Never The Hero

18+ ONLY! ⧗ 30 ⧗ Marvel Trash ⧗ She/They Requests are: OPEN

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

Kick back and relax! You've made it to a safe house in the wide variety of blogs. This is where you'll find all of my masterlists and various random information you could ever want to know.

Requests are: Open

Making A Request

About Me

I am now also doing moodboards for variants and standard characters!

Marvel Characters:

Yelena Belova

Kate Bishop

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

WandaNat

Maya Lopez

Other Characters I will write:

Carmilla Karnstein

Laura Hollis

Hermione Granger

Ginny Weasley

Lexa Woods

Waverly Earp

Wynonna Earp

Clarke Griffin

Katniss Everdeen

Ellie (TLOU)

Abby (TLOU)

Regina George (Renée Rapp)

Xena

Angela (MaleVolent)

Characters I won't write: Its really just any marvel guys or guys in general? I just wouldn't be able to properly write that.

Frieren

Yennefer

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

and make sure your comments are kind!!! “I love this so much!” and “this is amazing! I’m so excited for what happens next” are more likely to get your favorite fics updated than “when will we get the next chapter?”

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

The Glitch: Chapter Six

Summary: As their connection to a mysterious energy deepens, Wanda and yourself grow increasingly synchronized in both power and presence, blurring the line between control and instinct.

TW: Emotional dependency and intense bonding

The first light of the morning crept through the blinds, cutting soft lines across the floor. The faint hum of the room felt different now, threaded with warmth and electricity, like the air itself had learned a new rhythm. I stirred, blinking against the sunlight, and immediately felt the faint pulse at my side. Wanda.

Her presence was almost tangible, a shimmer of warmth and color wrapping around the room. Even in sleep, she radiated energy, her aura brushing against mine in waves I could feel under my skin. I smiled, curling slightly toward her, and the blue of the glitch in my veins responded almost instinctively, flowing in tiny rivulets toward her.

She stirred, a soft groan, half-lidded eyes turning toward me. “Morning,” she murmured, voice low and husky, already carrying a day’s worth of familiarity and comfort.

“Morning,” I whispered back, voice rough, fingers twitching as the glitch pulsed subtly, playful and curious. The lamps on the bedside table flickered faintly, the tiny hum of electronics warping around the energy flowing between us. Wanda’s eyes went wide, and then she laughed softly.

“You’re already tinkering,” she said, rolling over to face me. Her hand hovered near mine, hesitant at first, then brushing against the warmth of my skin. The small connection sent sparks through the air, and I had to fight a grin at how instinctual it felt now.

“Can’t help it,” I said, letting a ripple of the glitch drift outward. A lamp shivered and blinked, a phone on the nightstand pinged softly with static. “You’re too magnetic to ignore.”

Her smile curved, teasing, indulgent. “Magnetic, huh? You’ve been practicing your lines.”

I laughed softly, leaning closer until our foreheads brushed. The subtle warmth of her aura brushed mine like sunlight through water, making the small particles of air shimmer. In the quiet of the room, every tiny pulse of her energy felt like a heartbeat syncing with mine.

We moved together naturally, the glitch following us like a living thread. I extended a hand, and the lamp floated slightly before settling back down. Wanda’s laughter rippled through the room, light and musical, and the glitch responded in waves, making the shadows bend and twist around her.

“Okay,” she said, her voice softening. “Let’s try something. Just… see how well we can sync.”

It was meant to be a simple exercise. Just me, her, and the energy between us. But it quickly became a dance. My glitch flowed in shimmering arcs, tracing patterns that Wanda instinctively mirrored. Each pulse we shared caused tiny ripples in the room; lamps flickering, consoles buzzing softly, the blinds rippling as if the air itself were alive.

“Faster,” she whispered, a teasing note underlined with focus. “Or slower. I’ll match you.”

I adjusted instinctively, letting the glitch ebb and flow, letting her energy guide it. Our pulses became indistinguishable, a single rhythm threading through both of us. The lights shivered more violently now, objects humming, a small fan spinning faster, and every touch, every brush of skin, every graze of fingers, felt magnified, alive with an intensity I’d never imagined.

Time slipped by unnoticed. A few hours became a morning, morning bled into afternoon, and still we practiced. Each connection felt deeper, more instinctual. We didn’t need words. Our energy, the glitch, and our breathing were the language now.

Eventually, the room settled in a soft glow, electricity dancing lazily along wires and metal as though the tower itself was breathing with us. Wanda leaned against me, forehead resting on my shoulder. “We’re good,” she whispered. “This… this is enough for now.”

I nodded, letting the last pulses of the glitch drift away into the room. Even as it receded, the warmth lingered, a tether that neither distance nor time could dissolve.

The meeting later that day was tense, practical, and impossibly exciting. Tony’s holograms hovered over the conference table, animated schematics twisting in the air like living beings. “Alright, team,” he said, rubbing his temples. “I’ve got something. Almost. A way into the System but it’s not complete yet. We’ve got about a week to prepare. When our little glitch here goes in, the System will send enforcers the moment it notices her anomaly. Timing is everything.”

I swallowed, feeling the familiar surge in my veins. The glitch pulsed faintly, responding instinctively to the holograms, ribbons of code curling and twisting like living threads at my fingertips. I focused on keeping it subtle, letting Wanda’s energy anchor me from behind.

As Tony continued, explaining access points and defensive countermeasures, Wanda leaned close, resting her hand lightly on my arm. Her touch was grounding, steadying. The proximity made the glitch in me hum, and I could see it in tiny arcs of light around my fingers.

“And,” she said, her voice casual, smooth as silk, “my girlfriend will handle it.”

My head jerked up, blinking at her, and then the room went silent for a heartbeat. Nat raised an eyebrow, Clint snorted, and even Tony paused mid-explanation.

I felt my cheeks heat, but Wanda’s smile never wavered. “Girlfriend,” she repeated softly, almost to herself, but with enough clarity that everyone heard.

I exhaled, letting the warmth of our connection settle, pushing the glitch to a calm hum. The team’s reactions faded into background noise. For a moment, I only noticed her, steady, smiling, fierce.

The rest of the meeting was a blur. Numbers, schematics, access points, fail-safes. But beneath it all, Wanda and I shared silent communication with glances, gestures, tiny pulses that said more than words ever could.

Afterwards, we returned to our room. I kicked off my shoes, running a hand through my hair, still buzzing from the team’s plans and Wanda’s casual declaration. She followed, and the door shut softly behind us.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice low, stepping close. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.”

Before I could respond, she kissed me. Soft at first, a brush of lips that made the glitch inside me flare. Sparks of energy danced along the walls, the lights flickered, and a console short-circuited with a soft pop. The room hummed, alive with our shared energy, reacting instinctively to the connection.

I let the glitch extend outward, testing the limits. The door clicked and locked itself with a soft electronic thrum, responding to the small pulse I sent. Everything in the room vibrated slightly, lamps, screens, even the ceiling lights, as if the energy between us had taken physical form.

Her hands traced along my shoulders, down my arms, and the glitch rippled in tandem, arcing along the lines of her aura. Every touch, every brush of skin, amplified the energy, making the room feel like it existed just for us.

We moved together instinctually, each kiss, each glance, each shared breath syncing us deeper than words could. The small chaos of electronics around us, blinking lights, a vibrating fan, the faint hum of shorting circuits, was a testament to the power we were unlocking together.

Even as our bodies moved, I could feel the glitch weaving around us, protective and powerful, a tangible shield as Wanda whispered softly against my lips, “We’re unstoppable together.”

I nodded against her, letting the energy carry us, letting instinct guide the rhythm. In the quiet hum of shorted electronics, in the small bursts of controlled chaos, we found something beyond training, beyond the System. We found each other, fully, completely.

And as the door remained closed and locked, the room shimmering with the pulse of the glitch, I knew that together, we could face whatever came next.

Later that evening, after the team had left and the quiet of the tower settled around us, Wanda and I returned to the room. The door clicked shut behind us, and even the hum of the lights felt different now, thick, alive, anticipating the chaos we were about to weave.

“Another round?” she asked, voice low, teasing, eyes sparkling with the kind of challenge that made my pulse spike.

I nodded, already extending a faint pulse of the glitch along my arms. It shimmered like liquid light, brushing against the edges of the room, nudging wires, coaxing tiny sparks from the consoles. Wanda’s eyes widened slightly at the sight, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“You really can’t leave it alone,” she murmured, stepping closer. Her hands hovered near mine, fingertips grazing the air in playful arcs. I felt the pull in my chest, the glitch responding instinctively, crawling along our energy like a living thing.

“Can’t help it,” I whispered, letting the flow intensify. The lights above flickered in tiny, rhythmic bursts, almost like applause. “You’re just too… magnetic.”

Her grin curved, mischievous, and she mirrored my movements with a pulse of her own. The room hummed with the collision of our energies, small arcs of electricity hopping along the floor and up the walls. Every touch, even the brush of our fingertips, sent ripples through the room.

We moved slowly at first, testing each other’s boundaries. Her energy brushed mine, warm and steady, and the glitch responded with delicate, shimmering trails that twisted in the air between us.

“Faster?” she asked, leaning just enough that the heat of her presence grazed my chest.

“Slower,” I countered, laughing softly. The moment stretched, suspended, a shared rhythm of push and pull. I let the glitch extend outward, not recklessly, but like a gentle tide brushing against the shore.

And the room responded. Lamps flickered, a monitor glowed in soft pulses, and the air itself seemed to ripple. I could feel the energy of the glitch folding into Wanda’s aura, our rhythms syncing almost instinctively.

“Look at that,” she whispered, eyes shining as she twined her fingers with mine. “It’s… beautiful.”

I let a soft wave of the glitch spiral around us, tracing her contours, brushing along her arms and back, playful arcs of light dancing across her skin. She laughed softly, the sound vibrating in harmony with the energy.

“Feels like it’s alive,” she breathed. “Like it’s us.”

“It is,” I murmured. “It’s exactly us.”

The intensity built gradually. Our movements were almost silent, a dance of energy and instinct. The glitch flowed over and through us, sometimes slow and teasing, other times quick and electric, responsive to the smallest glance or shift in posture.

“You’re holding back again,” she teased, pressing just slightly closer, a featherweight of contact that sent shivers along my spine.

“I’m… learning to trust,” I admitted. The glitch pulsed stronger, arcs of blue light flickering across the walls, the floorboards humming softly. “Learning to trust you.”

Her hand slid along my shoulder, tracing a line down my arm. The room seemed to breathe with us, every spark, flicker, and hum responding to the pulse of our shared connection.

“Then don’t hold back,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against mine. The glitch arced along my fingertips, touching hers in currents of light. The air was thick with electricity and warmth, a living thing between us.

For the next hour, we practiced together, letting the glitch follow instinct rather than control. It rippled, twisted, and danced around the room in shimmering threads, feeding off the bond we were building, pushing the limits of what we could do without touching the actual System.

At one point, I let the glitch spiral higher, forming delicate loops and arcs around Wanda. She laughed, spinning in the glow, letting the energy trace her movements like a second skin. I mirrored her, feeling every arc, every pulse, a symphony of light and warmth, instinct and magic.

Eventually, we collapsed on the floor, hands intertwined, chests heaving, the room pulsing gently with residual energy. Wanda’s head rested lightly against my shoulder, her breath steadying mine.

“You make me feel like we’re untouchable,” she whispered, soft, almost shy.

“Not untouchable,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Connected. Everything we do, we do together. The glitch… it just listens to us now.”

Her fingers pressed lightly against mine. “Then we’re ready,” she murmured. “Whatever comes next, we’ll handle it. Together.”

TagList: @sadlesbeansstuff

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

The Glitch: Chapter 5

Summary: You and Wanda continue training with a mysterious glitch-based system.

TW: SMUT 18+, romantic/sexual tension, loss of control

A.N. Been a while since I've written smut please don't judge too harshly rip

Three days had passed since our first practice. The memory of the last session still pulsed in my veins, a rhythmic echo of light and chaos, and I couldn’t wait to return to it. The lab had settled into a quiet rhythm of its own, monitors humming gently, holographic panels floating like calm sentinels in the dim light.

Wanda was already there when I arrived, her aura a soft glow that painted the room in faint crimson with blue streaks. She glanced at me, and the tiniest flicker of a smile touched her lips. “Ready?” she asked, voice low, teasing but serious.

I nodded, swallowing the nervous anticipation. “Ready.”

We started slow, brushing our hands across the floating glyphs of code, letting the glitch flow between us in small pulses. Sparks leapt like fireflies along the holographic corridors, curling into ephemeral shapes: spirals, arches, fractals that shimmered and dissolved before they could fully form. Every pulse we sent caused the room to tremble subtly, as if the very air recognized our presence.

“Closer,” Wanda murmured, stepping beside me. Her energy brushed mine, a featherlight caress that immediately made the anomaly respond, ribbons of digital light curling around our intertwined auras.

I exhaled slowly, letting instinct take over. I didn’t have to think about the code anymore; I felt it. It was having a conversation with me through the way it interacted with the glitch. Each flicker of her presence guided the glitch forward as though we were moving as one, a single pulse connecting us to the simulation. Sparks of blue and red twisted together in arcs that formed glowing bridges across the room, like constellations being drawn in real time.

Time was meaningless inside this space as we explored new subsections of the simulation, finding pockets of code that pulsed unpredictably. Sometimes the glitch flared uncontrollably, snapping like lightning in my mind, but Wanda’s hands on mine grounded it.

“Feel it,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along the back of my hand. “Let it flow, don’t force it. Let me guide you if you need it.”

I did. I let the chaos of the glitch fold into her rhythm, letting our instincts take the lead. Sparks leapt from node to node, illuminating the room in waves, each burst of light synchronized to the subtle movements between us; our shared breaths, the slightest lean toward one another, the brush of fingers. It felt less like hacking and more like dancing, our pulses guiding the anomaly like music flowing through us.

“Again,” she murmured after a particularly intricate sequence, crimson and blue rippling across her hands. “Push further this time.”

I nodded, fear and exhilaration warring in my chest. I extended the glitch fully, feeling it weave into her energy, exploring, probing, responding. The simulation didn’t just react to it, it anticipated. Nodes shimmered with ghostly light before I even touched them. Strings of code arced in delicate waves, tracing paths around our intertwined pulses. Tiny bursts of digital sparks drifted like fireflies into the air, fading as they touched her aura, only to reappear elsewhere, tracing invisible constellations.

“This… it’s like it’s alive,” I whispered. “It’s learning from us. Talking to us.”

“Exactly,” Wanda breathed, eyes glowing faintly as she leaned close. “It’s listening. And it’s responding. We just have to let it trust us, the same way we trust each other.”

I exhaled, letting instinct take over completely. My hands moved over the floating code almost without thinking, my glitch flowing into her energy like a current finding the perfect riverbed. Sparks arced higher now, swirling into intricate spirals, delicate fractals forming and dissolving in seconds, leaving faint trails of light in the air. The room felt transformed, no longer a sterile training room, but a cathedral of chaos and possibility, built entirely from our bond.

Minutes passed in silence, broken only by soft gasps as sequences stabilized or flared unpredictably. Our hands brushed constantly now, a natural rhythm, fingers instinctively finding one another in the maze of floating code. Each touch sent a ripple through the glitch, and each ripple deepened the trust between us.

“Do you feel it?” Wanda asked, voice soft, almost shy now. “Like… we’re inside it, not just guiding it. Like it knows us.”

I nodded, chest tight. “It’s… it’s us. And it’s listening.”

The simulation responded with a sudden burst of color, a shower of light that arced overhead and spiraled downward. Sparks formed shapes I couldn’t name, fractals shaped like hearts, spirals like galaxies, arcs that seemed impossibly delicate yet pulsed with raw energy. The glitch was no longer just chaos; it was art, alive, and intertwined with us.

