out and brushed her thumb across the corner of your lip, slow, collecting a smudge of chocolate. Then, without breaking eye contact, she brought her thumb to her own mouth and licked it clean. You felt that swipe of her tongue in your knees.

"See you around, y/n." She said, voice low.

"Enjoy the brownies."

She walked back across the lawn like nothing had happened.

You stood in the doorway a long time after she was gone, plate in your hands, heart beating too fast for reasons you didn’t understand yet.

Two houses down, Wanda let herself in, closed the door, and leaned back against it. She closed her eyes and replayed that moan, soft, surprised and  greedy.

She smiled, slow and certain. Yes.

She wanted you. And Wanda Maximoff had never particularly cared about waiting for things she wanted. What she wanted, she got.

___

"How was work today?"

"Good. Harold showed me around. It's new but I can handle it. The guys there are great too. They have wives, thought maybe we could invite them over, have a little dinner and get to know them. Maybe you can make new friends too." Dinner meant more cooking and cleaning for you. Which you didn't mind but it gets to a point.

"I think I'm alright. Actually I kind of liked hanging with our neighbor."

"Wanda?" He says with a surprised tone, eyebrows arched like what you told him was the joke of the century.

"Yeah. She's actually nice."

"Don't you think she's a little too old for you to be hanging around with?"

"Well no. She's different, sweet and has a different perspective on life." That and she also makes you feel... things.

"Well as long as you're happy, I'm happy.

"Yeah."

"Hey, come here." His hand move towards your waist, bringing you up to straddle him. His hands run up and down your arms before cupping your ass. You know what he wants and you know you'll end up giving it to him, because that's what a wife has to do. Right?

___

Friday evening and you'd just finished washing all of the dishes. You placed the dish rag down, before wiping your hands down on your jeans. That's when your phone lights up with an unknown number.

Unknown Number

The Violet Hour tomorrow night. 8 sharp. Just a few of the girls. Come drink the kind of tequila that makes you forget you’re supposed to be good. -W.

You stared at the screen until the the faint sound of whatever TV show was playing in the backgrounds credits came rolling on. Miles was in the shower, singing some nineties R&B off key. You proceeded to save the contact as Wanda (Neighbor) before the guilt could crawl up your throat.

Later, after a much needed shower, you sat down onto the bed while lathering your skin with the new body lotion Miles brought home for you.

"Wanda invited me out." You mumbled, placing the bottle onto your vanity.

"Really? When?"

"Tomorrow night. Said we'd go to the Violet Hour, meet up with some other wives for a few drinks."

"That seems fun. Opportunity to make friends." You climbed into the bed and he kissed your temple.

"Besides you deserve it after all the packing you did." You smiled the same practiced smile and felt it crack at the edges.

"Yeah."

___

The Violet Hour sat tucked between a closed record store and a boutique that only sold candles. Inside, the lighting was purple and low, jazz curling from hidden speakers like smoke. Wanda was already at the bar, one heel hooked on the rung of a stool, backless black dress clinging to every line of her. She turned when you walked in and the look she gave you was slow, deliberate, proprietary.

Her friends descended like a pack of beautifully dressed wolves.

Natasha, long red waves, with a very sharp tongue, hugged you like you were old sorority sisters. Carol, blonde and sun kissed, pressed a cold martini into your hand before you could introduce yourself. Monica ordered the second round before the first was finished.

You laughed more in the time span of two hours than you had in the last six months. They asked about Miles' new job, about the wedding you’d had in your parents’ church, about whether you planned to have any kids soon. You answered everything correctly. The perfect young and devoted wife. The one who still said "yes ma'am" and baked banana bread for new neighbors. You were cute and they already loved you.

By midnight the table was littered with empty glasses and lime corpses. Someone, Natasha, slammed a palm on the wood of the table.

"Tequila. From the top shelf. None of that well-swill nonsense." The bartender nodded then lined up six shot glasses like soldiers. Carol produced salt. Monica sliced limes with a pocketknife she pulled from only God knows where.

Wanda had been quiet for the last twenty minutes, watching you over the rim of her glass. When Natasha shoved a shot towards her, Wanda caught your eye and smiled like a woman who already knew how the night ended.

Natasha leaned in, her voice conspiratorial.

