Hi! Can I request a Wanda x masc!female reader where Wanda owns a bookstore and reader is the masc lesbian always loitering in her store. I would love for it to give TOTAL grumpy x sunshine or like suave x nervous wreck energy (I think that’s a thing, but I’m probably not explaining it right lol) thank you! 🧡
you got me (head over heels for you)
˚‧ ɞwanda maximoff x masc lesbian!reader
now playing: ꒰you got me // the aces꒱
˚‧ ɞ𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Wanda isn’t the type to get crushes. But for attractive and charming masc lesbians who loiter in her bookstore, she might just make an exception
˚‧ ɞ𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: FLUFF, MAJOR grumpy x sunshine vibes, reader is a masc lesbian, gay panic, a pietro cameo, wanda not knowing how to flirt back, YEARNING, 2.8k words
˚‧ ɞ𝐚/𝐧: FINALLY managed to write something after nearly three weeks of writers block 🫠 i don’t know quite if my block is cured yet, but managed to get some wanda fluff out of it, so i can’t be that mad. thank you for this request and i hope you enjoy! <3
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Wanda loved her bookstore the same way most people loved their pets: a living thing with a beating heart and feelings that Wanda would protect with her life and maybe even die for. Maybe that sounded dramatic, but she didn’t care.
Wanda loved everything about her bookstore, from the uneven wood floors that creaked in the same places everyday, to the one leaky window that always seemed to drip when it rained no matter how often she got the roof repaired. She loved how the smell of espresso always drifted in from the tiny cafè corner that she’d fought tooth and nail to include when she bought the place two years ago.
Most of all, Wanda loved the people her bookstore attracted.
Her bookstore sat tucked between a vintage record shop and a plant store, and the plaza was just off a college campus. Which meant that Wanda spent most days surrounded by artsy college students with obscure majors and even more obscure fashion choices. Wanda’s seen it all: patchwork sweaters in the middle of July, chunky boots with tiny silver charms tied to the laces, and rings. They all loved oodles and oodles of rings. Wanda always felt like an outlier with her basic outfits, which typically consisted plain long sleeves and a skirt with tights every day.
And yet somehow, everyone was always so painfully polite. Everyone always cleaned up after themselves, they’d tell Wanda “thank you so much” at the end of their transactions. And the tip jar at the cafè counter was always flooded with $1 and $5 dollar bills.
The bookstore has become a strange little haven for people who lingered. Students typing away at essays in the corner, couples sharing headphones in the poetry aisle, someone inevitably curled into the armchair near the window pretending to read whilst actually sneaking a nap in. (Wanda totally got it. Though she’d never enrolled, she could imagine college was exhausting)
But there was one returning customer who was the biggest question mark to Wanda. And when the bell above the door chimes, yanking Wanda from her thoughts, her eyes lift from the register to see that very question mark walking through the door. You.
Something in Wanda’s chest betrayed her instantly, a familiar little flutter she absolutely refused to examine too closely. You stood in the doorway wearing a dark bomber jacket over a white tank top, rings glittering beneath the afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. Your hair looked a little messy, purposefully wind-tossed, and a pair of sunglasses the same color as your jacket are tucked into the collar of your tank top.
You glance up the moment you step inside, smiling the second your eyes lock onto Wanda. It wasn’t even a big smile. Just a small tug at the corner of your mouth, but it was debilitating enough that Wanda immediately looked back down at the open book in front of her like she hadn’t noticed it, or you, at all.
Of course Wanda made it a point to greet every customer who walked through the doors, a rehearsed chirp of, “Hi, welcome in!” ready on her lips. But it’s like you were the one anomaly. Every time she tried to greet you, she’d get tongue-tied, those three stupid words suddenly impossible to say.
Wanda follows you with her eyes as you step into the cafè, and she also notes how the barista Sammy blushes immediately the second you’re at the counter. Wanda supposed you just had that effect on people.
“You know,” Pietro, Wanda’s twin brother who actually was enrolled at the university down the street and, much like the other college kids, also came into Wanda’s bookstore to loiter, suddenly appears to Wanda’s right. “One of these days, you’ll have to swallow your pride and just ask for her number,”
Wanda slammed the book shut in front of her. “I don’t want her number.”
“Right. And I don’t come in here just to eat all the chocolate chip cookies in the cafè,” her brother teases with a roll of his eyes.
Wanda’s brows furrow. “Yes you do, Pietro. You’ve said before that there’s crack in those cookies—“
“I know, Wanda. I was being sarcastic. Thank you for proving my point,” Pietro barks a laugh.
Wanda’s cheeks flare even hotter, making her curse her nervous system. “She’s just another customer,” she argues.
“Just another customer who comes in here five days a week at minimum,” Pietro counters. “Just another customer who buys exactly one coffee and then spends three hours wandering around and pretending not to stare at you,”
Wanda frowns down at the register. “She does not stare at me,” she mumbles. Though what she doesn’t say is that she can’t even count on her two hands just how many times she’s caught you staring. And she definitely can’t count how many times those stares had given her butterflies.
Before Pietro could tell Wanda she was full of shit, your cologne reached the checkout counter before you did, your boots sounding on the hardwood a moment later.
“Afternoon, Maximoff,” you greet Wanda warmly, then nod in Pietro’s direction. “What’s up, Pietro? That sub professor in German 2 today was weird, right?”
“Total weirdo,” Pietro agrees with a shake of his head. Wanda glares daggers at her twin, a look that says ‘you never told me you had a class with her!’ And Pietro smiles back with a shit-eating grin that replies, ‘You never asked’. Wanda continues to glare at Pietro’s retreating back as he walks away.
Wanda turns back to face you to find you already grinning at her. She ignores the way that her stomach flips in response. “It’s 2:30,” are the first brilliant words out of her mouth.
“That it is,” you say before bringing your coffee cup to your lips for a sip. “Aren’t you observant,”
Wanda huffs. “My point is that you typically come around noon,” she says. “What, find a better bookstore than mine?”
Your eyebrows lifted, followed by a slow grin that spreads across your face. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on me, Maximoff,”
Heat crawled up Wanda’s next instantly. “I am not keeping tabs on you!” she defended quickly. “I just happen to have memorized the comings and goings of my customers. Plus, I know how much you like to loiter, so you coming in at two-thirty only gives you six hours of loitering instead of eight…” she trails off, wincing. What the hell was she even talking about? Pietro snickers from somewhere inside the stockroom, definitely having heard his sister’s rambling, and Wanda makes a mental note to kill him with her bare hands later.
When Wanda risks a glance back in your direction, your small smirk has transformed into a full-blown grin. “So, you’re saying you missed me?” you ask, leaning your elbows on the counter.
“I am saying no such thing.”
“Mm,” you nodded thoughtfully, clearly not absorbing what Wanda just said. “Interesting.”
Wanda points an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you chuckle.
“That thing where you decide what I mean instead of listening to the words I’m actually saying.”
“Well, in my literature class, the professor is always going on and on about how we should pay attention to hidden meanings, so that’s what I’m doing here,”
Wanda folds her arms across her chest. “Fine, so what exactly is the hidden meaning here?” She challenges.
You don’t answer at first, but your smile goes a little soft, and Wanda’s heart starts to sound like a drum-line in her chest. The atmosphere dissipates completely when Pietro calls from the other room, telling Wanda that a customer on the phone wants to speak to her. When Wanda returns from the phone call however, you’re gone, and she’s completely blindsided by the visceral feeling of disappointment she feels. She also can’t shake the image of that soft smile she’d seen on your face.
***
The next day, you didn’t show up right around noon like you always did. Wanda told herself she’d only noticed your absence because the bookstore was unusually quiet; much less foot traffic than there usually was on a weekday afternoon. But then, you didn’t come in the next day either. Or the day after that.
Every tiny bell chime tugged Wanda’s attention upward before she could stop herself. But it was always just another cool-dressed college kid. Every laugh from outside made something hopeful spark in Wanda’s chest. But it was never you.
Wanda didn’t care. She couldn’t. So what if you stopped coming in? People drifted in and out of the bookstore all the time. College kids graduated. They got new routines, new cafès, new favorite haunts. Wanda had seen it happen before. It didn’t matter. That’s what she told herself anyway.
She threw herself into work instead. She reorganized the fantasy section that was constantly in a state of disarray, brought order back to the Funko Pop display, even vacuumed the stockroom, which was the only part of the bookstore that still had carpet for some reason. She did anything she could to avoid thinking about the fact that a certain girl with windswept hair and an affinity for clunky statement jewelry hadn’t shown her face in the past few days.
By the fifth consecutive day, Wanda almost asked Pietro if he’d seen you around campus. Which was humiliating, because that would require admitting she cared at all. And Pietro would never let her live it down. But Pietro had a way of knowing that Wanda was thinking about asking it anyway.
“If you’re worried about your girlfriend—“ Pietro starts.
“She is not my girlfriend,” Wanda interjected.
“Well, if you’re worried about the girl who’s not your girlfriend, but whom I know you’re attracted to,” Pietro amends his statement. “She’s not dead or anything. She’s been in German 2 every day this week. She just hasn’t been coming here,”
Wanda ignores the sting she feels. So you were safe, you just…what? Found a new bookstore? Didn’t want to see Wanda anymore?
Not that you were seeing her at all. Not that Wanda cared if she ever saw you again. Wanda fights to stay aloof, managing a cool nod in response to Pietro’s news. “Okay. Great,” she says. “I’m glad she is safe.”
Pietro looks at Wanda, an annoyingly sympathetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Wands. I don’t know why she’s stopped coming here. I guess I could ask her the next time I see her in class—“
“No.” Wanda snaps. “You will do no such thing, Pietro. But what you can do is stay out of my business, alright?”
Wanda doesn’t wait for Pietro to answer. Turning away from him, she grabs the stack of books off the register, and storms off to put them back on the shelf.
Wanda finds herself in the romance section, because of course she does. Her brain is on autopilot as she puts each book back where it goes. The last book in her hands catches her attention. It’s a sapphic romance, an art design of two girls holding hands on the cover. Wanda stares for a long time at the dark-haired girl with tattoos depicted on the left side, and suddenly she’s thinking of an attractive smile and a bomber jacket. Wanda clears her throat and shoves the book back on the shelf.
This was ridiculous. Wanda didn’t get crushes. She didn’t get weird and gooey about people. She was better off alone. Her stomach was wrong. Her heart was even more wrong. Wanda can’t flee the romance aisle fast enough.
***
It has now been two weeks since Wanda had last seen you in her bookstore. You would think that after fourteen full days, her body would stop reacting. That eventually she’d stop glancing up every time the bell above the door chimed. That the tiny spark of hope in her chest would finally die out instead of reigniting over and over and over again. But it never did. Every single time the door opened, Wanda’s stupid heart still leapt before her brain could catch up. And every time it wasn’t you, the feeling fizzled out just as quickly, leaving behind something hollow and embarrassing.
It was pathetic. Especially because Wanda still didn’t even know why you’d stopped coming. Maybe you found another cafè. Maybe you got bored of flirting with the awkward bookstore owner who could barely string a sentence together around you.