Each layer of the simulation taught us something new. We discovered sequences that could stabilize spontaneously if we mirrored our rhythms perfectly, nodes that responded only to subtle pulses, strands of code that bent like living filaments when touched by our combined energy. Every success reinforced the instinctual bond between us; it was no longer something we had to think about, it was becoming automatic, innate.

Finally, exhausted but exhilarated, we paused, sitting cross-legged on the floor amidst the glowing remnants of our pulses. My hands were still resting lightly on hers, the ghost of sparks and digital light curling faintly around our fingers. Wanda leaned her head against my shoulder, a quiet, steady weight, and I felt the deep calm that only comes from absolute trust.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, voice soft but certain, “we go deeper. The hidden layers. The parts of the System that don’t respond the way this one does. But I think… I think we’re ready.”

I smiled, heart swelling, eyes reflecting the faint glimmer of residual sparks in the lab. “Together,” I said, and this time, it wasn’t just a vow. It was a rhythm, a pulse, a shared heartbeat that resonated with the glitch itself.

After hours of practice, we finally separated, letting the glowing remnants of our pulses fade into the room. My hands tingled from the lingering energy, and I felt a hum of warmth that wasn’t just from the glitch. I headed to my room, trying to calm my racing pulse, thinking the intensity of the session was enough for one night.

A knock on the door, sharp and hesitant, made me freeze.

“Zlatka.” Wanda’s voice, soft and uncertain, drifted under my door. “I… couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Before I could respond, she was there, stepping into the room, the glow of her aura casting the familiar reddish-blue streaks across the walls. My chest tightened. She didn’t say anything; she just came closer, and the instant our energy brushed, the lights flickered, monitors blinked, and small electronics on the desk buzzed and sparked.

The glitch surged without thinking, responding to the pull between us. I raised my hand, focusing instinctively, and the door clicked and slid closed behind her. Locking. Our private sanctuary.

Her gaze found mine, and we didn’t need words. Every inch of proximity felt amplified by the anomaly connecting us. She reached for my hand, and I felt the glitch pulse stronger, arcs of blue and red energy writhing along our fingertips as we touched.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” she admitted softly, stepping closer. “Not tonight.”

I could feel her pulse in the tips of my fingers, mirrored by the glitch writhing along my skin. We leaned in, and our lips met, soft and searching, letting the energy between us flare. Sparks jumped from the consoles and wires around the room, tiny arcs of electricity snapping through the air. Lamps flickered, monitors glitched, even my small fan shuddered and stopped.

The pulse of the glitch wasn’t just reacting to her, it was alive, feeding on the intensity of our connection. My hands moved on instinct, and she mirrored them, guiding and grounding the energy. Every pulse of warmth, every synchronized breath, made the room vibrate in resonance with us.

We pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling. “You feel it too,” she whispered. “This… everything between us.”

I nodded, letting a shiver of excitement and awe run through me. “It’s… uncontrollable,” I admitted, voice low. “But I… I like that it’s with you.”

Her fingers brushed over mine, and the glitch rippled outward, short-circuiting the nearby electronics with tiny sparks that danced like fireflies. The air itself seemed to hum, alive with our combined energy, a storm of magic and instinct that neither of us fully understood yet.

I laughed softly, breathless, as my pulse synced with hers, letting the anomaly spiral into a rhythm we both could feel. “I think… I could get used to this,” I murmured.

“Me too,” she replied, voice barely audible, full of warmth and certainty.

We stayed that way for a long time, tangled in each other’s energy, the room a chaotic symphony of blinking lights and humming wires. Every flicker of electricity mirrored our pulses, every shimmer of the glitch wrapped around us like a living thing.

Eventually, I managed to calm the surge enough to steady the electronics, sort of. The lights glowed dimly, monitors blinked slowly, and the hum settled to a low thrum. Even so, the energy between us didn’t fade. It simply… waited, coiled and vibrant, a tether neither of us could, or wanted to, ignore.

“I don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” Wanda murmured, resting her forehead against mine again, “but right now… this is ours.”

I let the words sink in, letting the rhythm of her pulse, the glow of our glitch, and the quiet warmth of her presence anchor me. “Then we’ll face it together,” I whispered.

Her hand found mine again, fingers curling with a gentle strength that belied the chaos surrounding us. “Together,” she echoed, and the pulse of the glitch surged one last time, leaving the room humming with potential, alive and waiting for what came next.

For the first time, I realized that maybe the connection, the magic, and the anomaly weren’t just tools for fighting the System, they were something else entirely. Something instinctual. Something powerful. Something that didn’t need a number to exist.

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

We stood holding each other for a while. I couldn’t tell how long we were there standing in the middle of my room. Eventually she sat on my bed, one hand still in mine, and the other resting on her knee. She looked at me, her gaze heavy as her eyes roamed over me. I walked to stand in between her legs and bent down to capture her lips again. My fingers traced her jaw, the touch light. She pulled me down into the bed with her, our lips never losing their connection. The red and blue swirled in the air around us, responding to the tension. 

Her fingers slipped under my shirt, lightly touching the skin she found there, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I shivered slightly as I moaned into her mouth. Her smile pressed into the kiss, gentle but insistent as she tugged my shirt up. I heard it against the ground but didn’t have time to focus on it as she quickly made quick work of my bra, throwing it off to the side as well. 

I heard her gasp slightly and looked down to find her eyes slightly teary as she tore her gaze back to my eyes. 

“You’re beautiful.” She whispered it reverently as she placed a hand over your right breast, squeezing your nipple in between her fingers as she did. You could feel the heat between your legs and let out a small moan. You were fast as you captured her lips, your tongue danced with hers and in between the heat you had managed to get her shirt and bra to join yours on the floor. 

You peppered her jaw with kisses as you moved down her body. You sucked on her pulse pull, listening to the light moan she gave in reward. The noises she was making was a symphony and you needed to hear it all. You took a nipple in between your lips, rolling it and suckling on it to see what noises she would give to you. She reached down and roughly pulled you back to her, crashing her lips to yours. 

You slide your hand underneath her sweatpants and swiftly pulled them and her underwear off of her, taking your sleep shorts and underwear off as well. As she slide her tongue into your mouth again you ventured your hand down to her heat. 

“God you’re so wet.” you mumbled against her lips. She gasped sharply as you touched her, the gasp turning into a moan as you circled her clit with your fingers before gingerly slipping two fingers inside her. She felt amazing and you expertly found the spot inside her that made her forget how to breathe. 

“Fuck-” She grasped for your shoulders before slipping her own hand down into your folds. You were soaked and before you could moan, she slipped two fingers inside you. 

“Wanda” You had leaned forward and moaned into her ear, sucking at her neck as you picked up the speed of your fingers, your thumb brushing her clit. 

She arched up into you as she sped up, her fingers finding the spot that made your head spin. You tried to remember how to breathe as you felt the coil tighten. You crashed your lips against hers and bit her lower lip as she gasped into your mouth. Your name spilled from her lips and she shuddered, riding out her high against the palm of your hand as she sped up her own fingers. You moaned loudly and with your now free hand, gripped the bed sheet beside her. 

“Almost” you were pleading and for what, you didn’t know. You could feel the coil tighten impossibly and then the rush of release hit you full force. The blue and red in the room crescendoed with you as you came and with a loud pop, the hum of electricity that was normal for the tower was gone. You were both plunged into darkness and as you collapsed next to Wanda, she grabbed you, laughing and smiling a smile that reached her eyes.

TagList: @sadlesbeansstuff

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

The Glitch: Chapter 4

Summary: In a room of flickering light and humming code, two people learn to move as one, their connection shaping the strange energy around them. Every pulse, every spark, becomes a delicate dance of trust, discovery, and the thrill of possibility.

TW: intense emotional and physical tension, close personal contact

The hallway was quiet, deceptively quiet. Too quiet. Every sound, the soft hum of the facility, our footsteps, the faint breath of air circulating through vents, felt amplified, sharp against the stillness. Wanda lingered a step behind, her presence a pulse I could feel but not touch.

“Don’t leave yet,” I whispered, voice low, brittle.

She tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured, but there was a flicker in her eyes, the hesitation, the caution, the constant weighing of how far she could step without breaking the fragile tether between us.

Her words should have calmed me, but they didn’t. My chest tightened as I stepped forward, the hallway shrinking around me, the lights harsh and merciless. Her hand brushed the wall, fingers twitching, half-raised, testing the air between us.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” I admitted, voice cracking. “Being here with you. Feeling like it matters. Like someone’s still in my corner.”

Wanda’s gaze softened, just fractionally. “Then don’t think. Feel.”

We moved side by side down the hallway, neither of us speaking for a long stretch. The silence was not empty; it was thick with anticipation, the almost unbearable awareness of each other’s presence.

Finally, Wanda’s voice broke the tension. “You’ve changed,” she said softly. “Something about the way you move. The way you hold yourself. It’s different.”

I swallowed, unsure how to respond. “I guess I’ve had time to figure out what matters. What I can control.”

She studied me, eyes narrowing slightly. “And what you can’t?”

“Depends,” I said, letting a faint, tired smile tug at my lips. “Sometimes I’ve learned to let go. Sometimes I try to bend it in my favor.”

Her lips parted, almost forming a smile, but hesitation kept it from fully blossoming. “I see that,” she murmured. “It’s terrifying.”

I laughed softly, the sound hollow but real. “Terrifying and useful. Kind of like you.”

Her eyes flickered at that, a tiny spark lighting behind them. “Maybe we’re both learning,” she said, the words barely above a whisper.

We paused outside the lab, lingering on the threshold. The faint hum of machinery behind us felt like a heartbeat, and for a moment, I didn’t move. Wanda’s hand hovered near mine, not touching, just close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from her.

“You saved me,” she said quietly. “Not just back there, not just physically. You steadied me.”

I swallowed. “I wouldn’t have wanted to do anything else. I’ve been trying to find my footing. And you helped me do it.”

Her eyes softened. “I trust you,” she admitted. Her hand finally brushed mine, tentatively, as if testing the fragile bridge we’d built.

The touch sent a current through me, and I froze, unprepared for the wave of emotion it carried. “You can,” I said, low, certain. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

For a long moment, the corridor held us in suspended silence. Neither of us moved, but the air between us hummed with tension, with unspoken promises. Her shield flickered faintly at her side, a gentle glow, grounding her, and me along with her.

“I didn’t think I could trust anyone that much,” Wanda admitted, voice soft, almost vulnerable.

“You can trust me,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now.”

Her fingers lingered, brushing against my arm. “We’ll figure this out,” she said. “Slowly.”

I let myself believe it, if only a little. Slowly, painstakingly, the fear and hesitation that had gnawed at the edges of my being began to ease. For now, the connection, fragile and tentative, was enough. Enough to let me breathe, enough to let me stay.

The simulation room was quiet, but not comforting. It wasn’t the comforting silence of nightfall, or calm breathing; it was the hollow, waiting-for-something-to-break kind of quiet, the silence that hums against your eardrums and makes every pulse in your body feel like a warning. Holographic screens hovered in the air, ribbons of code weaving around each other like living threads, shifting and pulsing with every minor input. Lines of command twisted, turned, and sometimes split apart, responding to the smallest disturbance. The room seemed alive, and I could feel my glitch thrumming beneath my skin, stretching like a tether into the digital ether.

Tony had called it a “controlled hacking environment.” He’d smiled with that familiar combination of pride and exhaustion, like he knew exactly how dangerous it could be, yet trusted me enough to step in anyway. I wasn’t sure whether to feel honored or terrified. Every system I touched quivered, reacting to my presence, my anomaly, my absence of a number, and I could feel the consequences stretching ahead, invisible but inevitable.

Even as the team gathered around me, even as Wanda hovered like a pulse at my back, a tether I couldn’t grasp, I knew the truth. The glitch was learning, alive, and it wanted more.

I didn’t have time to think about the outside world. The simulation demanded focus.

Natasha’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, sharp but not unkind. “Alright. Focus. We’ve got one shot at this. You, me, Clint, Tony, everyone else is in support. No distractions. Not here, not now.”

I nodded, though I felt my hands twitch, fingers brushing the edge of the floating keyboard. A faint pulse of blue light flickered at my skin as the glitch extended into the system. It was already testing boundaries, a probing, serpentine energy, a reflection of the part of me that didn’t belong.

Clint leaned over my shoulder, eyes wide at the shifting code. “I swear, kid, you make this look like magic. I’ve never seen anything move like that before.”

“Magic is just controlled chaos,” I muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “And chaos is all I’m any good at right now.”

Wanda’s eyebrow went up slightly from her spot beside me. The blue of the code swirled around my fingers and up my forearms as I extended the glitch into the screens floating in front of me.

Tony, pacing along the edge of the room, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Controlled chaos is exactly what we need. This environment can handle anomalies, but we have to be precise.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my hands to steady. This wasn’t just a simulation; every line of code I touched, every pulse I sent, was a rehearsal for the fight I’d have to win in the real world. I wasn’t hiding anymore, not here, not with Wanda just behind me, her energy brushing mine like a promise.

We moved through layers of the simulation like explorers in a labyrinth. Firewalls became walls of light, encryption protocols twisted into impossible mazes, each subsystem a puzzle designed to be unsolvable. The glitch flowed like water through the channels, destabilizing some sequences, strengthening others, a pulse weaving itself into the architecture.

Wanda’s voice cut softly through my focus. “You’re holding back.”

I glanced at her, meeting her reflection in the translucent projection, catching the faint red shimmer at her hands. “I’m being careful,” I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me. “One misstep and this could lock me out or worse, collapse the subsystem.”

“Or,” she said, her tone low and teasing but serious, “it could be exactly what the simulation expects. Maybe you have to trust yourself and trust me.”

Her words hung in the air. For a moment, I let my focus slip from the pulsing code and looked at her. The shield around her energy was faint, a ripple, but it grounded me. She was real. Not a number. Not a variable. Just her, steady and waiting.

I nodded, letting a fraction of my panic ebb. “I’m trying.”

“You’re doing more than trying,” she murmured, taking a step closer. “You’re bending it. Feeling it. That’s how we get through this.”

Her presence was a tether I hadn’t realized I needed. Every pulse of the glitch, every tremor in the simulated environment, was reflected in her energy, steady and alive. I focused, letting the rhythm settle into my chest, matching her pulse, and the simulation responded. Lights shimmered, firewalls pulsed, nodes twisted and buckled like reeds in a storm.

Natasha’s sharp voice snapped me back. “Eyes on the mission. Focus, now. No room for hesitation.”

I swallowed, letting the moment with Wanda linger at the edge of my awareness, a calm center in the eye of chaos. I could feel the simulation reacting to my presence, sensing the anomaly it couldn’t control, and I had to act before I lost the thread.

The first real obstacle appeared: a security node, a simulated enforcer, built to test reflexes and resilience. Pulses of red and blue flashed along its interface, warning signals sparking along the corridor of code. If we misstepped, it would trigger a lockdown.

Clint leaned in, whispering advice. “Feed it chaos, but guide it. You’re the anomaly. It should follow you, not the other way around.”

I placed my hands on the projection. The glitch surged outward, twisting into the node, probing its defenses. Sparks of light erupted along its framework, and it staggered. But it didn’t fall. My pulse quickened, fear mingling with exhilaration. The simulation was built for perfection. I was built for chaos.

“Push through,” Wanda whispered, right at my shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”

Her words wrapped around me like a shield. I let go of fear. Let instinct guide the glitch. The node shuddered violently, circuits shorting, code folding in on itself, and then collapsed entirely.