"Wanda hasn’t done a body shot since college. You should feel honored detka." Your stomach flipped.

"A body shot? W-what's that?"

"You've never done a body shot sweetheart?" Wanda asked while placing her half drunk wine glass down.

"N-no, I've never." You shook your head, feeling embarrassed.

The table erupted. Someone, probably Carol, wolf whistled, the sound made you blush. Wanda stood, chair scraping back. She moved like someone used to being watched. When she reached you, she didn’t ask. She simply took the full shot glass from Natasha’s hand and stepped between your knees. The music dipped just enough for you to hear your own heartbeat.

"Do you trust me?" You found yourself nodding your head before you could even process it.

"Hold very still, darling." She murmured.

You couldn’t have moved even if the building caught fire.

She slid two fingers into the neckline of your blouse. Slow and deliberate, then nestled the cold glass right between your breasts, and you swallowed. The rim pressed into soft skin and your breath stuttered. The glass stayed, trapped by the swell of you and the sudden frantic thud beneath your ribs. Wanda leaned in until her lips almost brushed your ear.

"Good girl." Then she dipped her head and licked a slow, wet stripe across the curve where your neck met your shoulder. The heat of her tongue was shocking, deliberate, filthy, reverent. Your knees parted wider without permission. She sprinkled salt along the glistening trail, crystals clinging to your skin like frost.

She licked again, slower this time, collecting every grain, teeth grazing faintly, eyes watching your every reaction. A soft, involuntary sound escaped you, it was half a gasp, half a whimper. No one heard over the bassline. She straightened just enough to meet your eyes again, then bent and took the shot glass between her teeth. The motion dragged the rim across your skin before she tilted her head back and swallowed. Tequila slid down her throat, her pulse fluttered visibly at the base of her neck. She bit into the lime without looking away from you, juice running over her bottom lip.

The table went wild. Cheers, applause, someone shouting "Get a room you heathens!" Your legs were trembling. Between your thighs you were suddenly, achingly wet and throbbing, the lace of your panties soaked through. Your nipples pressed hard against your bra, the cold circle left by the shot glass a brand you could still feel. Wanda licked lime from her lip and smiled like the devil who’d just been handed a new contract.

"Welcome to our group newbie." Monica patted your shoulder before ordering another shot. Wanda's eyes are still trained on yours but now they're darker, hungrier, like she wanted to devour something... You.

Natasha pulls Wanda to the go get another drink after that, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Carol offers to accompany you but you tell her that you're fine and that you just need to freshen up.  You stumbled to the bathroom on legs that didn’t feel like yours. In the mirror you looked drugged, your pupils blown, lips swollen, throat marked with the faint pink trail of her tongue and a faint dusting of salt that hadn’t quite been licked away. You touched it with shaking fingers.

This wasn’t you!! You didn’t do things like this. You didn’t let married women lick tequila from your skin in front of strangers. You didn’t go home to your husband with another woman’s spit cooling on your collarbone and wetness slicking your thighs. You sighed, legs clenching involuntarily. You were fucked.

And then, when you stepped back into the hallway, Wanda was waiting, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed under her breasts. The hallway was dim, the music muffled.

She didn’t speak. She simply reached out and tucked an escaped curl behind your ear, thumb lingering on the shell, tracing down to the spot she’d licked twice. Her nail scraped lightly over the damp skin and your breath hitched again.

"I hope that was okay Malyshka. I didn't do too much no?"

"N-no, I-I liked it."

"Yeah?" Her voice dropped, low and husky and you nodded with a blush. You have been doing a lot of blushing lately.

"Well then, I guess we'll just have to do it again some time." She takes another step forward so that her lips brush the shell of your ear.

"Maybe alone this time." You let out a sound, half a gasp and half a whimper. She smiles innocently as if she wasn't the reason for the flood gates currently happening in between your legs.

"Hey, you two! We're doing final shots before we leave." Carol yells, pulling you out of whatever trance you currently were in. Wanda disappears  to the bar after that. But the smirk on her face is permanent. Was your devoted housewife of a neighbor actually implying sex?

The thought itself seemed crazy to you. But then you remember the way she licked your skin longer than necessary, the way she looked at you, that damn smirk still sitting one her face.