It had been a slow day from start to finish, and by the time closing rolled around, Wanda had already sent everyone else home. Now it was just Wanda alone behind the register, counting the tills and organizing receipts. The silence is broken by the bell chime of the door.
“We’re closing in ten minutes,” Wanda called automatically without looking up.
“That’s okay,” a familiar voice said warmly. “I only need one thing.”
Wanda’s heart did something fizzy in her chest. Her head snapped up so fast, she nearly gave herself whiplash. And there you were.
Rain droplets dappled the shoulders of your dark jacket and the ends of your hair were damp too like you narrowly escaped the downpour. You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, and gave Wanda a cheeky smile. And just like that, two miserable weeks of pretending she didn’t care evaporated.
Something must’ve shown on Wanda’s face because your expression softened almost immediately. “There she is,” you murmur quietly.
Wanda realized, distantly, that she was staring. “You just disappeared,” she blurts before she can stop herself. Your eyebrows lifted, and Wanda wanted to throw herself directly into traffic. “I mean…” she backpedals. “You-you haven’t come in and Pietro said classes were still in session, so I thought maybe—“
Your expression melted into something so unbearably fond that it made Wanda’s stomach flip. “You noticed I was gone, huh?” you ask.
Wanda crosses her arms defensively even as heat rushes to her cheeks. “Well, you loiter in my store for eight hours a day. It would’ve been difficult not to notice your absence,”
You chuckle, stepping closer to the counter. “I missed you too, Maximoff,”
Up close, Wanda notices two things about you: that you have the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen…and that you look exhausted. Something tugs in her chest.
“So where were you?” she asks before she can stop herself. She’s hoping more than anything that you’re not about to mention a longtime girlfriend that you’ve been spending all your time with.
“My mom was in the hospital,” you admit softly, scratching at the back of your neck. “She’s okay now. It was just…a rough couple weeks.”
Oh. Instant guilt crashes into Wanda so hard it nearly makes her dizzy. All this time she’d been spiraling, thinking you’d just gotten bored of her when you’d been dealing with something so real. Was she really that much of drama queen?
Your smile suddenly turns sheepish. “I kept meaning to come by, but things got kinda crazy, both with my mom and with classes,”
Wanda suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself or her nervous energy. You hadn’t been avoiding her. You’d wanted to see her all this time, you were just busy dealing with a sick mother and ruthless college classes. Wanda steps out from behind the counter to talk to you, and is struck immediately by the height difference. You were a good four inches taller, to the effect that Wanda had to tilt her head a bit to meet your eyes.
“I’m so sorry, that all sounds really stressful,” Wanda says. “But I’m glad your mom is okay now,”
“Yeah,” you smile. “Me too. Now, I can spend more time here figuring out a puzzle,”
Wanda frowns. “I don’t sell puzzles here,”
You chuckle. “I know, Maximoff. I meant you,”
Wanda’s heart jolts in her chest. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” you reply, shameless. “I know you’re a little prickly, but I think you’re cute. And I hope you know I’m not gonna stop flirting unless you tell me to back off,”
Wanda swallows hard. “I’m not…good at that, though,” she stammers. “At-at flirting back. I’m not good at it.”
“Yeah, I’ve gathered that,” you laugh. “But don’t worry. I think that’s cute too, and I can definitely work with that,”
“You can?” Wanda asks.
“Yeah,” you say. And then you reach for Wanda’s hand. Your skin is warm against hers, and the touch sends a spark up her entire arm. Wanda relaxes into it, letting her fingers lace with yours.
“Are you hungry at all?” you ask next.
“Starving, actually,” Wanda replies. And she was. All she’d had for sustenance today was a fruit smoothie around six a.m in the morning. And she could finally admit to herself that she’d been thinking of you all day, and that’s why her stomach had been in knots.
“Wanna get out of here? Grab a bite? Actually have a conversation now that you’ve admitted to digging me?” you tease.
Wanda tilts her head. “Did I admit that?” she asks coyly.
You smile down at her. “Well, you haven’t dropped my hand yet, so I think that counts for something,”
Wanda’s smile widens. “Hmm. Well, just let me lock up and I’m yours,”
You wait for Wanda as she locks up her bookstore. When she’s done, her hand finds yours and she lets you lead her to your car. Wanda can’t shake the dopey smile that plays on her lips, and all she can think about is how she’s just so damn glad she finally stopped pretending.
You are tied up. Wanda is having the time of her life.
content: restraints (ropes), vibrator use (bzzz), sadist emo wanda (she loves it), dacryphilia (i felt called out so why not write it)
18+ NSFW oneshot | 3.2k words
ao3
The black rope was Wanda's work, and she was proud of it.
She ran her fingers along the knot at your wrists first. Pressed her thumb along the inside of each loop, checking the tension, making sure the rope held without cutting. It was good rope—thick and smooth, expensive, the kind that kept its shape. Several loops over your crossed wrists. A knot placed exactly where you couldn't reach it. You'd tested that twice. She'd watched you test it both times with the same expression: patient, faintly amused, entirely unsurprised.
She moved to your ankles.
You were on your knees on the bed with your face turned into the pillow. Your ankles were tied to your thighs—folded up and held there, the black rope looped several times over each ankle and up around each thigh. No way to extend your legs. No way to straighten. No way to do anything with your lower body except stay exactly as she'd arranged you.
She checked the ankle knots the same way she'd checked your wrists. Thumb along the inside. A small adjustment to the right one. Then she ran both palms up the backs of your thighs, feeling the tension of the rope, feeling the warmth of your skin under her hands. She took her time with this part. She always took her time with this part.
"Good," she said to herself, satisfied.
She moved up the bed. Her fingers found the rope at your wrists again and she checked it one more time—not because she doubted her work, but because she liked doing it. Liked the feel of it. Liked knowing it was right. Her rings grazed your forearms as she moved and the metal was cool against your skin. She pressed her thumb once more along the inside of the loop.
Perfect.
The gag came last. A clean fold of rope between your teeth, tied at the back of your head with careful hands. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to take your words away completely. You'd made a sound when she put it in place—something between protest and not-protest—and she'd smoothed your hair back from your face and looked at you for one long moment. Dark eyes. The smear of her lipstick already at the corner of her mouth from earlier.
She hadn't said anything. She'd just looked, and she’d been satisfied by what she saw.
Now all you had were sounds.
Wanda sat back on her heels and looked at what she'd made.
She was in her black bra and panties, her dark hair loose in waves around her face. The room was warm and she'd worked up a heat with the ropes—the patient effort of it—and some of her hair was sticking to her cheeks, pressed against her skin. Her eyeliner was sharp at the outer corners. Her dark lipstick was smeared at the corners of her mouth and transferred in dark streaks across your back and shoulders from every time she'd pressed her lips to your skin before the ropes went on. The marks ran from your shoulder blades down toward your spine. She'd made them deliberately. She hadn't been careful and she wasn't sorry.
The pink wand vibrator was tied to your inner thigh.
She'd angled it up and held it in place with the black rope, the head pressed directly against your clit. Your thighs were bound apart by the configuration. No way to press them together, no way to shift the wand's angle or ease its contact. It was tied there. Running. And there was nothing inside your cunt—nothing at all—and Wanda had been watching the way you kept clenching around nothing with an attention that had not wavered once.
She looked at you for a long moment. Taking inventory of everything she'd made. The rope. The wand. The lipstick on your back. Your hands grasping at nothing behind you.
Then she pressed her lips to the center of your back.
Her dark lipstick dragged as she moved down—she wasn't being careful, she'd decided hours ago not to be careful—and she kissed slowly down your spine. Warm mouth against warm skin, deliberate pressure at each vertebra, leaving dark marks in her wake. You shivered. She felt it against her lips and kept going. She kissed to the small of your back and stayed there for a moment, her mouth resting against your skin, feeling the tension held in the muscles beneath.
She moved lower.
She kissed the top of your right asscheek—pale and unmarked, untouched yet—and she did it gently. Barely any pressure at all. The softest possible contact.
You jerked.
A full-body flinch, your hips driving forward with nowhere to go, a muffled cry through the gag that had real shock in it. She lifted her mouth and looked at the dark smear of lipstick she'd left. She looked at it for a moment.
She smiled.
"Oh," she said softly. "Interesting."
She did it again. Same spot. Same gentle press of her lips.
You jerked harder—your hands pulling at the ropes, your back arching off the pillow—and the muffled sound through the gag was higher this time, more desperate, the sound of someone whose body was making decisions without consulting them. The wand shifted fractionally with the movement and you made another sound entirely.
Wanda sat back and looked at you with dark, delighted eyes.
"You are very sensitive," she said pleasantly. "We have barely started and you are already—" She tilted her head, watching your hips make their small involuntary movements. "Like this."
She moved her lips to your other cheek. The same barely-there pressure.
You flinched hard. She felt it and she felt the clench of your cunt around nothing and she watched both happen with the focused attention of someone cataloguing something for future use.
"I am going to enjoy tonight very much," she said. To herself, mainly, as a simple statement of fact.
She sat back and brought her palm down on your left asscheek.
The crack of it filled the room. You cried out through the gag—the sound going up and up—and your hips snapped forward, the wand catching at the new angle, and you produced a second sound that was entirely different from the first. She pressed her palm flat over the heat she'd made. Held it there, feeling the warmth bloom under her hand.
"You clenched," she said. She sounded like she'd confirmed something she'd been wondering about. Her palm rubbed a slow circle. "Every time I do that. Did you know?" Her rings left cool impressions against the heat. "Probably not. You are a little occupied."
She pressed her lips to the spot she'd just struck. She was gentle, tender and loving, and she adored how she could feel you jerk violently at the contrast. The hum she let out was entirely satisfaction.
"Good," she said against your skin. Then she sat back up and brought her palm down on the right side.
Your back arched hard. The rope at your wrists pulled taut. Your fingers spread wide grasping at nothing behind your back and found nothing and kept grasping anyway. She rubbed slow circles over the right cheek, her palm warm and thorough, and then she kissed that spot too—her lips soft against the heat—and felt you try to pull away from the gentleness of it with the same desperation you'd tried to pull away from the impact.
She laughed.
A real laugh, brief and bright, surprised out of her.
"You cannot decide," she said, delighted. "The hit or the kiss—you do not know which is worse." She ran her palm over both cheeks, feeling the warmth. "I find that very funny. And very useful."
She kept going.
She was methodical, returning to spots that made you make the sounds she liked best. She'd bring her palm down and then immediately follow it with her lips, soft against the heat, and watch you jerk and strain at the contrast. The crease where your thigh met your ass. The tenderest part of your left cheek. She catalogued everything. She was completely unhurried about all of it, stopping occasionally to run her palms over the heat she'd made, occasionally pressing her mouth to your spine above your ass where you were unmarked and feeling you shudder.
"You are turning such a pretty color," she observed at one point, looking at both cheeks with genuine appreciation. "Both sides." She ran her thumb lightly across the left one and felt you clench. "I like this very much. I want to remember this."