“Nice,” Clint muttered. “You just ghosted a firewall.”

Tony rubbed his temples, muttering calculations. “Careful, ghosting firewalls is one thing. Ghosting the simulation itself? That's unprecedented.”

Hours passed in a haze. Or maybe minutes. Time stretched thin under the pulse of my hyperawareness. Every subsystem we destabilized, every line of code I bent, was a rehearsal for what we’d have to do in the real world. Wanda stayed beside me the entire time, fingers brushing mine occasionally as we rerouted systems together.

At one point, I leaned close to her, whispering, “I don’t know if I can hold it for the full system. This is unstable, even here.”

She turned, eyes locking with mine, the shimmer of her power wrapping around us. “Then don’t think about it. Feel it. Let your glitch breathe. Let me help you.”

Her presence was grounding, and I realized that the trust between us wasn’t just a lifeline, it was a weapon. Every hesitation, every shared breath, allowed me to interface deeper, to bend more lines of code, to destabilize nodes that had no business faltering.

The simulation pulsed, reflecting our rhythm. I let my glitch flow freely, letting Wanda’s energy guide its direction. Sparks of digital light leapt from system to system, and for a moment, it felt almost like dancing.

Minutes passed in quiet reverence. Then Wanda spoke, voice soft but certain. “We need to move. But first, we need to figure out how to patch fully into the system. That’s the key.”

I nodded, chest tight. “Then we focus on that. Together.”

Her hand slid into mine, squeezing gently. “No mistakes. No hesitation.”

I exhaled, letting the tension drain, letting the last pulse of the glitch settle, syncing with hers completely. “Together,” I repeated, and it felt like a vow.

Outside the lab, shadows stretched long. The world felt different now, charged, alert. But inside, Wanda and I were steady. Anchored to each other, our energy intertwined.

The simulation pulsed, reflecting our rhythm. I let my glitch flow freely, letting Wanda’s energy guide its direction. Sparks of digital light leapt from system to system, weaving through the nodes like fireflies caught in an invisible current. The code bent around us, twisting, folding, folding again, responding not just to my commands but to the delicate pulse of trust between us.

Wanda’s fingers brushed mine, a gentle pressure that anchored the surge of energy spilling from me. “It’s listening,” she whispered, awe threading her voice. “You’re… talking to it.”

I swallowed, feeling the truth of her words. The glitch wasn’t just breaking the simulation- it was communicating with it, dancing along the edges of the architecture, teasing it, showing it possibilities it hadn’t considered. My pulse synced with hers, guiding the energy like a conductor with an orchestra that didn’t yet know its own melody.

The room shimmered as the digital landscape began to glow in response, the colors of the code bending and twisting into patterns that felt almost alive. Lines of command coiled and uncoiled, spiraling around each other in perfect, chaotic harmony. Every flicker, every spark, was a note in the symphony of the glitch.

“Keep it steady,” Wanda murmured. “Don’t force it. Let it learn.”

I let go of my rigid control, allowing instinct to guide the energy. My glitch flowed through her aura and back into me, looping, stretching, tethering us to the simulation in a pulse that was part magic, part chaos, and entirely ours. It shimmered like liquid starlight, a living thread of code that bent without breaking, danced without faltering.

A particularly stubborn node resisted, its defenses rippling like a wall of heat. I focused, feeling the resistance in my chest, in my hands, in the rhythm of our shared pulse. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “We can do this.”

Wanda’s fingers tightened slightly over mine, lending me a grounding warmth. “We are doing this,” she said, the certainty in her voice flowing into me. Slowly, carefully, the node yielded, bending, folding, and finally opening like a flower under sunlight.

The simulation responded immediately, cascading into new patterns, new threads of possibility. The glitch sang through the room, delicate, dangerous, beautiful. It wasn’t just a tool: it was alive, and we were learning to speak its language.

Time became meaningless. Each node, each strand of code, each spark of light carried us further, deeper into understanding. The rhythm of the glitch, guided by Wanda’s energy, became a tide we rode together, flowing through the simulation like a river of luminescent water.

Finally, we paused, hands still joined, chests heaving, the room settling into a gentle hum. The simulation had stabilized, but it was different now; responsive, awake, almost expectant. We had pushed it, shaped it, whispered into its code, and it had answered.

Wanda leaned her head against my shoulder, and I let my forehead rest lightly against hers. “We did it,” she breathed.

“Not just us,” I corrected softly. “You, me… the glitch. It’s listening to both of us.”

Her fingers traced the lines of energy still flickering faintly between us, and I felt it too; the pulse of possibility, the thrill of untapped power. “Then… next time,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips, “we go further.”

I nodded, heart hammering with anticipation. “We’ll see how far it can really bend.”

TagList: @sadlesbeansstuff

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

The Glitch: Chapter 3

Summary: After losing the number that defines their place in the world, you undergo testing that reveals something deeply unsettling about your existence. As tension rises, you're forced to confront what it means to live outside a system that no longer recognizes you.

TW: identity crisis, psychological distress, social alienation, non-graphic experimentation, existential themes

Morning comes too quickly. You’re already awake when the compound starts to stir, sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your reflection or more accurately, at the lack of something in it.

No number greets your reflection. No flicker above your head. No glitch and then it reappearing.

Nothing.

It should feel freeing. You’ve been chained down by the number you've had your whole life.

It doesn’t feel freeing. 

It feels like standing in a space where gravity suddenly stopped working and that at any moment, something is going to pull you in a direction you can’t predict.

A sharp knock breaks your thoughts. You barely have time to respond before the door slides open.

Tony. Of course.

Tony Stark walks in like he owns the place, which, technically, he does, but that’s not the point. His tablet already in hand, eyes scanning you like you’re a problem he hasn’t solved yet.

“Good, you’re awake,” he says. “I need to run something.”

You blink. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he replies easily. “Come on.”

You stare at him for a second. Then sigh.

“Do I get coffee first or....”

“No.”

“…Cool. It’s a good thing I wear pajamas.” 

“Gross.” Tony says shortly.

The setup in the lab is different this time. It’s more controlled and intentional. As you look at all the white around you, you can feel the invasiveness of the setup. It’s threatening you with its sterilization and clean walls. There are sensors already prepped and waiting to be used. A chair positioned in the center, not a comfy looking chair, which made you annoyed. Multiple screens displayed live data feeds to where you assume Tony is going to sit. You hesitate in the doorway and Tony notices.

“Relax,” he says. “If I wanted to dissect you, I would’ve scheduled it.”

“That’s not reassuring.” You say flatly.

“It’s not supposed to be.”

You roll your eyes but step inside anyway because despite everything and how much of a freak you feel like, you want answers too.

“Sit,” Tony instructs.

You do.

Sensors are attached quickly with sticky tape on your wrists, temples, and collarbone. They’re cold when they touch your skin and you hiss slightly. You weren’t sure how you were gonna be able to sit in one place for as long as Tony wanted. Your ADHD was part of your martial art super power. You were always 2 steps ahead and 4 thoughts ahead on the track. You bounced your knee slightly in the chair and picked at the seam of your gym shorts. 

“You’re going to make a series of decisions,” Tony explains, tapping through something on his screen. “Simple ones. Controlled variables. We’re going to track the response.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Response of what?” He glances up.

“That’s the fun part.” He winks at you and you have to resist the urge to make a gag sound.

The first few choices are basic.

“Press the button on your left.” You do and nothing happens. Tony frowns slightly, typing something.

“Now press the right.” You press it and still nothing happens. No number appears. No fluctuation. No delayed reaction. Just… nothing.

“Okay,” Tony mutters to himself. “Let’s escalate.”

A new scenario appears on the screen in front of you. The font is slightly too small so you have to squint to read it. A simulation with two outcomes and two choices. 

“Pick one,” he says.

You study it briefly, eyes squinted and head a little more forward. A simple trolley problem. You choose the option to kill one over many. Then watch as Tony is waiting for something to happen. 

Nothing happens. No number. No glitch. No system response.

Tony’s frustration starts to show as he watches the screen in front of him. 

“That’s not possible,” he mutters again, pacing now.

“Starting to think that’s your favorite phrase,” you say.

He ignores you, hands crossed.

“Every action generates a metric. Every decision has weight and if the weight is heavy enough, the numbers change. The system responds. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s supposed to work. Having you make any decision should’ve generated something in place of your old number.”

“Well,” you say lightly, “guess I don’t work that way.”

Tony stops pacing and slowly turns toward you. “And that’s the problem.”

The lights flicker. Just once. Subtle but enough for you both to notice. Tony freezes and looks up at the lights.

“Did you see that?” he asks.

“I thought that was you.”

“It wasn’t.”

The screens glitch around his chair. For half a second, data distorts with numbers scrambling, shifting too fast to read. Then almost as fast as they glitch, they stabilize. Tony moves quickly now, pulling up logs, scanning through the spike, trying to find any data he can on the glitch.

“That’s new,” he says. You don’t like the way he says it with that excitement in his voice.

The door opens suddenly, causing you to jump a little at the suddenness in the quiet as Tony is absorbed in his numbers.

Red hair, a black cardigan, and green eyes look around the lab. Wanda’s eyes find you almost immediately and you can tell by the way her jaw is tightened that she is not amused with Tony’s experiment. She crosses her arms and red moves around the green in her eyes as her gaze settles on you, ignoring Tony completely. 

“You should not be doing this,” she says.

Tony barely glances at her, his head still buried in the screen around him. “We’re a little past ‘should’ at this point.”

Her gaze sharpens, the red focusing behind her eyes.

“You are pushing something you do not understand.” She takes one step forward towards you in the chair.

Tony huffs indignantly. “Welcome to science.”

You shift slightly in the chair under her sharp gaze. “I’m fine, Wanda.”

She doesn’t look convinced as she glances above your head. Almost as if she was expecting something to be there this time. You can’t tell if she’s relieved or irritated that it’s still gone as she uncrosses her arms. Her jaw slackens slightly enough that if you weren’t studying her face, you’d have missed it.

You watch as she slowly comes closer to the chair and as she does you see the blue electronic line by her number. You narrow your eyes a little trying to see the binary that flows in the cut of reality but quickly her number starts to change. It’s not the smooth change you’ve noticed before. It’s hard and chunky as the numbers move above her head. 89 to  86 and then sudden to 74. The numbers are dropping fast.

Too fast.

Tony finally looks up from his screens and his eyes widen as he takes in the chaos above Wanda’s head. Her number is still dropping and as it drops he moves quickly. He takes the sensors from you fast and sharply. You gasp at the feeling of the stickiness being pulled so quickly from your skin. He seems to slap them on Wanda who just stands in shock for a moment. 

“You, chair.” He directs her and you quickly stand so she can sit. She glares at Tony, the red that was swirling in her eyes having lessened. 

“Okay,” he says sharply, pointing at her now. “That. That’s what I’m talking about. Finally something tangible.”

Wanda stiffens slightly in the chair. You’re convinced the chair was once a dentist chair. Her number is still dropping and the worry creases your brow together. What if you infected her? Her lower number would wreck her social standing within the Avengers. Worse than yours if the number didn’t return to normal.

“What did you just feel?” he asks.

“I did not...”

“Yes, you did,” Tony cuts in. “Your number just dropped from 89 to 26 in less than a minute.”

Her jaw tightens again as she looks at you, her own concern masked beneath the hardness she was trying to portray. “I am fine.”

“You’re not,” you say, more firmly than you intended as you watch her.

She looks at you then. Really looks. Her gaze goes from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet and just for a second everything around you is forgotten. Your world narrows and all you can see is green eyes and red hair. 

Her number seems to glitch again, a flash of blue before the number starts climbing back up. It’s slower to fix itself this time, almost as if the system is having a hard time rewriting the code. You watch as it finally stabilizes at 89 and release the breath you had been holding in. Your head turns slightly as you watch the blue disappear from the number slowly. The system was having trouble keeping it black and stable. 

Tony is already moving again from screen to screen, reading the numbers.

“Your number was almost erased Wanda.” He stares at the code on one screen and some sort of graph on the other. It looked like nonsense to you. 

You frown. “What?”

“Her number almost erased itself like yours did but the system caught it before it could. How...” He trails off looking at you exasperated. 

Wanda shakes her head. “No. That’s impossible.”

“Well, we saw it happen in real time, witchy.” 

Your stomach drops because you’ve already noticed that her number seems to glitch when she’s near you. But hearing it out loud that her number almost vanished makes it real. 

“That’s not how the system works,” Wanda says quietly. Her hands go inside the sleeves of her cardigan, picking at the ends.

Tony lets out a sharp laugh. “Yeah? Tell that to the walking null value over here.”

You glare at him. “Can we not call me that? I don’t know why it vanished either.”

“No promises kid.”

The lab feels smaller after that.

Not physically. The walls haven’t moved, the lights haven’t dimmed, the machines are still humming at the same steady frequency but something about the space feels tighter. Like the air itself is holding its breath.

You cross your arms, more to ground yourself than anything else.

“Great,” you mutter. “Love being upgraded from ‘statistical liability’ to ‘existential crisis.’ Really moving up in the world.”

Tony doesn’t even look up. “Don’t undersell yourself. You might be both.”

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t land the way it usually does. Not with Wanda still sitting in the chair. Not with the echo of 26 still ringing in your ears from the drop.

Her number is back now. Stable and normal like nothing just happened. Except you saw it.

You felt it.

And judging by the way Wanda’s fingers are curled slightly into her sleeves, she felt it too.

“You should stop,” she says suddenly.

Tony pauses mid-type. “…Excuse me?”

She looks at him now, fully, her expression calm but edged with something sharper. “Whatever you are doing or trying to do, it is making it worse.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Tony snaps. “I’m observing. Big difference.”

“No,” she says, quieter this time, but more certain. “You are pushing.”

There’s a beat of silence as Tony leans back slightly in his office chair, studying her.

“…Define worse.”

Wanda doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, her gaze shifts to you and it’s different than before. There’s less curiosity and more… awareness.

“When I came in,” she says slowly, “I did not feel anything unusual.”

Your stomach tightens.

“But when I looked at them” she nods slightly in your direction and you feel your cheeks start to heat, “something changed.”

You swallow and Tony’s head snaps toward you so fast it’s almost comical.

“Oh, that’s not concerning at all,” he mutters, already pulling up more data. “Please, continue. By all means, let’s unpack the human anomaly.”

You ignore him.

“What did it feel like?” you ask. Wanda hesitates and that alone is enough to make your chest tighten.

“Like something was… missing,” she says.

The words land heavier than you expected them to.

“Not empty,” she adds quickly. “Not gone. Just… not where it should be.”

Your jaw tightens slightly as you take in what she’s telling you.

“That’s reassuring,” you say dryly. You were trying hard not to let your increasing worry show on your face. You were starting to feel like you were infecting her like your vanished number was a curse that would keep growing if you didn’t keep yourself in check.

“It is not meant to be.”

Tony makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Okay, poetic descriptions aside, I need something measurable. Pain? Pressure? Energy spike? Existential dread, give me a unit here.”

Wanda ignores him completely. Her eyes are still on you, observing in that way you’re becoming familiar with.

“It felt like the system tried to correct something,” she says. “And could not.” Tony freezes. That gets his attention.

“…Say that again.”

She doesn’t look at him.

“It tried to correct,” she repeats, slower this time. “And failed.”

The room goes quiet. Not awkward quiet. Not tense quiet. The kind of quiet that happens right before something breaks.

Tony exhales slowly, then turns back to his screens, fingers moving faster now.

“That lines up,” he mutters to himself. “Glitch spike, instability, attempted recalibration.”

“Stop calling it that,” you cut in.

He glances at you.