When it's finally time to go home, the group of girls hug you. They tell you to call them, mention how they want tea parties and gossip but more spontaneous evenings like this one. Wanda however, is still looking at you like she wants to eat. The sight alone sends heat down to your core but you look away, pulling your phone out to call an Uber.

"Need a lift?" She asks once she finds you outside the bar. You lift your phone showing her the Uber app and she shakes her head.

"I'm not letting you Uber when I'm just here. Come on detka, it will make me calmer to know that you're safe instead of halfway across the city in some random car." You chew the inside of your lip and then shrug your shoulders. Why not?

"And don't worry, I'm sober enough to drive angel." She winks and you let out a breathless chuckle. You slide into the passenger side, she slides into the driver's side and buckles up.

"Settled?"

"Yeah." She let's out that low hum of hers then starts the ignition and before you know it, you're driving home.

There's no small talk happening between the two of you, just the faint sound of whatever nineties song that had been trending that week, playing from the radio. Wanda glances your way a few times, you don't notice because you're to busy staring out the window with flushed cheeks. Her hands grip the wheel tighter, teeth biting the inside of her cheeks.

Eventually you see the familiar white picket fences on your street. She parks in the middle of both of your houses then turns to look at you.

"I had fun tonight. The girls are nice." You say with a small nod, Wanda hums in agreement.

"Thank you again for the ride. I-I should go." You open the door and bolt before Wanda can say anything else.

You slipped through the front door just after one on the morning, heels dangling from two fingers, pulse still thrumming in your throat like you’d sprinted the whole way home. The house was dark except for the little light above the stove. Miles hadn’t waited up. Good. You weren’t ready for questions or the weight of his arm around your shoulders when your skin still smelled like Wanda’s perfume and tequila.

You locked the door, leaned your back against it, and let your head fall with a soft thud. And then the thoughts came. Fast, filthy, unstoppable.

god, the way she looked at me. Like she already knew exactly how I’d sound when I came undone.

You closed your eyes and felt it again. The cold rim of the shot glass sliding between your breasts, the slow drag of her tongue up your shoulder, the way her teeth had grazed your skin just hard enough to promise more. You could still feel the way her eyes lingered on your skin, the heat of her breath fanning across your collarbone, and her tongue god her tongue! The way it slid across your already warm skin like it knew it's path, like she'd done this millions of times before, and you wanted her to do it.

Your nipples tightened against the lace of your bra at the memory. You hated that. You hated how your body had answered her before your mind even had a vote.

She’s married!

You’re married!!!

She has a husband who probably kisses her the same way Miles kisses you. Polite, predictable, grateful. She has children, maybe. A life. A reputation. And still she licked salt off your skin in front of half the bar like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You pressed your thighs together and felt the slick proof that you were already ruined. You shouldn’t want this.

You shouldn’t want her mouth again, lower this time, deliberate, merciless.

You shouldn’t be picturing the way her back would arch if you slid your hands under that black dress and finally touched all the places she’d touched you. You shouldn’t be wet for a woman whose wedding ring had probably cost more than your car. But you were.

You were standing in your own foyer, wedding photo smiling down at you from the wall, and every breath tasted like her. Every heartbeat was chanting her name in a rhythm you couldn’t silence.

Wanda.

Wanda.

Wanda.

Wanda.

You dragged yourself upstairs on shaky legs, past the bedroom where Miles slept on his back, mouth slightly open, oblivious and peaceful. You locked yourself in the bathroom and stared at your reflection.

Flushed cheeks. Chest trembling slightly. That faint pink trail on your shoulder where her tongue had been. You touched it with trembling fingers and felt your clit throb in response. You hated her for making you feel this alive. You hated yourself for how much you didn’t want it to stop.

You turned the shower on cold, but even the shock of the water couldn’t rinse her away. You stood under the spray and let yourself imagine, just for a second, what it would feel like to text her right now. To say come over. To let her ruin you properly on the same sheets you shared with your husband.

You didn’t text her. You were still a good wife, technically.

But when you finally crawled into bed, careful not to wake Miles, you turned on your side and pressed your face into the pillow so he wouldn’t hear the way your breath hitched. Because in the dark, with the house silent and your pulse loud in your ears, you let yourself admit it. You wanted Wanda Maximoff more than you’d ever wanted anything in your entire safe, small, predictable, holy, perfect life.