She brought her palm down harder—harder than any of the ones before, right at the tenderest spot—and you screamed through the gag, muffled and wrecked. She smoothed her palm over the heat immediately, pressing it in, and felt you tremble under her hand.
"There," she said, satisfied. "There it is."
She placed both hands at your hips.
Both palms, firm, fingers wrapping around the curves of your hipbones. She held you completely still.
You immediately tried to move.
She felt your whole body strain against her grip—your hips pushing forward and back, trying to find any angle with the wand, some relief or more or anything at all—and she held on without giving you any of it. Immovable, without mercy. Her thumbs pressed into the muscle of your hips and she felt every futile push your body made against her hands.
"Oh," she said, like she'd discovered something wonderful.
She could feel everything from here. Every tiny movement against her grip. The strain of your thighs against the ropes. The way your hips kept pushing and finding nothing and pushing again. Her thumbs moved slowly, pressing in, feeling the effort underneath them—the continuous, futile effort of a body that could not stop trying even when trying got it nowhere.
"You cannot stop," she said softly. "Even when you want to." Your hips drove against her grip and she held steady. "Your body has stopped listening to you." Her thumbs pressed in deeper. "It is just asking. Over and over." She watched you clench around nothing again. She felt it from outside your body through the tension of your thighs. "And there is nothing there." A pause. "There will not be anything there until I decide."
She held you there for a long time.
She held you against the wand and felt your body fight her grip, and she talked to you in that low warm voice. She told you what she was watching. She told you that she could feel the clench of you from outside your body and that she found it beautiful. She told you that you were being very good.
She meant all of it.
You started crying and didn’t even realize it.
Your eyes filled, spilling over and soaking into the pillow. A sob came through the gag that was completely real and completely unmanaged, and you didn't have anything left to stop it with.
Wanda felt the change move through you under her hands. The sob moving through your body. The shudder of it.
She released your hips, moving off the bed. You heard her cross the room. You heard her pause. Then she came back and the mattress shifted and she settled somewhere behind you at the foot of the bed.
You knew the sound of her bra coming off. You knew it well by now. The soft snap of the clasp. The shifting as it caught on her pierced nipples. You knew those sounds. And you knew the sound of her panties being pulled down her thighs slowly, teasing you even though you couldn’t even see.
You heard an exhale—long and slow—and the quality of it was different from anything she'd made all evening. Something turned inward. Something that was for herself.
"I want you to hear this," Wanda said. Her voice had dropped a register. Warm in a different way now—the warmth of something she'd stopped managing. "I want you to hear exactly what you have done to me tonight."
You sobbed into the pillow again, the relentless buzzing of the vibrator on your clit driving you close to orgasm but not letting you get it. You realized that the only thing you could do was listen, and that must’ve been her plan all along.
Her hands moved over her own skin. You heard the sound of her palms against herself, the quiet friction, and then the small catch in her breath when she found what she was looking for. Her breasts first. Her hands moving over them, her rings against her own warmth, and then the sharp small sound she made when she found her right nipple—the silver barbell—and rolled it between her fingers.
She made that sound twice. Let you hear it both times.
"So sensitive," she murmured. "They have been like this since before the ropes." Her breathing was already slightly unsteady. "I kept thinking about this while I was tying you. About exactly this." Her thumb moved over the piercing again and she moaned, biting her lip. "Having you here. Like this."
One hand moved lower.
The slick sound of it reached you. Unmistakable. A soft sound as her fingers found her clit and she inhaled sharply.
"Bože," she breathed. God. Low and unbidden.
She held there for a moment. Then her fingers began to move.
"I am so wet," she said. The words came out slightly uneven now—the effort of talking while her fingers worked. "I have been wet since I put the gag in. Since I heard the sound you made." Her fingers worked slow circles and the sound she made had you crying again, your body desperate for anything. "That sound."
She touched her piercing again with her free hand. The sharp inhale. A curse in Sokovian, soft and fervent.
“Fuck,” she breathed out, building her rhythm.
"I keep looking at your back," she said, between shorter breaths. "All my lipstick on you. I did that." Her fingers moved and she made another sound, less managed. "And your ass—" A breath. "Both sides. So red." The slick sound of her hand reaching you clearly from the foot of the bed. "You will feel it tomorrow. Every time you sit. And you will think of tonight. You will think of me. You will—fuck—”
She stopped talking because she didn't have breath for words anymore.
What came through was just sound. The sound of her fingers and her breathing losing their shape together. Small sounds that were entirely hers and entirely unperformed. The rhythm of her hand getting faster. A curse in Sokovian, followed by English, and then everything ragged.
"Ah—"
She shuddered through it quietly. You knew she had cum, could hear her start to settle.
The room held her silence, just the sound of your cries and the vibrator.
She came around the side of the bed, phone in hand, and she looked at you—at your face, still turned into the pillow, tear tracks drying on your cheeks, rope gag at your mouth, eyes red—and something warm and deeply satisfied moved across her face.
"I need to remember this," she said.
She crouched beside the bed and brought the phone to your face. She looked at you through the screen and then at you directly and then at the screen again.
"Look at me," she said.
Somehow, you managed to lift your head and look at her. How you did this despite the constant stimulation on your clit and the desperation your body was barely handling, you didn’t have the capacity to question.
The shutter clicked. Of course she had the sound turned up. Just another way for her to let you know she was in control.
She took several of your face—close, the tear tracks and the gag and the wrecked expression—then pulled back for a wider shot. She moved behind you and documented your back: the lipstick marks down your spine, the shape of them, how far they went. She took a close-up of your reddened ass that made her make a quiet sound of satisfaction when she looked at it on the screen. Then she crouched at the foot of the bed.
She took her time here.
She photographed the wand tied against your thigh, the head of it against your clit, the way your thighs were bound apart by the black rope. She photographed the slick that had gathered on your inner thighs. She photographed the way your cunt kept clenching around nothing while the wand ran.
"Beautiful," she said quietly, looking at the screen. "Absolutely beautiful."
She stood and came back to your face.
"Smile," she said, her voice lilted like a song.
A sound came through the gag that was not a smile.
"I know," she said, conversationally. "You are very busy.” She patted your cheek affectionately. “Smile anyway."
She took the picture, looking at it for a long moment. Then she set the phone aside and reached up and untied the gag, drawing the rope carefully from your mouth. She worked the knots at your ankles next, easing your legs flat, running her palms up and down your calves with steady pressure. Your wrists last, the knot releasing, and she brought your arms slowly around to your front and rubbed warmth back into them.
She turned you over.
One hand at your shoulder, one at your hip, and you were on your back looking up at her. She was kneeling over you—fully bare now, her dark hair falling around her face, rings on every finger, the smeared lipstick—and she looked down at your face with an expression that was open in a way she didn't often allow herself to be open.
She reached out and touched your cheek.
Her thumb moved under your eye, along the track a tear had made. She looked at what was on her thumb. Then she leaned down and put her tongue to your cheek and licked—slow, the flat of her tongue dragging from your jaw to the corner of your eye—and when she pulled back the sound she made was low and quiet.
She looked at your face. At what she'd reduced you to.
"Perfect," she breathed.
She sat with that for a moment. Then her hand moved to your inner thigh, adjusting the vibrator.
Your whole body went rigid.
"Wanda—" Your voice was barely a sound. Raw. "Please—I'm done—I can't—"
She looked at you, tilting her head.
"Are you?" She asked softly. She made a cooing noise, something sympathetic, but she pressed her palm flat against your cunt without any care for how you cried again.
The full warm weight of her hand. You were soaked and swollen, impossibly sensitive. She held her palm there and felt you against it—felt the heat of you, felt how wet you were, felt you clench against nothing under her hand.
She leaned down, her lips finding your ear. Her hair fell cool against your jaw. Her voice, when she spoke, was a whisper.
Summary: A Wanda variant accidentally slips into the universe while your Wanda is looking for something. You accidentally interrupt their conversation and quickly get distracted by the fact that you are in a room with two of your wife. Both are quick to take advantage.
Tags: 18+ minors dni, selfcest, strap-on, dom scarlet, switch wanda, sub reader, memory play, implied dark scarlet witch, virgin wanda, begging, telepathy, they’re both in your head (positive), implied pain kink, hypnotic suggestions, hand around neck, oral fixation, strap sucking, strap referred to as cock, hair pulling, younger/older woman, fingering, wanda has a bush
Words: 3,795
Author's note: Hi hi hiiiii sorry for lowkey disappearing. I'm back 🫶🏻 Here is my slightly-longer-than-usual end of year fic 🎇 Thank you so much for such an awesome year!!! I hope the new year brings more highs and less lows for you 💞
She/her pronouns and "our girl" used to refer to reader multiple times. Nondescript clothes.
ao3 | masterlist
You wander downstairs when you hear talking. Wanda had lulled you into a nap a couple of hours ago. Something she usually does when she’s doing one of her more extreme spells. You don’t mind too much anymore. She’s promised not to do it when she’s angry and you get such a deep sleep.
You freeze halfway down the stairs. There is not a neighbour or friend or avenger in your living room. There’s a second Wanda. One who looks much younger than your Wanda. You swallow and look to your wife. Her eyes are already on you. Is this a projection? A memory? Someone disguising as a young version of Wanda for whatever reason? Or is Wanda doing some sort of a heal-a-younger-version of yourself therapy thing?
The younger Wanda turns. She has dark eyeshadow and spiked cuffs around her wrists. You’d met Wanda when she was in her soft sweaters phase but you’d seen pictures of her more emo style.
“Who is this?” she asks with a thick accent.
“She’s ours.” There’s a dark look to your Wanda’s eyes that you haven’t seen in a while. That thing slipping through the cracks again. You swallow and walk down the rest of the stairs.
“Hello.” You awkwardly reach out to shake the younger Wanda’s hand while you introduce yourself. She studies you, gaze intense. The way she looks at you…yeah, definitely Wanda.
“So…” you don’t know what to do with your hands, “What’s happening?”
The younger Wanda turns to your Wanda.
“I was looking for something in her universe. She slipped through instead,” your Wanda says.
You have to figure out another way to think about them. Emo Wanda? Alternative Wanda? Or maybe a nickname for your Wanda. She’d recently earned the title Scarlet Witch. Scarlet is a pretty name. There’s no protest from your Wanda, mentally or verbally, so decision made. You watch curiously as they return to the conversation you interrupted. Wanda’s eyes flick to you every few moments like she’s trying to take you in, or study you, surreptitiously. She’s failing horribly but you appreciate the effort.
And then you’re suddenly realising there’s two Wanda’s in the same room as you. That this is a quiet fantasy you’ve shared with your wife in the late hours of the night, when Scarlet had your brain so fuzzy you were willing to tell her anything. The memory turns from a hazy impression to a sharp image and you know Scarlet is in your mind, encouraging the thought to continue.
You swallow and try to shift subtly on your feet, resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. Wanda sends you a curious look but continues talking to Scarlet. Another memory comes forward of a different night, one where Scarlet held you down and whispered every dirty thing two of her could do to you. How you’d be so helpless against them, how you’d beg for more.
