꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: things were going surprisingly well between you and wanda, that is until people find out your union was fake to begin with - but wanda loves you more than anything so she isn't ready to let it be the reason she'll loose you.
The difference between the way Wanda had been treating you then to now didn't go unnoticed.
And it wasn't only to you, but most people at work too — even if she happened to be softer with you.
She no longer barked orders with her usual clipped perfectionism. Her sharp tongue—once so ready to correct, to bite—had softened. Especially when it came to you.
Now, she’d appear beside your desk with a coffee, your name carefully written in sharpie. Or she’d lower her voice just for you during meetings, protect you from interruptions, listen more than she spoke when it was your ideas being discussed.
And when someone called you “Maximoff’s wife” too casually in the break room, she didn’t correct them.
She smirked instead.
“You didn't always defend me this hard.” You stated one afternoon with a teasing smile, after a client had tried to take credit for your work and she’d shut it down in three terrifying sentences.
Wanda didn’t look up from her tablet. “Well, now you’re mine and I don’t let people underestimate what or who belongs to me.”
You flushed.
She tilted her head, “What? Too much?”
You nodded while biting your lip.
She leaned over the desk and whispered, “You like it when I’m too much.”
And God, you did.
She’d become touchier, too.
Casual. Intentional. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Her fingers would trail down your spine as she walked past you. She’d fix your necklace gently during elevator rides. She’d rest a hand on your thigh during meetings that didn’t require full attention.
No one said anything. But they all saw.
The first time she made love to you wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t after champagne or after a gala. It was a quiet evening. Rain. A slow movie neither of you paid attention to. You were wearing her sweatshirt. She was lying behind you on the couch, arm curled around your waist, lips against your neck.
And then she whispered, “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long.”
You turned, heart already thudding. “Then do it.”
Her breath hitched.
And she did.
Not with urgency—but reverence.
You sat up on your knees as she stood at the edge of the bed, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp. You watched her eyes sweep over you like she was memorizing the moment.
“Take it off for me,” She said softly, fingertips brushing the hem of the hoodie.
You obeyed, taking your time so she could see you in all your bare glory.
Wanda inhaled slowly, gaze locked to every inch of revealed skin like it was a gift meant only for her. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. She stepped closer and pressed her lips to your shoulder. “You don’t know how long I’ve imagined this. How careful I wanted to be.”
Her hands moved slowly—along your hips, waist, over the soft parts of you like she was learning you through touch alone. She kissed you. Deeply. Lazily. Like she wanted to taste how loved you felt.
Then she sank to her knees in front of you.
Right there, at the edge of the bed.
You let out a soft gasp. “Wanda…”
She looked up—eyes dark, lips parted in awe.
“I’ve thought about this every time you said my name,” she whispered. “I want to worship you. Let me?”
Your legs trembled.
She kissed your inner thigh, slowly. Her hands never left your skin. She took her time—no rush, no teasing. She wanted you undone gently.
You leaned back as her mouth pressed where you were softest—her tongue warm, her lips patient, her rhythm unhurried and devastatingly sweet. You gasped her name. Again.
Wanda held you like a secret. She murmured praises between every pass of her tongue, told you how good you tasted, how beautiful you sounded, how much she wanted you to fall apart for her.
And when you did—shaking, calling her name, hand tangled in her hair—she kissed your thigh once more, then climbed up to hold you against her.
You lay tangled together, bare and quiet.
She held you with her arms curled protectively around your back. Her face pressed against your hair.
You felt her smile against your skin.
“You okay?” she asked, voice hoarse.
“I think I’m in love with you,” you whispered.
Wanda was quiet for a long second.
Then she said, very softly:
“Good. Because I’ve been in love with you since the moment you told me to stop micromanaging your calendar.”
You let out a breathless laugh, pulling her closer.
No cameras. No lies. No contract.
Just two people who took the long way to get here.
. . .
It started with a headline.
“Maximoff Marriage a PR Move? Sources Claim ‘It Was Never Real.’”
Then came the articles. The speculations. The anonymous interviews from former employees. The dissected timelines. Paparazzi shots, blurred and cropped and ripped out of context.
By noon, your office felt like a war zone.
Phones were ringing off the hook. PR teams scrambled. Someone outside your door was crying. And you—God, you just sat frozen in your chair, eyes stuck on the same headline over and over.
It wasn’t supposed to matter anymore.
You loved her. She loved you. That should’ve been enough.
But it wasn’t. Not here. Not in a world built on image and deals and loopholes with price tags.
Your hands trembled as you shut your laptop.
Wanda burst into the office twenty minutes later.
Her coat still on. Hair windswept. Jaw clenched. She looked at you like she’d already scanned the building for anyone who dared speak your name.
“Did anyone talk to you?” she asked, voice low.
“No.”
“Touch you?”
“No.”
She stepped forward. “Lie to you?”
You shook your head slowly. “Not yet.”
She exhaled, hard. Like her lungs had been full of knives.
Then she knelt in front of your chair and took your shaking hands in hers.
“I’m going to fix this.”
You swallowed. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Her grip tightened slightly, her thumbs brushing your knuckles. “This isn’t damage control anymore. I’m not protecting a company. I’m protecting you.”
Your throat tightened.
“But they’re going to call it a fraud,” you whispered. “They’ll say it was illegal—”
“Then I’ll tell them I married you because I fell in love with the girl who used to curse under her breath whenever I corrected her emails.”
You let out a shaky laugh.
“And if they ask for proof,” she added, “I’ll show them every moment you slept in my arms. Every cup of coffee I made for you. Every time I looked at you and forgot how to be the person they wanted me to be.”
You couldn’t speak.
Your chest ached—with love, with fear, with the overwhelming truth of her.
Wanda stood.
“I’m doing a press conference.”
You stood too. “What?”
“I’m ending the questions. No spin. No script. Just the truth.”
“You hate press conferences.”
She smiled faintly. “Not when I have something real to say.”
The conference was called for 5:00 PM sharp.
You watched from backstage—heart pounding in your ears—as she stepped up to the mic in a black suit, no jewelry, no smile.
She looked the world dead in the eye and said:
“Yes. Our marriage began as a legal solution. But the truth is—what started as convenience became the most important thing in my life. I fell in love. Deeply. Entirely. And not for publicity. Not for protection. But because she changed me. Made me want to be softer. Made me want to stay.”
Flashbulbs.
Gasps.
You covered your mouth with both hands.
And then Wanda said, clearly, evenly:
“If anyone wants to call it fake, they can. But the only thing that ever felt real to me—truly real—was her.”
That night, you found her sitting on the couch barefoot, wine untouched, press conference already a wildfire online.
She looked up as you approached.
You crossed the room and sat in her lap.
Wanda buried her face in your shoulder, exhaled like she'd finally made it home.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.
“I did.”
“Why?”
She lifted her head, her voice rough and low:
“Because I won’t lose you trying to protect the version of me that was too scared to be known.”
You kissed her—slow, grateful, full of everything you couldn’t say when the world was watching.
And when you pulled away, she whispered:
“Only if you stay.”
You smiled, kissed her again.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
. . .
Wanda proposed in the kitchen.
No diamonds, no fanfare or big speech.Just pancakes, soft bed hair and morning sunlight.
You were barefoot in one of her robes, humming to yourself while flipping breakfast. The pom yipped under the counter, chasing a cherry tomato you’d dropped.
Wanda walked in behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. She pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and whispered:
“Do you want to marry me again?”
You blinked.
She added, softly, “For real. No deadlines. No paperwork. Just… you and me.”
You turned, slowly.
Her eyes were bare. Not nervous—hopeful.
And in your chest, your heart bloomed.
You smiled. “Ask me properly.”
Wanda dropped to one knee on the kitchen tile.
And you said yes before she even got the words out this time.
The wedding wasn’t big.
But it was beautiful.
A garden in early spring. Candlelit tables. No press. No sponsors. Just people who mattered—Peter, a few close friends, her brother, and others you’d come to love during this strange, slow transformation of a life.
Wanda insisted on handling most of it.
“I want to build this day with you,” she told you, sketching floral arrangements at 1 a.m. while your pom dozed on her lap.
You picked the venue. She chose the food.
She hated cake, but let you have two layers of vanilla anyway, just because you loved it.
And the dog?
He was the ring bearer.
He trotted down the aisle in a tiny satin bowtie, carrying a velvet pouch clipped to his harness. The crowd laughed. You nearly cried.
Your dress was soft ivory. Hers was white.
No veil. Just a simple crown of silver in her hair, and a look on her face like she couldn’t believe she got to keep you.
When you met her at the altar, she whispered:
“You look like something I never thought I deserved.”
You leaned in. “And you look like home.”
There were vows.
God, the vows.
Yours, written on a napkin weeks ago during a subway ride, shook when you read them. You told her that she changed you. That she taught you what love looked like when it was quiet, slow, and chosen every day.
Wanda’s were simpler—but hit just as hard.
“I’ve built empires, survived collapses, burned things down to start over but the only thing I’ve ever built that I never wanted to run from… is you.”
You cried.
So did she.
Peter clapped too early and made everyone laugh.
The kiss—your second first kiss as wives—was different. The first had been a performance. This one was a promise. And Wanda kissed you like she’d never have to let go again.
Later, at the reception, you found her barefoot in the grass with the pom in her arms. Her heels were somewhere forgotten, her dress slightly wrinkled, her makeup smudged just beneath her eyes.
She looked radiant.
“You good, Miss Maximoff?” you asked, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind.
She leaned into you. “I’m great, Mrs. Maximoff.”
The dog gave a little bark and pawed at your chest. You took him from her, kissed his head, and whispered, “You were perfect, buddy.”
Wanda smiled. “He’s getting a whole steak later.”
“He’ll explode.”
“He died a hero, then.”
That night, back home, she undressed you like a song she knew by heart. Kissed your ring finger between each layer.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Not because I have to. Because I want to.”
You touched her face.
“I know.”
And when you made love that night, it wasn’t the first time — but it was the first time you did it as two people who finally got to keep each other.
No conditions or contracts.
No pretending, just love.
And a little dog sleeping at the foot of the bed, snoring like he owned the world.
꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: based on this lovely request by @mrsmothermaximoff ;)
꩜ ۫ . PAIRING :: ceo!wanda x reader
꩜ ۫ . WARNING :: 'enemies' to lovers trope, cold and slightly mean wanda (in the beginning), forced contract marriage.
꩜ ۫ . WORDS COUNT :: 6.5k || masterlist
an ; i apologise for the delay but it's here now & i'm not relly proud of how it turned out despite the insane amount of times i spent rewriting this but enjoy :)
You were sure there was a special place in hell for Wanda Maximoff.
Probably right next to the printer that never worked unless you whispered sweet nothings to it, and directly above the coffee machine that hated you. But even then, Wanda would rule supreme. Ice-cold. Iron-spined. A goddess in a power suit who made your life absolutely miserable, day after endless day.
And yet—you never quit.
You were overworked, underappreciated, and absolutely exhausted. But the pay was good, the benefits better, and your rent unforgiving. So you survived on caffeine, spite, and a tiny scrap of pride that wouldn’t let Wanda win.
“Miss Y/L/N,” came that voice—low, smooth, and dipped in condescension.
You didn’t look up from your screen. Not immediately. Wanda hated when you made her wait, but she hated desperation more. And if you had anything left in this war, it was your ability to pretend she didn’t affect you.
“Yes, Miss Maximoff?” you finally replied, tone clipped but professional.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor, each step a countdown to your next aneurysm. She stood behind your desk, all sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, dressed in navy with lipstick the color of fresh blood.
“My schedule for this afternoon is… missing details,” she said, gesturing to the tablet in her hand. “Are you slacking off, or simply testing my patience?”
You swallowed. “The update was sent thirty minutes ago, along with the attached files. You haven’t refreshed your calendar, Ma'am.”
A pause. You watched her nostrils flare the tiniest bit.
“Fix it,” she snapped anyway, as if you hadn’t already done exactly that. “And bring me the corrected briefing in my office. Now.”
She turned and walked away before you could reply.
You didn’t mutter a curse—but only because HR was one more complaint away from calling you in for a “tone check.”
Wanda Maximoff was also a tyrant.
There was no other word for it. She was brilliant, yes—built Maximoff Industries from the ground up after moving from Sokovia at nineteen. She was also relentless, poised, and terrifyingly beautiful in that rich, untouchable kind of way that made you feel like a peasant in a fairytale. But she had no sense of mercy.
You’d been her assistant for two years. Not her executive assistant—just her assistant. The one she assigned overtime to without warning. The one she emailed at 2 a.m. with subject lines like URGENT: color-coding is embarrassing. The one who, despite having a degree and enough ambition to fill a boardroom, was stuck being her glorified punching bag.
Sometimes, you wondered if she even knew your first name.
Most times, you knew she did—and just enjoyed saying it as little as possible.
“Something crawled up her spine and built a condo,” you muttered under your breath as you passed Peter in the break room, cradling your third cup of coffee like it owed you child support.
Peter raised a brow. “Maximoff?”
You gave him a look. “She’s on a warpath. And I think I’m the first casualty.”
He chuckled, but it didn’t last. “Yeah, she’s… not great today.”
“She’s never great, Peter.”
“Okay, true. But this?” He lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else was near. “This isn’t normal. Not even for her.”
You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “What’s the deal, then? Mercury in retrograde? Her espresso machine died?”
Peter hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek.
You tilted your head. “Spill. You know something.”
He sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Alright, look. Keep this to yourself, but… her visa’s expiring soon.”
You blinked. “Visa?”
“She’s still technically on a special investor visa from Sokovia. It got renewed a few times, but the latest application hit a snag. Bureaucracy crap. She has a few months, tops.”
You blinked again, slower. “But… she’s Wanda Maximoff. Her name is on the goddamn building. She’s a millionaire. You’re telling me she might have to—what—pack up and go home?”
Peter nodded grimly. “Unless she finds a permanent solution fast. And, well… you know how she gets when things feel out of her control.”
You stared into your coffee, the bitterness suddenly matching your mood.
It made sense now—the extra tension, the unusual edge in her voice, the way she barked orders like she was trying to distract herself from something worse.
. . .
You should’ve seen it coming.
The moment you stepped into Wanda’s office that afternoon—called in via a sharp, one-line email with no subject—your instincts screamed at you to run. But you didn’t. Because you never did.
Because even if she was fire and knives and deadlines wrapped in silk, you always showed up.
She didn’t look up when you entered. She was at her desk, eyes on her laptop, long fingers tapping something out fast. Deliberate. You waited, silently, in front of her desk, clutching the tablet with her updated itinerary—because that’s what she asked for.
Finally, she spoke. “Close the door.”
Your heart skipped.
Obeying, you turned, shut it quietly, and turned back. She gestured to the chair across from her without looking.
You sat.
And waited.
Wanda finally looked up—and the moment her eyes met yours, you felt something shift.
She looked… tired.
Not unkempt. Not messy. She was never those things. But there was a tension in her jaw that wasn’t always there, a strain behind the eyes like she hadn’t slept. And worse: a flicker of vulnerability trying to pass for detachment.
“I’m going to make this simple,” she said at last. “I need something. And you’re going to give it to me.”
You blinked. “You always make things sound like you’re about to blackmail me.”
She didn’t smile. “You’re not wrong.”
Your fingers tightened around the tablet.
“You’ve worked here long enough,” she went on, “to know how I operate. I like control. Precision. Solutions. And I don’t like my time wasted with unnecessary questions.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of asking for a favor?”
“No.” Her gaze sharpened. “It’s my way of giving you an opportunity.”
You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped. “God, you’re really committing to the Bond villain routine, huh?”
Her jaw flexed. “I’m offering you a deal. You can either hear it, or I can accept your resignation.”
You went still.
“You’re kidding,” you said flatly. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I need to stay in the country,” she said. “Legally. My visa situation is deteriorating faster than I expected, and every other avenue is closing. I’ve been advised that the fastest way to lock in my residency and maintain the company without interruption… is to marry a U.S. citizen.”
Your lips parted. Then closed again. Then opened.
“You’re telling me this why?”
“Because,” she said coolly, “it’s either you, or someone I don’t trust. And I’d rather marry someone I can predict. Someone who already knows how to survive my world.”
You gaped. “Survive—? Wanda, I’m your assistant. I bring you coffee and tolerate your daily tantrums. I’m not your—your fake wife!”
“You’ll be compensated,” she said, like she hadn’t just threatened your career. “A year’s salary, upfront. Your debt cleared. Paid leave after the interviews. A guaranteed recommendation from me. You’ll live with me, play the part, attend events when needed. Three months minimum. One year ideal.”
Your throat went dry. “And if I say no?”
She folded her hands on the desk. “Then you’ll receive a generous severance and be free to look for employment somewhere else. I won’t lie—I’ll make sure it’s somewhere far from this industry.”
You stared at her, heart pounding. “You’re seriously threatening me into marriage.”
“No,” she said evenly. “I’m giving you a choice. It just happens to come with consequences.”
You stood suddenly, knocking the chair back a few inches. “You are unbelievable.”
“And you’re an intelligent woman who knows a once-in-a-lifetime offer when she sees it.”
Your eyes stung, but you blinked fast. You wouldn’t cry in front of her. You never had—and today wasn’t going to be the day you broke.
“Why me?” you asked, quieter now. “You’ve treated me like shit for two years.”
Wanda’s gaze faltered.
For the first time in a very long time, she looked… conflicted.
“Because I know you won’t lie to me,” she said finally. “Because I know you’re loyal even when I don’t deserve it. And because I—”
She stopped herself. Her fingers curled on the desk.
You stepped back slowly. “You don’t get to manipulate me, Wanda. Not with guilt. Not with perks. Not with desperation.”
She stood too. Slowly.
“Twenty-four hours,” she said. “Think about it.”
You stared at her a moment longer—at the way she held herself stiffly, like a soldier refusing to show injury. And for just a breath, you saw something else flicker behind her practiced calm.
Fear.
You turned and walked out without another word.
But even as the door shut behind you, her voice echoed in your mind:
“You’re the only one I trust to do this right.”
And god help you—some part of you wanted to say yes.
. . .
You stared at your ceiling for most of the night. Wanda Maximoff, your boss, had proposed—no, offered—you marriage. Like it was a project to manage. A transaction. A contract. Just another calendar entry she could control.
Marry me or lose your job.
You replayed the words again and again, the ice in her tone, the half-glint of desperation in her otherwise impenetrable eyes.
She hadn’t said please. She hadn’t even asked. And still… you couldn’t shake the way her voice faltered when she said:
“Because I know you won’t lie to me.”
That wasn’t the Wanda Maximoff you knew.
And it haunted you.
---
“You’re not actually considering this,” Peter said, nearly choking on his pastry the next morning.
You’d asked him to meet before work. Neutral ground. Coffee shop. Public enough that he couldn’t yell at you.
You gave a long sigh into your cup. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh my God,” he muttered, leaning across the table. “You are. You are considering it.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Y/N,” Peter said, exasperated. “This is your boss. The same boss who once sent back your PowerPoint slides because the font gave her a ‘visual migraine.’ The woman who criticized your penmanship on a sticky note.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I know who she is.”
“She’s cold. Controlling. And terrifying.”
“She’s scared right now,” you mumbled, almost to yourself.
Peter stared.
You didn’t meet his gaze. “She’s losing control of the only thing she’s ever built. The company is everything to her.”
“Still doesn’t make you the solution. There are other ways to fix this. Legal ones. Less insane ones.”
“She trusts me.”
Peter laughed, short and dry. “That’s funny. Because I watched her ignore you for six months straight unless she needed coffee or someone to bleed on.”
You gave him a look.
He softened. “I’m just saying… I get that you feel like you owe something to that building, to your job, to her. But don’t let her guilt you into ruining your life.”
You were quiet for a beat. “It wouldn’t ruin it.”
Peter raised both brows.
“It’d be one year,” you said, barely above a whisper. “A fake year. With money, freedom, clean debt. I’d come out of it better off. That’s not ruining—it’s… survival.”