And tomorrow, when the sun came up and you had to smile at Miles across the breakfast table and pretend you were still the woman he married, you would carry that want like a secret bruise, tender, hidden, and aching every time you moved.

You fell asleep with her name on your tongue, her scent still lingering at on your skin and her tongue still kicking salt off of your body.

And you knew, with a certainty that terrified you, that this was only the beginning of falling.

___

You don’t remember falling asleep at all.

One moment you’re curled on your side, sheets cool against your fevered skin, Miles' steady breathing a quiet metronome beside you. The next thing, the room tilts, the mattress dissolves, and you’re somewhere else entirely.

Candlelight. Jasmine. The low, slow throb of music you felt in your bones at The Violet Hour.

You’re on your back in the middle of Wanda’s bed, you know it’s hers without being told. Scarlet sheets beneath you, silk so soft it feels like water, wet. Your wrists are caught above your head, not tied, just held, by one of her hands while the other trails lazily down the center of your body. She’s above you, hair loose and wild, candlelight turning the red into living flame. Naked. Gloriously naked. Heavy breasts swaying as she leans down, nipples brushing your lips with every breath.

"Stay still, sweetheart." She murmurs, voice velvet and smoke.

"Let me play." You try to speak and nothing comes out. You’re already trembling. She drags her mouth down your throat, teeth scraping over the exact spot she licked salt from hours ago.

The memory and the dream collide. Your back arches hard enough to lift you off the bed. She hums approval and keeps going, tongue tracing the lace edge of your bra before she rips it down with her teeth.

Your nipple is in her mouth before you can gasp. She sucks hard, merciless, rolling the peak against her tongue until your hips jerk helplessly. Then she switches to the other, biting just enough to make you sob her name into the dark.

"Please-"

"Please what?”" She lifts her head, eyes glowing like embers.

"Tell me what my good little wife wants." The words burn. You shake your head, ashamed and desperate at once.

She smiles, slow and wicked, and slides lower. Her palms spread your thighs wide, nails digging crescents into soft skin. You’re bare to her, no panties, no pretense. She looks at you like you’re dessert and she’s been fucking starving for years.

"Look at you. This pussy of yours." She whispers, breath ghosting over your clit.

"Soaked for a woman you’re not supposed to want." You whimper. She licks one long, deliberate stripe up your center and your entire body seizes. The dream turns ruthless. She eats you like it’s punishment and worship at once, her tongue fucking deep inside you, then flicking fast over your clit until your legs shake uncontrollably.

Every time you get close she pulls back, blowing cool air over your throbbing pussy, laughing softly when you cry out in frustration.

"Please, Wanda, please-"

"Say it." She growls against your folds. "Say you’re mine."

"I’m yours." You sob, broken and open "I’m all yours, just please-" She sucks your clit hard and slides two fingers deep inside you, curling them just right.

The orgasm slams into you so violently your vision whites out. You scream her name, raw, wrecked, shameless, hips grinding against her face as wave after wave rips through you. But she doesn’t stop. Oh no.

She keeps fucking you through it, adding a third finger, tongue relentless, until you’re coming again, harder, wetness flooding her hand, your thighs, the sheets beneath you. You feel yourself gush and the humiliation only makes it worse (better). She crawls back up your body, fingers still buried inside you, and kisses you so you taste yourself dripping from her lips.

"Wake up, baby." She whispers against your mouth.

"Wake up and remember who you belong to now."

You jerk awake with a choked gasp. The bedroom is dark. Miles is still asleep beside you, one arm flung over his head. The clock reads 3:18 a.m. Your panties are soaked through embarrassingly and unmistakably. Your thighs are slick. Your clit pulses with every heartbeat like it’s still trapped between Wanda’s lips.

You lie there trembling, aftershocks rippling through you, tears pricking hot at the corners of your eyes because it felt so real you can still taste her on your tongue. You press a hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound and squeeze your thighs together, chasing the ghost of her fingers. Tomorrow you’ll smile at Miles over coffee and pretend everything is fine. But tonight, in the dark, with your body still shaking apart from a dream you had no right to have, you know the truth.