Scarlet makes the memory so vivid you whimper, loud enough for Wanda to hear. Her head snaps towards you and you can feel her concern as her mind enters yours. It’s rude but it’s Wanda so you can’t find it within yourself to truly mind, even if embarrassment rises. Wanda pokes the memory curiously and heat floods you as you gasp. She makes it a bit too real and you no longer feel the floor under you. You’re lying back on the bed, Scarlet hovering over you as she buries her fingers inside your cunt and tells you how pretty you’d look filled by two of her.
“That’s enough,” Scarlet says.
Wanda turns to her with a raised eyebrow. It looks like they’re communicating telepathically but you’re too busy trying not to hump the air to care. To go from being fucked to having to stand calmly is too much and you’re quickly losing your shame. You have just enough time to notice a smile curl around Scarlet’s lips before you’re all in the bedroom. A gentle caress against your mind from Scarlet tells you they haven’t transported you back into your memories.
You’d landed on the edge of the bed but Scarlet curls her fingers and you’re dragged to the middle, gentle magic pushing you to lay down. Your clothes disappear and you gasp as cool air rushes to meet your skin. You lift your head when no one immediately joins you on the bed and the heat builds when you see both of them already naked. Scarlet is gently caressing Wanda’s cheek and you realise Wanda is nervous. You go to reassure her, or try to with your already fuzzy brain, but an impression from Scarlet’s mind tells you she wants you to be quiet. Wanda is only slightly nervous because of how fast things are moving.
“She wants it,” Scarlet murmurs, “Desperately.”
You can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. Your want is obvious. Moments later Wanda is climbing onto the bed, a strap-on slowly materialising from a swirl of red around her hips. You open your legs wider, your mouth dry. Scarlet follows behind her and curls her hands around Wanda’s waist.
“You want this?” Wanda asks and you relish the way her voice rasps.
You nod eagerly, hands reaching out to tug her closer. Red immediately wraps around your wrists and pushes them back into the bed. You pout at Scarlet but she only smiles back at you. Wanda doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes run down your body. You squirm at the inspection. Her hands hesitantly land on your stomach before gliding lower.
“So pretty,” she murmurs and you try not to preen. You mustn’t be too successful since Scarlet sends a pulse of amusement to you. One of Wanda’s hands dips towards your heat but Scarlet clicks her tongue and tugs on the harness around Wanda’s waist. Wanda stills and she looks hesitant. “I don’t know how…”
“I’ll help you,” Scarlet says.
You don’t risk pointing out how badly she wants this. Wanda nods and allows Scarlet to guide her until her hands are beside your head and she’s hovering over you.
“Gentle,” Scarlet murmurs as she guides Wanda’s hips. Her strap finally enters you and you lift your hips to try and her deeper inside of you. You’re not sure what Scarlet is playing at. She hasn’t been gentle with you in a long time and having a strap slowly open you up instead of filling you in one thrust is torture. Scarlet clicks her tongue in disapproval and red slams your hips back against the bed.
“Be good for our guest,” she says and you nod hurriedly. The last thing you want is for this to stop while she punishes you.
“She is so desperate,” Wanda says wonderingly. Scarlet hums her agreement. Wanda stops her movements, ignoring Scarlet’s hands. You whine and tug at the magic ropes. You don’t dare move your hips. Wanda looks like she’s drinking you in, the dark eyeshadow making her eyes glow. You’d squirm if she wasn’t already half inside you.
“Don’t tease,” Scarlet says and uses her grip on Wanda’s hips to force her the rest of the way inside of you. You cry out and instinctively try to arch away. Wanda moans lowly in your ear and you almost melt. The stretch fades away as you realise you’re having your first time with Wanda again. The desperate look on her face, the complete lack of control of the situation. For a second you almost wish Scarlet wasn’t here. It’s been a long time since you’ve had control of Wanda in the bedroom. Scarlet pinches your thigh and you twitch. Not fair, you think to her. She doesn’t deign to respond.
Wanda continues to show her complete lack of control by barely moving her hips before pushing back inside of you. She does it again and again and soon she’s rutting inside of you. Her eyes have shut and she’s moaning freely. It’s a relief and a disappointment not to have her intense gaze on you. She’s entirely lost in the feel of you.
Red wraps around you both and your heart pounds. Scarlet does not like to lose control. Nor does she like to be ignored. Wanda has now done both and you’ve done nothing to stop her.
“You need to be gentle,” Scarlet’s voice is hard. Wanda’s chest heaves above you and it’s a struggle to focus on anything else. Scarlet’s voice turns smooth and warm. “We don’t want to hurt her.”
You try to protest but find yourself unable to open your mouth.
Wanda, you whine in your head.
You know what your mouth is for, her voice curls around the fog in your mind. Then a memory is shoved to the forefront and something heavy and smooth sits on your tongue. You moan and try to take it deeper. Wanda makes a confused noise and you’re pulled from the memory. Your mouth is still firmly shut. You whine again since Scarlet won’t let you beg.
Behave and you’ll get exactly what you always want, the taste of her fills your mouth and your eyes roll back.
“What are you— “ Wanda cuts herself off with a moan. “How do you keep control when she is like this? Her mind…” her hips jut mindlessly. Scarlet hums.
“You’ll get used to how desperate she is, and how powerful that makes you feel. She turns all dumb. It’s quite easy,” she says and you shouldn’t love how she talks like you aren’t there.
Scarlet takes control of Wanda’s hips again but this time she uses her magic. Her hands settle on your lower legs. It’s not a particularly sensitive spot but you missed the connection.
Scarlet pulls Wanda back, the tip of the strap is barely inside of you, before shoving her hips forward. You and Wanda moan in unison. Scarlet keeps the a steady, tortuous pace. Wanda’s breath is hot against your ear. You aren’t used to the lack of her lips against you but her smell surrounding you is enough to increase the haze.
A second after you have the thought her lips skim your cheek, and then down to suck at that sensitive spot on your neck. A moan turns into a whine and you wish Scarlet would let you beg.
“I’m not stopping you, dearest,” Scarlet says, not bothering to speak into your mind since Wanda has entered it too. But she is stopping you. She won’t let anything other than desperate sounds escape your lips. You resort to begging in your mind.
Please, please, please, please, I’ll be so good I’ll make your favourite sounds. Please, please-
It’s hard to think of anything properly, to promise anything tantalising, while Wanda’s strap is hitting that spot deep inside of you over and over again.
“What do you think?” Scarlet asks Wanda. “Should our girl be allowed to cum?”
“Yes,” is Wanda’s instant response. Scarlet huffs a laugh. “I want to see her as she comes.”
“She’s quite pretty when she does. It makes me want to…” her nails press harshly into your skin. Her cute aggression became apparent to you early on in your relationship.
Please, please, please, please-
“She liked that,” Wanda says curiously.
Scarlet chuckles lowly, “She likes much more than that.”
Memories fill your mind of your pleasure and pain mixing together to give you extreme highs. They cut off abruptly.
“Ah, ah,” Scarlet says, “She’s close. You need to focus on her, especially if you want to watch her come. You can look later.”
Wanda’s intense gaze returns to you and Scarlet speeds up, no longer taking the whole strap out as you get closer and closer to your peak.
“What a good girl we have,” Scarlet says and your toes curl. “So obedient for us, so desperate. I bet I could stop holding you down and you’d be just as still.”
You nod hurriedly. It’s a game you’ve played before, and lost many times, but Scarlet loves the complete control she has over you and how desperately you try to stay obedient. It always ends in pleasure.
“See, Wanda? We don’t need our powers to control someone,” Scarlet says.
You doubt Wanda is truly paying attention. The face she’s making is a familiar one. She’s about to come. The idea that fucking you is turning her on so much that she’s reaching the edge so fast pushes you over too. White hot pleasure flashes through you and Scarlet allows Wanda to rut inside of you. Wanda comes down first, laying on top of you as you continue to twitch around her length. She nuzzles at your neck while you come down.
“What a pretty image my girls make,” Scarlet says. Her hands skim from Wanda’s back to your sides and you shiver. She uses a hand to leverage herself over Wanda to be able to cup your face. “I want you to take her down your throat next, okay baby?”
You nod obediently. Her thumb finds your mouth and your lips open without thought. She gently run her thumb over your tongue and whatever few thoughts you had managed to gather slip away.
“Such a good girl,” she says and you can feel Wanda shiver.
“Her mind is so empty,” Wanda says, her accent strong. Scarlet moves to lay on her side next to you both so Wanda can kneel over you again.
“Like yours was, a few moments ago. Poor baby just can’t recover as fast,” Scarlet says like she isn’t pressing down on your tongue and making your eyes rolls back. “And maybe a few hypnotic suggestions,” she adds with a small smirk.
“And she is ours,” Wanda’s voice has gone from wondering to possessive. Her hand creeps towards your neck but Scarlet grabs her wrist.
“Not yet, we don’t want her too dumb when taking your strap. She’ll choke,” Scarlet says.
“She won’t now?” Wanda says doubtfully.
Scarlet hums and removes her thumb. You whine at the loss.
“Don’t doubt our girl. She has quite the fixation on things in her mouth. It proves very…motivating,” her hands don’t leave your skin. “One more moment, darling,” she says to you. “Then I want you on your knees.” You manage to make an agreeing sound. You can’t wait to have Wanda in your mouth again.
Scarlet encourages Wanda to stand. You don’t take the extra time she’s trying to give you to recover. You practically scramble off the bed in your eagerness. Scarlet huffs a laugh behind you but Wanda looks at you with something wary and fragile. It’s rare for someone to approach her with such eagerness. You stop in front of her and brush a gentle kiss against her lips. Wanda deepens it immediately, her hand fisting in your shirt. Your resulting smile ruins the kiss.
“Let me make you feel good,” you murmur and she nods, pupils blown.
You slowly lower yourself to your knees. Wanda’s eyes don’t leave yours. Your wrap your hand around the base of her wet strap and guide it to your waiting month. You taste yourself and moan as you take it deeper. Wanda gasps and her hips twitch. You begin to move your hand up and down and Wanda’s hips push forward again. Red surrounds Wanda’s hips with an accompanying careful from Scarlet. Her voice is too thick with lust to sound angry, let alone particularly warning. You suck and Wanda moans.
“How does that feel?” Scarlet asks. A faint, wet noise tells you she’s started to play with herself.
“Feels good,” Wanda mumbles, eyes half-lidded as she watches you.
“Yeah? You like how our girl sucks you off?”
Wanda moans again and her hand gently grabs the back of your head.
“I don’t need to ask how our pretty girl likes it. She always enjoys having our cock in her mouth. Isn’t that right?”
You try to make an agreeing sound around the strap. Wanda moans and tries to push deeper. You need to pull back for air a few moments later. Wanda’s eyes stay fixed to the string of spit connecting your lips to her strap. It snaps and red fills your vision. A moment later you’re splayed back on the bed, Wanda hovering over you with red eyes. Her strap nudges your entrance and you’re arching to welcome her back in. A deeper red flares and Wanda is forced still.