Peter leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “You’re starting to sound like her.”
---
You didn’t go straight to Wanda’s office.
You paced around your desk. Sorted your inbox. Re-read her calendar six times. Practiced saying “no” in five different tones.
And then you did the unthinkable: you walked into her office without knocking.
Wanda looked up from her desk, not angry—just expectant. Like she’d known you’d come.
Her mouth twitched. “That was fast.”
You closed the door behind you. “I didn’t say yes.”
“Yet.”
You rolled your eyes. “Can you not treat this like a hostile takeover?”
She stood, slowly, and walked around her desk. “Then how should I treat it?”
“Like it’s not a game,” you said. “Like it involves me too.”
That stopped her.
Wanda’s arms crossed. “I thought I was giving you something. Freedom. Power. Money. And you’d get out after a year. Safe. Rich. Clean.”
“And what do you get?” you asked.
She hesitated. Just a flicker. But it was enough.
“I get to stay,” she said. “I get to keep what I’ve built. And I get… a little peace.”
The honesty startled you.
You blinked. “So that’s what I am to you? Peace?”
Her eyes met yours. “I don’t have time for someone I have to charm. Someone I need to lie to. You already hate me. You’ll survive this. And I trust you.”
You swallowed hard. “You trust me… more than you like me.”
Something flickered in her face. Something softer.
“I do like you,” she said, quieter now. “More than I should.”
Your breath caught.
But before the silence could stretch too long, she added, like ripping off a bandage: “So? What’s your answer?”
You didn’t say it right away. You walked out again. Sat back at your desk.
But you typed up a contract draft before lunch.
Just to see what it would look like.
You’d never signed anything that made you feel so… out of body.
And you’d signed an NDA that threatened jail time over gossiping about Wanda’s caffeine preferences.
But this?
This was next level.
A marriage contract—fake, yes, but binding. Your name beside hers, your future entangled with hers for the next year. It felt like volunteering to stand next to a tornado and hope it didn’t notice you bleeding.
Wanda hadn’t said anything when she received the contract. Just read it in silence, flipped to the footnotes, and smiled that little smile she wore when you surprised her.
Clause 3.1: Maintain boundaries at work—no "wifely" expectations during business hours.
Clause 3.5: No kissing, touching, or fake honeymoon antics unless publicly required.
Clause 4.2: One year maximum, subject to early exit with written consent.
Clause 5.0: If a dog enters the household, Y/N keeps it.
She hadn’t even blinked at the dog clause. Just said: “Very specific.”
You replied, “I’ve met you. I’m preparing for chaos.”
You tried not to look like you were dying when Peter found out.
But of course, you failed.
“You’re marrying her.” His voice cracked like his brain couldn’t compute it. “You’re marrying her.”
“Technically, fake marrying her,” you corrected, sipping your iced coffee like it would wash the guilt off your tongue.
Peter stared. “This is like watching someone walk into a lion’s mouth because the lion offered to pay their bills.”
“She needs this. I need the money. It’s one year, not forever.”
He leaned in. “You’ve worked under her thumb for two years and barely survived. You think living with her is going to be easier?”
“She’s not the same at home.”
He scoffed. “What, she says thank you now? Hums lullabies in her robe?”
You winced. “She’s not that bad.”
“She made a grown man cry last week because his pen ink was too blue.”
“… Okay. But that was objectively unprofessional ink.”
Peter gave you a long, stunned look. “Oh my God. You’re already falling into it.”
“I am not falling into anything,” you snapped.
Except maybe a quiet sense of curiosity. About the Wanda that existed off-hours. The one who never made eye contact in the elevator, but always remembered if you took your coffee black with two sugars. The one who never praised, but never forgot birthdays.
That Wanda.
The one who let herself say: “I trust you.”
. . .
You didn’t expect the shopping trip.
Or the personal driver.
Or the fact that the boutique staff already knew your name when you arrived.
“She’s paying you to fake love her,” you reminded yourself as you stood half-frozen outside one of Manhattan’s most exclusive storefronts. “This is work. These are just costumes.”
Wanda stepped out of the car next to you, her dark glasses reflecting the late morning sun. “Don’t sulk. You’ll wrinkle.”
“You didn’t warn me we were going full Pretty Woman today.”
She opened the boutique door with a deadpan: “You’re not wearing anything worth warning.”
You gave her a withering look. She smirked.
Inside, the boutique staff descended like well-dressed bees. Champagne offered. Garment racks unveiled. Names whispered and measured in thread count. Wanda moved through it all like she owned oxygen.
You, meanwhile, got dragged into a dressing room with five different “looks” shoved into your arms and strict instructions to “pretend you’re rich.”
The first dress was too tight. The second too floral. The third was so expensive you didn’t want to breathe in it.
The fourth made her pause.
Wanda looked up from her phone when you stepped out.
Black, fitted. Minimalist. Sleeveless. It clung in the right places and flowed in the rest, the neckline sharp but elegant.
You expected another snide remark.
Instead, she just stared.
Then: “That one.”
You blinked. “That’s it? No insult about my posture or poor color choices?”
Her gaze dragged over you again. Slower this time.
“That one,” she said, voice low. “We’ll have it tailored.”
You hesitated. “You okay?”
She blinked—just once—and whatever softness had flickered behind her eyes vanished.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Next fitting.”
But later, when she turned away, you caught her reflection in the mirror.
And she was smiling.
Not smug. Not snarky.
Just… quiet. And maybe a little awed.
The driver took you back to her place after, bags in the trunk, silence stretching between you in the backseat.
You watched her out of the corner of your eye—her arms crossed, legs crossed, sunglasses on even though the tint on the windows made it unnecessary.
“You know,” you said, carefully, “if we’re doing this, we’re gonna have to stop glaring at each other like sworn enemies.”
“I don’t glare at you,” she said.
“You definitely do.”
“I evaluate.”
“Like I’m a coffee brand you hate.”
That got a twitch of a smile.
“I don’t hate you,” she said after a moment.
You glanced over. “Sure. Just mild daily contempt.”
Another pause.
Then: “I don’t hate you,” she said again, quieter this time. “I don’t think I ever did.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
So you didn’t say anything at all.
. . .
You'd been warned that the gala would be overwhelming and you assumed that meant “dress to kill” or “don’t trip on marble.”
Not an elite ballroom filled with New York’s richest, at least six photographers outside before you even stepped out of the car and Wanda’s hand—firm, warm, possessive—resting on your lower back the second you stepped into view.
“Stop shaking,” she murmured as flashbulbs popped like fireworks.
“I’m trying not to throw up on your designer heels,” you muttered back.
She leaned in, lips brushing your ear for show. “If you puke, at least do it on Kellman's shoes. He owes me money.”
That startled a laugh out of you, a small, nervous one—and of course, a photographer captured it. You saw the flash, heard the shutter, and saw Wanda smile out of the corner of her mouth like she planned it.
She was playing the game like a master.
And you were just trying not to get eaten alive by it.
Inside the gala, it didn’t get easier.
The ballroom was gold-trimmed and glittering, a warzone of polished shoes, fake laughter, and whispered business deals behind champagne flutes. You barely recognized anyone. Wanda, meanwhile, floated through the crowd like she owned it—which, in some ways, she did.
You stayed close to her side, aware of every camera lens, every gaze. Her hand remained at the small of your back. It didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Just stayed there—anchoring you, like she wasn’t just pretending.
When she introduced you, she used your name. Said it clearly. Said it with something close to pride.
“This is my fiancée,” she told a woman from Forbes. “She keeps me sane.”
You choked slightly on your champagne. Wanda didn’t even blink.
The real trouble started with Daniel Callahan.
You recognized him from finance meetings—a charming nightmare in a tailored suit. He smiled too easily, touched too much, and once called you “sweetheart” in front of the executive board.
And now he was at your elbow, saying, “I didn’t know Maximoff had such good taste outside of stocks.”
You smiled, tight. “She has excellent taste. That’s why I’m still employed.”
He laughed. “Employed and engaged? Impressive.”
His tone was light, but you felt it. The subtle leer. The disbelief that you were the one Wanda had chosen.
Wanda stepped beside you a moment later, gaze cool as frost.
“Daniel,” she said, all saccharine silk, “Still wearing those tragic ties, I see.”
He smirked. “Still stealing the spotlight, Wanda.”
She smiled. Then—casually, but unmistakably—she reached for your hand. Laced her fingers with yours. “Of course I am.”
You went still. His eyes flicked down.
“I was just telling your fiancée how radiant she looks tonight,” he said smoothly.
Wanda’s hand squeezed yours—gently, but with intent.
“She always does,” she said. “But I’d appreciate it if you looked with your eyes, Daniel. Not your ambitions.”
His smile faltered.
You blinked.
He chuckled after a pause and excused himself.
You turned to her slowly. “That was…”
“Too much?” she offered.
You shook your head. “Weirdly flattering.”
Wanda studied you. “You don’t realize how often people look at you.”
You frowned. “People don’t look at me.”
“I do.”
It wasn’t a performance. She wasn’t smiling when she said it. No flashbulbs. No audience.
Just her.
Just you.
And a pause that pulsed like a second heartbeat between you.
Later, as the event wound down, you found yourself leaning against the railing of the second-floor balcony overlooking the dance floor. You needed space. Air. Your skin still hummed where she’d touched you.
You heard her footsteps before she appeared.
“You handled that well,” she said.
“Which part?” you asked, not turning around. “The press, the fake ring, or your little public jealousy stunt?”
There was a pause behind you. Then: “That wasn’t fake.”
You turned.
She was watching you. No mask. No posture. Just Wanda.
Your breath hitched. “We’re supposed to be pretending, Maximoff. Not actually catching feelings.”
She walked closer, heels slow and deliberate. “Who said anything about catching?”
You swallowed hard. “Wanda…”
Her voice softened. “Tell me it didn’t feel real when I touched you.”
You couldn’t.
Because it did. It always did.
Every time she brushed your hand. Every time she leaned in. Every time she looked at you like there was something worth melting in her frozen world.
You exhaled slowly. “We’re in way over our heads.”
Wanda nodded. “We are.”
But she didn’t stop walking, didn’t stop until she was inches from you, neither until her hand found yours again—quiet, steady.
And you let her hold it.
Just for a minute.
Because you wanted to.
. . .
Moving in was surreal.
Wanda had a penthouse overlooking the Upper West Side. Of course she did.
Marble floors, skyline views, furniture that looked untouched. It was the kind of place you saw in magazines—clinical in its perfection. It didn’t feel like someone lived there. It felt like someone performed there.
“This is real wood,” you muttered under your breath the first time your suitcase wheels rolled across the floor.
Wanda looked up from where she was typing on her phone. "What did you expect? Plastic?"
You dropped your bag by the front door. “I expected rich, not hand-carved oak imported from Italy rich.”
She smirked. “I like quality.”
“I like not feeling like I should tip the hallway.”
She chuckled. It was quiet. But it was real.
The first morning was the weirdest.
You woke up in one of the guest rooms—though she insisted it was now your room. There was fresh linen on the bed. A brand new vanity set already laid out. Her housekeeper had stocked the closet with three outfits in your size before you even arrived.
It was thoughtful. Organized. Weirdly… sweet.
But the kitchen was where you really saw her.
She was barefoot, in black silk pajama pants and a plain white tee, hair still damp from the shower. No makeup. Just her, in the soft light of morning.
Wanda Maximoff, pouring oat milk into her coffee like she hadn’t once told you to fix a typo with the fury of a Greek goddess.
You froze at the doorway.
She looked up. “There’s coffee.”
You blinked. “You… made coffee?”
“I do know how to function outside of boardrooms.”
You hesitated. “Do you?”
She smirked. “Stay long enough and you might see.”
You stepped in slowly. “I already feel like I’m on a reality show called ‘Rich People Do Normal Things.’”
“You’re the worst fake wife I’ve ever had.”
“I’m the only fake wife you’ve ever had.”
“Exactly.”
But then she handed you a mug—already fixed the way you liked it—and just like that, your sarcasm softened.
She’d remembered. No cream. Two sugars. Always too hot.
You met her eyes. “Thanks.”
Something flickered there.
She nodded once and took a sip of her own.
You didn’t expect it to be easy.
You didn’t expect it to be… normal.
But the days began to settle into a rhythm. You went to work together. Attended a few small press lunches. She brushed your hair back gently at a networking event when a breeze caught it funny. You let your hand rest on her shoulder just a second too long when someone asked how you met.
At home, you didn’t talk much about the “marriage” part.
But something unspoken lived in the space between your mugs on the kitchen counter.
Like maybe neither of you hated this as much as you pretended to.
Not the metaphorical kind. The real, cold, thunderstorm kind.
You came home soaked after a late grocery run. Wanda hadn’t known you’d gone, and when you walked into the apartment dripping wet, she was pacing by the window.
She stopped when she saw you.
“You’re soaked.”
“Observant,” you coughed, wiping rain off your cheeks. “It’s only a monsoon outside.”
She crossed the space in seconds. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out?”
“I didn’t think I needed to report to you.”
“You don’t—” Her voice cracked. “You don’t. But I thought something happened.”
You frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“Because,” she snapped, then lowered her voice, “you’re not answering your phone. You left without saying anything. You’re living in my house. And I… I panicked.”
The vulnerability in her tone stunned you.
You stood there, soaked and cold and stunned, watching the most untouchable woman in the city look at you like you mattered.
“I just went for cereal,” you whispered.
She swallowed. “Don’t do that again.”
“Wanda…”
“I know this is fake,” she said, suddenly. “But I can’t—God—I can’t lose things right now. Not when everything else is one misstep away from collapse.”
Your heart cracked a little. “You’re not going to lose me.”
She looked at you—really looked. “Promise?”
You hesitated only a second. Then: “Yeah. I promise.”
She stepped forward. Her hands hovered for a second. Then she reached up, brushing soaked hair from your face. Her fingers were gentle. Warmer than you expected.
. . .
The rain didn’t stop for days.
New York blurred behind glass and gray skies, and inside the penthouse, the world shrank to the soft glow of lamps, the smell of tea, and the quiet comfort of silence not needing to be filled.
You’d never thought this would be the hard part. Not the paperwork. Not the parties. Not even lying to strangers about how you fell in love.
No. The hardest part was the quiet, the nights, the moments when Wanda was close enough to touch, but never did.
Not unless she had to.
Not unless the cameras were on.
But lately… there were no cameras, no one to watch and she was still close.
You found her in the kitchen again, barefoot, robe loose over silk sleepwear, stirring honey into her tea like it was a ritual.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.
She didn’t jump. Didn’t act surprised to see you, even though it was just past midnight.
She glanced over. “Didn’t feel like dreaming.”
You frowned. “Bad ones?”
Wanda didn’t answer. She just passed you a mug—yours already waiting, already right.
No cream. Two sugars.
Your fingers brushed as you took it.
“I don’t like the sound the rain makes up here,” she said after a long moment. “Too high. It feels detached.”
You looked at her, then the view—sheets of rain washing over floor-to-ceiling glass, city lights blurred beneath it all.
“It’s loud at my old place,” you murmured. “Leaks through the window. But it feels... real.”
Wanda was quiet for a while. Then, barely above a whisper:
“Do you miss it?”
You blinked. “The apartment?”
“The space that was yours.”
The question hit deeper than it should have.
You shrugged. “I miss knowing which drawer held my socks. And that my silence was mine.”
She nodded once. “I miss things too.”
You waited. But she didn’t say what.
The power flickered a few minutes later.
Just long enough to shut off the lights, stall the heater, and kill the wifi.
You sighed. “Well. That’s our cue to pretend it’s the 1800s.”
Wanda rolled her eyes faintly but led the way to the hallway. “I’ll call maintenance.”
The bedroom you used—your room—was freezing. The rain made the windows weep. You wrapped yourself in two blankets and still shivered under them like your body had forgotten warmth.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock.
Wanda stood at the door, robe belted tighter now, a blanket over one arm.
“Heat’s out across the building,” she said. “It’ll take hours. Come to my room. The windows don’t leak there.”
You hesitated.
She added, gently, “You’re freezing.”
You didn’t argue.
Her bed was huge. More cloud than mattress. The kind of thing you had to climb into like a boat. Wanda didn’t say anything when you slipped under the covers, just turned off the lamp and got in beside you—far, far to the left, leaving oceans of space.
You laid there in silence.
Listening to the rain.
Feeling the quiet pulse of her presence, steady and near.
Then—after what could’ve been minutes or hours—she spoke.
“I used to picture this differently.”
You turned your head toward her in the dark. “What?”
“Sharing a bed,” she said softly. “Waking up beside someone. It was supposed to mean something.”
Your voice caught. “Does it?”
Wanda didn’t answer right away.
Then, softly, like a truth she hadn’t let herself say:
“It does now.”
You swallowed, heart suddenly a drum against your ribs.
The air shifted.
She didn’t move. Didn’t reach for you. But she didn’t move away, either.
Your fingers curled on the sheets. You didn’t touch her.
But you wanted to.
God, you wanted to.
You woke up before her. She was still on her side, facing you now, her hair a dark halo on the pillow. The early light barely touched her face. She looked peaceful in a way you’d never seen—like the storm had finally quieted inside her too.
You watched her breathe for a moment too long.
Then you slipped out of bed.
Made coffee.
Waited in the kitchen, hands wrapped around the mug she’d usually hand you.
She found you there twenty minutes later, sleep still in her eyes, robe loose, bare feet quiet on the floor.
“Morning,” she said softly.
“Hey,” you replied.
And then— she walked straight to you, took your coffee from your hands, took a sip and handed it back.
Your heart clenched.
Because it was exactly how you liked it, exactly how she liked it.
And she hadn’t even asked.
. . .
“Dress nice. 10 AM. My driver will take us.”
You stared at the handwriting for a full minute before turning to the small Pomeranian she hadn’t meant to adopt but had anyway, who now followed you around like you were the stable parent.
“Is she kidding?” you asked the dog.
The brownish fur ball barked and walked off.
The brunch was at a discreet little brownstone tucked between galleries in SoHo—charming, sunlit, deceptively casual. The kind of place rich people used to pretend they weren’t rich.
Wanda met you by the car. She wore soft ivory trousers, a long cream coat, and a small gold chain at her throat. She looked casual, effortless.
And, of course, utterly composed.
“You look nervous,” she said, slipping on her sunglasses.
“I didn’t realize brunch was with royalty.”
“It’s just my godmother,” Wanda said lightly. “And her judgmental wife. And a few others who might ask why I never brought anyone around before.”
Your stomach dropped. “Is this… an approval thing?”
Wanda opened the door for you. “It’s a test.”
Your eyes widened, “And you’re telling me now?”
“I didn’t want to make you overthink it.” she replied way too cooly.
You glared. “I hate you.”
She smiled like it was affection. “That’s the spirit.”
It started fine.
A few raised brows. Too many kisses on cheeks. Someone complimented your coat and then looked pointedly at your boots like they were confused how you existed in both at once.
You held Wanda’s hand under the table out of habit now—because it looked right, because it felt expected. Because her thumb sometimes rubbed slow, silent circles into your palm when the small talk got suffocating.
You were halfway through a fruit tart when it happened.
Someone—Wanda’s godmother’s wife, you think—asked how the proposal went.
You froze.
Wanda answered too smoothly, never too quickly.
“She said yes before I finished asking,” she said, hand squeezing yours. “I think she knew I wasn’t bluffing.”
There were chuckles. Some “aww”s.
And then she added, without thinking:
“I think I fell in love with her the moment she argued with me in front of three board members.”
Your heart actually missed a beat at that.
Laughter rippled around the table again. You forced a smile.
But Wanda… Wanda looked at you then. Really looked. And her smile faltered just enough for you to know:
That part hadn’t been part of the performance.
You didn’t speak in the car on the way home.
The silence felt different this time. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just… held.
Like she was waiting to see if you’d bring it up.
And you didn’t. Because you didn’t know if it was safer to ask or pretend you hadn’t heard.
When you got back to the penthouse, you walked straight to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and leaned on the counter like it could hold up your confusion.