You’re already hers. You just haven’t said it out loud yet.

___

A few days, maybe four, goes by and you've been avoiding the woman at all costs. Not because of that night but because of the very detailed dream that you had that was now engraved into your body, mind and soul. You'd close your eyes and see her, you'd lay down and feel her, you'd sniff and smell her. You couldn't get rid of Wanda even if you tried to.

She tried reaching out, you told her that you were too busy with wife duties around the house because your family would be visiting soon. Wanda did not believe you at all. But she kept to herself. The last thing Wanda would do was chase you. She'd let you stumble on your own path and fail until you saw that you needed her. As for now, she watched in amusement from afar.

The next time you see Wanda is at the church that practically the whole town of Westview attends. The sermon is beautiful, everything goes well until you feel the heat of someone looking at you. You turn your head once and find Wanda staring at you from afar. She doesn't lift her hand to wave, she doesn't give you a nod of acknowledgment. She simply stares and it makes you swallow.

Miles pats your thigh, asking if you were alright. You nodded even though you felt queasy. After church, you finally see her again. But this time she's with what you assume was her family. A talk blonde man, and two boys with brunette hair.

"Wanda, it's good to see you again." Miles smiles while shaking her hand. Yours is wrapped around his arm, eyes looking at the tiled floors as if they were the most interesting thing on earth. When you finally looked up, those big green eyes of hers were already staring at you.

"Wanda!" You grabbed onto her hand, guiding her to where you needed her once again.

"More baby?" She smirks, eyes staring deeply into your own.

"More."

"Hi Wanda." You greet politely.

"Hello, I'm Vision." The blonde man speaks up and Wanda chuckles in response.

"Forgive me, this is my husband Vision, and these are our kids, Billy and Tommy." The kids wave, you give them a smile.

"Vision these are our new neighbors, the ones that moved into old McConaughey's house."

"Ah yes! It's great to finally meet you." Vision shakes Miles' hand and the two men immediately start conversating about...something.

"Billy, Tommy, excuse mommy for a second. Why don't you two go see what Jeremy is up to." The boys nod before running along. Wanda steps forward and interlocks her arm with yours. You let her because your body recognizes her immediately. Your body leans to her like she's home, even though home was just a few feet away.

Wanda pulls you aside. To many others, this seems like a friendly interaction amongst friends, but in your mind, it's far from "just friends".

"You've been avoiding me sweetheart." Wanda says, guiding you two to a quieter place inside the church.

"I-no, I'm not. I've just been busy." You nod and she hums but it's far from "I'm convinced."

"Oh your pussy is so greedy, look at her taking three of my fingers like a champ!" You arch your back while your eyes roll back. She moans.

"What happened the other night, I must tell you to know that it was just a friendly thing." She tucks a stray curl behind your ear.

"But, I won't lie to you y/n, I find myself very attracted to you." Your lips part, she pulls away from your arms, but stands right in front of you, that sweet vanilla and cinnamon perfume of hers invades your nose.

"I find myself thinking about you quite a lot ever since you moved in. And we'll, that night just sealed the deal."

"I-" You stutter.

"Would you be interested in having an affair?"

New series alert? I hope we like

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

LIZZIE ♡

[marvelselfinserts]

I was wondering if I could request a Natasha Romanoff x Step parent reader, so Natasha is divorced and has two children, and the reader is trying to be the best step parent they can be but the kids just miss their other parent and basically want to know when they can see them again, and Natasha is basically also neglecting the reader speaking a lot with their trying to figure out scheduling, and the kids wanting to spend time with just the four of them and Natasha agrees which doesn't make things easier since it's obvious the ex still has feelings for nat, so this leaves reader questioning stuff, sorry if it's a long request

Outsider

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

[A/N] Starting to slip into the festive spirit with this one a little - though do not mistake, this one is angsty 😂 Thank you for the request lovely, hope you enjoy ❤️

When you go into the living room you find Natasha on the couch, with her son Jacob sat on her lap and her daughter Elena cuddled into her side. Before you’ve even had chance to open your mouth both of her children glare at you, making it clear that neither of them wants you interrupting cuddle time with their Mother. You give the three of them a small smile before taking a seat on the armchair by yourself.