“Why?” her voices comes out as a whine.
“All of that and you think I don’t deserve a turn?” Scarlet asks.
“You’ve been enjoying it plenty,” Wanda snaps.
You turn curious eyes to Scarlet. You can always feel each other’s presence in a room, and you have no doubt she’s always within your mind, but you only feel the emotions she sends you. She hasn’t been broadcasting how much this is affecting her but it seems Wanda is feeling it all the same. Is this purposeful to keep trust or do their magics recognise them as one being?
If Scarlet hears the thought, she doesn’t answer you. Wanda is tugged off of you with a surprised yelp and left to hang in the air. She struggles for a few moments before turning a glare on Scarlet. One that hovers dangerously close to a pout. Scarlet ignores it, a skill you do not have. You reach for Wanda without really thinking about it. It’s Wanda. If she doesn’t want to be up there then you’ll help her. You don’t get far. Scarlet reminds you what situation you’re in by clearing her throat.
Turning, your brain reorients itself upon finding her. She’s moved to lean against the headboard and she pats the side of her thigh twice. You immediately move to rest your chin against it, looking up at her. Her hand tangles in your hair and she drags you to her centre. You move so you’re between her legs and eagerly nose at her soaked curls. She lessens her tight hold and you can feel her relax back further with the shift in her thighs. You barely resist indulging yourself early.
“Enjoy your reward,” Scarlet tells you, “And if the young one behaves herself she can have one too.”
You’re too excited to try and guess what she means. Your tongue immediately presses into her wet heat and you drink from her eagerly. Scarlet moans lowly above you and Wanda makes a choked sound. You don’t realise what’s happening, too focused on your task, until Scarlet shows you an image of Wanda in your mind. She’s squirming mid-air, face scrunched in pleasure. You lightly suck Scarlet’s clit and Wanda arches. You groan as you realise you’re pleasing them both at the same time. It only makes you more eager.
You’re soon surrounded by the sound of pleasure. Breathy noises from Scarlet and continuous moans from Wanda. It’s a struggle to stay focused, to not let your brain slip away in a haze. A part of the connection between Wanda and Scarlet breaks away and Wanda makes a desperate noise. She can’t feel the way you’re eating Scarlet out anymore.
“You could have felt everything if you had contained yourself,” Scarlet tells her. Her tone is noticeably weaker with how close she’s getting. A hypocritical thing to do but that seems to be her theme tonight.
You don’t direct the stray thought at her but she must still catch it because nails are suddenly digging into your scalp. Thankfully, your transgression isn’t bad enough for her to pull you away. Losing her taste when she’s so close to coming would be truly devastating. You lightly scrape your teeth across her clit before she can use that thought against you. Scarlet’s thighs tense around you and her grip tightens in your hair again as she comes with a long, low moan. You watch her face, warm pleasure filling you, as you lap up the mess you made. A gentle, mental nudge has you pulling back slightly, Scarlet clearly needing a moment of respite. You blink slowly up at her, pleased. She runs a gentle hand through your hair.
“Wanda deserves a treat for taking her punishment so well, hmm?” Scarlet purrs to you.
Wanda’s quiet grumbling and a pulse of her power tells you she doesn’t appreciate it being called a punishment, but it seems she doesn’t want to risk whatever reward is on the table since she doesn’t say or do anything else. Hands grip your ankles and you squeak in surprise when you’re pulled down the bed. Wanda’s weight settling behind you stops you from crawling back to Scarlet but you still pout. You’re much too far to nose into her soaked curls. Scarlet sends a flicker of amusement towards you which only makes your pout stronger. It quickly disappears when the tip of Wanda’s strap starts nudging your entrance. She hesitates and you whine quietly.
Scarlet flicks her wrist, “Fuck her however you like.” She once more lounges against the headboard, her heavy gaze on you. Wanda starts like Scarlet had shown her, with long and slow strokes. It doesn’t last long. Her self-control snaps and her nails sink in as she grips your hips tight, holding you still as she ruts into you. You’re soon gasping under her. Sensitive and needy, already so close after so much attention. Wanda’s quick orgasm might have been embarrassing if it weren’t so hot. Her grunts and moans as she fucks into you spurring you on. You’re a squirming mess as you feel her hips stutter, her orgasm taking over. It’s not quite enough. A few more seconds and you would’ve been right there with her.
The familiar feeling of Scarlet’s magic curls around your clit and the pressure inside of you bursts. You look up to Scarlet as you cry out, Wanda moaning against your neck as your cunt squeezes her. Scarlet’s eyes are half-lidded as she works two fingers in and out of herself. You buck helplessly under Wanda as your orgasm continues to wash over you. Scarlet comes with a quiet noise, the sight of both you and Wanda too much to resist.
You come down slowly. Wanda nuzzles the back of your neck and mumbles what sounds like reassurances in Sokovian. She settles against your back. You luxuriate in the weight of her even as you reach for Scarlet. She gently lifts you both with her magic and pulls you both forward to lie between her legs. She’s shift a bit further down the bed so you can comfortably rest your head on her stomach. Her hand gently pushes back some hair from Wanda’s face before moving to gently run through your own.
“Rest now,” she says to you both. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
The compound at night always feels different. During the day it is loud in that chaotic, comfortable way that comes with too many strong personalities sharing the same building. Someone is always sparring in the training room, someone is always arguing in the kitchen, and Tony’s lab is always humming like the walls themselves are alive. But when the night settles in, the noise disappears until the place feels cavernous and hollow, long corridors lit only by dim strips of light along the floor and the quiet ventilation system whispering through the walls.
At the end of one of those corridors, a thin line of light slips beneath a bedroom door that should have been dark hours ago. Inside the room, Wanda sits curled slightly forward on the edge of her bed, her laptop balanced on her thighs and casting a pale glow over her face. Her hair is messy, falling around her shoulders in dark waves, and she hasn’t noticed how long she’s been sitting there. The video on the screen reflects in her eyes while she watches with a stillness that borders on unnatural focus, the kind of attention someone gives when they are afraid to blink and miss something.
On the screen, it’s you.
The footage is clearly recorded from a distance, the frame slightly shaky like the phone had been held carefully but not perfectly steady. You’re in the training room, standing in front of the heavy punching bag with your hair pulled back and your shirt damp with sweat from a long session. Every strike you throw makes the chain above the bag creak softly, and the force of your hits sends the bag swinging away before snapping back toward you again. Your breathing is heavy but controlled, shoulders tense with effort as you reset your stance and throw another punch.
Wanda doesn’t move.
Her eyes track every movement you make, every shift of your body, every small habit you probably don’t even realize you have. The way you roll your shoulders when your muscles tighten. The way you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist instead of stopping to grab a towel. The way your jaw tightens slightly when you get frustrated with yourself.
She has watched this exact video so many times she could probably recreate every frame from memory.
Still, she drags the cursor back to the beginning and presses play again.
Your first punch lands again with the same dull thud, and Wanda leans slightly closer to the screen without even noticing she’s doing it. Her fingers rest lightly against the laptop near the edge of the frame, almost close enough to touch the image of you frozen in motion when she pauses it for a moment. Her lips part just slightly while she studies your face on the screen, her eyes moving slowly across the shape of it like she’s committing it to memory again even though she already knows it better than she should.
“You look even better angry,” she murmurs quietly to herself, her voice soft and almost breathless in the empty room. The words aren’t ashamed or hesitant, just thoughtful in the way someone might admire a painting they’ve seen a hundred times but still can’t stop looking at. Her fingers tap lightly against the trackpad before the video begins moving again, and her gaze sharpens with the same intensity it always does whenever you’re on the screen.
Her laptop is full of these videos.
Not just one or two.
Dozens.
Clips she recorded without you ever noticing. Moments she caught when no one else was paying attention. Little fragments of your life inside the compound that she collected slowly over weeks until the folder filled itself without her even realizing how much she had gathered.
There’s one of you asleep on the couch in the common room during movie night, your head tipped back slightly and your arm hanging lazily over the edge while everyone else argued about what film to watch next. There’s another where you’re sitting at the kitchen island early in the morning, half-awake while you drink coffee and stare blankly at nothing like your brain hasn’t fully started working yet. There’s a clip from a mission where you’re shouting instructions over the chaos while civilians run behind you, your voice calm and steady in the middle of absolute disaster.
Wanda opens that one next.
The street in the video is loud and messy with dust and smoke curling through the air, distant sirens wailing somewhere behind the buildings. The camera angle is high up from a rooftop where she had been standing earlier that day, far enough away that no one noticed she had pulled her phone out for a moment. She watches the footage with the same quiet intensity while your figure runs into frame below, your boots splashing through a shallow puddle as you move toward the fight with your weapon in hand.
“You didn’t even hesitate,” she says softly, almost admiringly, as the video continues playing in front of her. Her thumb traces lightly along the edge of the screen while she watches you crouch behind a car and shout something toward Steve across the street. Your expression is sharp and focused, your attention completely locked on the mission like the chaos around you barely even registers.
That was the moment she started recording you more often.
Because she realized something then.
She realized she could watch you whenever she wanted.
All she had to do was keep the moments.
Her laptop shifts slightly when she moves it closer, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark room while she scrolls through the folder again. Each file name is meaningless and random, but she knows exactly what each one contains without needing to check. Her memory for anything related to you is perfect in a way that almost surprises her sometimes.
She clicks another video.
The common room appears this time, warm lighting filling the space while the team relaxes after a long day. Sam is sprawled across the floor with snacks scattered around him, Clint is half-asleep in an armchair, and someone is talking loudly near the kitchen entrance about something that clearly isn’t important.
But Wanda barely notices any of them.
Because you’re sitting on the couch.
And next to you is Natasha.
Wanda’s gaze sharpens immediately, her attention locking onto the screen with an intensity that makes her shoulders tense slightly. The video had been recorded casually like the others, her phone angled from the hallway where she had been standing unnoticed while everyone relaxed inside the room.
You’re laughing at something Natasha says, leaning back against the couch cushions while you shove her shoulder lightly in playful protest. Natasha smiles in that small knowing way she has, her body turning slightly toward you as the conversation continues.
Wanda’s fingers tighten against the laptop.
She watches carefully.
Every second.
Every small shift of your posture.
Natasha leans closer to say something quieter.
And then you kiss her.
It’s quick. Soft. Casual in a way that makes it clear it wasn’t the first time.
But it’s enough.
The moment it happens, Wanda goes completely still.
Her breathing stops.
Her eyes lock onto the screen like the image might change if she stares hard enough.
The video keeps playing, but she isn’t hearing the voices anymore. The only thing she can see is the way Natasha smiles against your lips before you pull away, the two of you continuing to talk like the kiss meant nothing at all.
Wanda’s chest tightens in a sharp, sudden way that makes something inside her snap.
The laptop slams shut.
The sound echoes sharply through the room.
For a single second the silence hangs heavy in the air.
Then the room erupts.