She joined you minutes later.
“You handled that well,” she said.
You gave her a tight smile. “I fake marry like a pro now.”
Wanda watched you. “You’re upset.”
You shook your head. “No, I’m confused.”
She took a step closer. “About what?”
You hesitated. Then: “You said you fell in love with me.”
Her throat bobbed.
“I thought the contract agreed,” you said quietly. “That there wouldn’t be feelings.”
“I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“But you did.”
“I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
That made you go still.
“I don’t know,” she said again, quieter now, “when it stopped being pretend. If it ever really was.”
You stared at her.
Because you felt it too. The shift. The touch that lingered. The glances that said too much.
But admitting it?
That would break everything wide open.
So instead, you reached for her hand. Threaded your fingers through hers.
And whispered: “Then let’s figure it out.”
Wanda’s eyes lifted to meet yours.
And for once, there was no wall. No act. No mask.
Just her, just you.
And a truth neither of you could keep quiet much longer.
. . .
You didn’t sleep in your room that night.
You didn’t talk about it either.
There was no declaration. No sly smirk. No half-joking excuse about the heat or the window draft.
Just a quiet shift in steps—her slowing down in the hallway, your hand on the door to her room instead of your own, and a breathless moment where neither of you asked why.
You just walked in.
Together.
She lit a single lamp—low, warm, soft.
The city shimmered beyond the window, gold and blurry in the glass. You sat on the edge of the bed, unsure what version of yourself to bring into this room.
Wanda sat beside you, her thigh barely brushing yours. You could feel the heat of her, even without touch.
“You’ve stopped calling it fake,” you said, voice quiet in the hush.
“I know,” she replied.
“Is that intentional?”
“Does it matter?”
You turned your head, met her gaze. “It does if I’m not the only one confused anymore.”
She inhaled like she was steadying herself. Her voice was barely more than a breath when she said:
“You’re the only thing that’s ever confused me in the right way.”
That did it.
Whatever wall you’d built—professionalism, control, fake-wifely detachment—it cracked right down the center.
You didn’t lean in.
She did.
Softly. Slowly.
Like she was asking for permission with every breath.
And when her lips touched yours, they didn’t feel like a contract. Or a line crossed. Or an obligation.
They felt like something that had always been waiting to happen.
The kiss wasn’t urgent. Wasn’t for show. It was warm, unhurried, tender in a way you didn’t think she even knew how to be.
Your hand found her jaw.
Hers curled around your waist.
When she pulled back, your forehead rested against hers.
You didn’t open your eyes.
You whispered, “I don’t know what this is anymore.”
She whispered back, “Maybe it’s something worth figuring out.”
The next morning, Peter was already at your office before you even got there.
Coffee. Concern. A look on his face that made you brace.
“I saw the photos,” he said before you could speak.
You gave him a weary look. “Which ones?”
“The ones where she looks at you like you’re the last person in the world who doesn’t scare her.”
Your mouth opened, then closed. “It’s complicated.”
Peter sat down across from you, voice quieter now. “Is it fake still?”
You looked down.
He exhaled. “Y/N…”
“I didn’t mean for it to change,” you said softly. “But she’s—she’s different when she’s not surrounded by suits and pressure. And I don’t know how to unsee that.”
“Do you trust her?”
You nodded. “More than I should.”
“Do you love her?”
You froze.
Peter didn’t push. Just let the question sit there, heavy and true.
That night, you found Wanda on the balcony.
Blanket around her shoulders. Hair loose. No wine. No screens.
Just her.
Just quiet.
You stepped outside, wordless, and joined her under the blanket.
Her hand had found yours and you let her hold it.
. . .
The kiss didn’t fix everything.
But it opened something.
You both felt it—that strange quiet after something real slips between two people who swore they were just pretending. You didn’t talk about it the next morning. You didn’t have to. The air had changed.
So had the way she looked at you across the table.
Not calculating. Not possessive. Not even curious anymore.
Just soft.
Like you were hers in a way that didn’t need words.
You started cooking more.
It began with late-night pasta, just because she came home looking too tired to pretend she’d eaten. Then it was pancakes on a Sunday, because she’d mentioned—offhand, distracted—that her mother used to make them that way when it rained.
She didn’t say thank you the first time.
She just sat beside you, her fork slow and quiet, and said:
“You remembered.”
Like that was rarer than any gift she’d ever been given.
The first time she touched you without a reason, it was barely anything.
You were washing dishes, elbow-deep in soap, and she walked past—hand brushing across your lower back as she passed.
She didn’t look at you.
But she didn’t need to.
Your heart stuttered anyway.
At night, she started falling asleep before you.
You could tell by the way her breathing slowed, the tiny crease in her brow fading under the weight of whatever peace you’d somehow become for her.
And you—God—you watched her like she was a miracle you hadn’t asked for but were suddenly terrified to lose.
Some nights you stayed awake just to feel the way her hand would reach for yours, even unconscious.
Like some part of her had already stopped pretending.
She didn’t pull away anymore.
Not when your knee brushed hers at dinner.
Not when you leaned against her shoulder during a movie.
Not when you walked into the room after a shower in her shirt, hair still dripping, and she paused like the world went quiet just seeing you.
“Wanda?” you asked.
She blinked. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
She smiled. “I know.”
And then came the night it stopped being something between you.
And became something shared.
You were curled on the couch, her head on your lap, fingers lazily playing with the edge of her sweater. She was half-asleep, wine glass abandoned on the floor, a soft playlist humming in the background.
You thought she was dreaming until she said:
“I want you to stay.”
You looked down. “I live here, remember?”
She shook her head against your thigh, eyes still closed. “Not for the contract. Just… stay. Tonight. Tomorrow. And the days after.”
You brushed a hand through her hair. “Is that a new clause?”
“It’s not fake,” she murmured.
And when she opened her eyes—tired, raw, full of something too fragile to name—you knew:
She meant it.
Every word. Every glance. Every touch.
So you leaned down.
Kissed her like you weren’t afraid anymore.
Like you’d already chosen her in a hundred quiet ways.
And when she pulled you down beside her—blanket tangled, breath shaky, heart finally, finally open— You stayed.
Not as her employee, not as her fake wife but as someone who loved her and wasn’t going anywhere.
Wanda attempts to become closer with the young woman who moved in beside her while balancing her work and personal life, though she’s doubtful of the possibility that you might be interested in her at all.
Word count: 23 310
Tags | MDNI: smut, fluff, shy idiots flirting, wanda is a cutie and kind of a pervert, specified age-gap, masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, dildo usage, praise, wanda doesn’t know what mommy kink is yet but you can tell she’d be into it, milf!wanda maximoff, lesbian reader
Checking her rear mirror before signalling left and merging into the adjacent lane, Wanda drove around the moving truck parked outside of one of the townhouse buildings she lived beside. Beside her detached house was a townhouse owned and put up for rent for temporary long-stay renters, and often, around the beginning of the summer or the start of September, Wanda would often see professionals working in Jersey City moving in.
It was the start of the summer now, and there were presently movers helping to carry small pieces of furniture through the open townhouse doors. It was furnished inside, Wanda assumed, though the furniture they were bringing in seemed to be building up to some sort of office — perhaps there was an extra empty room in there for renters, and whoever was moving in was setting up a workspace.
Wanda nearly missed her driveway while she was scrutinising everything the movers were bringing in, trying to pin down whoever it was that was renting. When Wanda stepped out and shut the car door, she could see a young woman from above the roof of her car stepping out of the townhouse’s front door, talking with the movers and letting them know where to place the furniture.
Just when it seemed that the young woman’s gaze shifted over to Wanda, who was, admittedly, staring a bit too hard, Wanda’s phone buzzed with an incoming phone call and she quickly broke eye contact to pick it up. She locked her car and walked up to her front door, carrying a stack of paperwork of upcoming orders that she needed to sort through.
She thought of you again while making dinner, curious about you for some reason she didn’t quite understand. She wondered if you were just a younger relative helping the actual renter move in, or if someone who looked as young as you had really moved into Westview by herself just beside her.
From the kitchen island counter where she was standing eating her dinner, Wanda looked through the living room window where she could watch you continue to unpack a few small things from the back of your trunk. She regarded you curiously; perhaps it was your age or the fact that you seemed to have moved in alone that seemed to be interesting to her, though Wanda wasn’t sure why any of that would necessarily pique her interest as she felt like it had.
In the morning, Wanda prepared for the twins’ arrival in the afternoon when she’d have to pick them up after work, waking up with enough time to clean.
Vision, Wanda’s ex-husband, worked as an attorney in New Jersey and often stayed in New York, but when it was his turn with the twins, he stayed in New Jersey — much closer to Westview.
Wanda had always counted herself as lucky for having been married to and having children with a good man. Though she and Vision were necessarily divorced, she never had to worry about what would become of their connection, and she knew that their relationship wouldn’t regress into something difficult between the both of them nor with their children.
However it became rather clear as their relationship progressed, especially after they had children, that the directions of their ambitions and perspectives of their lives were diverting from each other; nothing about them aligned except for their children.
Vision was Wanda’s neighbour when she first moved into her apartment once arriving in America alone. He was smart and very kind and showed her around. He was a westernised Brit, which was palatable for Wanda who found security with a man who knew so much about the country she had just moved to, but who also wasn’t overbearing, and was rather well-mannered and docile.
When they first met, Vision was finishing his second last year of law school, and Wanda didn’t have much going on for herself until she made plans to open a business. It all went quite fast after they married; Vision passed his bar and Wanda’s floral shop had begun to find its footing, and they decided to finally have a family.
But Vision’s career and dreams took him further than what Westview could offer, and Wanda wasn’t the same young woman with wide-eyes and unsteady footing like she was when they met — she had dreams too, and children.
By the time the twins turned two, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that things were different. Their dynamic had changed, they weren’t of the same mind as they used to be, and Vision could tell that Wanda had changed too; she hadn’t intended to be distant, but it always felt like her life took place somewhere her husband couldn’t reach. She was changing and growing, and she didn’t need a crutch to lean on anymore.
She wasn’t as unsteady and lost as she used to be.
By the time she was leaving the house, it should’ve been around the time that Vision was dropping the twins off, but instead, she opened the door to see them running up the porch stairs.
Surprised at the way they rushed passed her, both giving her a quick hello before they ran up the stairs, Wanda stuttered, “What–”
“They forgot their class projects,” Vision explained with an awkward smile, stepping onto the porch and watching Tommy and Billy dash into their rooms.
“The Bristol boards?”
He nodded.
“Did they behave?” she asked, holding her purse with both hands in front of her.
“Of course,” her ex-husband answered with a smile. “We went to the cinema on Friday. Tommy cried during the final scene and Billy was quite supportive.”
Wanda and Vision shared a laugh, and chatted about how it was going with the new firm he was with and about Wanda’s shop, until the twins came back down holding their school projects.
“Good luck on your presentations today,” Wanda told them and leaned down, holding each of their faces delicately and kissing each of their foreheads.
“Thank you, mama,” Billy replied cheerily and gave her the best hug he could with his other arm full of Bristol board.
Vision and Wanda spoke a little more about when he would pick them up this weekend for their grandfather’s birthday, which Wanda couldn’t attend because she had promised to help set up a town event celebrating the start of the new season.
Westview was a popular destination during the Spring for it was located in a relatively secluded area of New Jersey, and well-known for its nature reserves, which also meant Westview well-decorated for the season.
That also meant Wanda and her floral shop were always hard at work throughout the start of Spring.
From the corner of her eye, Wanda saw your car pull into the driveway, and for a moment she saw you briefly running your eyes over her and Vision and the twins in the car.
Throughout the day, Wanda thought of you for the same reason as she did last night, and with the same degree of inexplicability. While she signed and read through paperwork for orders and put together arrangements alongside her employees, she thought of how long you might be renting and where you’d come from. She thought of the kind of flowers you might like; she tried her best to recall the furniture and items you’d brought in yesterday to try and pin down your style.
Once she realised how much she’d been thinking of you and realising it was strange that she kept acting as if she hadn’t been thinking of you, Wanda decided to put together a bouquet for you as a welcome gift.
After she picked the twins up from school, she was sure to keep the bouquet in its vase secured in the passenger’s seat, checking on it occasionally as she spoke with the boys about how their days and presentations went.
“Go put your things away,” Wanda told them as she ushered them through the front door, “I’ll come to help you with your homework in just a minute.” She locked the front door and headed back to her car, reaching into the passenger’s seat for the bouquet.
Your car was in the driveway, and she could see some movement through the window beside the dining room.
For the first time since she even thought to put the bouquet together, Wanda wondered if she was coming off too strong, or even too strange. After all, why would the older woman neighbouring you introduce herself with a bouquet of flowers?
Wanda could justify herself to you; she owned a floral shop and was working all day and didn’t have time to give you anything else and she always made a point to be friendly to neighbours.
Before she could even justify herself to herself, she was already knocking on your front door holding the vase securely with two hands. She heard some rustling beyond the door, and a few chaotic tumbles, before the front door opened and Wanda got a good look at you for the first time.
You were young — a college student, she presumed — and pretty.
Wanda felt her words catch in her throat and she internally panicked trying to get some form of an introduction out. She hadn’t known what she had expected from you when she knocked on your door or what unsuspecting part of her curiosity was taken aback by your appearance, but Wanda forced out an introduction as normal-seeming as she could.
“Hi,” she said with a friendly smile, “I’m Wanda Maximoff, your next-door neighbour.”
Panicked and deciding that her initial introduction wasn’t enough, she added, “I thought I should introduce myself.”
She couldn’t seem to stop rambling. “A-And I work at a floral shop in the shopping district, hence the flowers,” she explained then held the vase out to you.
You seemed genuinely happy and appreciative when you replied, “Oh, that’s so nice of you! Thank you so much.” Wanda was grateful when you took the bouquet from her and didn’t look like you thought the gesture was strange.
“I was hoping I might be able to meet some people from the neighbourhood soon and maybe explore Westview a little,” you told her, “but I’ve just been so busy unpacking — so thank you, really.”
“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself. “I saw you this morning and thought to say hello today too, but I think I’ve just been so overwhelmed with the move.”
Wanda thought you were sweet and rather cute. She attributed it to the fact that you stood out from the other people of Westview who were older and a bit less spry. “It’s normal to be a bit overwhelmed once first moving into a new place,” she told you supportively. “I’m sure you’ll adjust in no time; Westview is easy to get comfortable in.”
“Thank you,” you answered graciously. “I’m happy to finally be able to talk to someone here.”
You were trusting and talkative too, Wanda noted.
“I would be happy to show you around whenever you have some free time,” Wanda found herself offering quicker than she could think through what she was saying. She added, trying to save her first impression, “Only if you don’t mind — I assume you’re a student and rather busy.”
“I would really love to have a tour!” you answered enthusiastically. “Thank you so much. I feel adjusted to Westview already.”
Wanda felt herself flush, feeling appreciated and flattered by your words.
“Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers?” you asked. “I can let you know when I’m free next! I should be sometime at the end of the week; I don’t start my work until next week.”
“O-Of course, that’s completely okay,” Wanda said with a wide neighbourly smile, stuttering slightly for a reason she couldn’t exactly explain to herself. It was normal to exchange numbers with acquaintances, but the idea of you asking for her number made her feel excited.
You kept taking her by surprise, though she wasn’t sure why.
For the rest of the night, Wanda tended to the twins — helping them with their homework, making them dinner, and playing Minecraft with them before bed.
They said she was bad at it, but they always asked for her to play with them.
As she got ready in her washroom after putting the boys to bed, Wanda picked up her phone at the sound of a text and found a message from you: Hi Ms Maximoff, it’s Y/N! Thanks again for the flowers, they’re beautiful.
The way in which you addressed her was all too formal, but there was something about how polite and proper it was that she enjoyed, even if it made her feel a little old.
While Wanda found herself smiling at her phone and thinking up a way to reply, you texted again: You mentioned you worked at a floral shop in town. Where is it located?
Eventually, you spoke to her about what you were studying and what you were in Westview for and for how long. She talked about Tommy and Billy and their father and when she opened her business. You and Wanda continued to text you back and forth until she realised she had stayed up about thirty minutes past when she planned to sleep, and she had to tell you goodnight.
Wanda couldn’t remember the last time someone seemed so genuinely interested in her life and interested in sharing things about themselves with her. It made her feel interesting and paid attention to.
In the morning immediately after dropping the twins off and saying goodbye to them, her thoughts went to you and the conversation you shared together last night.
You had just graduated and were now doing research with a professor, and you wanted to explore some research before beginning your Master’s. Since your professor’s research institute was located closer to Westview than northern New Jersey, you decided to move to Westview for the duration of your six-month research period.
Around the beginning of the day Wanda thought of you the most, wondering particularly about when she might see you again and when you might be free, until the afternoon rolled around when her scheduled employees came in and she started picking up the pace with her orders and arrangements.
It wasn’t a large shop, so there were typically four people working there at a time. One dealt with walk-in orders and those who wanted to purchase anything on display in the front, another with shipments and administrative work, and two that helped with preparing and putting together the arrangements.
Wanda oversaw and managed all of it along with Agatha, who she’d opened the shop with, so she worked each day aside from Fridays and Saturdays — unless she needed to be at work — and Sundays when the shop was closed.
Spring was busy for them, but Westview was a rather small town and their shop was also local and a bit smaller. However, it was from Wanda’s shop that businesses and sometimes the town ordered intricate arrangements for events or for statement display pieces.
But by the late afternoon, the shop had a visitor that Wanda hadn’t expected.
“Y/N,” Wanda uttered at the sight of you walking into the shop, looking around at the vases and flowers and succulents on display.
“Hi,” you greeted with a smile once you walked up to the cash register.
Wanda’s smile widened and she felt herself excited and unsteady at the thought that you might have come into the shop purposely just to visit her — but she couldn’t jump to conclusions. “Are you looking for another bouquet?” she teased.
You laughed and Wanda felt her chest flutter.
“No, not yet,” you answered. “I just thought I would return the welcome favour with a gift.”
You laid a cup of tea and a pastry on the counter between the both of you and Wanda found herself speechless by your gesture — you had come just to visit her after she told you where she worked, and you had brought a gift for her too.
“I finally got the chance to walk around today, and I thought to visit the shopping district first and stopped by the café down the street to get something for you. I hope you’re okay with Oolong.”
“Y/N…” Wanda didn’t know what to say, her hands laying themselves by the tea and pastry but not having enough confidence to take them. “You really didn’t have to — and to have come all the way over here!”
You laid your hand atop of Wanda’s and she felt her cheeks flush, her eyes flickering down to your soft hand for a brief moment before looking back up at your soft expression. “But I wanted to,” you told her, then retracted your hand. “I really am grateful and I hoped to be able to make my own impression if not pay you back for the gift.”
Wanda felt so warm and she finally gave in, taking the tea and pastry and moving it closer to her and beside the cash register. “Thank you so much, that’s very kind,” she said.
To have someone think of her so much, to go out of their way during their first day free from unpacking to visit her and make such a thoughtful gesture instilled in Wanda a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long time — or ever, if she really thought about it.
She felt so cared for, and seen.
“Have you been liking the town so far?” she asked.
You nodded. “Westview is really beautiful, and I’m happy to have chosen to move here,” you answered.
“But you seem busy,” you said, looking around at the employees walking behind her with papers or assortments of flowers in their hands. “Hopefully we’re both free soon so you can show me around your favourite spots.”
“I’m really looking forward to that,” Wanda replied with an eager smile.
Over the next while, Wanda’s free time completely diminished and she struggled to find any time to see you like she’d promised or even talking with you in-person or over the phone.
You sometimes see her coming back late, sometimes looking fatigued or just in a rush to finally get home, so you didn’t want to push by messaging or visiting her, intruding where you shouldn’t as a neighbour and a new friend.
You imagined that the mere thought of you must just be another task she must complete and try to fit into her schedule, so you didn’t want to impose yourself and overwhelm her.
Wanda also thought often about reaching out to you just to ask how you’d been and to let you know that she’d just been rather overwhelmed for the last two weeks, but that she’d been thinking of you and hoping her schedule might free up soon.