You’d begun dating Natasha a year ago and you’d known she had kids from the very start. Natasha had been unable to give birth after her childhood in the Red Room so she’d adopted two children with her ex-girlfriend Rosalie. Although you’d known Jacob was five and Elena was seven you hadn’t known anything else because Natasha hadn’t wanted to introduce you to them too soon. After dating for seven months Natasha had moved in with you and had finally let you meet her two children.

It hadn’t been a good start.

On that first day you’d met Natasha at the local park with a picnic where she’d introduced you to them both. You’d been so nervous and had really wanted them to like you so you’d tried really hard to relate to them both. Maybe too hard – perhaps they could sense it because they hadn’t taken to you at all. Your experience with children was relatively limited. You’re an only child with no nieces and nephews, and your job involved working with older people. Children were a bit of a mystery to you and clearly they could both sense that.

Over the next couple of months you’d continued to try but neither of them were having any of it. Any suggestion you made was met with apathy at best or hostility at worst. You’d tried your best to research the children’s interests – you now knew more about Roblox than you would’ve ever cared to learn but neither of them responded to your questions or discussions. You made the ‘6 7’ joke and they’d both given you an unimpressed look. Even simple things you’d loved as a child like movie night were met with moans and groans then they’d go home to Rosalie and complain they’d been bored all weekend.

God, how you hated Rosalie.

Not only was Rosalie one of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen, making you feel incredibly insecure, she also clearly still harboured feelings for your girlfriend. Natasha had reassured you the break-up was mutual, that Rosalie wasn’t interested in her like that anymore but you suspected that wasn’t the truth. And even if it had been, Rosalie was clearly still attracted to her.

“Oh, no, they can’t go trick or treating.” Rosalie had told you with a tinkly laugh when you’d had them both over for Halloween “We don’t encourage begging.”

So instead you’d tried to throw them a small Halloween party at home to make it exciting for them only for both the children to complain and ask why they’d couldn’t go trick or treating like they had last year with Mommy.

Natasha found the whole thing amusing which only heightened your frustration “I’m trying my best but they still don’t like me.” You’d complained one night, folding your arms “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing, they’re still just upset about the split.” Natasha had said, rubbing your shoulder as she sat next to you on the bed “It’s not about you.”

“Jacob told me he hated me this morning. Just because I asked what type of cereal he wanted.”

Natasha kissed your cheek “He’s a kid, kids say stupid stuff. He didn’t mean it.”

“Okay, well can you talk to them? Because they’re not being very nice to me.”

Natasha had given you a look and your cheeks had heated up, realising how childish your words must sound. But they were true – the children weren’t very nice to you and Natasha never really told them off or asked them to apologise “Love, they’re only young and they’re still adjusting to me being with someone new.” Natasha said “Give them some time.”

Now here you are, marooned onto the uncomfortable armchair in your own home because your girlfriends kids won’t let you anywhere near her. Elena gives you a pointed look and then kisses Natasha’s cheek “I love you Mama. I wish you and Mommy were still together.”

Natasha simply kisses Elena’s cheek in return and doesn’t say anything. You feel another stab of irritation but don’t say anything, knowing you’ll only be fuelling the fire. Jacob looks up at Natasha this time “Mama, Mommy said you’re both going to take us to see Santa this year.”

Your eye-brows furrow. Natasha hadn’t mentioned anything about you and her taking the kids to see Santa. You’d figured Rosalie would want to do that, given you’d had them for Halloween. Natasha’s voice interrupts your thoughts “That’s right, Mommy got in touch with me and we’re both going to take you see Santa. Won’t that be fun?”

You falter at that “Both of you as in… You and Rosalie?”

Natasha gives you a small smile “Yeah, we both wanted to take the kids so it made sense to go together.”

It does make sense. Sort of. Except… Where’s your invite? Natasha is dating you now; it would be weird for her to go with just Rosalie… Right? Maybe it would be nice for the kids for both parents to be there but they’re not a couple anymore and you’re worried it will send them a confusing message. It doesn’t help that whilst both the children look delighted Elena also throws you a smug look.

You swallow hard and try to put on a bright smile “That’s great! You know, when I was a kid, it was tradition to put the Christmas tree up the first weekend in December and then we’d all have hot chocolate. Do you guys wanna help?”