“Calling it a glitch makes it sound like it’s small when it’s not. My number is gone and hers almost was too.” Your throat constricts, causing your statement to come out rushed, as you try to keep yourself together. Tony’s expression shifts as he continues typing.

“…You’re right,” he says. That’s new. He’s never called you right before and based on what you’d heard from SHIELD agents during your training in the last month, it was hard to ever get the man to admit he was wrong. ”It’s not a glitch.”

You wish he hadn’t said that because somehow, that feels worse.

A beat passes and then another.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until your lungs start to burn.

“So what is it?” you ask quietly.

Tony doesn’t answer right away.

He’s staring at the screens like if he looks hard enough, they’ll give him something they haven’t yet. Numbers flicker across the glass, data you can’t read fast enough to understand, patterns you don’t know how to interpret.

But his silence? That you understand perfectly. It’s not good.

“It means,” he finally says, slower now, more deliberate, “this isn’t random.”

Your stomach drops but you knew that already.

But hearing it out loud and hearing it confirmed makes it real in a way you can’t ignore.

“It’s reacting,” he continues, tapping a sequence of commands that pulls up a layered graph of… something. You don’t know what, but the lines spike and dip erratically, like a heartbeat that can’t decide if it wants to keep going. “To something specific.”

Neither of you say anything because there’s only one thing in this room that’s different.

You.

Wanda shifts slightly in the chair.

The movement is small, but it draws your attention immediately. Her fingers uncurl just a little from her sleeves, like she’s forcing herself to relax even though everything about her posture says she’s doing the opposite. 

“And it could not correct,” she repeats quietly.

Tony nods once, distracted. “Yeah. Which means either the system encountered something it doesn’t recognize…”

He trails off.

Or something it can’t control. You finish for him in your head.

“That’s not possible,” you say, but your voice doesn’t carry any real conviction. It sounds thin. Frayed. Small.

Tony finally looks at you from his screens, his brow furrows a little as he studies you. You don’t enjoy the way he’s looking at you now. Like something to be caged and studied. It causes you to move back a step. 

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not supposed to be.”

That word again. Supposed. Like there are rules that everyone should know. Like something or someone is breaking them.

You exhale slowly, dragging a hand down your face.

“Cool,” you mutter. “Love that I’m apparently the exception to a system no one fully understands.”

Wanda stands and the chair shifts slightly against the floor, the sound soft but enough to pull your attention back to her.

“You are not the exception,” she says.

You glance at her. “Feels like I am.”

Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“No,” she repeats, more certain this time. “You are the disruption.”

That hits you hard, you feel your chest tighten as you look at the tiles beneath you. You push the tears back that you feel brimming and force the darkness in your chest to stay at bay. 

“Those sound like the same thing,” you say.

“They are not.”

“Okay,” you gesture vaguely between the two of you “then what’s the difference?”

She steps closer. Not all the way but enough that you can smell her perfume. 

“The system expects exceptions,” she says. “Outliers. Variance. It is built to account for that.”

Your brows pull together as you lift your gaze back up to meet hers.

“And?”

“And it corrects them.” Your stomach drops. You don’t need her to finish that thought because it already did that on her.

“So what,” you say slowly, “I’m just… uncorrectable now? A nobody in the system? Worse than an outlier?”

The words taste wrong in your mouth. Wanda studies you longer than usual and there’s something in her expression now that you haven’t seen before. Something almost… unsettled.

“Yes,” she says.

The room feels colder.

Tony lets out a quiet breath. “If that’s true…”

You look at him. “If what’s true?” You say it fast and sharp, your anxiety finally creeping out from the shadows.

He hesitates. Actually hesitates.

“…Then you’re not part of the system anymore.”

Silence. It stretches. Pulls. Snaps something thin inside your chest.

You let out a short laugh that doesn’t even sound like yourself.

“Great,” you say, voice hollow. “So what? I got kicked out of the one thing that decides literally everything about a person’s life? First, I get a number and I can’t change and now I don’t have one at all?” 

No one answers because that’s exactly what it sounds like. You shake your head, stepping back slightly toward the door to the lab.

“Yeah. Awesome. That’s....love that for me.”

“Hey,” Tony starts, like he’s about to say something reassuring. You don’t let him.

“I’m done,” you say. There’s no edge to it. No sarcasm. Just… exhaustion.

Tony watches you for a second. Then nods once.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly. “Probably a good idea.”

You don’t look at him. You don’t look at Wanda either because if you do you might stay and you really, really shouldn’t.

So you turn.

The door slides open.

And you walk out.

The hallway feels unreal. Sterile white lights overhead hum, but it’s quieter than the lab, and that quiet is heavier somehow. Your footsteps echo faintly against the polished floors. Each one feels too loud, too present. It’s as if leaving the lab doesn’t actually mean leaving the problem behind. Not when the problem is you.

You pause halfway down the hall, hand resting on the railing, and the weight of it hits you again. No number. Nothing to define you. No system to tell you where you fit, or don’t. And the thought twists in your stomach. You’ve been measured, judged, ranked, and now erased. And not by choice.

Somewhere behind you, the lab doors slide closed with that soft, final thud. The sound makes the emptiness of the hallway feel deeper, like it swallowed a piece of your chest along with it.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You dig it out, half expecting it to be a message from Tony, maybe something technical, some rambling follow-up about the spike, the glitch, the “human anomaly.” But it’s not. Just a single notification, a reminder you set weeks ago: Meditation at 07:30.

You stare at it, and something about the simplicity of that reminder, something you actually chose for yourself, feels like a lifeline. You pocket the phone, shoulders tightening, and keep walking. The hall curves slightly, and your reflection appears in the polished metal of a door. You stop.

Still nothing. Not a flicker, not a pulse, not a hint that the system even recognizes you exist. Your reflection blinks back at you, blank, unnumbered, and suddenly the world feels far too large. And yet you’re here. Breathing. Moving. Feeling.

You walk on.

Outside, the courtyard is quiet. The early morning sun casts long shadows across the pavement, and the air is crisp enough to bite at your lungs. It should be refreshing. It should feel like freedom. It doesn’t. It feels like stepping into a void that’s waiting to swallow you whole.

Your hand brushes the railing again, and you realize you’re shaking slightly, not from cold, but from the tension in your chest. From the knowledge that your number is gone. That Wanda’s almost was. That Tony’s excitement, normally a grounding thing, is now just a reminder that someone is watching, analyzing, cataloging, and maybe fearing what you represent.

You hear footsteps behind you. Slow. Measured. Your pulse jumps before you even see who it is.

“Don’t run,” Wanda’s voice says softly. It isn’t accusatory. It’s careful, measured, almost tentative.

You don’t turn. “I’m not running.”

She comes to your side anyway, silent except for the soft rhythm of her boots on the stone walkway. You can feel her presence more than you can see it. That awareness, that subtle energy, presses at the edges of your mind in the way her number seemed to glitch in the lab.

“You should’ve stayed with him.” Her voice says softly.

You glance at her, just enough to see her jaw set. “Why?”

“Because you’re affecting things,” she says carefully, eyes forward. “Things you don’t understand yet.”

You exhale sharply. “Thanks for the warning. Really reassuring.” Sarcasm is easier than panic. Panic makes your chest seize. And panic is exactly what’s threatening to crawl up your throat in the wake of today.

Wanda doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t smile either. “It’s not a joke. You are different. Not just from the system, but from the rest of us. You disrupt things. You are not supposed to exist this way.”

“That’s comforting,” you say again, voice dry, but your knees feel weak anyway. The word disrupt lingers like a weight pressing down on you.

She stops walking, and you halt with her. You turn to face her, and for the first time in the morning, you see her fully, not just her eyes or the flicker of a number, but her. The way she tenses when she’s uncertain, the subtle exhale before she speaks, the way her gaze lingers just long enough to make you feel seen.

“You’re not the first anomaly I’ve noticed,” she says softly. “But you might be the first one the system couldn’t touch. That scares it. And it should scare you too, if you don’t learn how to control it.”

Control it. The word echoes in your head. And suddenly the thought of control doesn’t feel like power. It feels like pressure, like responsibility. Like a trap you don’t know how to escape.

“I don’t even know what I am anymore,” you admit, voice low. “I don’t have a number, Wanda. Not here, not anywhere. Am I nothing?”

Her green eyes catch yours, steady, unwavering, and for a moment the weight eases, not entirely, but enough to keep you from collapsing into it. “No,” she says firmly. “You are something. Something the system didn’t account for. Something new. Something alive.”

The word hits differently than anything else today. Alive. Not measured, not coded, not ranked. Just real. And terrified.

You look away from her, out at the courtyard. The wind brushes your face, and it’s not enough to calm the storm in your chest. Not yet. But it’s a start.

“So what now?” you ask quietly. “Do I just… exist?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she steps closer, close enough that your shoulders nearly brush, but not enough to cross the line between comfort and intrusion. “You exist,” she repeats. “But that existence comes with consequences. For you, for me, for the system. And maybe for everyone else.”

Your throat tightens. “Great.”

She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t try to reassure you. She just watches, her gaze steady, as if she can see the fractures you’re too afraid to acknowledge. “I will help,” she says finally. “But you need to understand. This isn’t safe. Not for you. Not for anyone near you.”

You swallow. “I’m starting to see that.”

And for the first time in hours, maybe days, maybe longer, there’s a sliver of understanding between you. A shared acknowledgment of danger, of chaos, of something bigger than both of you. It doesn’t make it less terrifying. But it makes it less lonely.

You step back slightly. “Then I guess we figure it out. Together?”

Her lips press into a thin line. Not a smile. Not approval. Just consideration. “Yes,” she says finally. “Together.”

And the sun climbs higher, cutting sharper angles across the courtyard. The warmth feels alien, tentative, but it’s there. And somehow, that’s enough to keep you moving forward.

Because maybe being unmeasurable isn’t a curse. Maybe it’s the first step toward something else. Something undefined. Something unstoppable.

TagList: @sadlesbeansstuff

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

The Glitch: Chapter 2

Summary: Wanda suggests that numbers don’t truly define people and you end feeling seen in a way that you never have before.

TW: social isolation, identity distress, mild psychological tension

Six days.

That’s how long it takes for something unusual to stop being a coincidence. At least… that’s what Tony Stark had said.

By day three, people stopped pretending not to notice. By day five, they started avoiding looking at you directly. By day six, no one mentioned the number at all. Because there wasn’t one.

You woke up that morning with a foggy head, the remnants of sleep clinging to your brain like a heavy cloak, and immediately felt it. The number that had branded you as useless, that had hovered over your head for as long as you could remember… was gone. Completely. Occasionally, a small blue glitch line would flicker and vanish, almost like it was laughing at you.

The reactions were… predictable. Everyone tried not to notice, tried to act casual, but you saw it. Steve’s eyes lingered just a fraction too long before he turned away. Natasha glanced in your direction, then quickly focused on her own work. Clint’s smirk flickered once, like he caught a glimpse of something odd but didn’t know how to comment.

But Wanda Maximoff didn’t notice, or maybe she noticed and didn’t care. She sat at the kitchen table, calmly sipping tea, completely unbothered by the sudden anomaly that made the rest of the Avengers uncomfortable. The way she moved, the way she occupied space, was effortless. Her focus wasn’t on you, or rather, it was, but in a way that didn’t weigh you down.

The compound had adapted in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. Doors that once opened easily now hesitated as you approached, as if systems that relied on metrics and numbers didn’t know what to do with someone undefined. Conversations would pause when you entered a room. Not abruptly. Not dramatically. Just… enough for you to notice the shift, the change in tone. People were recalibrating around you, uncertain how to react.

Except Wanda. She was different. She accepted tea without hesitation, answered questions promptly, moved through training without questioning your instructions, even when her magic danced around you during sparring. She seemed unaffected by the void you’d left behind.

That evening, you found her in the kitchen, as if drawn there by some invisible thread. Flour dusted the counters in uneven patches. A mixing bowl sat half-filled, thick batter waiting for the next step. The faint smell of sugar and something burnt hung in the air, evidence of distractions mid-task. She pressed her palms into dough with deliberate force, sleeves rolled up, hands moving in a precise, almost mechanical rhythm.

“You are late,” she said, her accent drawing out the word in a way that made your stomach tighten.

“I am?” You glanced around at the chaos she’d left in her wake.

“You were expected.”

“By who?”

“By me.” That pause landed heavy. Wanda wasn’t usually direct. When she was, it meant she meant it.

You stepped carefully into the kitchen, careful not to touch anything covered in flour. “What are you making?”

“I am not entirely sure anymore,” she admitted, a small smile showed on her face as she continued what she was doing.

You smirked lightly. “Checks out.”

Her eyes flicked up at you for a fraction of a second, then back to the dough. Observant. Calculating. Each glance longer than the last, each fraction of a second more focused.

“You’ve been doing that a lot,” you said.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you’re trying to figure something out.”

“I am,” she said simply. No deflection. No avoidance. Just truth.

“And any luck?”

She met your eyes fully now. “No. But I do not think you are supposed to be easy to understand.”

The words landed differently than a compliment or judgment would. It was a conclusion. A recognition. Your chest tightened as she set a bread pan to rise, then reached into the oven for cookies, her movements smooth but full of purpose.

You noticed her number then. It flickered as she moved 89… 87… 88… 91 before settling back to 89. When she looked at you, a blue line flashed briefly, showing 74, before snapping back to 89.

Before you could react, she shoved a warm cookie into your hand. “Careful. It’s hot.”

“I figured,” you said between bites, chocolate melting on your tongue.

“You have not asked about your number,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a subtle weight, as if she knew the question would sting.

You hesitated. “Would it change anything if I did?”

She studied you longer this time, letting her gaze linger, and shook her head. “No.”

“Then I’m good.” You attempted another cookie, but she was quick with her wooden spoon, tapping your hand lightly.

“But these are my favorite,” you said, pouting slightly.

“Wait, zlatka (golden one), you will burn your mouth.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the cookies on the cooling rack waiting to be devoured. Somehow, she knew.

“The others are beginning to notice,” she added almost casually.

You looked down at the black tile floor, its reflection showing the ceiling and your still-empty gaze. “Yeah. I’ve picked up on that. Kinda hard to ignore when people stop talking when you enter a room.”

“They are uncomfortable,” she noted, uncrossing her arms when she realized the front of her shirt was dusted with flour.

You paused, letting the moment settle. People had reacted to your low number your whole life. The void made you invisible, a social outcast in a way you had never experienced. If you weren’t an Avenger… you weren’t sure what would have happened.

“You are not,” Wanda continued, breaking your thoughts with calm certainty.

You let out a small breath. “I mean… I don’t really have a choice, do I? Unless your witchy powers will give me a number back?”

Wanda’s gaze softened. She considered you for a long moment. “No,” she said finally. “But you are handling it differently than they would if their number vanished. And we will figure it out.”

That hung between you. Not heavy, but meaningful. The difference was exactly what everyone else was reacting to. For the first time, someone wasn’t reacting with suspicion. She was observing you, concerned, curious, alive in a way the numbers had never been able to reflect.

Her number flickered again, responding to your presence. A blue line traced erratically across it, then settled back into 89. She turned back to her dough, still moving, still kneading. But you noticed. You saw it. The way her number shifted whenever you seemed to get too close.

You stayed longer than you intended in the kitchen, just… watching. Not in a creepy way, not really. But there was something about the way Wanda moved, so precise and so unaware of the chaos she caused around her—so aware of you. Her number had settled again at 89, but you knew better. You’d seen the glitch. The spike. The way it flickered like it couldn’t decide how to define her, or maybe how to define you.

Every time she glanced at you, your stomach did that stupid flip that refused to go away no matter how many times you told yourself to focus. You tried to think about anything else: the smell of sugar, the hum of the oven, the weight of the cookie in your hand—but your eyes kept finding hers. Each flicker of her number made your chest tighten, like some invisible wire was being pulled taut between you.