She felt disappointed in the timing too, because she knew that your research project had already begun.
But she thought the attempts would be fruitless and unwanted — why message you just to say she still couldn’t fulfil her promise?
There was one time you nearly had a proper conversation with her a few days ago. You were outside planting some flowers you had bought, finally having finished packing inside and deciding that it was time to decorate the exterior of your place too.
Wanda was waiting for a ride from her coworker as her car was in the shop, and she had gone out to wait for her at the same time you were outside.
She asked how your research had been going and you spoke a little about that, but you spoke more about the flowers you were planting and Wanda’s tips on how to take care of them.
The conversation ended abruptly though the both of you had plenty more to say when a brunette older woman around Wanda’s age pulled into her driveway — and in a rather gorgeous vintage car.
A few times, Wanda saw you walking around town with Dottie, a teacher at Tommy and Billy’s school and a member of the town council, and Wanda sometimes saw her at the meetings when she occasionally stopped by.
They interacted a handful of times during events, but first met when she was Tommy and Billy’s teacher. She came off as condescending, at least to Wanda, but got along just fine with Vision.
She didn’t think there was any particular reason that Dottie would dislike her, but she understood that it did sometimes happen that some people just didn’t get along by nature. But she seemed to be getting along with you just fine — quite well actually, for how often she saw you walking together.
Over time when she had begun to hear from you less, Wanda figured that perhaps you had only just wanted to make a friend in Westview, and Dottie was around far more than she was.
Wanda supposed that Dottie was perhaps a bit more enthusiastic also. She was younger than her too, which Wanda guessed was something that you might like more — perhaps you had more in common with her.
It seemed like the only thing that aligned well between you and Wanda was where you lived.
“Ms Maximoff!” you called from your driveway, and Wanda turned to see you waving at her.
It was around six in the morning, and Wanda had to head to the shop early to receive some shipments.
“Hi, Y/N,” she answered and waved back with a pleased smile.
The two of you bridged the gap between the two driveways and met in between.
“Good morning,” Wanda greeted, her smile wider upon seeing you much closer.
Your eagerness to speak with her was refreshing and quite nice.
“Morning,” you replied. “Are you heading to work?”
She nodded and explained, “I have a few shipments coming in today that I need to be there for. And you? Are you heading to your professor’s office?”
“I am, yeah,” you said, a bit wearily as if feeling sheepish.
Sometimes you felt a little shy bringing up things that made the age difference between you and Wanda all the more obvious, like how you were basically going off to school just like her kids would while she was heading off to work at a shop she owned.
Wanda was about to ask why you seemed to lack enthusiasm about heading there, but then you asked: “Can I drive you to work? I can pick you up when you’re off.”
The offer took Wanda by surprise. You were so considerate of her, and without even a second thought to it. “O-Oh, really?” she stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve been coming home late recently; I don’t want to keep you up or bother you with waiting for me.”
“I know,” you said. “I hope it’s not stalkerish — it’s by complete coincidence, I promise — but sometimes I do see you coming home a bit later. But I have some things to read for my professor today that I’ll take home to do tonight, so I’ll be up.”
“That’s… really sweet. But why go out of your way?”
She couldn’t tell because you were facing away from the sunrise so your face had casted shadow upon it, but it seemed like you were blushing as if having been caught in an act.
Wanda only regarded you with curiosity, squinting a little against the sun so she could see you better.
“I don’t want to come off as pushy, I apologise,” you quickly explained. “It was just something that came to mind.”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” Wanda replied, waving her hands in front of her and placing a hand on your arm reassuringly when you looked unsure of yourself. She tried to conjure up something to explain why she was so confused and surprised by your kindnesses, but was quickly shut up by her own hand at the feeling of your still arm under her palm and the meeting of your eyes with hers.
She dropped her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to sort through her thoughts for you.
The more Wanda thought about why it was so difficult to navigate your personality, the more she came to the realisation that aside from friends, and coworkers — which category, for whatever reason, Wanda didn’t think you fell into in that same informality — the only other experience she could call on was that which she had with Vision.
He was very formal and docile, and never took risks or said or did things out of what was expected. It seemed often that he was filling a role or going through the motions of things, which had never been very much of a problem for Wanda, who had thoroughly appreciated how static and steady he was.
As such, Wanda found herself often flustered and surprised by your affectionate gestures that told her you were interested in spending time with her, and spared no subtlety.
“I just feel a little guilty for having no time lately, and I haven’t really done you any favours,” she explained. “I think I just feel surprised when you take the time out of your day to think of me.”
Wanda worried that she might have embarrassed you, and she stayed silent, trying not to fuck anything else up by rambling in the way that she always felt like doing. She forgot that you had just finished your undergrad and that she was, in stark comparison, thirty-two years old, divorced, and living in a small town in New Jersey with two young kids.
Maybe she was struggling to view you in the casual way that anyone else in her shoes ought to, to see you like a neighbour or a passerby or a temporary renter of the house she lived beside.
But if not any of those came naturally to her, how did she see you?
Why did she keep thinking of how you saw Dottie?
“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t sound like I was rejecting your kindness,” she added, unable to keep quiet for even a moment.
“Why do you feel like you have to do favours for me?” you asked. “It’s okay if you do nothing for me ever, actually. I think I just like your company.”
Did you like consistency, a stable presence?
Did it bother you that she had introduced herself to you, then didn’t talk much afterwards?
Was trying to see her more a form of seeking consistency in a new town, rather than out of an actual desire of seeing her?
“I would love to get a ride from you,” Wanda told you and smiled. “Thank you. And I don’t think you come off as pushy at all.”
You and Wanda talked a lot on the drive to the shop.
She told you that she’d been extremely stressed with balancing everything and getting everything prepared in time, and always tried to finish most if not all of her work before the weekends so she could spend the most of it with her sons.
Thankfully, she’d been able to catch up with everything as the orders had died down, and she predicted that she may be finished before the upcoming weekend.
“Um, I don’t know if maybe you might not want to — so feel free to say no, since I know you have stuff going on,” you said once you parked in front of Wanda’s shop. “But I went to this really nice garden a few days ago and saw that next weekend there’s a Spring festival event, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”
Before Wanda could answer, you added quickly, “Again, also, I don’t wanna add to your stress.”
“Y/N,” Wanda said, softly, before reaching over to place her hand atop of yours where it laid on your thigh. “I would love to go with you. I don’t think you’re a bother, and it wouldn’t add to my stress to see you at all. In fact, I think I would thoroughly enjoy taking the weekend to relax with you.”
“Really?”
Wanda nodded and smiled. “Westview has the Spring festival every year — it’s one of the reasons I’m quite busy at the shop at the start of the season.”
“Would your kids like to go?”
“Their father is taking them to New York City this weekend, so it’ll be just you and I, if that’s okay.”
The enthusiasm written on your face at her answer made Wanda giggle.
—
“What’s got you so jolly at six in the morning?” Agatha asked as she was unloading the shipment of glass vases from the delivery truck.
“What?” Wanda asked, looking up from her bag that she had placed in the backroom to start helping her unload.
The two women had been friends since Wanda moved into Westview with Vision years ago. She was there for her before they divorced, during it, and after, and helped Wanda open her business.
In fact, Agatha was Wanda’s right-hand woman in the shop, and they worked closely in terms of their job position and responsibilities.
Agatha stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, surveying her best friend.
“What are you looking at?” Wanda inquired hastily, leaning over to try and lift up a rather large securely-wrapped vase — it was for a new store’s grand opening for this upcoming weekend, so they ordered a rather large ensemble. “Can you help me?”
She ignored Wanda’s request for help and pressed on. “Are you seeing someone?”
“What? No! I’m not seeing anyone.”
Agatha squinted and her fingers tapped distractedly against her hip. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Agatha, I’m sure. Please–”
“Did you sleep with someone last night? A one-night stand, then.”
Wanda stood up straight and put her hands on her own hips defiantly. “No!” she answered with finality. “Why are you asking me all this?”
“You just look like…”
“Like what?”
“You look smitten.”
She never used the term smitten in thinking about how she felt about you, but to have someone else call it that made Wanda reevaluate her feelings toward you.
Is that how she felt?
“It’s just nice to be noticed… and-and taken care of,” Wanda said as she and Agatha started restocking the inventory room, with Wanda checking things off their checklist and taking inventory count — albeit distractedly.
“Honey,” Agatha started, setting down a planter on the table Wanda was leaning her hip on and standing in front of her. “I’m so happy that you’ve met Y/N, and she seems really sweet, but I hope you know what you’re doing with someone younger than you.”
She added, “It’s not like this is something familiar to you. The only person you’ve really been with is your ex-husband, and you were the younger woman.”
Wanda looked down at the checklist, thinking. “I don’t think I’m really expecting her to… to want anything. I don’t think she could even be interested in that,” she said. “I think maybe I should just see things from a black-and-white perspective — see things as they are.”
“Don’t get me wrong — I don’t want to deter you from pursuing who you’re interested in, Wanda,” Agatha told her. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. I know you’ve been married and that you have kids, but you have a wide-eyed view of the world. I don’t want to see you get hurt or let down.”
—
“Were you busy today?” you asked as you held the passenger door open for Wanda.
“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile as she slid in. “No — Agatha was working with me all day.”
When you got into the driver’s seat, you asked, “Who’s that?”
“She’s a good friend of mine, and we opened the shop together,” Wanda explained, buckling herself in. “How was your day?”
The conversation was so casual and almost domestic, and the comfort of being able to see you after work felt a lot like coming back home after a long day.
“I guess not so bad,” you answered, making your way home. “I was reading and taking notes all day.”
After a moment of trying to garner some confidence, Wanda spoke. “Y/N, I want to say that I really appreciate your company, and how kind you’ve been to me,” she said honestly, playing with her fingers with her hands tucked between her thighs. “I don’t have a lot of time to meet new people, and Westview is rather small, so it’s also rare for anyone to be as thoughtful as you.”
She added, “I thought I should be honest, and I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate the time you take for me.”
You shifted a little in your seat, and Wanda thought maybe you were just taking a moment to choose your words carefully.
“I didn’t think you were unappreciative,” you reassured. “I was just trying to be friendly.”
Friendly.
Wanda looked at you for a few moments, studying your face, until you turned and smiled at her. She returned the smile and looked back to the road silently.
Had she embarrassed you this morning?
Was she misreading things?
She wanted to sink into the seat and fall right through to the core of the earth.
The rest of the drive was filled mostly with small talk, though it didn’t feel very awkward. However, Wanda felt like she was on edge, like she had some responsibility to be more direct or open, and she didn’t quite know how else to be anything but hesitant and unsure of herself.
She felt disappointed when you pulled into her driveway, now having been unable to communicate her affection for you properly throughout the drive.
“By the way, uh…” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly and Wanda looked at you, anxious about what you might say.
If you were going to apologise for being so forward and open with her, she wouldn’t know what to do next. She wanted to keep becoming closer with you, and to spend time with you like you’d discussed, and she wouldn’t know how to take that up on her own if you decided to apologise for everything.
“I made you dinner,” you said finally and turned around to reach in the backseat to hand Wanda a tupperware of pasta that was still quite warm. “You’re always coming back late, and I’m sometimes having dinner later because I just get caught up with the work I’m doing, so I thought I’d just make you some since I was gonna pick you up.”
You had an awkward, nervous smile on your lips and your thumb kept tapping against the lid as you spoke.
Wanda melted, her hand coming to her chest as she leaned forward to take a look at what looked like spaghetti. “Y/N, I don’t know what to say… You didn’t have to…”
She felt truly a loss for words, being entirely unable to remember the last time someone had been so considerate of her.
Since her divorce, most of Wanda’s life had been occupied by her job and her children. It wasn’t anything to complain about, and she very rarely ever did, but your kindness and attention the past little while reminded her of how infrequently she had anything new happen in her life.
“You’re so considerate of me,” she said as sincerely as she could communicate, looking up from the food and at you, who met her eyes with a soft blush before looking away.
The bashfulness of your reaction made Wanda take her bottom lip between her teeth, a small grin forming on her lips, equally as nervous but also fueled by her intrigue in you.
“Thank you for driving me and making me dinner,” Wanda said after unlocking her front door.
When she turned, you were standing on her porch looking at her expectantly, the tupperware in hand. She thought you looked so sweet… and young — just innocent.
There was something so delicate about the respectful distance the both of you kept, a lingering interest in one another, and something that just felt tense.
It made Wanda ache in ways she couldn’t quite explain.
Even with Vision, the excitement she’d felt with him was different from what she was feeling now. She was so young back when they first met, and the pull she’d felt towards him was similar to that of a lighthouse’s to a stranded sailor.
There was so much she’d yet to learn or live through when she first met him, and she often wondered how things might’ve been if she hadn’t spent so much of her time tied down.
But at the end of everything, there were the twins, and Wanda could never truly wish for anything that had happened up until now to change if it meant not having them.
If she thought about it, it seemed that most of what she did was settle for a lack of other opportunity; nothing very new or exciting happened in her life nor in Westview, and by the time she was no longer who she was when she first moved to America, she was engaged with plans for children and a future with the first man she’d met when she came here.
She suddenly felt quite determined to become close with you, for it certainly wasn’t very often that anyone paid her any mind.
Especially not someone like you.
“I really enjoy your company, Ms Maximoff, and I know you think I’m always going so far out of my way for you, but honestly, I like to be able to help,” you insisted.
Wanda felt a surge in the depths of her lower stomach and up to her chest at the polite tone of your voice and the way you looked in the warm orange of her porch light. She stepped forward and took the tupperware from you. She wrapped an arm around your upper back and pecked your cheek.
“The effort isn’t lost on me, I assure you,” she said, then pulled away with a soft smile to find your cheeks slightly flushed and your eyes darting around nervously. Her smile could only widen in response and she laughed a little, pulling away from you to head inside.
She bid you a goodbye with a wave of her hand which you returned, and Wanda closed the front door behind her.
Almost immediately once she closed the door, the twins called from their father’s phone to talk with her before they headed to bed; sometimes they called in the evenings when they were away, and especially if they’d done something fun with their father earlier.
They greeted her together: “Hi, mom!”
“Hi, boys,” she replied with a widening grin as she set her things down, balancing your tupperware in the other arm. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”
Then there came the excuses of wanting to stay up to speak with her. She thought they were cute when they were making excuses, so she pretended she didn’t catch on.
It wasn’t until after the call ended and Wanda was in the middle of eating the dinner you’d prepared for her that she finally had time to reflect on some things.
Firstly, the dinner was delicious, and so that made a marvellous impression in her mind about you as a well-put-together student who knew how to cook for herself.
Then she wondered — worried, even — if the kiss was going a bit too far. But you didn’t seem uncomfortable, and there was something about you that made Wanda think you were–
She frowned at herself, rubbing her forehead with the hand she was holding her fork in as she nearly came to a thought that she wouldn’t be able to decipher between projection and reality.
And if it were projection, that must mean there was some sort of intentionality behind it.
Maybe Agatha was right, and she really was smitten.
What would anyone else call it — a crush?
That made her nose wrinkle up as she poked at the pasta, deep in thought; older women didn’t get crushes. Older women were presently married or they got divorced.
But a college student, for crying out loud…
What was she thinking?
She took her bottom lip between her teeth and stared at her phone, trying to repress the urge to text you about dinner as if she hadn’t just been scolding herself for the complicated feelings she was having about you.
Giving in, she set the fork down and texted you, telling you that the dinner was delicious, and moreover, that she would certainly have to find a way to pay you back and buy you a meal this weekend.
She thought she was acting ridiculous for having just previously been feeling conflicted for how she was feeling and now itching to hear a response from you.
Wanda moved her empty bowl away and hid her face in her arms, feeling helpless for the fluttery way she continued to feel in her stomach in spite of how her mind desperately tried to come up with ways to reason her thoughts of you away.
She knew what anyone would call her — a divorcée desperate for attention from a younger girl who wasn’t as caught up with life as people her age were and so, predictably, Wanda clung onto you.
But it wasn’t like she couldn’t get the attention of other people.
Once Wanda had signed up for a dating app upon Agatha’s advice, and she thought it was rather easy to find people interested in her, though often attracting men she didn’t feel very invested in at all nor whom she ever enjoyed seeing enough for a second date.
Not very often, but here and there, Wanda would be approached by men in public too.
She always thought her lack of interest was because she was too busy, and even entertained the idea that perhaps she just wasn’t cut out for any kind of relationship after her marriage.
But she didn’t feel that way at all about you. She thought you were sweet and rather cute and though she had to admit there was something about your age that enticed her, she also really enjoyed talking with you when she could over text, and often looked forward to passing by you in the driveway.
She was curious about things like your schooling and what you thought of Westview, and more about where you’d come from and how you decorated the inside of your place.
And there was a feeling deep within her chest and rising up her belly when she was around you or when you spoke with her, blushing around her or smiling in the shy way you did, that she couldn’t recall if she felt with Vision at all.
As Wanda got ready for bed and pretended like there wasn’t a reason she carried her phone with her to the washroom, she thought more about how she felt about Vision when they first met, and questioned her attraction to him.
There were times when she certainly felt attracted, though most typically when they were about to have sex and more frequently after they got married, but she couldn’t recall if the interest she felt with you this early into knowing you was ever involved in how she regarded Vision.
She just couldn’t stop thinking about how unsure and confused she was during the time of her life when they’d first met, and how that differed greatly from the place she was in now.
While getting into bed, Wanda’s phone buzzed. She picked it up faster than she’d like to admit.
You texted: Yay! Glad you like it!! I’m really looking forward to this weekend :)
A smile came to Wanda’s face as she read your text and she slowly descended into the comfort of her sheets as she replied. Perhaps she should’ve just liked the message and headed to bed, but after thinking of you for so long, she couldn’t help but want to talk a little more.
She replied: Are you still up doing work? Or are you heading to bed soon?
The response was read almost immediately and Wanda felt her heart race.
Just one more thing I have to do, then bedtime.. I hope you sleep well, Ms Maximoff <3
Wanda felt a rush surge through her and she inhaled sharply after reading the message, feeling her fingers partially frozen for a moment.
It was at a time in her relationship with you that you could start calling her by her first name, and really, the formalities made her feel a little old.
But also, there was something she liked about how polite you were — the shy smile on your face as you called her Ms Maximoff, how well-mannered you were.
And if she really thought about it… Wanda thought it placed her in a position of some authority, implying not only an age difference but a power dynamic when you addressed her.
It was new for her.
Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N :) Sweet dreams.
Wanda set her phone down and stared up at the ceiling. She wondered if you’ve ever been interested in an older woman before. Her cheeks immediately warmed at the thought — calling herself an older woman, carrying with it some sort of scandalous implication, and imagining you, someone so innocent and sweet, involved in it.
Her thoughts wandered before she could stop them, thinking of what that dynamic might be like.
Did she suit the ‘older woman’ character? Didn’t someone young like you need someone older and experienced, and confident about their sexuality? Isn’t that how these things normally went?
But she hardly knew anything, and only had one very short fling with a man since her divorce.
She’d never even been with a woman, let alone a younger girl.
Wanda turned onto her side and brought her plush blankets up to her face, the cold surface of it cooling her flushed cheeks.
But she couldn’t help but really think about it… As in, the kind of relationship and dynamic the two of you might have together if it really did happen, and if, maybe, she wasn’t making it all up.
If you had the capacity to like an older woman, that must’ve meant you had been with other girls before.
The thought of it made Wanda’s heart race.
She’d heard from Agatha the difference between being with a woman and with a man, that women were softer and smarter, knowing how to touch another woman as if she were herself, never thinking of imposing herself upon her like men did.
Sleeping with a woman is a form of masturbation, she’d said, for how women knew each other like they knew themselves.
Wanda wondered if you were as gentle with a lover as you were by your nature, for she knew that some people were vastly different in the bedroom than they were outside of it.