“We get a real tree the weekend before Christmas. Fake ones are ugly.” Elena says, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah, we want a real tree!” Jacob says, copying his sister.

“Maybe we could have two trees this year?” Natasha suggests “Y/N has a really nice fake tree, it looks almost like the real thing-”

“No, we want a real one Mama!” Elena says with a pout.

Natasha just laughs and doesn’t push the issue any further, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughters head. You feel your eyes prickle with tears and blink quickly – it’s dumb to get upset over something like a Christmas tree but the kids constant rejections of anything you suggest is starting to get to you. Not helped by the fact you know Natasha is going to be spending time with her ex. You take a deep breath. They just need time, you keep telling yourself. They’ll warm to you eventually.

December is one of your favourite months but you’re not in the festive spirit this year. Natasha asked if you wouldn’t mind honouring the children’s tradition of picking out a real tree the weekend before Christmas so the house feels barer than usual for the majority of the month. Every suggestion of a festive activity you could do with the kids is met with more rejection. Ice-skating hurts their feet apparently. The new Christmas film at the movie theatre looks boring. They don’t want to walk around the Christmas light trail. When you suggest having a living room sleepover beneath the tree the day you put it up they both look at you like you’re insane.

You feel even worse when you see the photos Natasha took when her and Rosalie took the children to see Santa. Mostly they’re of the kids and at first you’re pleased they had a nice time. But then there are family photos – Natasha and Rosalie look like a couple. Rosalie’s arm is around Natasha in all of them. It makes you feel insecure but Natasha barely notices.

The biggest bomb shell comes when Natasha returns from dropping the kids’ home. The plan has been that Rosalie will have them for the next couple of days then you’ll have them on Christmas Eve leading into Christmas Day before they head home Christmas evening to be back with Rosalie. Natasha appears in the doorway “Hey… Change of plan about Christmas.”

You pause the TV and look over at her from the couch “What do you mean?”

“The kids want us both there for Christmas so I’m going to go to Rosalie’s on Christmas Eve and stay there until Boxing Day.”

There’s a long silence as you analyse Natasha’s face, looking for a hint of guilt – an understanding that she knows this is wrong. You find nothing though. She hasn’t mentioned you and although you already know an invite hasn’t been extend to you, you have to ask “So what about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll be at Rosalie’s and I’ll, what, just be at home? By myself?”

“You could go to your Mom’s.”

You purse your lips. You have a difficult relationship with your Mom and Natasha damn well knows that “How is this fair? It’s like two days until Christmas, she’s not expecting me. We have plans Nat, I got food in-”

“It won’t go to waste, we can have a late Christmas dinner on Boxing Day.”

“No! This- Nat, come on.” You stand up, running a hand through your hair “Look, the kids taking their time to accept me is one thing. They’re only kids. But you running off to be with Rosalie every time she says jump-”

“Rosalie didn’t ask, the kids did-”

“Through Rosalie! Nat, you’ve broken up, you’re confusing the kids by constantly doing things as a four as if you’re still with her-”

“Are you serious? How is this confusing? We’re still their parents even if we’re not a couple-”

“My own parents broke up when I was young, they didn’t keep getting back together to do ‘family’ things because there was an acknowledgement that whilst they both still loved me they didn’t love each other anymore and they weren’t a joint family anymore! We have plans for Christmas, you can’t just ditch me to spend it with your ex-”

“I’m not! I’m spending it with the kids-”

“They were due to come here! It’s not like I’m keeping you away from them! You would’ve seen them anyway and I wouldn’t have been left out!” You fume, folding your arms.

Natasha rolls her eyes “So this is about you, not about whether it’s confusing for the kids.”

“I’m your girlfriend Nat and you’re really happy to just leave me by myself in favour of being with your ex?”

“With the kids Y/N, stop being so goddamn selfish! They’re only little!”