“Do you ever… think about it?” you asked quietly, almost afraid she’d hear the panic in your voice.

“About what?” she replied without looking up.

“Numbers. What they mean. Why mine is gone.”

She froze, hands still pressing into the dough. Then slowly, deliberately, she looked at you. The moment her eyes met yours, the number above her head jumped again, blue lines flashing, 74, 91, 87 before settling at 89 once more. You swallowed hard. The numbers weren’t supposed to respond like that. Not to someone else. Not in that way.

“I think sometimes people expect too much from them,” she said, voice softer than before. “Or they hide behind them. But a number cannot see you. It cannot understand you. Only people, only choice,  only attention, can do that.”

Her words made your chest feel tight. Not because they were profound, though they were, but because they were meant for you. Only you. And she wasn’t even trying to impress, to charm, to manipulate. She was… being real with you.

You bit your lip, unsure whether to laugh, to scoff, or to nod and admit that she was right. Instead, you leaned against the counter, trying to make yourself as small as possible while still watching her. She kneaded, rolled, shaped, and moved through the motions of baking as if each task anchored her, kept her in control. And yet, with each glance, each brief acknowledgment of your presence, her number shifted in ways that made your stomach twist.

“Zlatka,” she said suddenly, tone casual but with a sharpness that made your pulse jump, “you are still… unsettled.”

Your hands twitched at your sides. “You could say that again,” you murmured.

She smirked faintly, the ghost of one, and shook her head. “I do not need to say it twice for you to know it is true.” Her words weren’t mocking. They weren’t teasing. They were… observant. Like she could see straight into the parts of you that didn’t even exist on the outside.

And maybe she could.

You swallowed. The tension between you wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just numbers. It was something heavier, something that wrapped around your chest and made it hard to breathe. And yet, you couldn’t leave. You couldn’t. You wanted to see the next flicker. You wanted to see the next shift. You wanted… to understand her, and maybe, secretly, to understand yourself through her eyes.

She caught you staring. Of course she did. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching as if she’d caught a private thought mid-formation. The number above her head jumped again, 86… 90… 88  and then back to 89. But that flash, that glitch… it left you breathless.

“Do you…” you started, heart thumping, “do you see it too? What’s happening?”

Wanda’s hands paused over the dough. She turned her head just enough to give you a sideways glance. “Something is different. You are different. I do not know why yet. But the world notices, and I notice.”

The way she said “I notice” made your stomach twist. Not with fear. Not exactly. But with something heavier. Attention. Recognition. Connection. Something your number had never given you, and yet something that Wanda offered without question.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, to step back, to not get involved in something you couldn’t control. But every part of you wanted to stay. You wanted to watch. Wanted to see. Wanted to understand.

The oven timer beeped again. The sharp, mundane sound grounded you. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the tension coiling in your chest. Wanda placed the tray of cookies on the cooling rack and looked at you fully, directly, without flinching. Her number flickered once more, this time longer, brighter. Blue streaks laced through the 89, and your stomach flipped.

“You are still here,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “and I think you will not leave.”

You swallowed. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Not because you were intimidated, exactly. But because the truth was heavier than words: you didn’t want to leave. And for the first time, not even the absence of your number could define why.

You stayed, even as the faint hum of the ovens and the occasional clink of utensils filled the kitchen. Each sound grounded you a little, but it did nothing to ease the tight coil in your chest. Wanda’s movements were deliberate, precise, but there was a rhythm to her that made your pulse catch, the way she rolled the dough, pressed it into the pan, dusted flour off her hands, each small action measured but somehow unguarded.

Her number flickered again. 86… 91… 87. Blue streaks laced through the digits before it settled at 89. You couldn’t look away. Each glitch felt like a pulse directed at you, like she was reacting not just to your presence but to the way you existed without a number at all.

“You watch too much,” Wanda said without looking up, her tone neutral but her gaze flicking to you from the corner of her eye.

“Maybe,” you admitted, leaning a little further against the counter. “Or maybe I’m just… trying to understand.”

She paused, dough in hand, and finally faced you. Her eyes studied you fully, green irises bright against the kitchen light. “Trying to understand me, or yourself?”

You blinked. “Both?” The words came out softer than intended, but they were honest.

Her number spiked again. 74… 88… 90… and then back to 89. Your chest tightened at the sight. Numbers weren’t supposed to react in a way that suggested… feeling.

“Numbers…” she started, her voice low, “they are supposed to measure everything. Or almost everything. And yet, they fail.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, “that’s my experience.” Your own lack of a number made the admission heavier than usual. “And I don’t even exist in their system anymore.”

She leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the counter, and for a moment, the kitchen felt smaller, tighter, the space between you charged. “Perhaps the system cannot measure those who challenge it. Those who do not fit its rules.”

You swallowed hard. Her gaze didn’t waver. It didn’t judge. It just held. You felt it in your chest, like gravity had shifted. “Or maybe it’s just broken,” you muttered, almost as if saying it aloud might make it true.

Wanda’s eyes flicked to your face, then quickly down at the dough she was kneading. “Broken can be revealing.” Her words lingered between you, heavier than flour dust in the air.

You shifted on your feet, the sudden awareness of how long you’d been standing there pressing into your awareness. The air felt warmer. Heavier. You caught yourself thinking about the way her numbers shifted, the way her eyes met yours before returning to her task. The kitchen seemed to shrink around you both, the world outside, the Avengers, their quiet stares, the familiar rules of number and rank, all suspended.

“You’ve stayed longer than expected,” Wanda said softly, her tone carefully measured. “Perhaps you wish to understand more than baking.”

You laughed quietly, nervously. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want to leave.”  your voice trailed off.

Her hands paused over the dough. The number above her head flickered sharply 83… 91… 88. You felt it like a pulse in your chest. “That could be wise,” she said quietly, “or dangerous.”

Your stomach twisted. Dangerous. The word hung in the air like a suspended weight. “Why dangerous?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Because attention can reveal things,” she replied, her eyes catching yours again, “Things you do not wish to see in yourself. And in others.”

You wanted to argue, to deflect, but something in her tone made it impossible. Her gaze was steady, unwavering, and her number pulsed like it was alive, like it had a mind of its own. 87… 90… 86… 89. Blue streaks shimmering across it, subtle but insistent.

You realized you were holding your breath. “I don’t even know what my number is anymore,” you admitted. “Or if it’s coming back.”

Wanda stepped closer, just enough that the space between you felt electric. “I don’t think it will matter,” she said softly, “For numbers are not the measure of you. Not fully.”

Something inside you tightened, a mix of fear and relief, confusion and fascination. “ But it matters to them,” you said, voice low, “to everyone else. To the world.”

“And yet,” Wanda said, kneading the dough again, “you are here. You remain.”

Your chest felt tight. “And you notice,” you said, more statement than question.

Her gaze flicked up, and for the first time, it lingered. Long enough that you felt something shift inside you. “I do,” she said simply. “I always notice.”

The words, the attention, the subtle pulse of her number glitching again 74… 87… 91 made your pulse spike. You weren’t used to being seen. Not like this. Not by anyone. Not even your closest allies. And yet, Wanda looked at you without judgment, without measurement, just with observation.

Your hand twitched toward the cooling rack. She caught it with the tip of her spoon. “Careful,” she said softly, but not with authority, with caution. “You will burn yourself.”

“I still had to try,” you muttered, letting your hand drop. But your eyes never left hers.

The room settled around you in a fragile calm. Oven timers dinged. Flour dust hung in the light. The cookies cooled. And somewhere between the kneading, the glances, and the shifting numbers, a connection, a fragile, unspoken understanding, took root.

The words echoed in your mind long after you left the kitchen. Sleep eluded you that night. Not because of Tony’s endless testing, not because of the silence that had followed your number’s disappearance but because of her. Her gaze. Her numbers. The way she saw you when no one else could.

And somehow, despite the uncertainty, the chaos, and the absence of a number that defined you, you felt seen.

TagList: @sadlesbeansstuff

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

The Glitch Masterlist

Summary: Everyone when they turn 14 gets a number. Yours has always been low but you've never let it stop you.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, slow-burn, maybe SMUT??? (undecided tbh)

Chapters:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

TagList: @sadlesbeansstuff

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

The Glitch: Chapter 1

Summary: Your first mission needed to go smoothly.

Pairing: Wanda x fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slow-burn

The first thing you learned when you joined the Avengers was this: No one looked at your face first. They looked above your head.

42

You didn’t need a mirror to know it was still there. You could feel it like a weight pressing down on your existence, silently announcing to everyone in the room: Not impressive. Not exceptional. Not worth much.

“Forty-two?” You turned at the voice. Tony Stark stood across the room, arms crossed, staring not at you but at the number above your head. His number read 92 above his head as you tried not to glare at him. You had worked hard to earn your spot amongst the team, regardless of the number that stayed constant above your head.

“That’s… bold,” he said. “Recruiting someone the system barely acknowledges.”

“It’s not the system’s call,” Steve Rogers replied evenly, his own number sitting at 98. He looked at you warmly, ready to welcome you into the team. 

“Everything’s the system’s call now, Cap.” Tony crossed his arms from his spot beside Steve on the round table in the conference room. 

You tried not to react. You’d heard worse. Still, your eyes flicked, just for a second, to the others and the numbers above their heads....90s. 80s. 70s with Natasha Romanoff having the lowest score at 78. God-tier humans.

And then your eyes landed on her number. Her red hair flowed down her shoulders against her leather jacket. You knew she was the newest member, well, before you had been asked to join by Nick Fury, his own number sitting at a steady 91. 

Wanda Maximoff, her green eyes briefly landed on your face, as if she was deciding her opinion without the relevance of the number, before she went back to looking at a spot on the table. 89. Not the highest at the table but definitely higher than yours. 

But hers wasn’t steady. It flickered once and then again as she glanced at you again..86… 88… 85…Like it couldn’t decide what she was worth and unlike everyone else when she settled her gaze at you again, she wasn’t looking at your number, she was looking at you. Greens eyes taking in every inch of your face, the way your hair settled, the way your shirt bunched just a little at the collar. She was analyzing you without even considering what the number above your head was and it made your cheeks flush. 

It’s subtle at first, just a warmth creeping up your neck, brushing across your jaw and up your cheeks, but under her gaze it feels like it’s blazing. Her green eyes flicker again… for a fraction of a second, something like curiosity or amusement crosses her face before she looks away.

Focus.

You weren’t here to get distracted.

You were here to prove you belonged regardless of your number.

“Alright,” Steve says, pushing off the table slightly, drawing the room’s attention back to something that isn’t you. “We’ve got a situation developing just outside Bucharest. Small group, but they’ve already taken out a convoy.”

A holographic map flickers to life above the center of the table, casting blue light across everyone’s faces. You latch onto it immediately, grateful for the distraction.

“Energy signatures are… strange,” Tony adds, tapping something on his tablet. “Not anything we’ve catalogued before. Which, lately, is becoming a trend I do not enjoy.”

“Civilian casualties?” Natasha asks, her tone sharp, efficient.

“Minimal,” Steve answers. “So far.”

“Meaning it won’t stay that way,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

The words slip out, quiet but clear enough.

Every head at the table turns.

Your stomach drops.

Great. First meeting, and you’re already speaking out of turn.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Forty-two speaks.”

You bite back the instinct to snap at him, forcing your shoulders to stay relaxed. “If they wanted attention, they would’ve made it louder already. If they haven’t… they’re building toward something.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then-

“She’s right.”

The voice is soft. Accented. Everyone turns again, but this time not toward you. Toward Wanda.

She hasn’t moved much, still leaning slightly back in her chair, fingers loosely intertwined in her lap. But her gaze is steady now, fixed somewhere in the hologram like she’s seeing something deeper than the rest of you.

“They are waiting,” she continues quietly. “Not hiding. Waiting.”

Tony glances between the two of you. “And we’re basing this on… vibes?”

Wanda doesn’t look at him as she continues. “On patterns.”

Your eyes flick to her again, curiosity sparking despite yourself. For a moment, her number flickers again...87… 86… 88…Unstable. But her voice doesn’t waver.

Steve nods slowly. “Either way, we move in carefully. Recon first. Then we engage if necessary.”

He looks around the table. “Romanoff, Barton, Maximoff—”

“I’m going too.” The words are out before you’ve fully decided to say them, an impulse you don’t catch in time.

Silence.

Again.

You really need to get better at that.

Tony lets out a short laugh. “Of course you are.”

You ignore him, focusing on Steve instead, you appreciated his genuine disposition as opposed to Tony’s arrogant one. “You said it yourself, it’s unpredictable. More eyes, more angles. I can help.”

Your number doesn’t move even as the decision is made. Still 42. You can feel it, heavy and unmoving, like it’s judging you for even speaking. Steve studies you for a moment, thoughtful.

Tony scoffs. “Cap, we are not bringing the statistical liability on a first run.”

“She’s not a liability,” Steve says firmly.

“Her number says otherwise.”

“And when has that ever been the only thing that mattered?”

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly annoyed.

You catch her gaze again. It lingers, just a fraction longer this time. You feel your chest tighten. Something unspoken passes between you, and then she looks away.

“She should come.” Wanda. This time, she’s looking directly at Steve. Then, slowly, her gaze shifts to you. There’s something unreadable in her expression. Not quite trust. Not quite curiosity. Something sharper.

“She sees things differently,” Wanda adds. Your breath catches slightly. You don’t know why that affects you more than Tony’s criticism or Steve’s defense.

But it does.

Natasha tilts her head, studying both of you now, her blue eyes seeming to find parts of you in a few seconds that you didn’t even know existed. “Interesting.”

Steve exhales, then nods once. “Alright. You’re in.”

Tony throws his hands up. “Fantastic. Love that for us.”

-- 

The Quinjet is quieter than you expected.

Not silent, there’s the steady hum of the engines, the occasional click of equipment, but quieter in a way that feels… heavy and ominous. You sit near the back, hands clasped loosely together, trying not to fidget and focus on your nerves.

Across from you, Natasha sharpens something small and metallic with precise, practiced movements. Clint lounges beside her, flipping an arrow between his fingers like it’s second nature.

Wanda sits near the window. Alone. Or at least, she looks like she prefers it that way. Her reflection stares back at her in the glass, red hair framing her face, green eyes distant. Her number hovers above her, faintly glowing. 87.

It hasn’t flickered in a while and you wonder why. Before you can stop yourself, you speak, the impulse feels easier to give in to while the anxiety of proving yourself slithers through your mind like a black fog.

“Does it ever bother you?” The words hang in the air.

Natasha’s hand pauses for just a second. Clint glances up briefly. But it’s Wanda who reacts.

Her eyes shift, not her head, just her eyes, from the clouds outside the window until they land on you. You notice how she leans a little forward towards you.

“Does what bother me?” she asks. You hesitate. Then gesture vaguely upward. “The number.” There’s a brief silence.

Then Clint snorts. “That’s one way to break the ice.” Natasha smirks faintly but says nothing.

Wanda, though… She turns fully this time and faces you. For a second, you almost regret asking as her eyes bore into you. You feel as though she’s trying to perceive something invisible. 

But then she speaks softly. You can barely hear her over the hum of the quinjet “Yes.” Simple. Honest. Your eyebrows lift slightly. You hadn’t expected that.

“Most people don’t admit that,” you say.

“Most people lie,” she replies.

There’s no bite to it. Just a fact that floats between you. 

You huff a quiet laugh. “Fair.”

Her gaze lingers on you. Longer than it probably should.

“Yours does not change,” she says. It’s not a question but an observation. You hadn’t even caught her looking at the number that had appeared above your head and never once changed since.