The thought of you exploring her body with your open palms and curved fingers, just as considerate and kind as you always were with her, a shaky ‘Ms Maximoff, is this okay?’ spilling from your lips as you moved closer–
Wanda squeezed her eyes shut and turned onto her other side, her fingers tightening around her blankets as she felt an undeniable ache growing between her thighs.
Daring to act defiantly against her sense of shame and dignity, trembling fingers slipped beneath her pajama shorts, not daring to go farther than her hips.
Her nails sunk into her right hip, scratching lightly at the skin as she held herself back, only for her thoughts to wander to the idea of your clumsy hands grabbing at her hips, your nails pressing into her skin as you pulled her closer, your breath shaky.
She took one of her pillows and lifted her blanket up, tucking it between her thighs and up against her clothed centre.
Taking her bottom lip between her teeth and hiding the top half of her face with her hand, she dared to roll her hips forward to satisfy the pressure between her thighs. But it was too dull for how her clit throbbed, desperate for further contact.
Frustrated at both how she was giving in and with how she had grown so desperate to the point of hastily pushing the pillow out of the way, she slipped her fingers past the waistband of her shorts and underwear.
The pads of her fingers met with the warmth of her sticky folds and Wanda whimpered into her pillow, turning her head and hiding from some invisible presence that she imagined was looking down at the display she was putting on.
She circled her middle finger against her clit and she shuddered, goosebumps running up her thighs as she tightly wrapped an arm around the pillow she’d previously pushed away, and she pulled it to her chest.
When she felt she was wet enough, and at the feeling of how she began tightening around nothing, her eyebrows furrowed together as she entered herself with two fingers, her thighs parting to allow her wrist some room.
She couldn’t help the way her mind went to you, not when her body urged to feel more; her thoughts summoned the thought of you, daring to imagine you beneath her, your hands running up her bare hips and up to hold her waist, the look of your face contorted with pleasure, your eyes meeting hers.
She’d never considered herself very assertive, especially not in the bedroom, but there was just something about you that awoke something in her that was completely foreign.
The idea of it excited her.
She’d never felt so… aroused.
Her thoughts gradually became more shameful, thinking about how you sounded like when you orgasmed, and particularly enjoying the idea that you’d be shy to make noise, prone to begging, and one to be eager to please your lover.
Wanda felt herself inch closer to her climax.
Maybe you’d be nervous to be with an older woman, hesitant to touch her and worried about being disrespectful. The thought of herself encouraging you, no longer being unsure and passive about things, sent a thrill through Wanda that she was certain she’d never felt before.
All this she associated only with you, and as she felt herself begin to tighten around her fingers, Wanda’s mind was full of you, shamelessly, and her heart pounded against her ribcage.
She came, crying out partially-muffled with half her face buried in her pillow, her wrist sore and her fingers numb to the repetitive speed at which she fingered herself.
When she fell back down from her height, her previously-arched back met the damp sheets beneath her and she felt momentarily anaesthetised as she caught her breath.
She groaned at how fatigued she felt, not having had such a tiring orgasm in a while, much less with just her fingers.
While she was washing her hands, she thought of you, wondered if you’d ever touched yourself to the thought of her, and soon squarely came to the decision that she would pursue you.
She’d made quite a mess of herself, and decided to also change her underwear before heading to bed.
The next few days before the weekend approached, Wanda felt increasingly encouraged every time she interacted with you, especially after having kissed you on the cheek that night. She still felt that she’d gone a little too far, but you still seemed to really like her.
She realised that she didn’t know as much about you as she’d like, and became increasingly enthusiastic about thst weekend when she’d be able to spend more time with you.
On Friday, you and Wanda made plans for the weekend, and it was agreed that she would drive the both of you to the festival then back home to repay you for a few nights ago.
Dressed in a sundress that reached below her knees and deciding to go with her hair down, Wanda nervously crossed the strip of grass that divided your two driveways and walked up to your front door.
It was convenient that you were neighbours, but the space between the two of you left very little time for Wanda to soothe her own anxiety as she prepared for a day out together.
You opened the front door and stepped through as if not trying to waste a moment to head out.
“Hi,” you said with a smile as you stepped onto the porch before turning to lock the front door.
“Hi,” she answered and returned the polite smile when you turned back around, slightly nervous with her hands held in front of her body, holding her purse.
Wanda was suddenly overcome at your momentary undivided attention, feeling that if you scrutinised her just enough, you’d be able to read on her face what she had done to the thought of you that first night it happened, and nearly every night since.
It was the first time she was seeing you since then beyond some short conversations in the driveway, and some paranoid part of her thought you secretly knew all she’d been doing.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you with your hair down,” you noted as we drove to the town square where the festival was taking place. “Did you curl it a little?”
Feeling suddenly self-conscious now that you’d noticed, Wanda took one hand off the wheel and played with the ends of her hair. “Um,” she hesitated. “I did — a little.”
“No, I mean, it’s really pretty, Ms Maximoff,” you quickly said in case she got the wrong idea.
Feeling that perhaps you might’ve been teasing, for whatever reason, Wanda looked over at you momentarily and found you looking over at her. You met her eyes with a small encouraging smile and Wanda looked back onto the road.
“Thank you,” she replied, a smile of her own slowly growing. “I don’t usually do anything with it because I’m either working or at home, and don’t often dress up for anything.” She kept her hair short for functionality reasons, partly, and also because she’d cut it after her divorce just to try something new and found some comfort in keeping the same hairstyle.
Once or twice, she tried to grow it out again, but it just seemed impractical for how often she kept her hair up or had it pushed back with a headband during work, and even at home.
It made her feel rather flattered that you paid mind to something like her hair, since for the most part Wanda saw herself as blending in with the rest of Westview’s docile and placid background, which was to say that she didn’t think there wasn’t anything particularly interesting about herself.
To have a fresh pair of eyes focus on her so much made sparks flutter about in her body.
Her polite smile wavered slightly as more perverse thoughts overcame her. She wondered what lay beyond your still gaze that was both polite as your eyes crinkled at the sides and slightly girlish as your face seemed to glow when you smiled.
Surely, no one suspected that she’d done all that she had to the thought of you — how wet the thought of you made her, the amount of times she moaned your name with her back arched or with her body sprawled across the cool sheets of her bed.
But she had done them all.
Could the same be said for you, beyond an externality that no one else would suspect such things about?
Wanda felt a wave of shame course through her — what was she doing, assuming such things about a college student, and projecting her own desires onto you?
But even that thrum of shame made her ache and she pressed her thighs together in her seat; she should’ve felt humiliated and ashamed for the thoughts she was having, but instead, she felt… thrilled, and in a way she hadn’t ever felt before.
Upon arriving at the festival, and finding a good parking spot in a closer area designated for employees due to Wanda owning the shop that had provided so many of the booths with their bouquets and flower arrangements, the two of you decided on getting lunch first.
Truthfully, Wanda had been so anxious about the upcoming day out with you that her nerves had been far too frenzied to allow her to stomach any food, or to feel any hunger to begin with. It was only until she passed a booth of fresh buttered corn that she’d realised she hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and that she was finally hungry.
Deciding on some deli sandwiches, you and Wanda took your food and drinks to a seating area beneath an oak tree at one of the parks.
For a Spring day, it was particularly warm — likely because there was hardly any breeze at all.
For the weather, Wanda was glad she was wearing a dress, and maybe she was just making it all up, but she could swear she’d seen your eyes running over her exposed legs, and even peeking down her dress.
Maybe you were just curious about what she was wearing, but still, Wanda couldn’t control the way she felt her heart thump at the prospect that you were checking her out.
The eyes of men had only ever made her feel preyed on, and whether she was anything less than mildly annoyed depended on whether she had enough patience to tolerate any of it.
Sometimes she thought it was strange for her to feel so abhorrent towards men when she’d been able to marry Vision. She hadn’t felt this impatient and bored around him, and not even when they’d first met.
She certainly wouldn’t call it abhorrent, but with how often women her age spoke about fantasies or fooling around with younger men or their handsome coworkers — even Agatha had a tendency to do this — it wasn’t uncommon for some to question her interest in remarrying or at the very least, finding a new partner.
All this she told you as you ate together, aside from how the train of thought started with her realising how aroused she felt at the thought that you were checking her out. She was interested in sharing much more about herself and learning that much more about you.
“Maybe you haven’t met the right guy yet,” you suggested helpfully. “A lot of people say the right one comes along when you’re not really looking.”
Seriously, though, for whatever reason, the idea of going through the motions of meeting a new man was a process Wanda felt herself dreading whenever she thought about it. She could imagine nothing worse than inviting a man into her home and introducing him to her children, him meeting her friends, being touched by a man, waking up next to one.
“I don’t think I’m looking for any guy right now,” Wanda replied, pushing a tomato that had partially slipped from her sandwich back in between the bread. She looked up and found you were looking at her, perhaps trying to interpret what she was saying.
While she had your rapt attention, she couldn’t help but suddenly ask, “Where did you meet your boyfriend?”
The question made you blush a little but you also laughed, as if what she was asking could be interpreted as irony.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you answered, replying politely for it had been a serious question albeit with the intention to probe into your love life.
Wanda tried not to show any expression at your answer, and instead tapped the tip of her shoe against the grass beneath her seat idly as if to pace herself. The thought that you might have a boyfriend was one of the ideas that Wanda let float around in her head to rein her mind back to chastity when it wandered off, and she felt herself take in a small breath when you said you didn’t have one.
“I presume it would be far too much to balance now that you’ve moved away and are now doing work in a new town,” Wanda said then finished the last bite of her sandwich.
You made a noise like agreement, but also as if you had more to say on the topic, and when Wanda looked at you, you seemed to be gauging whether to say more. You bit your tongue after taking too long to choose between asking if she herself was seeing anyone or saying that you weren’t interested in men at all.
‘I suppose that’s true,’ is all you ended up saying.
After lunch, you and Wanda decided to walk through the corn maze attraction because the both of you were interested in talking much more and moving your bodies without being distracted by the booths and festival games.
It was quite fun to go through the maze with you. It was really rare that Wanda got time to do fun things like this with someone other than the twins — not that she didn’t enjoy spending that time with them, but she herself felt a little more like a child spending this kind of time with you, which wasn’t a liberty she very often had the chance to experience.
A maze was the perfect thing to do with you, Wanda thought, for even taking the wrong turn meant spending more time with you as you walked back to the fork to try a different path, and neither of you were in a rush to finish, so it was more like a fun walk.
You also said that though the research position was interesting so far, it was a routine that didn’t allow for much enjoyment unless you went out of your way to do something new.
Wanda sympathised, saying that much of her new milestones in life had come about that way — marriage, having children, and starting her business with Agatha. After saying it, she realised how depressing it sounded and even felt a little embarrassed talking about such things with you. You were young after all, and here she was rambling about how all of her life was a comfortable endless routine as if she were Sisyphus.
“You must think I’m rather boring,” Wanda said, looking down at the mess of hay, flattened onto the grass from all the people who’d trekked through the maze. Her tone sounded almost apologetic to her ears though she didn’t think she was trying to apologise for anything in particular.
“What?” you said, shocked. “What do you mean? No, I don’t.”
She laughed a little at your shock, but couldn’t help but feel that your response was a little naive. Once you grew up some more and experienced more of the world and met far more interesting people, Wanda was sure she’d only be a memory you’d look back on with some kind of pity, thinking, ‘What a sweet woman she was — such a shame she lived in such a dull town. After all, I could only stand living there for so long until my research period was over.’
“Well, I’m always doing all the same things,” Wanda explained. “I’ll probably be doing it for much longer too until the twins grow up and go off to college. I love the shop but I think I’d rather move elsewhere once they don’t need me in town.”
There was silence and Wanda looked over to you as you both turned a corner, and you looked to be a little confused, or at least thinking.
“But,” you started, “how does that have anything to do with you being boring?”
“How does that not mean I’m boring?” Wanda replied though acutely aware of how strange she was sounding, arguing for self-deprecation. “I just mean there’s nothing particularly interesting that I do.”
Then she added, perhaps rambling out of a place of deep belief, “It’s different from you — you’re still young and pursuing your passions.”
The images of you and Dottie walking around the few times that Wanda had seen the two of you came to mind again. Even if there was a chance that you would be interested in women, and women that were older than you, Dottie seemed to be a better match for you. She was more talkative and though she was an elementary school teacher, she was still working in some form of schooling, which might interest you far more than flowers and single-motherhood, and she was younger than Wanda and, from the looks of it, seemed to have more free time to spend with you than she did. Plus, she hadn’t yet been married and didn’t have any children.
Wanda could’ve been way over her head in two respects, and suddenly she felt a little foolish for how she’d been thinking of you — all this build-up in her mind when she didn’t suit you at all to begin with.
“But I think you’re interesting,” you reasoned. “I don’t think I’ve ever really put a lot of thought into what you do work-wise. Or your daily schedule.”
Then after a moment, when Wanda didn’t respond immediately, you added hesitantly, “But is that… something you’d expect people to consider? Or is that something you consider, usually?”
Wanda felt a kind of whiplash from the jelly you’d turned her legs into and the shame she then immediately felt for how shallow she must’ve seemed to you. “N-No,” she stuttered, speaking right away to not seem idiotic and just hoping to find the actual words she wanted to say while she was rambling nonsensically.
Truthfully, you didn’t think Wanda was being shallow at all, or that she was being overly concerned with hers and other people’s professions. You were also aware of the age difference between you and her, and how preferences and paths of life differed between ages; you were embarrassed at first, thinking that maybe you sounded far too naive, like a child with no grasp of real life or what really mattered to someone busy and with their own lives like she had.
Often, you thought you were way over your head, crushing on and fantasising about an older woman with her own business and family, with her own priorities who was now settled down and likely too busy to think about any romantic partner.
Much less with a college girl.
And wasn’t Wanda’s ex-husband a lawyer?
College girls weren’t her type.
“No,” she started again, “I just thought… We’re different in that respect, so I thought it might have maybe… bored you.”
If Wanda hadn’t also been looking down at the ground, listening to the muffled sounds of hay and grass beneath her shoes, she would’ve looked up and been able to see that you looked slightly flustered, for you felt that you were in a position of being confessed to.
It didn’t go over your head how Wanda seemed rather concerned about how you viewed her, and worried that you might think that she was boring. The very idea, whatever its context was, that she thought so often about you and your perspective of her made your knees feel a little mushy.
“But… You think I’m interesting?” Wanda then asked, raising her head and looking at you.
You had been so adamant to prove her wrong that you’d sort of just blurted it out. You thought you’d gone a little too far, but you looked over to Wanda and met her eyes.
It could’ve been the way the sun peeked from above the hay maze and cast its light upon Wanda’s face, but her eyes seemed particularly lit up, her expression looking even a bit hopeful as she asked you for confirmation.
“Um, yes, I do,” you confirmed with a smile. “I think you’re really nice and interesting and sometimes I see you out in the driveway with your twins and you seem like such a sweet family, and I’ve been curious about you since you said you owned a floral shop and brought me flowers.”
Well, now you were rambling.
Then you said something really stupid.
“Also, um… I think you’re a really pretty woman. I mean, ‘gorgeous’ is a better word. I hardly ever hear ‘pretty woman’ as a compliment, though I meant it to be true. It just sounds odd as a word combination.”
Wanda felt cheeks heating up and she was grateful that the two of you had finally found the end of the maze, for she felt like she needed to take a breath. But she couldn’t not respond to something like that right away. She swallowed and reached for your forearm and brushed her fingers against your skin to reassure you when you looked away, then dropped her hand.
She knew she should be saying something in response, especially now that she’d gotten your attention back by touching your arm, but she couldn’t come up with any words, just staring into your eyes with lips slightly parted but completely silent.
“Can we play one of the games?” you then offered, and Wanda blinked out of her stupor, remembering where the two of you were.
“A game?” she asked, still slightly disoriented.
You continued walking away from the maze exit and headed towards the festival, Wanda following beside you.
“Maybe I can win you a stuffed toy,” you suggested, looking around at the game booths.
Wanda smiled at the glint of determination in your eyes and stepped closer to you. “Maybe I’ll win you a toy first,” she challenged lightheartedly, looking for any excuse to interact with you more.
The rest of the time you moved between different games, and you and Wanda didn’t talk so much about things other than the games you were playing and some lighthearted memories that came up as you played.
Both of you were enjoying your time, but Wanda particularly, who’d never really done anything during such town events aside from help organise and sometimes take the twins out for them.
Her cheeks were sore from smiling and laughing by the time you were the one to win a prize first.
You handed her a stuffed blue jellyfish, with thin curly tentacles and a soft round body, spotted with white and pale blue.
“It’s so cute,” Wanda said with a tiny smile, squishing the soft body of the jellyfish gently and running her eyes over it in detail as the two of you walked to her car.
She insisted, “I was really close to getting you the giraffe… It was luck that you won first — not skill.”
“Maybe I can win you the ability not to be a sore loser next time,” you poked.
Then as she raised her head, seeing her car come into closer view, it dawned on her that she’d be dropping you off at home and your time together would be over, but she wasn’t quite ready to end the day.
She stopped at the driver’s side and spoke to you over the roof of the car, “Do you want to take a look inside the shop? Maybe I can help you put together a bouquet, or any kind of decorative piece for your place.”
She added, to ensure she didn’t sound pushy, “Only if you want to and if you have time. I’m sure you had other things planned for the day.”
You beamed at the suggestion and nodded with a smile. “I’d love to see the shop,” you said enthusiastically.
“I’m excited to see more of where you are and what you get up to for so much of your day,” you confessed, your hands folded in between your thighs. “I remember when I visited, and it was gorgeous at the front of the store.”
Wanda thought it was so sweet how you thought her little shop was so fantastical. “It’s a bit more of a mess in the back and less presentation-worthy, but I’m also looking forward to showing you around,” she replied, looking over to you and feeling flustered at how genuinely happy you were.
The feeling that you were truly eager to spend more time with her made Wanda all but melt in her seat.
It was beginning to darken, a soft purple-pink tint coming over the sky as the sun began to set. It was still a little light outside, and the pink hue of the sun cast in a nice way against your skin.
Wanda was feeling nice thinking about the fact that you’d been out together for a while now, and that you’d be out for longer still.
“I don’t do this for just any old neighbour, you know,” Wanda teased, looking at you from the corner of her eye as she unlocked the front door.
“Just a few?” you joked back.
Without hesitation, Wanda replied and looked over at you with a little grin, “Just you.”
She didn’t seem to think very much of what she said, though it struck you as rather flirtatious and made you feel like a special figure in her life, since she walked ahead right after saying it, leaving you to follow behind after breaking from your momentary stupor.
It felt so peaceful to be at the shop in the evening with you, telling you about things like how to store freshly cut flowers and how she kept them preserved upon shipments and how they did deliveries.
Wanda had indeed been interested in flowers and plants and owning a floral shop when she first opened it with Agatha, but much of the passion had turned into businesslike concern, and oftentimes Wanda didn’t have much time to take a step back and enjoy what she was doing.
But your fresh pair of eyes and genuine curiosity, asking her questions like how she knew she wanted to open a shop and how long she’d known Agatha for, made Wanda see everything like she had when she first opened the shop, and your curiosity and interest reminded her closely of the kind of passion she’d gotten distracted from once she got used to Westview’s repetition.
Wanda kept viewing herself from the shoes of Agatha if she had also been in the shop somewhere, watching as she giggled at your playful jokes and blushed at your undivided attention, which didn’t necessarily have to be interpreted as flirtatious for Wanda to feel flustered by.
Sometimes all you had to do was look at her while Wanda wasn’t looking so when she turned to look at you, your eyes were on her rather than on whatever she was trying to show you.
She kept thinking of Agatha especially because Wanda wondered whether she was making all of it up, and if all of it truly was platonic, and she wondered what her closest friend would say about all of this.
But the more Wanda felt herself stuttering around you or making some excuse to stand close to you or brush against you, she could no longer trust even her interpretations of what a third-party might say about things.
But the most delusional of it all, Wanda thought, was that she kept thinking of the image of you with Dottie walking down the shopping district during the times where Wanda was too busy to spend time with you and talk with you as much as she wanted.