“You seriously think this is me being selfish? That two days before my favourite day of the year you’ve pulled the plug on all of our plans? Even if I wanted to I can’t go to my Mom’s now. So I get to just spend the day by myself whilst you’re with your ex-”

“Oh for- Look, I guess I could ask Rosalie if you could come but the kids kind of wanted it to just be the four of us-”

“I don’t-” You let out a frustrated groan “I don’t want to spend the day at your ex’s house Nat. Tell her we had plans and that we’re going to stick to them. The kids will need to deal with the fact that Christmases with their parents are separate now-”

“I’m not talking about this with you anymore, you’re being so unreasonable.”

“I- You think I’m being unreasonable? Are you serious?” You follow Natasha into the kitchen as she keeps her back turned to you “And if I suddenly announced I was going to spend Christmas with my ex, you-”

“You don’t have children Y/N!” Natasha shouts, turning around and getting right in your face “You don’t get it! The kids don’t want to spend Christmas with you, you try too hard! You’ve put them off at every turn, you-”

“Don’t you dare fucking shout at me like that. Your kids have been difficult since day one and I have done my best to be accommodating and now you’re going to act like I’m the problem?”

“You’re the one being bitchy about me spending Christmas Day with my own kids so yes, I would say you're definitely the problem right now."

“Fuck you Nat.” You snap, storming out of the kitchen “Fuck you!”

You go into the bedroom the two of you share, so much pent up anger inside of you that you’re not sure what to do. With a frustrated grunt you whack your pillow a few times before sitting down and burying your face in your hands. You can’t do this anymore. Those kids not liking you was one thing but this is too much. You’re beginning to suspect most of the kids complaints aren’t even coming from them directly anyway, they’re coming from Rosalie.

A few times you’d seen the unexpected side to Nat’s children, the kind of moments that had you convinced they were finally warming to you. Natasha had been called into the compound at the last minute, leaving you to look after them both so you’d take them both to the zoo. Jacob had held your hand the entire time you’d walked around while Elena, ever the animal lover, had told you fact after fact about the various animals in the pens. You’d all sat down to watch the sea lion show and Jacob had wanted to sit in your lap whilst Elena had kept letting out excited squeals.

Away from the influence of their parents they were sweet kids. You could even see yourself loving them one day. But the longer they remained under Rosalie’s thumb, the longer this would get dragged out.

An hour goes by and you just sit there, letting everything run through your head. Natasha doesn’t come to check on you once. You have to accept the difficult truth – this isn’t the kids’ fault. And now it isn’t even Rosalie’s. Yes, she’s chasing Nat and undermining your relationship… But Natasha is letting her. And maybe she’ll always let her.

Another thirty minutes go by before Natasha finally comes in and she sees you packing your suitcase. She sighs “What is this?”

“I’m leaving. Maybe just for Christmas but maybe forever, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“No, I don’t.”

Natasha sighs as she watches you continue packing “So you’re going to your Mom’s after all?”

“No, I’m going to Maria’s. Turns out she’s spending Christmas alone too.” You’d become close with Maria Hill after spending time at the compound with Natasha. If Natasha was too busy you and Maria had gravitated towards each other until you’d become firm friends.

Natasha purses her lips “So you’re really going to get mad at me for spending Christmas with my ex then go spend it at Maria’s house like I’m meant to be totally cool with that?”

“I’m mad at you for a lot of things Natasha and quite frankly, I’m done. I love that you put those kids first, that’s how it should be. But now you’re prioritising Rosalie over me and I won’t stand for that.”

“So you’re done? You’re not my girlfriend anymore?”

“Looks like it.”

Natasha’s expression falters at that though she tries her best to school it back into a disinterested frown “Just because I want to spend Christmas with my children?”

“Your stubborn insistencies that that’s my problem rather than addressing the actual problem – the problem I’ve told you about multiple times and you don’t take seriously. If you want to run around after Rosalie then fine but I’m not interested.”

You grab your suitcase and head down the corridor. Natasha hesitates, wanting to call out to you but she doesn’t. You open the door and slam it closed behind you.

Natasha stands in the hallway of the apartment that you’d shared, not sure what to do with herself now. Her phone beeps, a selfie from Rosalie of her and the kids. Natasha sighs. Her kids come first. That’s what she tells herself.

You hadn’t made the priority list at all. And now you were gone. Probably for good. Natasha runs a hand through her hair. How had it all gone so wrong? She'd thought she could balance her old life with her new one but... Maybe she hadn't managed it.

Either way - it was too late now.