Your chest tightens slightly. “Not really.”

“Why?”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Guess I’m just… consistently unimpressive.”

Natasha snorts softly at that as she finishes sharpening the dagger she was working on. But Wanda doesn’t smile, she leans forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

“I do not think that is true.”

Your breath catches again. Gods, you need to stop reacting like that.

“Yeah?” you say lightly. “The system disagrees.”

For a moment, something flashes across her face. Something darker.

“The system is not always correct.”

Tony’s voice crackles over the comms before you can respond. “Careful, Maximoff, you’re starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

Wanda doesn’t look away from you. “Maybe,” she murmurs.

--

The mission goes sideways faster than anyone expects.

One second, you’re moving through the abandoned structure, footsteps quiet, breath controlled.

The next...Everything explodes. Not literally. But it might as well have.

Energy pulses through the air, sharp and electric, distorting the space around you. The walls shimmer, like reality itself is glitching. Blue lines distort the space in front of you and if you squint and focus you think you can see binary hidden amongst the lines, flying upwards in the glitches. 

“Contact!” Clint shouts. Figures emerge from the shadows, three, four, five of them, moving too fast, their movements jerky and unnatural.

“Something’s wrong,” Natasha mutters into her mic, already engaging. You duck as something slices through the air where your head had been a second ago. Your heart is pounding. Too fast. Too loud.

Focus.

You move, reacting more on instinct than anything else, grabbing a fallen piece of metal and swinging it just as one of the figures lunges. It connects with a hard thump.

The figure stumbles back, the impact of the metal slowing him down but not stopping him and your number flickers...42… 43… 41…You freeze for half a second as the number keep flickering above you. That’s new. Your number has never moved before.

You barely have time to process it before- “Watch out!” Wanda’s voice. You turn but you’re too slow.

Energy slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain blooms across your side. The room spins and for a moment you can’t breathe as you gasp, trying to remember how your lungs work in the panic of not being able to bring air in.

Then all you saw was red. A flash of crimson energy cuts through the chaos, wrapping around the attacker and slamming them into the wall. Wanda stands a few feet away, hand outstretched, eyes glowing faintly as she takes in your condition, checking for any worse injuries. Her eyes swirl with the crimson and you see the fury that hides there.

Not at the enemy.

At the situation.

At the instability.

At.....you.

Your number drops again....41… 39. Wanda hesitates in her stance in front of you. Her eyes searching you for any sign of injury as her hand twitches, red energy flowing in a ball in between her fingers. You watch the energy and then slowly your gaze returns to her eyes. Red as she examines you mentally.

“What are you doing?” she snaps, stepping closer. “You are not paying attention.”

“I’m trying not to die,” you shoot back, pushing yourself up despite the pain. Her jaw tightens as she stares down at you.

“You must think before you act.”

“You think too much!” The words come out sharper than you intended. For a split second, everything stills as you stand up, wavering slightly as your body adjusts to the oxygen flowing in. You try to refocus on the battle around you but you can’t stop looking at her. The red swirls around her and her hair floats around her as she hovers in the air. She’s magnetic and you have to make a conscious effort to try and focus on something else.  The chaos around you feels distant. Her eyes lock onto yours and you feel a pull to get her out of the battle, to somewhere safe. Her number spikes...85… 90… 93. A blue line appears as her number shifts. 

Your breath catches. That’s not normal. Numbers only change once after a life altering decision. They aren’t supposed to change so rapidly. 

That’s not...Another blast interrupts the moment, forcing both of you back into motion. The fight continues but something has changed. You can feel it and by the time the fight is over, the building is half-collapsed, the enemies subdued or gone, and your entire body aches.

You sit on a broken piece of concrete, trying to steady your breathing and calm the adrenaline flooding into your system. Your number hovers above you, mocking you. 

Lower than it’s ever been.

You stare at it. 

38

“You are injured this time.” You glance up and your eyes meet green. Wanda stands a few feet away, her expression unreadable again. Her number has settled, the flickering stopping during the fight. 89. Higher than before.

You let out a quiet breath. “I’ve been worse.” She steps closer, slowly, like she’s approaching something fragile.

“You should not have been hurt,” she says.

“Comes with the job.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Not like that.”

You tilt your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She hesitates, only for a second.

“When you were hit… your number dropped before you even stood up.” Your stomach twists. You hadn’t noticed that, being too distracted by trying to get air back in your lungs.

“You saw that?”

“I see many things,” she says quietly. There’s something in her voice now, something softer. “But I do not understand you.”

You huff a small, humorless laugh. “Join the club.” She steps closer towards you. Close enough now that you can see the tiny details that mark her face. The faint freckles across her nose, the slight tension in her jaw.

“Your number does not follow the rules,” she says.

“Maybe I don’t either.” That almost makes her smile.

Almost.

For a moment, neither of you speak but the air feels… different.

Quieter.

Heavier.

Then she says, very softly so that only you can hear her. “I would like to understand.” Your chest tightens but not in a bad way.

In a way that feels dangerous and new. You can feel your heart jump as she turns toward the rest of the team to regroup and for the first time since you got asked to join the Avengers the attention isn’t on your low number, it’s just on you and somehow that feels a lot more terrifying.

[ask-the-fishdick-deactivated201]

REBLOG IF IT IS OKAY TO COME INTO YOUR INBOX AND SAY THE RANDOMEST SHIT I CAN THINK OF BECAUSE I REALLY WANT TO INTERACT WITH YOU.

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

Strik Soncha: Ash and Oaths

Summary: After an assassination attempt, tensions rise in Polis. In the quiet aftermath, Reader and Lexa share a moment of honesty that changes everything—on the battlefield and in their hearts.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: grounder typical violence

Series Masterlist

The torchlight burned low in Lexa’s war room, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The air still carried the scent of smoke and iron from the fire pit, mingling with the faint copper tang of blood.

Most of the advisors had gone, their debates on territory lines and retaliatory raids echoing faintly as they disappeared down the corridor. A few generals still lingered at the far end of the hall, murmuring low as they traced strategies across a map of the twelve clans—ash smudging the borders, chalk cracking under calloused fingers.

You stood just inside the door. Inside, not outside, where you'd normally be stationed. You hadn’t moved since the goblet slipped from your grasp and clattered against the stone, crimson wine pooling like fresh blood beneath your boots.

“You’re injured.”

Her voice didn’t rise above a whisper, but the command in it was unmistakable. Her eyes flicked down to your hands, lingering on the red slice along your knuckles.

You straightened, ignoring the sting.

“It’s nothing. Surface cut.”

Lexa stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Not close enough to let herself feel.

“You shouldn’t have stepped in front of me like that.”

You smiled, dry and tired. “Wasn’t a choice, Leksa.”

Her jaw tensed. She tilted her head slightly, voice more steel than silk now.

“Everything is a choice.”

“Not when it comes to you,” you said, softer than you meant to. The words left your mouth like a secret begging not to be kept.

A silence bloomed in the space between you.

Lexa’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but with something far more dangerous: vulnerability. She turned from you, footsteps silent as she moved toward the map table, her shoulders taut beneath her armor. Her back to you. Her walls back up.

You could have let the moment go. Let it bleed out quietly like so many before it. But there was something inside you—wild, desperate, shaking against the bars of its cage—that refused to stay silent.

“You want honesty?” you asked. Your voice trembled, pulled from the part of you you always kept locked away. “I didn’t do it because you’re Heda. I did it because you’re Leksa. Because I’d rather bleed out in the dirt than watch you fall.”

Her shoulders stiffened, her grip tightening on the edge of the table. Her breath hitched. She didn’t turn.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she murmured. “Not to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might believe you.”

She turned then. Slowly. Her face unreadable—but her eyes, her eyes burned.

The candlelight flickered over her features, softening the sharp angles. It caught in the strands of her hair, highlighting the curve of her cheekbone, the small scar along her collar, the vulnerability she was trying to bury.

“Do you?” you asked.

Lexa held your gaze.

“I do.”

She crossed the space between you—one step, two. Her armor brushed yours, your arms barely touching. Close enough to feel the heat of her breath. Close enough to hear her heart racing if the silence stretched long enough.

“You see too much,” she whispered. “You feel too much. And I—”

She stopped.

So you said it for her.

“And you’re afraid.”

She looked down, lashes lowering over her eyes like a curtain. Her voice nearly cracked.

“Yes.”

You reached out. Took her hand. Slowly. Deliberately. She didn’t pull away.

“So am I,” you said. “But I’d rather be afraid with you than numb without you.”

Her hand tightened in yours.

And then—then—she kissed you.

Not like Heda. Not like a warrior. Not like a ruler bound in duty.

She kissed you like Lexa. Like a girl who had fought so hard to be strong for everyone else, and finally, finally let herself want something for her.

Her lips met yours with trembling urgency—soft but desperate. A promise wrapped in ache. Her fingers threaded into your hair, not to pull you closer, but to ground herself, like she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand without you.

You kissed her back with every truth you couldn’t say aloud.

And when the kiss broke, she didn’t step away.

She stayed, forehead resting against yours.

“If I ask you to stay… not as Heda, but as me… would you?”

“Always,” you whispered.

---

The sun split the cloud cover like a blade, slicing the sky into strips of cold light. Polis had awakened with purpose—merchants calling out their wares, temple bells chiming in ritual rhythm, and warriors already bruising the sand in choreographed violence.

You moved through the compound like you always did: armor laced tight, weapons balanced, expression set. But the world felt different. Like something had clicked into place beneath your skin. Not peace. Not yet. But quiet.

The quiet of knowing someone saw you.

Last night lived just beneath the surface of your skin: Lexa’s hands on your cheeks, the press of her lips, the way she had trembled. The way she had looked at you like a person—not a sword, not a protector. Just you.

Your fingers brushed your lips without thinking.

On the training grounds, chaos reigned. Gona shouted. Blades clashed. Dust kicked up in the ring. You moved through it with precision, but you didn’t feel the usual weight.

You felt watched.

And then you were.

Lexa stood across the yard. Armor sharp. Paint perfect. Hair braided tight. Heda again.

Except… her eyes flicked to you.

Just once.

But it landed like a knife pressed gently to your sternum. Not a threat. A promise.

You locked it down. You couldn’t afford to be vulnerable—not here. Not in front of her generals.

The war bell rang. Sparring began.

Indra approached. “You’re against the new seken,” she grunted.

You nodded, stepping into the circle. The seken smirked like she already saw your blood on her hands. But you already knew her tells. Her weak leg. Her off-balance stance. She was cocky. You were carved from steel.

Across the yard, Lexa lingered. Watching.

Your opponent lunged. You didn’t think. You moved.

Block. Parry. Pivot. Strike.

Her arm glanced off your ribs. You twisted, countered, drove her back into the sand.

“You're holding back,” Indra snapped.

Maybe. Maybe not. You were distracted.

With the memory of Lexa’s voice, raw with emotion.

Stay.

You wiped sweat from your brow with a cloth—her cloth, the one stained with black blood from the night before. A talisman. A reminder.

You caught Lexa’s gaze again. Longer this time.

There it was.

That flicker of a smile. Subtle. Private. Real.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you dropped your opponent and turned before you could do something foolish. Like smile back.

When the session ended, the warriors began to disperse, but Lexa made her way across the field. Every step calculated. Every gaze followed her like shadow.

She stopped beside you, close enough to share breath.

“You fought differently today,” she said, voice low.

“Sha. I had an audience.”

Your voice was dry. Controlled. But your stomach flipped like a coin.

“I meant what I said,” she murmured. “Last night.”

You risked a glance. Her eyes met yours. A flicker of pink rose to her cheeks.

Before you could answer, Titus called her back.

You didn’t bother hiding your glare.

Lexa smirked, amused. Her fingers brushed yours as she turned—not enough for anyone to notice.

But enough for you to feel.

Like a spark.

Like a promise.

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

You hooked me with the Lexa Woods series!

Haven't read any Lexa fics in a while but this one was amazing, I'm left wondering what will come next!

Love your works!

Have a great day :)

Ayyyyy! Thank you so much!! I've been trying to find a way to get the next chapter how I want it but keep getting stumped haha.

[decayingdogt33th]

All cookie dough is “edible cookie dough” if you’re not a fucking pussy

[isthatmyjacket-rhiyo]

[sersi]

BLACK WIDOW (2021) | THUNDERBOLTS* (2025)

[swallowthekn1fe]

"They tried to kill eachother!!" oh my godddd that was only a couple of timessss and they were literally flirtingggg shut uppppp

[xkatebishop]

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 15

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N goes on the mission. It was supposed to be a simple mission…

Word Count: 6,255

Warnings: angst, little fluff, mention of blood

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The Mission

At first, the mission unfolded like clockwork.

The team touched down on the outskirts of a remote Hydra outpost nestled deep in a mountainous region. Intel had flagged the facility for data extraction—nothing high-threat, mostly old storage, according to the briefing. Just a simple in-and-out. Surveillance disabled. Entry points mapped. The air was cool, thin, but quiet. Too quiet.

Y/N moved with the others through the tree line in a blur, her senses sharp, every muscle tensed. Even with her enhanced speed and strength, something about this place made her skin crawl. Wanda’s absence was like a silent echo in her chest, tugging at her instincts louder than anything else.

“Eyes up,” Steve’s voice came through the comms. “We’re approaching the eastern entrance.”

Y/N nodded, appearing beside Sam and Nat with supernatural ease, scanning the perimeter. They breached the door with minimal resistance. The corridors inside were dim, dust-covered, abandoned-looking—but not entirely empty. Y/N could feel it.

“Too quiet,” Nat muttered, checking the corners.

“Energy readings are spiking,” Sam said, holding up a scanner. “Something’s still live down here.”

They reached the data terminal without incident. Strange. Y/N started the extraction, her fingers a blur across the interface, while the others secured the area.

Then everything went to hell.

A sudden boom ripped through the silence. The ground trembled. Dust poured from the ceiling as a wall at the far end exploded inward. Reinforced blast doors hissed open—and behind them—

“Ambush!” Steve barked.

Dozens of Hydra operatives poured in, armed to the teeth and moving with disturbing precision. Automatic fire erupted. The team dove for cover.

Y/N was already moving. In a blur, she shot in front of Sam, arm outstretched—her fingers snapping closed around the bullets mid-air. One. Two. Three. Caught like they were nothing. Then, with a burst of speed, she launched forward, disarming three men in the blink of an eye and slamming one clean through a wall.

“We’ve been set up!” Nat shouted, ducking a blast.

Gunmen dropped from above, rappelling from vents and hidden shafts. It had all been a trap.

Y/N gritted her teeth, eyes darting back to the data terminal—78% downloaded.

“We have to hold until it’s done!” she yelled, tearing a chunk of metal from the wall and using it to block another barrage of bullets. She threw it like a discus, taking out a group of enemies in one clean arc.

But her mind wasn’t on the fight—not fully.

She was thinking about Wanda.

And the baby.

And how fast everything could be lost.

Her chest tightened. No matter how fast she was, how strong—she couldn't be in two places at once.

I have to survive this.

I have to go home to them.

And suddenly, surviving this mission became the only mission.

---

The hallway was barely holding together from the force of the battle. Y/N stood at the front of the team, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping. Her speed had cleared most of the path, and her strength had kept the walls from collapsing entirely.

“98%!” she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Just hold a little longer!”

The terminal hummed beside her, screen flashing as the data download neared completion. Behind her, Steve and Nat held their ground while Sam covered the flank.

Suddenly, Tony’s voice crackled through the comms, urgent and sharp:

“Heads up—Vision and I have visuals on reinforcements. Not inside. Outside. And they’re not your average goons—these are enhanced.”

Vision’s voice followed, more controlled but just as serious:

“I count at least seven. They’re waiting for extraction to fail.”