She kept recalling the feeling of how tired she’d been coming out of work, the sun just about to start setting, and looking forward to getting home after picking up the twins. She had been at a stoplight thinking of what to make for dinner when you passed in front her along the crosswalk, Dottie at your side as you spoke with each other.
She was always wearing something pretty, her taste in clothing professional and delicate as an elementary school teacher, her blonde hair always curled or put up.
From what she’d heard from the few times she attended the town meetings — not that Dottie was so infamous but rather because she was friends with some of the mothers who attended — Dottie was the daughter of old-money parents who owned acres of rural farmland a few hours away from New Jersey.
Dottie was everything Wanda wasn’t.
Were you doing things like this with her too?
Were you only being polite?
While the two of you were putting together a little vase of different coloured roses together for your living room, Wanda quietly spoke up. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…” she started quietly, kind of hoping you might suddenly change the topic, leaving the question forgotten.
But instead you looked up from trimming a stem of a white rose, your curiosity piqued as you anticipated her question.
Wanda felt your eyes on her and she kept her hands busy carefully removing the thorns of the roses as she continued. “Not to sound… strange…” she said, trying her best to keep her voice steady and unsuspecting. “But a few weeks ago I saw you with Dottie, and I was just curious about how you knew her.”
She took a risk and looked up from the flower she was holding.
“She was Tommy and Billy’s teacher once, and they still go to that elementary school, so I sometimes see her around when I drop them off and pick them up,” she added, to sound like she was asking for a practical reason.
“Oh,” you said, sounding a little surprised to hear her name brought up. “She’s a friend of the professor I’m doing research with. I… can’t really remember how they know each other. I think it might be through Dottie’s parents.”
A wave of cool relief washed over Wanda and she looked back down to the roses and started dethorning the other one to keep her face down in case she accidentally looked a bit elated.
“I see,” she answered as nonchalantly as she could, though she could hear a waver of relief evident in the way she breathed out. “It’s a small town.” But Wanda still couldn’t help but press on a little, feeling not yet fully satisfied by your answer.
“But… You don’t see her… often, do you?” she asked, looking up again just to see your expression, and hoping you didn’t seem suspicious about why she was asking.
You shook your head, just focused on trimming the stems the right length and carefully placing them in a pleasing way amongst each other in the vase Wanda provided. “No, not often at all,” you said. “Usually I see her when we’re meeting up together to have coffee with my professor.”
“So it’s a professional relationship?”
To that, you finally looked up from the flowers in your hands and looked over at Wanda, who immediately internally cursed herself for not watching her mouth; she’d gone a little too far, just asking you whatever came to mind.
“I don’t even know if it would be considered professional, per se,” you answered, your hands lowering a little as you focused on giving an answer. “She doesn’t have anything to do with my research. I think it’s just circumstantial — that’s a good way to describe it.”
Wanda swallowed and looked back down to the roses, immediately ready to drop the subject and move onto something else after realising just how overly curious she’d been sounding.
Suddenly you were feeling a little awkward that Wanda had been talking about professional relationships and networking and all. All of that felt like a different world, and there was still a lot that Wanda considered in life that you didn’t.
You didn’t even think you had professional relationships, really, aside from your professor.
It felt like every time she brought up something you didn’t understand, the difference in age between the two of you became all the more evident, and you felt yourself becoming more and more childish and inexperienced in her eyes.
“Um, by the way… Ms Maximoff, I wanted to say that I felt kind of nervous to ask you to go out this weekend,” you confessed, and from the corner of your eye you saw Wanda raise her head and look at you. “I thought it might’ve been… I don’t know, like, a little stupid, even.”
“What?” she asked, surprised. She set her rose down and turned her body a little to look at you. The tone of her voice made you raise your head and meet her eyes. “Stupid? Why?”
You weren’t exactly sure what you had hoped to accomplish by confessing that, but you almost just felt like apologising somewhat for doing something stupid or childish before Wanda could realise it for herself.
Maybe you’d seem a little less naive if you just admitted to it right away, because honestly, you really did think you had been sounding a little stupid to ask her out for the festival, and often wondered if she only ever said yes to you out of pity because of how young you were.
Sometimes when she apologised for seeming standoffish or distant, you couldn’t help but feel that she was just trying to tend to a child’s tantrum.
But her response wasn’t as you initially thought it would be, and she seemed truly shocked at your confession, so you felt a little flustered and you now felt that you had been overdramatic.
“I-I just mean… Well…”
As you stuttered for a response, you realised you had no excuse to make, and honestly, Wanda had only ever been kind to you, so you had no reason to try and lie. So you thought to tell the truth.
“It sometimes feels like I don’t really have a grasp on your life, and like you may just be too busy or disinterested to do stuff like go out to a festival to get driven to work or…”
You trailed off to find the rest of your words, and you saw Wanda continuing to watch your face from the corner of your eye. One of her arms was resting on the counter beside her, her hands fidgeting with each other’s fingertips in front of her stomach.
“I think maybe I didn’t really consider that you might feel more comfortable not knowing your neighbours so much, and that even though it might be true you don’t mind when I do you favours or ask to do things in our freetime, I know that you’re also busy and preoccupied with things and… Just more comfortable with how things had been.”
Well… Dottie certainly didn’t get any of this kind of confession from you.
Wanda took a tiny step forward. She knew what you were trying to get at; there was an age difference between the two of you and sometimes the difference casted doubt on whether you were both thinking the same thing, always wondering how you were perceived by the other.
“I know how you feel,” she reassured, reaching out to brush her hand against your arm against the better half of her mind telling herself it was a bad idea to move closer to you. She fidgeted with her fingers again and took a little breath, wanting to be open and honest like you just had been.
She confessed, “I think that sometimes I might be projecting myself onto you.”
The words shocked you and you looked up and met her eyes, surprised to see her looking a little nervous as she spoke. You didn’t think anything about your relationship with Wanda had the power to make her nervous; she always just seemed like she had everything so well-structured.
She owned a business with a close friend and was a single mother of two young boys and lived in a nice house. She was beautiful and kind, and the idea that she might be nervous in any sense while interacting with you surprised you greatly.
“Sometimes I can’t exactly tell if I’m… understanding things correctly…” she added, swallowing hard. The momentary silence between responses thrummed against her eardrums, and the light from the ceiling became strangely brighter and looked as light often did when she was down with a terrible flu.
The implication was heavy, and she was worried about how you would take it. She tried to immediately relax herself by thinking that you’d only pick up on what she was implying if you yourself had been thinking similar things, but there was always a chance that you’d understand what she was saying and not feel the same way.
She could hardly bear the thought of confessing unreciprocated, for she foresaw absolutely no way to come back from that kind of rejection… She would look like such a fool, and she wouldn’t know how to handle the kinds of things she did and felt because of you.
The things she felt for you had been different from anything before, and if you rejected her, there was no way for her to deal with this new kind of awakening, and she was certain there’d be no other chance to be attracted to someone in the way she was with you.
“I think maybe I’m in over my head, Ms Maximoff…” you said quietly.
Suddenly Wanda was overcome with the possibility of what you were also implying, and the very possibility that you meant what she thought was overcoming the fear of being rejected or being wrong.
All she’d been doing was fantasising and mulling over possibilities and uncertainties about how she was feeling and how you might be feeling, and now the possibility that you might feel the same way, that she wasn’t just making it all up the whole time, seemed more real and tangible than it ever had been before.
She knew she was thinking irrationally.
There were better ways to do this.
But she could only really think of doing one thing.
She placed her hand atop the counter at the midway point between the both of you and she stepped forward, tipping her head to the side ever so slightly as she moved closer. Her breath felt warm against her own lips as her exhales reached your upper lip, and your eyes looked lidded and your face slightly flushed before she closed her eyes and met her soft lips with yours.
You immediately put your rose down and placed your hand on Wanda’s lower back, pulling her closer, and Wanda felt like she could collapse into your body at the gesture.
You really did want her. She hadn’t been making it up.
Though she’d been married before, this felt like the first time anyone truly reciprocated her feelings. Maybe that was because what feelings she had for Vision weren’t anything like the ones she had for you.
She was thirty-two and feeling this way for the first time; she felt like she’d really been missing out.
It didn’t take very long for the slow and hesitant kiss to grow heated, perhaps due to its confirmation of mutual attraction and interest. Your arm wrapped around Wanda’s waist and your other hand moved up the curve of her spine, up to where her sundress exposed her upper back, your fingers entangling themselves in her hair as they moved up her neck.
Wanda sighed into your mouth, listening to the way it merged with your tiny moans and exhales. She had her own arm wrapped around your waist too, but with her other hand caressing your cheek, her thumb brushing against your soft skin, encouraging you.
She felt her lower back press against the edge of the counter and she realised you were pressing your body flush against hers.
Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, her body feeling warm all over.
In her sundress with her arms and upper back and chest exposed, every brush you had against her skin sent shockwaves up her spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake as a familiar ache began to form deep in Wanda’s lower stomach, causing her to roll her hips forward, knocking them gently against your own.
Maybe when her mind was less fogged up and she could think of a world past the soft caresses of your hands and your delicate moans, she would think about how right Agatha was about being with women.
You were so delicate and gentle, and not only because she thought that that was just the kind of person you were, but also because of the smooth slope of your shoulders and how your arms slotted perfectly beneath hers. Your face was smooth and free of stubble and your lips were so soft, your sweet moans were enough to make Wanda weak in the knees, and you smelled so nice.
And it did really feel like you were touching her as if she were an extension of yourself.
“Ms Maximoff…” you sighed, sounding desperate as your hand fell away from cradling the back of her head and sending a wave of throbbing arousal down between Wanda’s thighs. Her eyebrows furrowed together and she pulled you closer, grasping at the hem of your shirt as her fingers tightened around the fabric, feeling just as desperate.
Then suddenly you yelped and pulled away from her lips, your body unwrapping from Wanda’s. Wanda’s eyes darted across your face and she worried for a moment that she accidentally bit your lip.
“Y/N, a-are you okay? Did I hurt you?” she asked, panicked as she looked at you. Then she noticed that you had brought your hand up, surveying it under the light of the ceiling. “What happened?”
“U-Um, I accidentally put my finger down on a thorn,” you said, looking up at her sheepishly and showing her the curved thorn deep in your index finger.
Wanda stepped close again and wrapped her fingers around your wrist to get a better look at it. “Oh, dear… That’s quite deep…” she said, her voice low as she turned your finger around in the light to get a better look at it.
“Don’t worry — this happens quite often,” she reassured, looking over at you with a smile. The eye contact made you blush and you couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down to her lips that now looked slightly swollen with how frantic your kiss had been.
The same flushed expression came over Wanda’s face but she looked back down to your finger and carefully laid it against her hand. “Don’t move,” she said. “I’ll take it out, but I want to make sure it doesn’t break off in your finger.”
Inching your hand closer to her eyes and into the light, her other hand came up and carefully pulled out the thorn, pulling it in the direction of its curve. A tiny bead of blood came from where it had pierced your skin.
“Just a moment. Keep your finger upright,” she said, letting go of your wrist slowly so as to not move it from its place midair. She then turned and bent over a little to rummage under the counter.
You couldn’t help the way your chest fluttered at the sight of her so focused on taking care of you.
She straightened again, now holding a bandaid, and laid the back of your hand against her fingers. With slightly furrowed eyebrows, she unwrapped the bandage and carefully secured it around your finger.
“There we go…” she said softly. “Not too tight?”
Heat rose to your cheeks when she looked back up to you again and you looked away with a shy smile and shook your head. “No, it’s just perfect.”
“Good.”
Then she threw the garbage out and brushed the thorns off of the countertop and into a nearby garbage can she lifted to the edge of the counter. She set it back down on the ground then turned back over to you nervously, brushing down the front of her dress.
She bit her bottom lip awkwardly, then quietly reasoned, “Maybe it was time we headed back home, anyway.”
You looked up from the floor and met her eyes with a little nod and a polite smile.
But neither of you moved from your spots, and Wanda felt a familiar impatience and gnawing urge pulsing inside her again.
Wanda was right in her observations of you — you were rather shy, and a submissive lover. You were nervous and hesitant, and after kissing you, she was sure you’d been with women before. That excited her, and she heard her own soft trembling exhales through her parted lips as she observed the hesitant look in your eyes, anticipating her next move.
You were still nervous, Wanda could tell.
So young and hesitant and innocent and polite…
All she felt then and there was that she needed your hands on her, and Wanda stepped forward again, kissing you with immediate heated passion as her hands ran up to the sides of your face, caressing you gently.
Your hands came to her hips and you attempted to wrap your arms around her waist until Wanda stumbled forwards, pushing you into the back room where it was more spacious.
“Mmm, Y/N…” she sighed into your open mouth, pushing your lower back against one of the counters in the back room.
Your hands were on her hips, slowly rounding to her lower back, but it was still not enough. She took hold of your wrist and brought your hand to her breast, and you squeezed as if partial to the feeling of how soft her breast was in your hand, mindful of the way her body arched into yours, her body pressed against your hips.
She felt herself throbbing when your other hand found its way beneath her dress, groping her ass and even tucking two fingers past her underwear to feel the soft, pliable flesh beneath the fabric.
“Ms Maximoff, is this okay?” you asked, your words trembling for how you spoke them between heated kisses. The hesitant tone spoken with your soft voice juxtaposed the way you groped her ass, and Wanda felt like she was already practically nearing orgasm.
“That’s just fine, sweetheart,” she replied, her fingers snaking down your jawline to hold your head in place as she tipped her head to the side and deepened the kiss.
Your fingernails pressed into her ass and she gasped, her body tensing momentarily.
Your tongues briefly brushed against each other and at the sensation, Wanda couldn’t get enough. She ran the tip of her tongue over your teeth then delved past your lips.
Warm exhales and breathy sighs echoed between your open mouths, meshed together in the exchange of saliva as your thumb tugged down the neckline of Wanda’s dress along with her bra so you could thumb at her hardened nipple, your other hand taking another handful of her ass.
Wanda had never felt more sexually desired, your hands on her body making her feel that you were thoroughly exploring her out of deep interest and pulsing arousal.
It was no obligation or passive act.
It was desire and craving, and you wanted her.
Then she felt the urge to have her mouth on your cunt, to feel you pulsating around her tongue, to feel your warm, slick folds against her lips. She wanted to taste how wet she made you and how badly you wanted her, to swallow your cum and have your flavour spread across her tongue.
She’d never pleasured another woman before, but all she felt was hunger, so much of it that it was painful, and that desire surpassed any need for prior knowledge.
In a few moments your thighs were wrapped securely around her head, Wanda on her knees beneath you as she noisily ate you out. The intermingled noises of her moans and the sound of your soaking pussy made your heart race.
She was far messier and dominating than you’d initially imagined, and you could hardly catch your breath. Each moment you thought you’d caught up, she’d want more, grabbing at you, delving her tongue into your opening or rubbing her flattened tongue against your aching clit.
She gripped at your hips, pulling you down onto her face so desperately you worried you might hurt her.
She opened her eyes and you saw her meet your gaze behind the mess of her dirty blonde hair, and you reached down and carefully brushed strands of her hair away from her forehead, revealing green eyes darkened by carnal desire.
The way she stared at you sent chills up your spine, causing you to roll your hips forward and bump your clit against the tip of her nose. She looked wildly predatorial, her relentless tongue and hot breath paired with a melody of deep groans and light girlish moans almost animalistic.
Wanda saw your hand reach down, fingers twitching in hesitation, before she interlaced her fingers with yours and brought your hand to the back of her head. She felt very literally… hungry — she craved you.
You nudged her mouth against your cunt and Wanda mewled in pleasure, feeling caressed as if she were being pet. Her hair was smooth, and feeling it now, you found she truly had thick hair and it wasn’t just the way she styled it in the mornings.
There were a lot of things you were newly finding about Wanda, new ways of viewing and understanding her that would make her different from how you had understood her before.
You’d never be able to see her without knowing how she looked on her knees, eating your pussy in her shop in the early evening, never being able to unfeel how her hands were firm and confident as they rubbed your thighs and squeezed your hips. But her fingers were delicate and careful, likely from her profession handling flowers.
You knew her touch.
Wanda knew exactly when you came — she felt it first before she heard it with how your thighs were wrapped around her ears. She could feel you contract and begin to pulse against her tongue, felt the way your hips chased her mouth and how your hands grasped at her desperately. She knew you had reached your peak because it reminded her so much of herself, and she helped you through your orgasm and through its aftershocks as she had for herself during the times she had come to the thought of you.
She carefully licked around your cunt and your inner thighs, cleaning you up as she blindly felt for your pants and underwear before sliding it back up your thighs while you caught your breath above.
When she buttoned your pants you helped her stand up and you adjusted her dress for her. Wanda leaned flush against your body with a little smile, watching your face as you straightened her dress, feeling your gentle hands rub against her.
Then you met her eyes and wrapped your arms around her waist, returning a smile.
She leaned forward and kissed you chastly, just feeling your soft, warm lips against her own, one of your hands moving up her back and rubbing softly.
“Was I good…?” Wanda asked a little nervously as she pulled away and looked at you. The tip of her nose brushed against yours lightly.
You nodded.
“It felt amazing…” you answered honestly, your fingers making shapes against her lower back through her dress. “I think, also, that I’m really attracted to you.”
Wanda laughed, feeling her cheeks heat up, and she buried her face in your neck.
After a moment, she added shyly, “That was my first time.”
Shocked, you turned your head a little to look at her but Wanda kept her face hidden in the crook of your neck and in the curtain of your soft hair.
“I couldn’t tell,” you told her.
“Are you being sarcastic…?” Wanda asked, looking down to play with the ends of your hair. “I can’t see your face.”
“I’m not being sarcastic.”
Wanda blushed, uttering a small ‘Thank you’ before she raised her head, fidgeting with your shirt a little.
“Shall I drive you back home now…?” she asked, looking up hesitantly.
You swallowed, feeling an ache of disappointment and longing at the thought of ending the night without getting to talk with Wanda more or even make her feel good. But if that had been her first time, she’d already done quite a bit.
You didn’t want to push her further or pressure her, so you nodded once silently in spite of how badly you wanted to be able to touch her too.
During the drive back, Wanda felt a dull ache behind her exhilaration, forcing her to admit that she was still not entirely satisfied. She’d underestimated the significance behind how much she fantasised about you, and how much desire truly went behind how strongly and how often she thought of you.
She nervously tapped against the steering wheel with her index finger and she bit down on her bottom lip.
“Was that…” She swallowed and carefully picked out the right words as she saw you turn to look at her from the corner of her eye. “Were you looking for… just a one-time thing…?”
Wanda couldn’t stop herself from turning and looking at your expression when there was perhaps a millisecond’s worth of silence after her question.
You felt a weight drop in your stomach and your fingers pressed against the flower vase sitting in your lap.
How would you come off if Wanda had been looking for something casual and you told her you weren’t? You would look childish and naive and disrespectful of her busy life.
You considered lying or perhaps answering nonchalantly, but tonight was the first time she’d ever gone down on another woman, and you felt you owed her honesty.
And… after all, it was still Wanda. She wasn’t someone to be scared of.
As Wanda turned into the neighbourhood, you answered, “I want to be closer to you than that. I don’t think I would want something like that to be a one-time thing.”
Wanda took in a sharp inhale when her chest tightened and filled with adrenaline, and she squeezed her hands around her steering wheel. She pulled into her driveway and parked the car.
Worried about the silence that would come over the both of you if she turned the car off, Wanda kept the car running as she ran her hands down her thighs as she gathered her confidence to speak again.
She turned to you and felt her heart pounding against her chest, threatening to suffocate her, when you turned to meet her eyes.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked directly.
Wanda’s hands laid in fists atop her lap as she regarded you, her posture straight and her shoulders rising and falling in tiny rhythmic motions as she steadied her breathing. From the dim lighting of her driveway from the light above her garage, you could see her eyebrows very slightly furrowed and her eyes gleaming with a nervous vulnerability, her expression patient and waiting for your answer.