Scarlet energy bursts from Wanda in a violent wave that rattles the walls, the desk across the room lifting into the air before smashing sideways into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood. Papers scatter everywhere as the lamp shatters against the floor, glass exploding across the carpet in glittering shards.
Her breathing becomes uneven as another pulse of power ripples through the room, sending a chair flying into the door with a
heavy metallic bang that dents the surface.
“She doesn’t get to touch you,” Wanda says under her breath, her voice low and shaking with something darker than anger. The red glow around her hands flickers violently while the mirror above her dresser cracks straight down the center, splintering outward into jagged lines.
“You don’t even look at me,” she mutters, almost like she’s thinking the words out loud rather than saying them intentionally. Her gaze drifts toward the fallen laptop on the floor across the room, her chest rising and falling sharply while the faint scarlet glow around her fingers continues pulsing with restless energy.
Another surge of power rattles the walls again before finally beginning to fade, the red light slowly dimming until the room falls back into silence. The destruction left behind is scattered everywhere, broken furniture and glass littering the floor while Wanda kneels in the middle of the wreckage with her hands resting loosely against her thighs.
Her eyes stay fixed on the laptop.
Because it still has the video on it.
The moment with you.
The moment that should have been hers.
And then—
There’s a knock on the door.
The sound freezes her instantly.
“…Wanda?” your voice calls gently from the other side, muffled through the metal but unmistakable.
Her heart slams violently against her ribs.
“I heard something crash,” you continue, concern threading through your voice as your hand touches the handle. “Are you okay in there?”
Wanda doesn’t move.
Her gaze drifts slowly toward the door.
Because you’re standing right outside it.
And suddenly the distance that had always existed between you—the safety of watching from hallways, from rooftops, from the glow of a laptop screen—is gone.
Now you’re here.
Only a door between you.
And Wanda has been watching you for far too long to pretend she doesn’t want it opened.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
Masterlist
A/N: My favourite song rn is Hysteria, and I just thought about Emo Wanda having that obsession over something she can’t have, and I also thought that emo Wanda would love Muse in general (Her best era fr)
Imagine eating Emo!Wanda out in her dorm room while hazy smoke swirls in the sunlight as she takes another hit from her joint. Imagine getting all fuzzy and flushed for her, just eagerly sucking and licking away as she relaxes and grinds herself against your face. Those long fingers with silver rings tangling in your hair as little moans leave her lips. Eventually, she gets out her phone, pointing it down and recording your blown pupils as you look up at her, telling you she's saving the video to watch again later.
summary: Wanda Maximoff had a well-known reputation for barely tolerating humanity— well, except for you. That much was obvious. What wasn’t so obvious was the Wanda only you got, the Wanda who took you to secret late-night dates spent under the stars, where it was just You, her and the constellations. But now, meeting face to face with the misfortune of having to share you, will Wanda be able to survive nosy adults - known as the World's mighty heroes- that want to "take her girlfriend away"?
warnings: Established but new relationship, late night car drives, make outs, Slight alcohol consumption, Wanda being an emo black cat and cute, Jealousy and Possessiveness (W to R), otherwise I think there's none, but please let me know!
not proofread
author's note: to the anon who requested this, I hope this is what you were thinking about❤️ (I'm sorry it took sooooo long, i hope it was worth the wait)
words count: 7.905
The room buzzed with a relaxed, lively energy, the kind that paired perfectly with the faint chill creeping in from the late hour. Unfortunately for Wanda, your animated conversation with Yelena seemed destined to stretch into eternity—or at least until the yawning hours of the morning. And, according to Wanda’s resolve, it was already late enough for her to contemplate the sweet relief of her bed.
You threw your head back in laughter, your carefree joy radiating through the room as you sipped your drink. Every now and then, your gaze flicked toward Wanda, scanning for her familiar figure. When you spotted her lingering at the edge of a small demilune table, you gestured for her to come closer. But she just pointed toward the couch where the rest of your friends were perched, and you nodded, giving her a quiet, reassuring smile.
Your friends had practically staged an intervention to convince you to bring Wanda to your group’s monthly reunion. Sure, she’d bumped into some of them before—an impromptu chat here, an accidental coffee shop encounter there, maybe a party or two—but being submerged in the full, unfiltered chaos of your entire friend group was a whole different beast.
It wasn’t that Wanda didn’t like them or that they didn’t like her. They got along quite well, and to Wanda’s surprise, they actually had some interesting things to talk about and fun stories to share. The problem was just… people.
Even if your group was as friendly and easygoing as they came, they were still people. And that didn’t make them any less exhausting.
Wanda handled it all as the night stretched on. Polite conversations, a few strategically timed smiles, more small talk than she could ever count. She kept her drink alcohol-free, making sure to stay in condition to drive both of you back. But a woman can only handle so much. She quickly found her brief moments of relief by sneaking off to the bathroom, where she’d check her phone—just long enough to catch her breath before re-entering the chaos. When that didn’t suffice, she’d quietly gravitate toward you, slipping her hand gently around your waist. It wasn’t to draw attention or interrupt; just a quiet connection, a grounding touch that offered her comfort without taking too much of your focus, letting her steal a few moments of peace before braving the crowd again.
At some point, she even got roped into a game with two boys named Billy and Tommy, her competitive streak sparking a few rare grins. But soon enough, the buzz of social interaction began to drain her reserves. By the time you and Yelena’s gossiping marathon was winding down, Wanda had settled into her default role as the quiet observer, her emerald eyes trailing you across the room like a moth drawn to its flame.
When you finally made your way back to her, you leaned in to press a kiss just behind her ear, instantly switching her attention to a more interesting subject: you.
Wanda’s focus shifted instantly, her gaze snapping to you as quickly as her hand placement now, a possessive grip on your thigh. She had long stopped pretending to listen to Kate Bishop’s rambling. The words coming from Kate’s mouth were nothing compared to the sight of you. Your skirt, the way it clung to your skin despite the cold, was far more interesting than… well, she really had no idea what that girl was saying.
It didn’t take one with powers to be able to read your girlfriend. Wanda’s forest-green eyes, though soft and subtle, practically screamed, Please, let’s go home. Her social battery was drained down to fumes, and the longing for the quiet solitude of her own space was undeniable.
When you leaned closer and murmured, “You’re ready to go. Aren’t you?” your words were laced with humor, teasing her indirectly for her lack of love for people. The spark in her eyes flared to life, a silent but emphatic yes. With a quiet chuckle, you nodded, rising from your seat and signaling the end of the night.
Both of you offered your goodbyes to the group, earning a chorus of exaggerated complaints about how the night was still young—even though the clock had struck 2 AM half an hour ago. You smiled apologetically, tossing out an excuse about needing to get up early, even if everyone knew it was only half true. Wanda appeared beside you just in time, draping her leather jacket over your shoulders—because, naturally, you hadn’t thought to bring one yourself.
A few quick waves later, you were stepping out into the crisp night air, Wanda’s hand finding its place on your lower back, gently steering you toward the car. You glanced up at her, smiling softly, and her lips curved into a smirk before she leaned in, stealing a quick kiss. Your surprised giggle encouraged her, and she peppered your lips with more playful pecks all the way to the car. Once there, she opened the door for you, her touch lingering as you settled into the passenger seat.
The drive home was nothing unusual for Wanda, though her mind wandered. If it were up to her, you’d be spending the night at the tower, wrapped up in her until morning. But she knew better—your schedule was packed, and persuasion, no matter how charming, wouldn’t change your mind. Believe her, she’d tried before, and you were infuriatingly stubborn.
“I’ll pick you up at 7 PM then,” she said as you unbuckle your seatbelt, her tone firm with a touch of affection.
“Okay, but text me when you’re leaving the tower,” you replied, grabbing your purse.
Wanda hummed her agreement, though her focus had already shifted. Her fingers trailed teasingly along your thigh, drawing your attention back to her. You tilted your head, leaning slightly against the seat as you flushed under her gaze. Without hesitation, Wanda’s hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that was far more intense than you’d expected. A quiet moan escaped you, caught off guard by the heat of it.
That sound was all it took for Wanda to tug you into her lap, her hands firm on your hips, drawing you closer with every second. One hand wandered upward, settling confidently on your neck as the kiss deepened. When you finally broke apart, breathless and grinning, you murmured, “I need to go hooome.”
Wanda’s response was a low murmur against your neck, followed by a series of distracting kisses. “And?” her tone lazy and unbothered, her lips never straying far from your skin created goosebumps all over your body. The sheer audacity of it made you groan, tilting your head back. You knew what she was doing.
You giggled softly, shaking your head at her antics, the warmth of the moment lingering between you. Placing your hands gently on her shoulders, you immediately drew Wanda’s attention. Before she could dive back toward your neck, you leaned in, pressing a light peck to her lips, halting her progress.
“As much as I love this, and as much as I love you. I really, really need to go.”
Well, that wasn’t what she was expecting at all. Her expression softened as she let her hand wander, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate strokes along your hip. Brushing her other thumb against your skin with an affectionate rhythm as her eyes met yours.
“But you’ll stay tomorrow at the tower,” she said, and you knew better than to take that as anything other than an affirmation.
Either way, you nodded, a faint smile curving your lips at her certainty. The two of you lingered in each other’s arms for a while longer, chatting about silly, inconsequential things, along with Wanda’s now-and-then complaints about people, in general.
Maybe it was because Wanda grew up with only her brother by her side, her world small and quiet, that adjusting to life with far more people than she’d ever anticipated felt like stepping into chaos. It explained a lot about her demeanor—your girlfriend was, without a doubt, the definition of a black cat. From her emo wardrobe to her piercingly observant nature, right down to that deadly tilt of her head, she carried an air of mystery and quiet defiance that was entirely her own.
A mystery that she was letting you slowly resolve.
But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Wanda walked you to your door, her hand resting snugly against your lower back, and stole one last kiss for the night. Alright, she stole three kisses… maybe four before she said goodbye.
--- 07:13 PM, Saturday.
Wanda knew countless ways to show you love. She absolutely hated those five love language quizzes. But took every possible quiz known to mankind, because it made you happy. To her, there was no point in defining her love when her goal was simple: to love you in every imaginable way known to humanity.
Take words of affirmation—Wanda had mastered them. Sometimes she’d leave you anonymous notes tucked in unexpected places, filled with songs, poems, or plain “I love yous” scribbled all over the paper. Of course, those notes often came paired with flowers, seamlessly tying into her “gift-giving” love language.
Or she would whisper sweet things in your ear, maybe after fucking you into the mattress to a point that your legs simply decided against working; or during a cozy cuddle session, that she was so overwhelmed to the thought of loving you that expressing what her heart felt was the only way to breathe.
But Wanda had her personal ranking system, and in her imaginary list, the “best love language of all time” title went to a combination of three: acts of service, quality time, and physical touch. It might seem odd if you thought about it. Because as much as she loved her brother and cherished the company of the team, Wanda Maximoff was known as the ultimate lone wolf; who cherished her independence and had always preferred her space. But who now, lived for your presence.