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Before she could react, the terminal pinged—100%.

“Drive’s ready!” she shouted.

Sam grabbed it and turned, but a low hum began to vibrate through the floor.

Y/N froze.

“What is that?” she muttered, then realized,

The sound was familiar.

“Fall back—now!” she yelled, but it was already too late.

Her limbs felt heavy. Like molasses had filled her veins. She tried to run, to push forward—but her body didn’t obey. Her momentum died mid-step, and the blur of motion that usually trailed her fell still.

“What the hell—?” Steve called out, noticing her slow down.

Then came the sound.

Pop. Pop.

Two gunshots.

Sharp. Close.

Y/N staggered backward, breath catching in her throat. She looked down.

Blood bloomed across her side and lower abdomen.

The pain hit a second later, burning, white-hot.

“Y/N!” Sam shouted, diving toward her.

Y/N hit the ground hard, her vision swimming. Blood seeped through her suit—hot, fast, and too much.

She tried to move but her legs barely twitched. Whatever they hit her with… it was working. Her speed—her healing—it was all gone.

Nat was by her side in seconds, skidding to her knees. “Where are you hit?”

“Side... and ribs…” Y/N gritted out, clutching her abdomen. “Bullets are still in.”

Nat’s fingers were already working, applying pressure. “Alright. You’ll be okay. I just need to get them out.”

She tapped her comm, urgency in her voice. “Vision, we need immediate extraction. Y/N’s down—bullets lodged too deep to remove here. Vision, do you read?”

Static.

“Vision?” Nat repeated, louder now. “Come in. Y/N’s hit!”

More silence.

Sam and Steve were laying cover fire around them, but Nat’s eyes flicked to the sky. “Where the hell is he?”

Y/N’s breathing was shallow, ragged. “Nat…” she rasped. “He’s not answering?”

“No,” Nat said grimly. “But that doesn’t matter. We’ll handle it. I just need—”

Y/N gasped as Nat dug a blade into the first wound, her body convulsing. “AHHHHH—!”

“Hold still!” Nat snapped. “I have to get it out. Your body won’t heal with the metal in you!”

Y/N screamed again, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched so hard it felt like they might crack. “It’s not working… dammit, Nat—it’s not working! There’s something wrong.”

Nat’s hand froze mid-motion. “What?”

“They did something. Slowed me down. Whatever it is, it’s still in my system. I can't heal until that bullet's gone…”

Nat looked down, heart pounding. She could feel the bullet—it was deep, but accessible. Maybe.

“Okay. Deep breath. You have to trust me.”

“I do,” Y/N whispered, clutching her shoulder. “But please—please—don’t let me die.”

Nat's expression softened just for a second. “You’re not dying. Not today. Not on my watch.”

Another call through the comms. “Vision! Where the hell are you?” Sam’s voice this time, urgent. “We need you down here!”

Nothing.

Nat bit back a curse and dug in again, ignoring the cry that tore from Y/N’s throat. Steve and Sam were closing ranks to protect them, enemies swarming. Time was running out.

“I’ve almost got it,” she said through clenched teeth, blood coating her gloves.

Y/N’s lips trembled, sweat slick on her brow. “Wanda… needs me… the baby…”

Nat froze. “What?”

But Y/N’s eyes were rolling back. Her grip loosening.

Nat forced herself to focus. “No time for questions,” she muttered. “Just hold on.”

Whatever was blocking Y/N’s powers—they needed to get it out fast.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda’s breath caught before the pain even registered.

It struck like lightning—sharp, violent, and wrong. Her knees buckled and she gripped the edge of the sink in her bathroom, the coffee cup slipping from her hand and shattering on the tile below.

Her vision blurred.

“No…” she whispered, one hand flying instinctively to her abdomen, the other to her chest. Her heart thundered wildly, a rhythm not entirely her own.

Y/N.

Something was wrong. So wrong.

She felt it through the bond—not a vague unease or a distant pulse of fear like before—but a surge, raw and red-hot, flooding her senses like fire. The pain, the panic, the searing heat of a wound that wasn’t hers but somehow was.

Her body curled forward, a cry ripping from her throat.

“Y/N—”

Wanda scrambled to her feet, stumbling toward the door. Her vision swam, her pulse chaotic. The nausea came again, but this time it wasn’t morning sickness. It was fear.

She could feel her.

Y/N’s pain.

Her helplessness.

Her scream.

Wanda’s hands shook as she pressed her palm to the wall, trying to ground herself. But grounding was impossible when the person who was your ground was out there bleeding.

The bond screamed in her blood.

Wanda gasped. “No—no, no, no—”

The baby. Y/N’s voice echoed in her soul. Wanda… needs me. The baby…

She staggered toward her nightstand, fumbling with her comm. “Steve—someone—tell me what’s happening!”

There was yelling in the background, static and gunfire, but no one answered her directly.

A cold chill crept up her spine, colder than the panic. She didn’t have time to question it.

Wanda's voice broke as she yelled again into the comm, "Where’s Y/N? Is she—is she okay?!"

Another wave of pain nearly knocked her down.

This wasn’t just injury.

This was a wound meant to sever.

But she wouldn’t let it.

“I’m coming,” she whispered, hands glowing red with magic that trembled and sparked wildly. “I’m coming detka.”

She pressed a trembling hand to her belly and then to her wrist, where Y/N’s name had always burned brightest.

“Just hold on.”

---

BACK TO THE TEAM

Y/N screamed as Natasha tried again, her gloved fingers slick with blood, shaking as she tried to reach the bullet lodged too deep in Y/N’s side.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I can’t find it—” Nat hissed through gritted teeth, her voice straining against the chaos around them. “Where the hell is Vision?!”

“I CALLED HIM!” Sam’s voice came through the comms. “He’s not responding—he’s just hovering up there with Stark!”

Steve’s shield flew past, slamming into a Hydra soldier closing in. He dropped beside them to cover their position. “What’s wrong with him?!”

Y/N’s skin was pale, blood soaking her suit. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. “He’s not coming…” she said hoarsely, her eyes fluttering open, meeting Natasha’s. “He’s not coming.”

Nat looked down at her in horror. “Why would he—?”

“I don’t know…” Y/N whispered, her body jerking as another wave of pain hit. “Maybe he wants me to die…”

Nat froze, but only for a second. “No. No, don’t say that. Focus. Stay awake. We’ll fix this.”

Y/N shook her head weakly. “It hurts, Nat. I can’t… I can’t heal unless you get the bullets out.”

Her hand reached out blindly, fingers brushing Nat’s wrist. “Wanda… she felt it. I know she did. I felt her panic. I need to get back. I need to hold her. The baby—”

A choking sound escaped her throat, part sob, part scream, as another tremor of pain wracked her.

“I can’t die, Nat…” Y/N gasped, her eyes wild with desperation. “She needs me. The baby needs me. Please—please—get them out—”

Nat’s face twisted with emotion as she grabbed the med kit again. “I’m going to try. Just—just hang on, okay? Stay with me. Don’t you dare give up.”

Blood pooled beneath them.

Gunfire rang louder.

Smoke clouded the battlefield. Explosions from Hydra tech rattled the ground as Sam flew overhead, trying to suppress enemy fire. Steve was shouting commands, but his voice was drowned in the chaos.

Nat’s hands were soaked in blood. She couldn’t see the bullet—couldn’t feel it—and Y/N was slipping.

“I can’t get to it!” she shouted, panic now breaking through her usual cool.

Y/N’s eyes were fluttering closed, her lips pale and trembling. “Tell Wanda I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“No.” Nat grabbed her face roughly, forcing her to look at her. “No goodbyes. You hear me? You’re not dying. I’m not letting you.”

But then another explosion hit nearby—closer. Dirt and metal rained over them. Steve threw his shield, taking the brunt of the shrapnel, but the noise was deafening.

And that was when Sam’s voice cracked through the comms, horrified.

“WE’VE GOT A NEW WAVE—RIGHT SIDE! ALL ENHANCED! SHIT—VISION’S STILL NOT MOVING!”

Nat’s jaw clenched. “What the hell is he doing?!”

“I don’t know! Tony’s trying to override something—he says Vision locked him out of the system!”

Y/N coughed hard, blood on her lips now.

“No, no, no—stay with me—stay with me!” Nat was shaking now, her voice breaking.

Then Y/N cried out—loud, guttural—as the dampener activated again, forcing her body into complete stillness, locking her abilities down even more.

“I can’t… move…” she gasped. “It’s spreading…”

Her body jerked, back arching as another pulse hit from the tech laced into the bullets inside her. Her speed was gone. Her healing stalled. Her strength fading.

“Wanda,” she breathed again. “She’s coming. I feel her. Please…”

But everything was slipping—her vision blurring, the world dimming—and still, Vision hovered above them, unmoving, watching as if he were a god among ruins.

Nat looked up, her fury nearly explosive.

“You bastard,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

And in that moment—everything tipped toward disaster.

A sudden pressure rippled through the air, thick and electric, like the calm before a storm.

Then—

A crack of red lightning exploded overhead, and in the next heartbeat, Wanda descended like fury itself, a scarlet streak tearing through the sky. She landed hard near the blast site, the ground trembling beneath her feet as her powers surged outward in a blinding pulse.

Her eyes, glowing red, scanned the chaos—but locked instantly on the only thing that mattered: Y/N.

Collapsed. Bleeding. Barely conscious in Natasha’s arms.

“Y/N!”

The scream that left Wanda's lips was raw, broken.

She sprinted forward and dropped to her knees, trembling hands hovering over Y/N’s blood-soaked side. Her magic sparked uncontrollably, crackling around her fingers.

“Wanda—” Natasha began, but Wanda barely heard her.

“What happened?” she choked out.

“Shot twice. Something tech-based is slowing her down—her healing isn’t working,” Nat answered quickly, voice tight. “I tried to pull the bullets out, but I couldn’t reach them.”

Wanda’s heart clenched. Her stomach turned, not from the nausea that had become her norm lately, but from pure panic. She felt Y/N’s pain through the bond like fire in her chest.

“I’ve got her,” Wanda whispered, lowering her hands until scarlet light enveloped Y/N’s abdomen.

“Wands—” Y/N gasped, body twitching. “You can’t… it hurts—”

“I know,” Wanda whispered shakily, “I know it does. But I have to. Please… hold on.”

The magic delved deep, guided by instinct and desperation. Wanda closed her eyes and breathed through the wave of emotion crashing through her—her mate’s pain, her baby’s life, her fear that she might lose both.

“Come on,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Come on, please…”

She felt the first bullet—foreign and cold—and pulled. It scraped through muscle, then finally popped free, clattering to the dirt.

Y/N screamed, her back arching, but her eyes fluttered open for a moment.

“Just one more,” Wanda whispered, tears falling freely now. “Then your body can start healing. I promise.”

Scarlet magic trembled as Wanda reached for the second bullet. It was deeper, wedged in tight.

Behind her, Nat was holding pressure on the wound. “Wanda, she’s losing too much blood—”

“I know,” Wanda snapped, then softened. “I know. I feel it. I feel everything.”

She cradled Y/N’s cheek with one hand, steadying her, while her other hand worked the bullet loose with delicate, precise pulses of red.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Not when I’m carrying our baby. Not when we just started.”

Then—with a final surge of light—the second bullet tore free.

Y/N gasped, then coughed weakly, color beginning to return to her cheeks as her body started to heal.

Wanda let out a sob of relief, gathering her into her arms and holding her tight.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered again and again, pressing her lips to Y/N’s forehead. “We’re okay now. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

She didn’t let go—not even when the sounds of battle still echoed in the distance.

Because in her arms was everything.

Her soulmate.

Her future.

Their child.

And nothing would ever take that from her.

---

The ground was scorched in patches, blackened by blasts and collapsed tech. Gunfire and the roar of enhanced enemies echoed across the battlefield, the mission having spiraled fully out of control.

Steve’s voice crackled over the comms—strained, breathless.

“Wanda—we’re getting overwhelmed! There’s at least six more enhanced coming from the east—super strength, energy manipulation, some kind of shielding. I can’t hold them off alone!”

Wanda turned her head sharply, heart pounding in her chest. Scarlet crackled around her like a storm barely held in check. Behind her, Y/N lay still—her breathing shallow, her body slowly healing, but not fast enough.

“Stay with her,” Wanda said to Natasha without looking. “Don’t let her move.”

Nat nodded, positioning herself over Y/N with a weapon drawn, gaze flickering between her fallen friend and the advancing enemy line.

Wanda stood slowly, power rippling around her in waves. Her fingers flexed at her sides as she looked toward the approaching threats—faces twisted in Hydra armor, masks glowing, eyes feral with aggression. They were enhanced and coordinated. This wasn’t a random ambush. It was a planned assault.

Scarlet power surged behind her eyes.

They were coming for them.

For Y/N.

For their baby.

And that made them a threat Wanda could not afford to let live.

She rose into the air, her movements graceful and terrifying, arms outstretched. “You don’t get to touch my family.”

She launched forward in a burst of red lightning, colliding with the enhanced before they could close in on Steve. Chaos exploded—energy beams ricocheted through the sky, but Wanda moved like a force of nature, tearing through them with a fury born of fear and love.

Steve, catching his breath, turned toward her briefly. “Thank God…”

But the tide hadn’t fully turned yet. Not with how many there were.

Back by the rubble, Natasha glanced down at Y/N. The blood flow had slowed. Her chest rose and fell, but her eyes were barely cracked open.

“Y/N,” Nat said urgently, touching her cheek. “Come on. Wake up.”

Y/N’s fingers twitched.

A broken breath escaped her lips. “W-Wanda…”

“She’s fine,” Nat lied through her teeth. “But she needs backup. She needs you.”

Y/N gritted her teeth. Her limbs were like stone, her body sluggish from the tech that had slowed her down. But her healing had started now that the bullets were gone—pain radiated through her ribs as bones began to knit, muscle stretching back into place.

Her fingers curled into the dirt. She forced herself to move.

For Wanda.

For the baby.

Because her soulmate was out there risking everything—and she wasn’t about to let her fight alone.

Y/N groaned as she shifted, her hand pressing to the half-healed wound in her side. Her vision swam, but she forced herself upright, swaying on her feet. Blood still stained her clothes, and her muscles ached like fire—but her healing had started. Her speed was coming back, little by little.

“She’s pregnant,” Y/N rasped, her voice sharp and trembling. Her eyes locked onto the red storm of chaos swirling in the distance—Wanda in full force. “You need to get her out of there.”

“Y/N—”

“Now, Nat!”

Without waiting for another word, Y/N shot forward, pain ricocheting through her body as she pushed her legs to move at near full speed. The speed inhibitor had weakened, and the moment she broke through the last of its grip, everything clicked into place—her strength, her purpose, her need to reach Wanda.

Wanda was still holding her own, throwing back enhanced enemies with brutal force, her magic wild and lethal. But even she was starting to show signs of strain. Her breathing was erratic, her movements slightly slower, protective instincts clashing with growing exhaustion.

Just as one of the enhanced flanked her from behind, raising a plasma blade to strike—

A blur slammed into him, sending his body flying into a heap of twisted metal.

Wanda spun around just as Y/N skidded to a halt in front of her, blood on her lips and fury in her eyes.

“Detka!” Wanda’s voice cracked with panic. “You shouldn’t be up!”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Y/N snapped, chest heaving. “You’re pregnant, Wanda. Get out. Now.”

Wanda looked like she might argue—until she saw the blood still leaking through Y/N’s side.

“Y/N—”

“No. I’m not leaving you, but I am getting you out of this fight.” She gritted her teeth, eyes burning into hers. “Please. For our baby.”

Wanda’s breath hitched.

Then she nodded.