You nodded once.
You stuttered when you tried to speak, then tried a second time, uttering a tiny, “Yes, I’d like that.”
The motions of following behind Wanda as she walked up her porch and unlocked the front door were mechanical and you watched her from behind, wishing desperately to know what was running through her mind.
There was a soft warm light coming from the living room that grew slowly brighter when the front door was closed behind you and your eyes adjusted to the gentle lighting of her house. This was the first time you’d ever been inside.
You looked around at the decor and the evidence of Tommy and Billy’s presence that remained even when they were with their father — their shoes were put away on a rack, some of their schoolwork on the small table by the front door, and their jackets hung on the coat rack.
“Are you thirsty or hungry for anything?” Wanda asked, evidently a little nervous.
You saw her take a breath and hold it when you set the vase down on the table where she had placed her keys to hold her hand. “I want to be with you, Ms Maximoff,” you said sincerely.
She swallowed and squeezed your hand and gave a little nod.
“I want to be with you too,” she replied, a little smile coming onto her face when you seemed to respond positively to her answer. She led you upstairs and you walked up beside her for how nervous she still seemed, and so you wanted to be close with her rather than following behind.
Wanda closed the bedroom door behind her and with the bedroom curtains left open enough to have the room illuminated by the evening, none of you turned any other lights on. She turned around to face you once she came to her bed, and her hands nervously came to the waistband of your pants, fidgeting a little.
“Are you nervous…?” you asked her quietly, stepping closer so her hands were caught between your bodies.
She looked up and nodded silently.
Then she said, her voice small, “What if I’m not good at this?”
You ached at her evident insecurity and unfamiliarity around being so vulnerable.
Your hand reached up to brush her hair back and you kissed her temple and murmured, “Not good at what?”
“At… this — making you feel good and being close with you, and connecting with you. I’ve never felt…” Wanda’s breath trembled and she swallowed.
She took a little breath.
“I really like you, Y/N,” she explained, her gaze falling to your shoulder and your body pressed flush against hers. “I want to be good at this…”
“No,” you protested softly and pulled your head back to look at her. “That’s not really how it works, Ms Maximoff…”
She explored your soft gaze, curious about what you would say but also caught up in how kind and patient your eyes were.
“You don’t really know how to do these things,” you reassured softly, “you just feel it.”
Wanda has always known what to do with things, and if she didn’t, there was someone who did know. Her marriage was all about expectation and filling roles as parents and as spouses, and her life, more or less, was about living through a planned schedule, doing things in order to be good at them and doing them right.
Was it okay to mess up?
Was it okay for her to do something just because she wanted to? She’d never been well-acquainted with the feeling of wanting something for herself to begin with.
“Can you call me by my first name?’” Wanda asked.
You nodded and smiled at the humour of her request.
She smiled in return and blushed before stepping back and allowing her hands some room to begin taking your clothes off.
You laid Wanda onto her back once her dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing her smooth skin and the contours and curves of her body.
Wanda felt extraordinarily sensitive to your every touch, unable to take her eyes away from the way your hands moved across her skin; it wasn’t enough to just feel the way your palms glided across her sides, your thumbs pressing into the contours of her obliques as you kissed down to her belly button, then her thighs, her calves, and her ankles when you bent her legs slightly moving back up her body — she had to see it too.
“Can I take your bra off?” you asked, looking up at her.
Wanda nodded and guided your hands to her back where her bra strap was, her back arching from the bed to allow you some space. She felt a surge of nerves course through her stomach when you took her bra off.
It had been so long since she was intimate with anyone, and even longer since she was with someone she felt engaged with, but it was the first time she was with someone she was truly interested in and attracted to.
For the first time, with your eyes running over her naked body, Wanda felt insecure about herself in a way she hadn’t previously; she was much older than you, and she started thinking about the other girls you must’ve been with.
None of them had ever been married or had children, and Wanda suddenly felt a dread come over her, feeling that she and her body were less attractive because of her age and what she’d done that neither you nor your previous sexual partners had.
But in spite of her anxiety, what she worried about wasn’t indicative at all in the way you continued to kiss her and caress her.
Your lips wrapped around one of her nipples, your hand coming to massage her other breast, and Wanda’s head lolled to the side atop her pillow, overcome by the feeling of being ravished and spoiled.
Then you moved up and began kissing her neck, and if you bit her, you did it softly, taking just a little of her skin between your teeth and nipping softly. She laughed breathily when you tugged at her earlobe with your teeth.
She loved the feeling of your weight on her body — a physical, tangible reminder of your presence, symbolic of how she had surpassed the period of fantasy and yearning.
“Get on your back,” Wanda told you, running the tips of her fingers down the curve of your spine.
While you adjusted your position, Wanda sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed and rummaged somewhere you couldn’t see. She sat back up and laid beside you, a translucent purple dildo in her hand.
Heat immediately rose to your cheeks and you imagined Wanda rolling her hips into it, slowly slipping herself down, and moaning as she fucked the faux cock. You even dared to imagine she fantasised about you.
“Can I use this on you?” she asked, holding it up for you to survey the size.
The very sight of Wanda holding a dildo in her hand, asking you for your permission for her to fuck you with it, her green eyes curiously exploring your expression, her naked body pressed against yours so her breasts brushed against your upper arm…
You had to blink a few times to make sure you weren’t just dreaming it all up, napping on the couch of your place before heading out to the festival.
Wanda moved closer and kissed your cheek. “I can be gentle with you,” she reassured. “If that’s what you’re worried about…”
“I’m not worried.”
“Really?” she asked, teasing, lifting her head to meet your eyes. “You haven’t said yes yet.”
You immediately nodded, heat rising to your cheeks.
“Is that a yes?” Wanda pressed, feigning curiosity with furrowed eyebrows.
“Y-Yes,” you practically choked out, stunned at her sudden display of playfulness.
She leaned back to where she had reached down before and came back up with a bottle of lube. Placing the dildo between your hips, Wanda asked for you to lather it on, holding herself up beside you and kissing up your shoulder and neck as you pumped your hand around the faux cock.
“As much as you want,” she purred. “I want to make sure you feel comfortable.”
You shifted your positioning a little so Wanda could have a better range of motion. One of your legs was perched up and your legs were parted, and you were laying back against a pillow for just a little elevation.
“Tell me if it hurts or if I should slow down, okay?” Wanda asked, nudging the tip of her nose against your cheekbone softly. She was taken by the urge to take care of you, to keep her body as close to you as possible, to feel your bare flesh against her own.
She really did think you were so sweet and precious, and the urge to care for you came stronger than it ever had before.
She wanted to make you feel good.
“Is this feeling okay, Y/N?” she asked, her other hand rubbing up and down your upper arm.
Your eyes were shut, allowing you to fully take in the scent of Wanda’s laundry and her hair and her perfume. The soft sounds of her little moans and noises as she made careful efforts to enter and tease you sent chills up your spine and made you throb.
“Th-That feels really good, M–”
You corrected yourself: “Wanda.”
A little flutter resounded in your chest at the feeling of calling her by her first name — it felt so personal.
“That’s good, Y/N,” she cooed softly. “You’ve nearly taken half. It’s a big stretch, huh…?” You hesitated to nod; it was a big stretch, but it wasn’t too much, and you didn’t want Wanda to stop.
“But you’re a big girl, right…?” she asked, and you immediately opened your eyes at her wording and the soft coo of her voice.
“I- Yes, I… I am.”
You watched as Wanda took her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes running down your body as her wrist curled and twisted back and forth, each time slowly pressing further into you. Her forearm muscle flexed with each movement and you could hear her breaths begin to quicken.
“Can I confess something a little embarrassing…?” Wanda spoke after a few moments of intimate silence, and you looked up from her forearm to her face.
When you met her eyes with patient curiosity, she continued. “I’ve pleasured myself to the thought of you many times, but I’ve never used this,” she told you. “I suppose I couldn’t imagine you in its place. It feels far more fitting to hold it.”
Heat rose to your cheeks and your breath hitched.
Wanda’s eyebrows raised and you felt a slightly forceful thrust, causing you to whimper. “Did you like hearing about that? I pulled out just a little and you’ve made quite the mess around it…”
The way her eyes scrutinised you, the focus in her expression, made you feel like she was observing you in great detail, feeling that her interest was sincerely piqued as much as she was aroused.
Then, with one more thrust, you felt the coolness of Wanda’s fingers pressed against your warm folds, and you knew she was entirely in.
“Does that feel good, Y/N?” she asked, settling herself more comfortably beside you so she was sitting up, your head lying in the crook of her neck. Her arm was wrapped around your head with her elbow keeping her up, her hand stroking your head softly.
You felt like you were struggling to get words out with the size of Wanda’s cock inside of you, along with the gentle and tantalising way she entered and pulled out. She was practically cradling you against her as she maintained steady motion, and you felt as if you were being babied.
“Th-That feels really good…” you mumbled.
“Oh, I’m so glad, sweetheart…” She began petting the side of your head and you mewled.
You watched through hooded eyes Wanda’s focused expression as she continued her soft thrusts, the positioning of your bodies making the act look almost masturbatory with how your bodies laid together, meshed.
“I had a feeling this would be the pace you preferred, Y/N,” Wanda said, her voice a soft mumble, her voice now sounding raspy with how low she was speaking. “If I’m honest… I thought a lot about what kinds of things you might like… I always enjoyed thinking that you were a careful lover, and shy…”
Even though she spoke at a hushed volume, you could hear her soft laboured breaths from her stern efforts to keep her arm at a steady pace, and often you looked down to see her forearm muscles flex subtly beneath her smooth pale skin.
“I thought about that all the time,” she confessed, a little moan passing her lips as the recollection. “I thought about how… polite and delicate you were, and your sweet smile and how kind you were to me. I thought that must mean you were quite accommodating in the bedroom, but I just wasn’t able to allow my mind to wander that far, thinking about what you might be able to do for me. I just kept thinking about what you’d let me do, and that soft little blush on your cheeks…”
She looked up at you and met your eyes. Hers crinkled at the sides when she looked over your expression, and when she smiled, the faint hints of dimples on either side of her smile made your heart skip about a dozen beats.
“The kind of blush you have right now…” she whispered.
“I wish you could see how you look,” she added, and you could feel her speeding her thrusts up, a new desperation in her efforts as you felt her move closer to you. Her hips knocked against the side of your thigh and her hardened nipples grazed against your upper arm.
Her breathing became laboured, and you felt yourself in a trance just looking into Wanda’s eyes, feeling pressure steadily build between your thighs she quickened her pace.
It was almost a little embarrassing hearing how wet you were, listening to how you stretched open each time Wanda thrusted her cock into you, and how you sounded when she pulled out, your tiny moans and whimpers building, seemingly encouraging Wanda to speed up.
“You look so cute, looking up at me, just waiting on what I’ll do or what I’ll say,” she said. “Do you feel cared for, baby…?”
Slender fingers brushed your hair out of your face.
“Y-Yes, I-”
Wanda interrupted you — not that you would’ve had anything very substantial to say anyways with how you started to speak and stutter without really knowing what you were going to say. “I knew it was wrong, fantasising about someone so young… But I couldn’t help it…”
She moaned softly and you could see her rub her thighs together just below your eye line.
Your eyes were beginning to flutter shut, for you were feeling the pressure in your lower stomach begin to coil, and you felt yourself tightening around the faux cock, suddenly sensitive to every noise and brush of Wanda’s hair against your skin.
Her arm unwrapped from around your head and Wanda suddenly leaned her head down and wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, causing you to moan out at the feeling of her warm tongue flicking over you, her teeth gently nipping at you before switching to the other.
“You’re doing such a good job, honey,” she reassured, trailing her kisses up to your neck and beginning to run her warm tongue up your skin. “So close, aren’t you?”
You nodded, trying to respond with intelligible words but only getting so far as a little whimper of affirmation.
From beyond distracted hooded eyes, your eyes flickered between Wanda’s face and her soft breasts, still pressed warm against your upper arm.
“You’ve gotten so wet,” Wanda purred, biting at the corner of your jaw. “My fingers are slipping from around the base; I have to keep readjusting my grip. It doesn’t help that you’re so tight…”
“If I had a cock of my own, baby, I’d have you on your knees, bent over with your face in the pillows…” she mumbled against your ear. “You’d be so tight and warm around me… You don’t know how wet it makes me to think about fucking a young thing like you… Hearing your little sounds and your pleas…”
Your eyes squeezed shut and you reached out to take hold of her hip. “W-Wanda, I’m-”
She moved her other hand down and interlaced your fingers.
“Come for me, Y/N,” she cooed.
Wanda was entirely captivated seeing you come, feeling the resistance around her dildo as your walls squeezed around it, your body arching from the bed while you cried out squeezed her hand. You came on the very bed and sheets she had to the thought of you countless times before, but the way you came was different.
It was more delicate than hers — from what she could recall from her own self-perception — your moans fluttery and broken into tiny whimpers, your body combed over with tiny tremors and involuntary twitches.
"That's a good girl," she whispered against your temple as you came, her other hand squeezing and stroking your shoulder. "Just like that, honey..."
She was careful when she pulled out of you, and couldn’t help but bring the dildo up to her lips and clean some of your mess off of it with her lips and tongue. Then she set it down somewhere on the bed and moved down to be able to wrap her arms around you, bringing your head against her chest.
Her arm that wrapped around the underside of your head stroked the side of your temple while she kissed your forehead, her other arm wrapped around your torso, rubbing your side soothingly.
After a while of Wanda rubbing your hip and your stomach, your upper arm, and anywhere she could reach while kissing your face gently, you caught your breath and cuddled close to her.
“I really do like you, Y/N,” Wanda said after the moments of silence. She pulled away a little to be able to look at your face in its entirety, and she smiled down at you softly. “I think you’re very kind, and very sweet. It’s really been a long time since anyone thought or cared as much about me as you do.”
Then she added, a bit shamefully, “I know it just sounds selfish, but over the last while since you moved here, I’ve been thinking of you quite a bit. And I was always very nervous to pursue anything, or even allow myself to feel anything like this for you.”
You didn’t want to speak up and interrupt her, especially since she seemed a little nervous confessing her feelings.
“Not only was it my first time regarding someone of your age in the way that I had begun to, but I think there were just a lot of things I was used to that I had to try to unlearn, and find confidence in diverging from.”
Then she looked away from your eyes and began fiddling with her fingers. Sensing her nerves, you squeezed her hand softly and rubbed your thumb against the back of her hand. Though she didn’t look back at you, she acknowledged your gesture and squeezed back.
“And there was also my age…” she hesitantly mentioned. “I felt… insecure, and unsure of myself, being how old I am and not knowing what to do. I felt… late to everything I was feeling for the first time, and thought that everything I was feeling was some desperate fantasy.”
Hesitantly, she met your eyes again, and looked relieved when you were already looking at her.
“You have no idea how good and happy it makes me feel that you’re sincerely interested in me…” she told you, a tiny shy smile spreading on her face. “I’ve never felt this way before, even with Vision… and I feel really lucky to be able to be with you like this.”
A realisation suddenly came over you hearing Wanda’s confession — did she really think it was all luck? You had been so shy about everything that you had failed to tell Wanda much of how you felt and how you saw her, and it wasn’t even your first time with a woman.
“I mean… it wasn’t really luck,” you said, fidgeting a little with her fingers, which Wanda thought was really cute. “I did ask to drive you home and visit you and work and… asked to see you this weekend.”
“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?”
She looked like she had a moment of deep pondering as she looked off to the side. Then she looked down at you again and smiled.
“I guess I just didn’t really allow myself to accept the possibility that you were doing it all because of that,” she admitted bashfully.
You let go of her hand and brushed your fingers against her hip, drawing nervous shapes against her soft skin. “Can I touch you too, Wanda?” you requested.
For a moment, she looked surprised that you would even offer; her lips parted and she blinked, before closing her mouth and nodding slightly.
“What will you do?” she asked, curious and sounding a little insecure in a way that you couldn’t entirely understand.
The two of you shifted positions and Wanda laid on her back, looking up at you with eyes that made your chest ache. She looked vulnerable and almost a little anxious.
Being intimate with women wasn’t the same as being intimate with men — Wanda figured this quickly. It wasn’t the same kind of mutual pleasure, but rather, rooted in a kind of selflessness, a deep and involved desire to please the other without receiving explicit pleasure of one’s own.
Sex with Vision and any of the scarce intimate encounters she’d had since her divorce all seemed rather mechanical — it wasn’t so much about desire and interest as it was about fulfilling a role and doing what you knew you were expected to.
Vision hardly ever went down on Wanda, and she was never quite interested in asking him to nor was she interested in connecting with him in that way.
It wasn’t that she held any bitterness or negative reservations about him that confined their sex to duty or seeing it as an impulse of nature, as in having sex as one would eat when one was hungry, or sleep when one was tired.
It was more so that their marriage was not the kind to be seen as based on passion or desire; that hadn’t been how Wanda had seen him when they first met nor how he had seen her.
The idea that anyone could desire her to begin with, but moreover that one could desire her selflessly, whose justification was solely self-determined desire, made her anxious and uncertain.
It was, paradoxically, a selfish form of selflessness, where Wanda had only ever known duty and expectation.
“What you did for me before,” you told her, now settled between her thighs, on your knees. “Is that okay?”
Wanda nodded, looking at you. She adjusted herself a little, but you settled her by placing your hands on either side of her outer thighs.
You firstly moved up her body, making Wanda think that for a moment you changed your mind about all of what you’d said, but instead you started softly kissing her, laying your body flush against hers as Wanda’s legs parted before squeezing her thighs around your hips.
Her arms came to wrap around your torso. She stretched her fingers out so she could feel more of your skin, feel the way your back arched and curved as you kissed her lips, then her cheeks and then her neck.
“You’re beautiful…” you muttered, making Wanda open her eyes and turn her head a little to look at the way you had your face buried in her neck, your hair sprawled out a mess across her chest.
“Your skin is so smooth, and you’re so warm when you hold me,” you said.
All Wanda could do was whisper a small, “I like holding you, Y/N.”
You slowly descended back down, your palms running down her sides as if to hold the shape of her body and the frame that made it up in your hands, caressing her.
You massaged her breast, making Wanda loll her head to the side and let out a soft moan, her own hand coming to the back of your head and tightening her grip when your lips wrapped around her nipple.
Your tongue was soft and teasing over her hardened bud, and you sucked with a gentle force that wasn’t hesitant, but careful, treating her delicately.
Her hand stroked the back of your hand with her fingers, gently massaging your scalp and readjusting her hand’s position often to keep combing through your hair.
Moving further down, you pressed kisses to her stomach, beneath her breasts, down to her belly button, watching Wanda’s expression intently as you looked up at her.
She looked beautiful with her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted as she sighed and made little noises of pleasure.
You hoped she felt taken care of.
Your fingers began tugging at the waistband of her underwear and you looked up to her, expecting Wanda to feel a little hesitant, but instead she breathed out telling you to take them off, even reaching down and tugging at them.
Wanda’s heart raced when she felt your breath brush briefly against her pussy. A shudder ghosted across her skin and up her spine when your tongue flattened against her, pushing through her folds as your lips wrapped around her.
Her thighs squeezed around your head and she shut her eyes; the gentle curls and prods of your soft tongue set her on fire, and the way you rubbed at her thighs, squeezing gently, made goosebumps run up her skin.
She really was quite sensitive, for you could tell exactly how her body would react each time you dragged your tongue up her cunt, pressed against her clit, or secured your lips a little tighter around her.
You were gentle and intentional with how you ate her out, and Wanda could tell obviously that you certainly weren’t as inexperienced as she was.
When opened her eyes and looked down, she met your gaze and immediately felt that you were too far away, and she quickly came to prefer not to come without you much closer to her.
She loosened the grip of her thighs and reached down, her hand coming to the side of your head.
“I want you up here,” she said.
You couldn’t exactly hear what she said, but you could tell she wanted you to stop, so you lifted your head and Wanda guided you back up her body.
Quietly, you asked, “Are you okay?”