The once-solitary soul found herself missing you in your absence, casually touching you whenever you were close, and pouting—yes, pouting—when you weren’t. She’d found herself wanting to do anything and everything for you, from tying your shoelaces to painting your nails, actions that spoke volumes without a single word.
And tonight, you realized she’d be using all three in full force the moment you shut your front door. Wanda leaned against her car casually, exuding an effortless confidence that made it look like she owned the world. Her combat boots gave her a slightly taller stance, her short black skirt was just enough to drive you insane, and her crimson lace corset hugged her waist with a perfection that could make statues weep.
Topping it all off was her signature leather jacket, the one both of you knew would end up draped over your shoulders by the end of the night, as it always did.
She greeted you with a sweet pet name, her tone soft as she guided you to the passenger seat. Then, as soon as she got in, she kissed you—a teasing, gentle press of her lips that left your lipstick intact but made your heart flutter in the way only Wanda could.
Too wonderstruck by Wanda’s presence to notice at first, it wasn’t until you glanced around the car that something seemed off. A frown slowly crept onto your face as you noticed the unfamiliar vehicle: a pickup truck you were certain Wanda didn’t own.
“This is not your car,” you stated, turning to her with a puzzled look, silently asking for an explanation.
“It’s Clint’s. And I’ll say no more because it’s part of your surprise,” she replied with a sly smirk, clearly enjoying your confusion.
She tried to steer your attention elsewhere, initiating a conversation about anything but cars or dates. Soon enough, the two of you were caught up in the comfort of your usual rhythm. Wanda shared new stories about the team and Pietro that you hadn’t heard before, and you found yourself revealing snippets of your life before her, the kind of details you didn’t usually think to share but felt natural with her.
Of course, curiosity got the best of you, as it always did. You tried again, your tone playfully insistent. “Where are we going?” But Wanda wasn’t budging.
“I’m not saying. You’ll just have to sit there and look pretty,” her smile only making you more curious.
Resigning to the mystery for now, you shifted your focus to the little comforts inside the car. You picked the music—your shared playlist, the one you’d made together late at night before you’d even started dating—and absentmindedly played with the rings on Wanda’s right hand, the same hand that rested comfortably on your thigh.
The conversation, once again, changed to random facts, half-formed ideas, and musings stories that hadn’t come up before. But neither of you cared; every small discovery about each other felt like another thread tying you closer together.
Then the car slowed. Wanda stopped near a gate, grabbing a set of keys and tapping your leg as she stepped out. It wasn’t until she walked toward the gate—a sophisticated, intricately designed one—that your curiosity turned into full-blown amusement.
When she returned, you tilted your head at her with a half-smile, your curiosity now brimming. “Wanda… what is that?”
She giggled, looking up dramatically as if in thought, before you poked her side, your need to know finally winning out.
“I was talking to Clint about taking you on a date, like that movie we watched. But I didn’t have a place, and the park just wasn’t it. So, welcome to Anthony Stark’s country house,” she said casually.
Your eyes widened in disbelief, a startled laugh escaping you as you processed her words. “Stark?! How?”
If it had been Clint offering, it would’ve made more sense. He was practically Wanda’s surrogate father figure, even if she refused to admit it. But Tony? That was a different story.
“He offered,” she said with a shrug. “Said it’s a family property he barely uses. I wasn’t going to take him up on it, but Barton called me out. And, well… it’s for you.”
Her voice softened on the last words, and she looked away, parking the car near a tree. Even in the dim light, you could see the faint blush dusting her cheeks, a blush too strong to go unnoticed.
Your chest tightened with emotion, and you reached out to her, feeling overwhelmed by the gesture. Wanda Maximoff, the girl who claimed she didn’t need anyone, had gone through all this trouble just to give you something special.
“You’re too good,” you murmured, the words spilling out unfiltered, your heart feeling fuller than ever.
Wanda’s smile was a perfect blend of shyness and confidence, like she knew exactly what she was doing but still couldn’t quite believe she was pulling it off. She parked the car under the shelter of a sprawling tree, its branches reaching out like they were trying to touch the stars. And oh, the stars—countless, glittering, and impossibly bright against the deep blue canvas of the night sky.
You stepped out of the car, immediately captivated by the celestial display, your head tilting back, trying to watch it closely. You turned, ready to gush to Wanda about how breathtaking it all was, but your words caught in your throat. She wasn’t there.
Your eyes darted around, and there she was—Wanda, already moving with purpose, shutting the backseat door and making her way to the truck bed. Curiosity piqued, you followed, your footsteps crunching softly on the gravel.
What was she up to now? Your mind raced, but nothing could have prepared you for what you saw next.
The truck bed looked like a scene straight from a rom-com, but this was real, and it was all yours. Blankets and pillows were spread out neatly, candles flickered softly, and a few containers sat nearby, hinting at snacks waiting to be discovered. There was also a wooden board, though you didn’t know what it was for yet.
And then, of course, there was Wanda. She sat on the edge of the truck bed, her dark brown hair catching the soft candlelight, her eyes shining with a mix of mischief and warmth. She stood there, effortlessly magnetic and, but her smile? always sweet.
Suddenly, the constellations above you felt insignificant, obsolete.
Why gaze at distant stars when the most radiant being in the universe was standing right in front of you? And then, like a quiet ripple in your memory, you thought back to the first time you saw Wanda.
It was a Friday night, and you were out with your friends after a long week. The local club was packed, as it always was on weekends, but the drinks were good enough to make the crowd bearable. You weren’t there for anything in particular—just to unwind, sip on a drink, and enjoy the company of your closest friends. The music pulsed through the room, and you found yourself laughing, dancing, and letting the night carry you along. That’s when you noticed her, in the middle of it all.
Her hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a sleek black short skirt and tall boots that added an air of elegance to her presence. There was something about her—the way she carried herself, the way she seemed to glow even in the dim light of the club—that made it impossible to look away. Your first thought was that she reminded you of a constellation. Hard to find, but impossible not to search for it.
Astronomers might say that constellations are only hard to find if you don't know what you're searching for; you didn’t know much about stars—you could barely find the three stars of the Orion Belt—but spotting her in that crowded room felt as natural as finding the constellation Cassiopeia.
But as far as looking goes, you didn’t approach her. You wanted to, but the moment never felt right. By the time you gathered the courage, she was gone, disappearing into the night like the stars fading at dawn. And there goes your North Star…
Later, after you’d been talking for a couple of weeks, Wanda confessed something that surprised you. She had noticed you that night too. In fact, she had stared at you the whole night. To the point where Pietro - her twin brother, who practically forced her out of her room that night - teased her about the intense and long stares she was giving you, saying you would soo call the cops on her ass if she continued to look like a creep.
But she didn’t care. She was drawn to you, too busy admiring you.
That is, until she saw Kate - your overly affectionate, completely wasted friend - throw her arms around your shoulders and drag you onto the dance floor. Wanda spent the rest of the night pouting like a child, downing a few more shots, and probably plotting Kate’s demise.
Now, standing here with her, the stars above seem dim in comparison. Wanda is luminous, magnetic, and real—not some distant, untouchable light in the sky. And in this moment, no constellation could ever come close to her.
There was once a constellation named Felis. Created by a French astronomer in 1799 who felt sorry that there wasn’t a cat among the constellations (though that was not entirely true, because the constellation Lynx was formed by another astronomer in 1687). The constellation could be found between the constellations of Antlia and Hydra, a small cluster of stars meant to honor the elegance and mystery of a feline.
You chuckled at the cat-loving astronomer, amused by their dedication to carving out a place for a cat in the vast night sky. But at the same time, you couldn’t blame him when you, yourself, would create a constellation for Wanda. A cat, as well, because she more than half of the time took pride in her black cat personality.
When finding yourself sad on the news that the Felis constellation has become obsolete, you decided that Wanda Maximoff would be your new Felis. Something you never got the courage to mention to her, but a silly nickname that found its way into your diary every single time you wrote about her
So as you stared at the woman in front you, your brain short-circuited. Though it always did when “Wanda Maximoff” was involved. The first thought that popped into your head was, “I’ll never get over her if we ever break up.” Because how could you? Who else would go to such lengths to make you feel like the center of the universe?
You pouted at her, your face a mix of disbelief and awe. No words came out—just a soft, overwhelmed exhale. The kind of exhale that comes when you realize just how loved you are.
“Wands…” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.
Wanda’s smile widened, and she patted the space beside her, a silent invitation. “You’re just going to stand there like a dork or will you join your girlfriend?” she teased, her tone light but her eyes full of affection.
Girlfriend. That word never fails to make your heart skip a beat. You giggled, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, and quickly climbed into the truck bed. You settled onto the blanket, draping another one over your legs as Wanda handed it to you.
“This is… wow,” you said, still taking it all in—the stars, the candles, the tree, her. “I mean… you are wow.” Wanda chuckled, the sound warm and low, and leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek before pulling you closer.
The night unfolded in the most perfect way. You lay there together, staring up at the stars, trying to spot the Orion’s Belt as Wanda tried to explain to you how easy it was to find it - you called her crazy right after. The sound of a nearby river added a soothing soundtrack to the moment, its gentle babble mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves. At one point, you gasped, noticing the strings of light bulbs hanging from the tree above. They cast a soft, golden glow, and you realized that’s where the light had been coming from all along.
After a while, Wanda’s gaze shifted from the stars to you. She had this habit of staring, and while it used to make you blush furiously, you’d grown to find it endearing. You stared back, holding her gaze as long as you could, until the intensity became too much and you had to look away, a shy smile tugging at your lips.
“Are you hungry?” Wanda asked, breaking the silence out of sudden, another habit she had.
“Right now? Hmm, not really,” you replied, though your stomach might have disagreed if it weren’t so busy being distracted by the romance of it all.
Wanda nodded, but then, she quickly slid off the truck bed and disappeared toward the backseat. You frowned, curious, and watched as she reappeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses; the wooden board now serving as a perfectly sized table for two. She balanced it between you two, one leg on your side and the other on hers, and then, like some kind of romantic magician, produced two drawing books and a set of crayons.
“What is happening right now?” you asked, half-laughing, as she handed you a half-glass of wine. She poured herself a glass of water, explaining that she’d be the designated driver tonight, as it usually happened. After all, someone had to sneak you both back into the tower and find the way to her room without raising suspicion.
You took a sip of the wine, the rich flavor warming you from the inside out, and glanced at the drawing book in your lap. “So… are we having an art night under the stars?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
And it was exactly that. Wanda had planned a cozy little coloring and drawing session just for the two of you. You leaned partially against her, finding the most comfortable position possible, and your cheeks warmed up when she casually draped her leather jacket over your shoulders. She made sure to tuck the blanket snugly around your waist, making sure that you stayed warm and cozy. You silently thanked her with a shower of soft kisses, making her giggle as she playfully tried to wiggle away—though you both knew she wasn’t actually trying to escape.
Just when you thought she couldn't possibly outdo herself, she hit you with the ultimate surprise: a container of your favorite cookies. Yes, your favorite cookies. Freshly baked. Homemade. You stared at her, eyes practically glistening, and the look you gave her in that moment was so full of love that Wanda was convinced she could die happy, right then and there.