But before they could move, another wave of Hydra reinforcements broke through the smoke.

Y/N stepped forward, shielding Wanda with her body.

“You get her out,” she said to Steve and Natasha over comms. “I’ll hold them off.”

Wanda’s eyes flared red as the enemy closed in. “No,” she said, her voice deadly quiet.

Y/N’s heart clenched. “Wanda—”

“I’m not leaving you,” she snapped, stepping up beside her. Her hand slipped into Y/N’s, and her grip was firm despite the tremble in her fingers. “Don’t ask me to. Not again. Not now.”

The world around them raged — Hydra soldiers, enhanced enemies, smoke, and gunfire — but in that moment, all Y/N saw was her.

The woman she loved. The woman carrying their child.

And she looked fierce. Terrified, but unyielding.

“You’re pregnant,” Y/N said, pleading, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “If something happens to you—”

“Something did happen,” Wanda cut in. “To you. And I felt every second of it. You think I can just walk away from that? From you?” Her voice cracked, and her other hand pressed to her stomach for a brief moment. “We’re bonded. You feel like home. I can’t leave you here to fight alone. I won’t.”

Another explosion rocked the ground behind them. Steve’s voice shouted something through the comms, but neither of them listened.

“I don’t care if the sky falls, Y/N,” Wanda said. “I’m staying with you.”

Y/N blinked hard. Her wounds throbbed. Her legs barely held her upright. But her heart… her heart ached with so much love for this woman that she could hardly breathe.

“Fine,” she whispered, voice hoarse but firm, “but you stay behind me and Steve.”

Wanda nodded, lips trembling as she blinked away the tears she refused to shed here. Not in front of their enemies. Not when the one she loved was still bleeding, still shaking, still standing — for her.

Y/N turned, eyes scanning the battlefield through the smoke and chaos. “Steve! On me!”

He was already moving, bloodied but alive, his shield up as he carved through the thick of the enhanced soldiers trying to push forward. At Y/N’s call, he redirected, heading straight for them.

“Got you,” Steve called, urgency in his voice. “Fall in!”

Y/N took Wanda’s hand for just one more second, squeezing it — grounding herself in it — before letting go.

“Stay back,” she told her again. “And if I fall, you run. You protect our baby. Promise me.”

Wanda looked like she might argue again, but something in Y/N’s voice — in the quiet command of it — made her nod once.

“I promise,” she whispered.

Then Y/N was gone in a blur of speed, still slowed but pushing through the pain, through the fire in her legs and the burn in her chest. Steve covered her flank. Wanda’s magic surged behind them, glowing scarlet, protecting their backs.

But the low pulse came again—another speed-blocker wave.

Y/N’s legs locked mid-run.

Her scream caught in her throat as she collapsed, tumbling hard, her momentum shattered. Before she could recover, enhanced agents surrounded her. Hydra operatives dragged her toward the trees.

Wanda screamed.

Her eyes glowed red, her magic ready to lash out, to burn the world to get to her.

But suddenly—

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, locking her in place.

"Let me go!" she yelled, thrashing wildly, magic pulsing and flaring. “Y/N!”

“Wanda,” came the unnervingly calm voice of Vision.

She froze for half a second, shocked. “Where the hell have you been?! Let go of me—she's down there—!”

He didn’t answer. Instead, with a swift, calculated movement, he pulled a small syringe from his belt and stabbed it into her neck.

Wanda's breath hitched. “Wha—?”

Her magic sparked, faltered.

The world tilted.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly as her body began to go limp. “You’re not thinking clearly. I can’t let them take you too.”

She slumped against him, her eyes fluttering, her arms wrapping protectively over her stomach even in unconsciousness.

Vision carried her onto the quinjet.

Sam and Nat turned, startled, as he emerged with Wanda in his arms.

“Where’s Y/N?!” Sam demanded.

Vision didn’t answer. He just shook his head once—expression unreadable.

“We’re not leaving without her—” Nat started, stepping forward.

“She’s gone,” Vision said flatly. “We have to go. Now.”

“She’s not dead!” Sam shouted.

Vision’s voice sharpened, cold. “She is compromised. And this one—” he motioned to the unconscious Wanda in his arms— “is all that matters right now.”

Nat’s eyes narrowed. Sam clenched his jaw, furious.

Just then, the quinjet hatch opened again, and Steve climbed aboard, urgency in his movements.

“Go,” he said firmly, breathing hard.

Sam hesitated, looking at Steve, then nodded.

As the engines roared to life and the quinjet began to lift off, Steve cursed under his breath, voice tight with anger and helplessness, “We left her behind…”

Vision didn’t respond, his expression unreadable as the jet disappeared into the clouds with Wanda in his care.

---

The quinjet’s ramp hissed open as it touched down at the Avengers Compound, its landing gear trembling slightly with the weight of tension inside. At the same time, Tony’s suit clanked against the tarmac as he landed hard nearby, his faceplate sliding open as he marched forward, eyes blazing.

He didn’t wait for pleasantries.

“The hell were you doing up there, Vision?” Tony snapped, striding up just as the others disembarked. “You went dark in the middle of the mission. You blocked my feed—mine. No comms, no HUD link. You disappeared.”

Vision stepped down from the ramp slowly, carefully, carrying the still-unconscious Wanda in his arms. His face was neutral, impassive, even as Tony got in his path.

“I was caught up with Hydra agents,” he said smoothly. “I couldn’t respond.”

“Bullshit,” Tony said without hesitation. “You’re a walking satellite dish. You could’ve blinked Morse code if you wanted to. And don’t tell me you got overwhelmed—we both know that’s not even remotely possible unless you wanted to be.”

Nat stepped in, placing a calming hand on Tony’s arm. “Tony—”

But Tony shrugged her off. “No. We left Y/N behind. Because of him. Because no one knew where the hell he was.”

While Tony was still locked in a heated standoff with Vision, the medics arrived with a stretcher, urgency in their steps. One of them gently took Wanda from Vision’s arms, eyes flicking to her pale face, her limp form.

“She’s stable,” one medic noted after a quick scan, “but her vitals are all over the place. We need to run a full checkup immediately.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. She didn’t say anything, but the way she turned on her heel and followed the medics said everything.

Inside the medbay, Wanda was quickly hooked up to monitors. Her heartbeat echoed steadily in the room, but her eyelids didn’t flutter. She looked so small, too still, and it made Nat’s chest ache.

Bruce arrived a few minutes later, pulling on gloves, his brow already creased with concern. “What happened to her?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Nat replied, voice tight. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was closed before continuing, her voice low. “There’s something else you should know… I think Wanda might be pregnant.”

Bruce froze. “Wait—what?”

“Y/N told me while she was bleeding out in the field,” Nat said, biting down the emotion in her voice. “She was begging me to get Wanda out, said the baby needed her. She looked terrified.”

Bruce ran a hand down his face, eyes moving toward Wanda again. “Damn. Okay. I’ll run a full scan, but I’ll do it quietly—no one else finds out until Wanda wakes up and tells us herself.”

Nat nodded. “Thanks. And Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“Something’s wrong. I don’t just mean with Wanda. Vision didn’t respond on purpose. Y/N is still out there because of him. We need to find her fast.”

Bruce gave her a grim nod before getting to work, while Nat stayed by Wanda’s side, gripping her hand.

“Come on, Wanda, wake up,” Natasha whispered, her thumb brushing gently across the back of Wanda’s hand. “She needs you. The baby needs you. And we need answers.”

The room was quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors. Bruce worked quickly but carefully, scanning Wanda’s vitals with a portable device, already setting up for more in-depth testing. He didn’t ask any more questions—he knew better than to speak until they had facts. But the weight of Nat’s words hung heavy in the air.

Outside, the storm hadn’t calmed.

Tony was still pressing Vision, his voice sharp and full of disbelief.

“You blocked me out. You blocked me, Vision. That’s not a glitch, that’s a choice.”

Vision remained stoic, almost eerily calm. “I was overwhelmed by the Hydra units. I made a judgment call.”

“A judgment call that left Y/N behind?” Tony snapped. “A judgment call that somehow left Wanda unconscious and drugged out of her mind?”

Steve stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He hadn’t said much—not yet. But the tension in his jaw and the dark storm in his eyes promised that he wasn’t buying any of it either.

“I acted in Wanda’s best interest,” Vision said, coldly. “She was in danger.”

“And Y/N?” Steve finally asked, voice low but heavy. “She wasn’t?”

There was no answer. Just silence.

And it was all the confirmation Tony and Steve needed to know something was off.

Back inside the medbay, Wanda stirred.

Nat shot upright.

A flicker beneath her eyelids, a twitch of her fingers.

Then Wanda’s lips parted in a small gasp as her head turned weakly toward Nat.

“Y/N…” she croaked, her voice hoarse and broken. “Where’s… Y/N?”

Nat squeezed her hand, trying to steady her own heart. “We’re going to find her, Wanda. I promise.”

But as Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, filling with confusion, pain—and dread—the color drained from her face.

“No…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, no—Vision…”

Her body jolted as the memory returned all at once—her struggling to get to Y/N, the desperation in her chest, Vision grabbing her, holding her back… then the prick of something sharp in her neck before everything went dark.

She sat up abruptly, gasping, her hands flying to her stomach. “The baby—oh God, the baby—”

“Wanda—hey—Wanda, breathe,” Nat said quickly, gently pushing her back down with steady hands. “You’re okay. They’re okay.”

Wanda blinked, her chest heaving, tears welling in her eyes. “They?”

Nat froze for half a second, then cursed herself internally.

Bruce turned from the monitors, giving Nat a quiet nod. “The scans confirmed it. You’re carrying twins, Wanda. And they’re both strong. Healthy heartbeats.”

Wanda’s hand remained frozen over her belly, as though afraid to move. “I didn’t know,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Her wide eyes shifted from Bruce to Nat, brimming with confusion. “Wait—how did you…?”

She looked at Nat sharply now, a tear slipping down her cheek. “We didn’t tell anyone. Not yet. Not even the team.”

Nat’s expression softened, her voice lowering with a kind of reverence. “You didn’t have to.”

Wanda’s heart skipped. “Y/N?”

Nat nodded. Her throat tightened as she remembered the blood, the panic, the raw desperation in Y/N’s voice. “After she got shot… while I was trying to stop the bleeding, she begged me to get you out. Said you needed to be safe… that the baby needed you.”

Wanda covered her mouth, a quiet sob escaping.

“She was so scared, Wanda,” Nat whispered, blinking quickly. “But she wasn’t afraid of dying. She was afraid something would happen to you. To them.”

Wanda leaned forward, clutching her stomach as if to shield her children with her own body. Her shoulders shook, but her resolve was building beneath the grief.

“She still doesn’t know it’s twins,” Wanda choked out between sobs. “We haven’t even been to the doctor yet. We were waiting for the next off-week, to go together…”

Her voice broke on the last word. Nat reached out, placing a steadying hand on Wanda’s back.

“Then we’ll make sure she hears it from you,” Nat said softly. “When we get her back.”

Before Wanda could respond, the medbay doors burst open.

Vision stood there, his expression unreadable, eyes locking on Wanda immediately. “Where is she? I need to see her.”

Wanda stiffened, and for a long moment she didn’t say a word.

Then she stood, slowly, protectively placing herself between Vision and the monitors still softly displaying her babies’ heartbeats.

“You drugged me,” she hissed, voice cold and trembling with rage. “You drugged me, and you carried me away from the person I love while she was bleeding out in a war zone!”

Vision’s face remained neutral, but his eyes flickered faintly. “You were in danger. You weren’t thinking clearly.”

“You don’t get to decide what I’m thinking,” Wanda snapped, magic crackling at her fingertips now, glowing faint red. “You don’t get to touch me without my consent. You don’t get to sedate me like I’m some experiment that’s gone too far.”

Bruce stepped forward cautiously. “Alright, that’s enough—”

“No, Bruce,” Wanda said without looking at him, her gaze fixed on Vision like a blade. “He did this. He left Y/N behind. He put his hand on me like I was his property. And for what?”

“You are my property,” Vision snapped, his voice suddenly rising — cold and sharp like broken glass.

The room fell deathly silent.

Bruce froze. Nat took a step forward, instinctively placing herself just a fraction in front of Wanda. Even the medics, silent in the background, looked up in shock.

“You were created from the Mind Stone just as I was,” Vision continued, his tone hardening with every word. “You and I are bonded by something beyond the primitive nonsense of soulmates. That mark on your wrist? It's nothing. A biological coincidence that humans cling to for meaning.”

Wanda’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. Her entire body tensed.

“She manipulated you,” Vision said, eyes glowing faintly now as he stepped closer. “Y/N saw your vulnerability and exploited it. And now that she’s out of the way—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Wanda said, her voice a low growl.

“She was always in the way. Always trying to steal you. Poison your mind. But now she’s gone, and we can finally—”

“No!” Wanda’s voice cracked through the medbay like a whip, laced with a surge of red energy that exploded outward and knocked Vision back into the wall with a bone-rattling crash. Monitors beeped wildly. Lights flickered overhead.

Wanda stood in front of the bed, trembling, her hand instinctively clutching her abdomen.

“You’re not bonded to me. Yes, I felt a connection because of the Mind Stone, but we were never bonded,” she spat. “You don’t own me. And I was a fool—for ever being engaged to you in the first place.”

Vision pushed himself up slowly, smoke rising from the wall behind him. His synthetic face contorted with something cold and twisted.

“You are confused,” he said, stepping forward again, unwavering. “Y/N will die soon—if she’s not already dead. And then you’ll realize—”

Wanda’s eyes went wide before he could finish. She gasped, a sharp cry escaping her throat as her knees buckled beneath her. Her hand flew to her chest, pain ripping through her with terrifying intensity. Not hers—Y/N’s.

“Wanda!” Nat called out just as she saw her sway.

Before Wanda could collapse fully to the floor, Nat lunged forward and caught her in her arms.

“Bruce!” Nat shouted, voice high and urgent. “She’s in pain—get something—now!”

Wanda clutched at her chest, her face pale, sweat blooming across her forehead. Her lips moved, barely forming a sound: “Y/N…”

Bruce rushed to her side, barking orders to the medics, already reaching for the sedative and scanner. Wanda’s entire body trembled in Nat’s hold, magic sparking erratically from her fingertips, reacting to the panic and pain rolling through her.

“It’s Y/N,” Wanda sobbed, barely conscious, her voice hoarse and breaking. “She’s in pain—I can feel her. She’s hurting—please—”

“I know,” Nat whispered, holding her tighter. “I know, we’ve got you. Just hold on.”

Wanda cried out again, her body arching as another wave of Y/N’s agony surged through the bond. The lights above flickered wildly, and the nearby monitors sparked with static. Bruce injected the sedative into her arm with steady hands, his jaw clenched.

“Her heart rate’s spiking—adrenaline’s flooding her system,” he muttered. “She’s going to crash if we don’t get her calm.”

But it wasn’t Wanda’s fear doing this—it was the bond. Y/N’s suffering was bleeding into her like fire through a cracked dam. Wanda’s fingers dug into her abdomen protectively, even as her body fought to stay upright.

“She’s still alive,” Wanda gasped. “I can feel her—Bruce, please—don’t let her die.”

Bruce hesitated for the briefest moment, then met Nat’s eyes. “We need to keep Wanda stable. But if what she’s saying is true, we need to find Y/N now.”

“I’ll tell Tony,” Nat said, still cradling Wanda. Her gaze shifted to the door where Vision had stood seconds ago—but he was gone.

Vanished.

And that was all the confirmation Nat needed.

---

Sorry! We are back with the angst 😆

[scarletwidowblackwitch]

Crying, sobbing, throwing up. This chapter was so good!!!! Cant wait for the next one!!