“I want you with me,” Wanda told you, wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you close so your chest was flush against hers. Her other hand found your wrist and she led it down between her thighs.
You felt that you previously didn’t understand Wanda the way that you now did after being intimate with her. She was sensitive and a bit shy, and you hadn’t expected her to be so loving and attentive when it was your turn before.
There were things like the way she squeezed her arm around your torso when your fingers entered her, sighed into your chest, her head tucked under the crook of your neck, and took every opportunity to keep her body pressed against yours, that made you begin to reshape how you saw her.
You liked to hold her, to kiss the top of her head. You liked how she kept pulling you against her.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
She nodded quickly.
“Am I going too fast?”
Wanda shook her head.
She felt warm and tight around your fingers, and you were beginning to feel a sort of intimacy feeling the way she squeezed around you, and how she fluttered subtly when she moaned and arched her back to adjust herself.
“Say you want me, Y/N…” she whispered softly.
You lowered yourself to kiss her temple. “I want you, Wanda,” you said. ”You feel so good around my fingers. You’re so wet.”
She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut again as she lolled her head to the side to lay against your chest.
“You feel so warm,” you told her, lips brushing against her forehead. Her hand squeezed at your side. “I think you’re so pretty, and sensitive, and I want to take care of you. I want to make you feel good. I really… want to be with you.”
The words nearly made Wanda want to cry, and she lifted her head, meeting your lips in a gentle kiss. She’d never felt so much connection and longing for another person before.
It frightened her, at the back of her mind, feeling the way she began to cling at you. It was only you who she’d felt all this for, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if suddenly none of this worked out. She felt an overwhelming sense of passion, felt it as it filled her chest and forced her to take big breaths to soothe the feeling.
You sped up, mostly curious to hear how wet she was, and Wanda yelped a little, her back arching and pressing her stomach against yours. Her knee bent and she parted her legs further.
You ran your eyes across her naked body, the way she was spread beneath you and clinging onto you, listened to her deep groans and little yelps and whimpers, watched her breasts rise and fall.
When Wanda came she was much quieter than you were. She hugged herself close and cried out into the crook of your neck, her sweet-smelling hair filling your nose. Her other hand grasped at your shoulder, and you paid close attention to how she pulsed around your fingers.
Suddenly her hand came down to wrap around your wrist, and she kept your fingers in place while her body shuddered with the aftermath of her orgasm.
Keeping your fingers deep inside of her and moving them not even a little let you feel her every movement while Wanda’s body slowly relaxed. She wanted to keep feeling you inside of her, just to feel that intimacy for a few moments more.
Then she nudged your hand away on account of how tired she was to speak, and you carefully pulled your fingers out of her.
As you looked at her beneath you and listened to her tired sighs and pants, you thought about how you’d seen Wanda as a woman on a platform for much of your time with her. Though you liked her and were attracted to her, you thought you’d always seen her and felt a little intimidated; she felt far away and greater, bigger, than your own life.
But now she seemed sensitive and delicate, panting, her chest rising and falling, her body coated with a sheen of sweat, her closed eyes fluttering gently. She looked incredibly vulnerable, and in this state it was far easier for you to tell that it truly had been her first time with a woman, and with anyone she felt very interested in or close to in a while.
You thought of her in more detail, your hand rubbing against her lower stomach, her own hand wrapped loosely around your bicep, her arm other around your waist.
Wanda had been married and divorced before, she had children and a business and years of her experienced life that you hadn’t yet lived. It still remained true that there were things you didn’t quite yet know about her, and things that would always indicate a difference in your ages and experience, and a general difference in how you lived your lives.
But in spite of all that, she had chosen to be here with you, and wanted you here with her.
At the moment her cheek was pressed against your chest, and she adjusted herself and guided you so you could wrap both your arms around her shoulders. She intertwined your legs with hers and tucked her head beneath your chin.
You wondered the kinds of things she must be thinking.
The truth was that you wouldn’t know unless you asked or she told you, but sometimes even that wouldn’t be able to capture exactly the way she might feel — when words and language couldn’t bridge the gap of Wanda being unable to word how she was experiencing a romance and an affection that she hadn’t ever before.
You thought a little about what Wanda said about her marriage before, and you wondered if you really made her feel seen and taken care of.
You felt her breathing in your arms, listened to her soft inhales and exhales, held her body, and were the only one she wanted to be with and share this time with.
“Can you sleep over, Y/N?” Wanda asked, lifting her head and meeting your eyes after adjusting her body to allow you to hold her more comfortably. She looked sleepy.
You laid onto your side fully so your head was on the same pillow as hers. “Do you want me to?” you asked.
She nodded. “Can you, please?”
“I’ll have to leave early in the morning since I live so far.”
A smile spread on her face and she nudged at your shoulder softly.
“I want to stay over,” you then told her seriously, kissing her forehead and eliciting a little sigh of pleasure from Wanda.
She said quietly, “I think I should get up and get ready for bed. I might still have a little makeup on.”
Before you could nod and ask if she had any clothes you could borrow, she sat up and looked at you. Her face was shadowed and her hair, now having lost the curl she had given it this afternoon, was a bit messy, and looked very soft.
You reached out to touch her hair, just to smooth some stray strands down, and make her face more visible. She tipped her face into your caresses, the back of your fingers brushing against her cheekbone.
While Wanda brushed her teeth and you were about to change into the pajamas she let you borrow, you suggested that you might shower together before bed. For most of the night there was minimal talking — not because you had nothing to talk about, but because both of you were far more occupied with just being together.
Wanda’s hair was nice to feel when you lathered shampoo into it, and her fingers were strong when she washed yours. Her lotion smelled like the tiny whiffs you sometimes got around her but were certain wasn’t her perfume — it was her lotion.
On the bathroom counter were her earrings she sometimes wore and her glasses, and her makeup and face wash and hairbrush.
You liked seeing everything, and you liked being able to touch her whenever you felt, feeling your arms around her waist and being able to kiss her face and her exposed shoulders.
“Do you think… you’ll regret doing this?” Wanda asked quietly after some moments of silence while you laid together, the tone of her voice trying to communicate a space for you to be open and truthful with her. “You can be honest. It’s okay.”
You immediately looked over to her. She was on her side, her hand tucked under her pillow as she looked at you. The blankets were pulled up to her chin, making her look tiny. “No, not at all,” you told her. “I really want to spend more time with you, and I really like you. I’m interested in you.”
Then you wiggled a little closer to her so your knees bumped against hers, making her laugh at how you moved yourself into her personal space.
She wiggled close too until your noses were all but touching, and you could tell Wanda was trying not to giggle.
“I want this,” you said. The serious tone of your voice sounded silly with how close you were to her face, and Wanda couldn’t hold herself back from laughing just a little.
“Okay,” Wanda replied with a determined little nod once she stopped laughing. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “Good. So do I.”
She crept into your room at night, just past midnight. She’d always be wearing black, her skin pale, her figure long. She’d always slip into your pink comforter, her slender arms wrapping around you, always cold. Always causing you to shiver, and you'd shiver until her skin was warm from your body temp. She was so opposite to you, your room dressed up in pink, while she’s all black. She wasn't the talkative type, she was cold, distant, completely inaccessible to you, yet here she was, laying beside you.
She hums as her face is burrowed into your neck, and you freeze in place, not wanting her to go, not wanting to disappoint her.
When you wake up it’s usually the early morning, the sun has risen, its rays peaking into your bedroom through the gaps in the curtains. And she’s sitting on her side of the bed (well what was now claimed as her side, through frequent visitations), back against the headboard, bare legs crossed over, a cigarette between her fingertips, and the window slightly open letting cold gusts of wind in. She smiles when your eyes flutter open, although she’s not directly looking at you, she can feel your gaze on her.
She tells you about her day yesterday, and pulls you closer to her, pulling you in her lap, forcing you to try the cigarette. You hated when she smoked, the room would always fill up with second-hand smoke in the mornings, usually you'd cough a lot, but you were getting used to it, you were getting used to her rough antics. Then she’d kiss your neck, marking you and force your hips against her knee, making you grind against her needily. She was aggressive, hungry with desire whenever you'd see her- it was like she looked forward to spending her time with you, despite her cold tone and lack of positive affirmation.
She loves when you cry out her name, she loves when you're fucking yourself against her, she loves the warmth of your skin. You're her sweet escape.
Tonight was different however. You knew what she was, you didn’t want to admit in to yourself so your practically acted oblivious to it, to the stains of blood on her top, the way her eyes would flicker a shade of red, her overly pale complexion, never seeing her in the day…
She was late. It was 4 AM, and there was no sign of her. You looked forward to her presence, even if it terrified you sometimes, she was a person who was always so close to you yet entirely inaccessible. You felt like she was the only one who truly knew you. She was a stranger - despite all the shared kisses, the amount of nights you’d wake up smiling to her presence, and how your heart would ache if she wasn’t present, like it was right now - you couldn't recall a single personal thing about her. Despite her favourite colour, her hobbies, you couldn't recall her ever telling you about her childhood, or about her family, or her career.
You couldn’t sleep. It was sick, but you needed her cold skin against yours now. She was now a need for you, and not just a desire. Despite the amount of missed calls you sent her, she never seemed to pick up- and you began to worry if she was okay. You recalled how she wrote her address on a piece of paper after you expressed your trust issues one night, and after searching for a while you found it at the bottom of your drawer. The paper slightly aged, delicate, yet the red marker used to scribble out her digits were clear. You took a jacket and a basketball bat and and made your way out the house.
The air was cold, your teeth clattering as you shivered, you were immediately filled with regret from not changing out of your nightdress when you had you wrap your arms around your body to try to retain some heat. You got into your car and began driving.
Suddenly, the radio switched on, causing you to jump as static filled the air, then it slowly calibrated to a smooth jazz. You were felt with unease the entire ride to the place. Thoughts of worry, and despite your attempts to tell yourself that she was okay, it was always replaced with the worst case scenario.
You arrived at a daunting looking cottage buried in the forrest. It wasn’t too small, nor large but you hoped it was cosier on the inside then it looked from the outside. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, the cabin showed practically no signs of habilitation, perhaps it was the lack of lights from the outside, the unaccommodating sight of bordered up windows, or the fact that there were branches and leaves cascading around the front door making it almost impossible to get through.
You knocked on the door, shivering, hoping Wanda was home, hoping she was safe.
The door suddenly creaked open as you were about to knock once more, a chill ran through your whole body when no one was on the other side. You stepped in. The foyer was dark, candles at the end of the hallway barely providing any light. You walked through, clutching your bat close, calling out Wanda’s name as your body shivered. For some reason, the house was colder inside.
You gasped as you noticed specks of blood on the floor, which became larger and larger as you followed it. You almost missed the trail at first— the droplets of blood morphing into a thin, dark line of blood the further you walked. It glistened in the sparse light. With each step, the trail thickened, droplets turning into larger pools, spreading out like sinister veins. The air grew heavy with the metallic scent of blood. In panic, you followed it down to the steps of the basement. Your heart racing; adrenaline coursing through your body, your breath staggering, the fast pace of your shoes hitting the wooden floorboards following the trail of blood, calling out Wanda’s name frantically, tears welding up in your eyes.
The blood trail stopped at the end of the basement hallway, in a large pool of dark red lay a gold necklace with a broken latch, it looked as if it was yanked from someone neck, you stopped, catching your breath as you looked around, confused, bewildered, like a deer in headlights.
Then, the door to your left creaked open slightly, and you hesitantly stepped inside, holding you bat close. You were not expecting what met you on the other side. Your Wanda stood over a blonde woman’s body, her neck practically gouged out, Wanda’s hands covered in blood, her lips and chin covered in blood, dripping onto her leather jacket. Her head turned ever so slightly to catch your eyes, her eyes flickered red, then flickered back to those green eyes you knew all too well, and her expression changed from a smirk to a stunned expression.
“Wanda?” You whispered out, tears fell onto your cheeks, you shook, not from the weather but from fear. Her eyes widened, as she looked down at the scene, she didn’t ever want you to see what she was, she didn’t ever want to scare you.
“Don’t go.”
You then turned and ran, cries escaped your mouth as you tried, desperately, to escape the scene you’d witnessed, you wanted this all to be a sick nightmare, you wanted to wake up next to Wanda, Wanda who wasn’t this monster you had just witnessed.
An in-humanely strength grabbed your wrist, you cried out.
“Please, I won’t hurt you- stop!” She tried to convince you, but her attempts fell on deaf ears.
As you tried to pry yourself away from her, she pushed you against a wall- you struggled against her as she held you in place, goosebumps formed on your skin, the feeling of the rough edges of brick against your bare skin, and the penetrating smell of blood filled your senses, along with the fear you felt.
“Don’t be scared of me krasivaya devushka (pretty girl).”
You looked up at her, your lower lip quivering with fear. You had stopped trying to escape, you were exhausted, mentally and physically- you knew trying to escape would be no use.
Her eyes darkened, fuck, you looked so good scared. Her lips crashed into yours, and her hands grabbed your hips, leaving bloody handprints on your nightdress. Your breathing was uneven, her lips made their way to your jaw.
You gripped her shoulders, as her hand grabbed your neck, her grip tightened as your body arched into hers. Wanda groaned, grabbing your hips and kissing your neck lightly.
Her hands pushed up the bottom of your dress rather aggressively, grabbing the material in one hand, keeping it up as she teased your centre with fingers. She looked at you, your tear covered rosy cheeks, your agape mouth, her hand dropped the fabric to grab a handful of your hair, pulling your hair so you she could place kisses on your jaw.
She suddenly pushed two fingers inside of you- and annoyingly your dress kept getting the way. Her hand was released from your hair as it went to your dress and tore it of your body,
As she leaned in to kiss you again, you noticed the woman's lifeless body again- causing more fear to course through your body. She turned you around, her hand wrapped around your hips, placing kisses on the nape of your neck to your collarbones, your back arched into hers, your head fell back against her shoulder- she dipped her head down, placing sloppy kisses on your jaw, letting out breathy grunts and moans as your body fit into hers perfectly.
"Oh!” You cried out, feeling her pace with two long fingers quicken. You grinded yourself into her as she worked her fingers on you.
Abruptly, she added another finger, going deeper and faster, causing you to grab onto her arm as your eyes watered. You cried out and the sound’s coming out from her mouth increased as your legs started to shake. Once you came undone, your body felt limb, her hands around your body posessively as she praised you.
"I’ll take care of you baby, I'll keep your safe malsyh" she whispered as she kissed your shoulder blade.
Summary: When you a bored college student signs up for a beginners figure skating class, you never expected to be trained by Wanda Maximoff, the cold and commanding former figure skating champion whose career was cut short by an ACL injury. Wanda’s authority on the ice is absolute, she has no patience for beginners- especially one who seems to struggle with every move. Despite her harsh demeanour you’re more than determined to prove yourself. As Wanda asserts control over the class and over you, a complicated dynamic of power, desire and resistance begins to form. Will you rise to the challenge or crumble under wanda’s unyielding gaze?
Tags/warnings: Mean Wanda, dom/sub, fluff and smut, Age difference, mutual pining, Tension, Kinda enemies to lovers
Author’s note: This is my first series so I’m sorry if it’s not great, all comments/suggestions/critique is welcome but please be kind and respectful. I hope you enjoy the fic and the wild ride we are all in for!
You weren’t exactly sure what had prompted you in the beginning to sign up to this class. Maybe it was the fact that your college schedule felt endless, or maybe it was the idea of gliding on the ice seemed like the perfect escape from the pressures of exams and assignments. You’d always wanted to learn, but never had the chance. So, when a flyer had appeared on the campus bulletin board for extracurricular activities for adults, you had taken the plunge.
What you weren’t prepared for though, was her.
Wanda Maximoff. You’d heard of her of course, everyone had. She was a legend, practically a household name in the world of figure skating and on your TikTok for you page more than you’d like to admit. That was all until a catastrophic ACL injury had forced her out of the competition scene. Now, apparently she was here, in this small rink, offering to teach beginners like you. Your stomach flipped at the sight of her.
Wanda was standing in the set middle of the rink, her posture perfect, wrapped in a simple black jacket that hugged her curves, but there was nothing simple about her presence. She looked like she belonged to the ice like it was an extension of herself. As she began to glide every movement was sharp and graceful. She was without a doubt beautiful, but it was more than that. It was the way she seemed to command attention without even trying.
You shook yourself out of your daze and looked back down to your laces, you were hesitating, feeling the unmistakable rush of nerves in your veins. Was it really too late to turn around? But before you could make up your mind, her eyes found you.
Her gaze was immediate and it felt like a weight on your chest. You swallowed, heart suddenly hammering as she skated towards you with effortless speed, cutting through the ice with precision and grace that made your stomach tighten. She stepped of the ice in front of you, barely a breath away and your mouth went dry.
“You’re late” she said, her voice sharp. Her eyes were cold like they had already sized you up. She spoke up again “This isn’t the place for latecomers.”
You stammered, caught off guard by her bluntness. “I-I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised the class had already started”
“You’re here to learn how to skate, not to make excuses.” Wanda’s tone left no room for argument. She crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing with quiet judgement. “Hurry up and get in line. We don’t have time for anyone to be behind.”
The words stung and you felt the blush creeping up your neck. She wasn’t even trying to soften her tone. Her presence pressed against you like a weight you couldn’t shake. You were already wishing you could crawl into a hole and hide.
You nodded, unsure of what else to do. Her eyes didn’t leave you, not for a second. You were almost wondering if she was waiting for you to fail. “Laces criss crossed into a bow, be quick about it” she left you with before moving back into the centre.
Forcing your hands into motion you began tying them as she had said criss and crossing until they looks somewhat presentable tying them off with the bow before awkwardly shuffling to the rink where the rest of the class were trying to get into some semblance of rhythm. The other skaters didn’t notice your awkward entrance, but you could feel Wanda’s gaze on you, sharp and unblinking, as if she was waiting to watch every little mistake you would make.
The floor was slippery beneath you, and every step felt like you were about to lose your balance. But you couldn’t let yourself fall, not in front of her. You wanted to be good at this, needing to prove you could be more than another newbie just stumbling around on the ice.
“Don’t just stand there” Wanda’s voice cut through the space. “ Move, this is the beginners class, not the ‘watch people flail’ class. Skate, or get out.”
You froze, not sure if you’d been caught making a bigger mistake or if she just liked to keep her class on edge. That’s until the whole class seemed to stop and stare at you, and for a moment you just wished the earth would swallow you whole. But instead Wanda’s eyes locked with yours, for a fleeting second you’re sure you seen them soften, just barely.
“Try again” she said, her tone still commanding but with a subtle shift, something almost, expectant. “ And this time, don’t waste my time.”
Trying to ignore the way her words stung like a slap, you nodded. There was something about her authority, her control, that both frustrated you and compelled you. You knew she was tough, knew she wouldn’t let anyone slide by easily, but the more she pushed you the more you couldn’t help but want to prove her wrong.
Her eyes remained on you as you took another step, trying again to find some balance to glide across the ice. Every tiny movement seemed to be under her scrutiny and it made you feel both exposed and strangely…alive.
“Better” the word was still sharp, as if she were merely acknowledging that you hadn’t just completely embarrassed yourself. “But that’s not good enough. Do it again and this time, don’t think. Just move.”
It was a command and you didn’t even think to argue. You couldn’t, it felt like you were being bent to her will and you found yourself falling into line whether you wanted to or not.
You glanced around the rink desperate to follow the other skaters but they had already moved on. You were the only one still left struggling, alone in her gaze. She stood there, watching you, every bit the dominant figure that she was. And despite how harsh her words felt, despite the biting coldness in her tone, you couldn’t shake the feeling Wanda wanted something from you, something more than a simple performance.
She wanted obedience. She wanted control.
And for some reason, you couldn’t help but want to give it to her.
tylee: alot of people out think azula and katara would make a good couple
(tylee comes up behind azula and wraps her arms around)
tylee: but azula has already had a girlfriend for a long time
azula(blushing): ty who are you talking to?