And so, the two of you stayed like that for hours—though it felt like mere minutes. Coloring, talking, kissing, eating, just loving
At some point in the night, when your wine glass had been emptied, with not a single drop to be found and the cookies had long since disappeared, you noticed Wanda giving you a look. That look. You couldn’t pinpoint what was happening inside her head at that moment: after all, you haven't yet got the time to figure out the meaning behind Wanda Maximoff’s indecipherable gazes. And that woman had an entire collection of unreadable expressions.
You weren’t the only one who noticed, though. A lot of people thought Wanda was “cold” or “distant” because of the way she carried herself—her infamous resting bitch face and her preference for not engaging in unnecessary small talk. But you knew better.
You wished people could see Wanda through your eyes. See how thoughtful she was, how much effort she put into the things and people she loved. But at the same time, there was a selfish part of you that liked keeping this version of Wanda all to yourself. You liked having this Wanda just for you. For your eyes to see, your heart to hold, and yours to have..
Especially now, when she was looking at you like that - a “that” that you didn’t even know what it meant or how you could begin to describe it -, her fingers idly tracing up and down your neck, a habit she had picked up a few weeks ago.
“I have another thing for you,” she murmured, her voice so quiet it felt like speaking any louder would disturb the peaceful bubble you had built around yourselves.
“Wanda…” You groaned, though the smile stretching across your face completely betrayed your attempt at scolding her. “You’re spoiling me too much.”
She just shook her head, a smirk playing at the edge of her lips; the red lipstick now smeared on her glass.
You giggled as she helped you hop off the truck bed, steadying you with a firm but gentle grip. But when she led you to the car and opened the backseat door for you, you couldn’t help but frown in confusion.
Settling into the seat, you looked up at her, curiosity swimming in your eyes. Wanda simply closed the door behind her, a small smirk playing on her lips. You didn’t have much time to admire her, though, because in the next moment, you realized you were trapped. Wanda had you against the door, your back somehow comfortably resting against it as she crawled closer and closer to you, until she was hovering over you, her body caging you in.
You turned your head to the side, blushing under the weight of her full and undivided attention. But Wanda wasn’t having any of that. She reached out and gently grabbed your chin, supporting herself with her other arm as she leaned in closer.
“What? You’re too shy to look at me?” she teased, her face carrying a curious expression, though her voice betrayed her with a mock tone. “You didn’t even drink that much wine.”
You smiled, shaking your head slightly. “I had enough,” you replied, your voice soft but playful, an intense blush quickly growing on your cheeks. Wanda’s smirk grew wider, and she raised her eyebrows at you, humming in acknowledgment.
Her thumb traced a slow, deliberate path from your chin to your jaw, then down your neck, before returning to where it began. Finally, she moved her thumb to your lips, tracing your bottom lip gently. The touch was feather-light, sending a shiver down your spine.
As she leaned down, it became clear that Wanda just wanted to kiss you right there in the back seat - that’s what she had stored for you there. You smiled up at her, your cheeks burning with a scarlet red shade as you looped your arms around her shoulders, gently pulling her closer. Wanda smiled back, her lips brushing against yours in a way that was soft and teasing, her quiet laugh escaping as she playfully poked your sides.
You kissed her lightly, quick little pecks that made her grin, but Wanda wasn’t satisfied with just that. She cupped your cheek, her touch warm and steady, and paused for a moment, her eyes holding yours - you could lose yourself in her eyes, the soft green piercing into yours with a tenderness so profound it felt almost unbearable, an intensity that seemed to pull at the very core of your being, leaving you breathless and exposed.
She leaned in, and the kiss started slow—gentle, almost hesitant, like she was savoring the feel of your lips against hers. It was sweet, unhurried, and you felt yourself melting into her, your fingers lightly threading through her hair. But the pace changed, the kiss growing more urgent, more intense. Wanda’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled you closer. Her other arm tightened around your waist, holding you firmly against her. The softness gave way to something hotter, hungrier, her lips parting as the kiss turned breathless, consuming.
You stayed there, kissing, for what felt like an eternity—minutes, hours, it didn’t matter as long as Wanda was with you. You could only focus on the way her lips moved against yours, soft and sure at first, then growing deeper, more insistent. Her tongue brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine as she reached down to grab your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your fingers tangled in her hair, gripping lightly as if to anchor yourself, but it only seemed to spur her on.
Every now and then, the kiss would break, just for a moment, as one of you pressed a wandering kiss to the corner of the other’s mouth, or along their jaw, or to the soft spot just below their ear, or just a playful bite at their bottom lip.
Her lips trailed down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp, and you could feel her smile against you before she returned to your lips, hungry and demanding, exploring and claiming, as if she couldn’t get enough of you. And you couldn’t get enough of her.
You stayed like that, kissing, touching, completely lost in each other. The world outside the car seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was her—the way her hands held you like you were something precious, the way her lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity that made your heart race.
The night stretched on, neither of you noticing the passage of time, too wrapped up in each other’s embrace to give the rest of the world a second thought. But the moment was interrupted when Wanda’s phone slipped from the seat and hit the car floor with a loud thud. The sound startled you both, and you broke the kiss, laughing as you craned your necks to see where the phone had landed.
When Wanda picked it up, you gasped at the screen—3:45 AM glared back at you. “Oh my god… I had no idea it was that late,” you said, hiding your face in the crook of her neck.
Wanda chuckled softly, the vibration of her laughter against your skin making you smile. Her free hand found its way to your hair, fingers casually twirling a strand or scratching gently at your scalp in a way that made you melt.
After a few minutes like that, you reluctantly pulled away, insisting that the two of you should pack up and head home. Wanda groaned, complaining about how she never wanted to leave, but she eventually caved, giving in to your logic.
Soon enough, everything was packed and ready to go.
The drive back to the tower was peaceful in a way you hadn’t expected. You never knew a a relationship could be so intense and sweet at the same time. Wanda’s hand rested on your thigh most of the time, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns just for the comfort that the action offered. The shared playlist playing softly in the background once again, filling the occasional silences that didn’t really need to be filled.
Sleep was already tugging at both of you, soft yawns escaping more frequently as Wanda drove. But maybe it was the music—one of your favorite songs had come on—or the way her fingers were laced with yours, your index finger idly playing with the rings on her hand, that kept you from drifting off completely.
You sighed, the idea of finally getting the sleep you so desperately graved feeling just out of reach.
“What was that for, sweet girl?” Wanda asked gently, her hand already resting on your thigh giving it a light poke.
“I was so sleepy, but now I don’t think I can sleep at all,” you complained, pouting up at her. Wanda chuckled at your dramatics, reaching over to grab the garage remote from the car door.
“We’ll find your sleep, my love. Don’t worry,” she reassured you, her voice soft and teasing.
You couldn’t help but laugh, nodding along to her words even though you weren’t entirely convinced.
Now, here’s where things started to get a little tricky. It was well past 4 AM, and the two of you were trying to sneak into the tower as quietly as possible. But there were two problems: 1) some of the Avengers, like Steve Rogers, were known to be up before the sun, and 2) others, like Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes, seemed to have a sixth sense for every single movement in the tower, even when they were supposedly asleep.
As much as Wanda loved her teammates—her ugh, she’d have to admit it—found family, she wasn’t exactly in the mood for a full interrogation about why she was coming back so late, why she looked like she’d been “attacked by a bear” (messy clothes, wild hair, and all), or why her girlfriend looked equally disheveled. So, she did her best to walk as lightly as possible, her footsteps barely making a sound.
But, for some reason, the absurdity of the situation had both of you stifling laughter.
It all went downhill when her jacket, which was still lazily draped over your shoulders, slipped off. The zipper hit the floor with a loud clink, echoing through the quiet hallway like a gong. You promised yourself you wouldn’t laugh. You really did. But the sight of your usually cool, collected, and slightly emo girlfriend tiptoeing through the tower like a spy on a mission just to get away from nosy adults was too much. The contrast between her usual nonchalant demeanor and the sheer ridiculousness of the moment had you biting your lip to keep from bursting out laughing.
Wanda shot you a look, half exasperated, half amused, as she quickly scooped up the jacket. “You’re not helping,” she whispered, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
“I’m trying!” you whispered back, your shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Wanda rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face gave her away. She held your hand tightly, quietly dragging you down the hallway as if you were on some top-secret mission.
When a door near her room clicked open, Wanda quickened her pace, pulling you along with her. You couldn’t help but giggle at her exaggerated urgency, even though you knew it was completely unnecessary.
She practically yanked you into her room, instantly closing the door behind you. You immediately threw yourself onto her bed, burying your face in the pillows to muffle your laughter. Wanda stood there, arms crossed, looking completely unamused—though she was trying so hard not to laugh.
Once the laughter finally died down, you rummaged through her drawer and pulled out one of her oversized shirts to wear as pajamas. The familiar comfort of her clothes wrapped around you, and you felt the pull of sleep creeping back in. You and Wanda stood side by side in the bathroom, lazily brushing your teeth, the quiet hum of the tower settling around you.
Wanda finished first, and before you could even ask her to stay with you, she hugged you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. She let out a long, dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted off her shoulders. You couldn’t help but smile, leaning back into her for a moment before finishing up. You kissed the side of her face as you set your toothbrush next to hers—a small but meaningful gesture that made your heart swell.
It was your turn to sigh when you finally curled up in Wanda’s arms, her soft blankets draped over you both. Your arms wrapped around each other, and for a moment, you just lay there, breathing in the quiet comfort of being together.
You shared a conversation that might’ve lasted three minutes—less maybe. As one of you finally dozed off, and the other followed soon after, finally giving in to the exhaustion of the night. You smiled in your sleep, somewhat feeling the steady rise and fall of Wanda’s chest and the warmth of her arms around you, pulling you into the deepest, most peaceful sleep you’d had in a while.
Before you started dating, Wanda had quickly noticed your insatiable curiosity. You were always asking her questions—about her life, her thoughts, her experiences—and she found it endearing. You’d dive into every little detail she shared, researching things she mentioned just so you could come back with more to talk about. It was cute, the way you were so eager to know every part of her.
So, it wasn’t a surprise to Wanda when she woke up to find you standing in the middle of her room, intently studying the little photo mural she had near her study table. She watched you for a moment, shifting on the bed to get more comfortable as you analyzed every corner of her space.
You’d been in her room a few times before, but most of those visits had been in the dark—escaping from a party she’d convinced you to attend, too caught up in kissing and taking each other’s clothes to notice the little details. Now, in the soft morning light, you were finally taking it all in: the guitar leaning against the wall, the painting supplies tucked neatly next to her wardrobe, the little trinkets scattered across her shelves.
“You’re very nosy, you know,” Wanda said, her voice soft but teasing, breaking the silence.
“Hm?” You turned to face her, a smile spreading across your face despite the faint pink tinting your cheeks. You hadn’t expected her to be awake.
Wanda grinned at your slightly embarrassed expression, propping herself up on one elbow as she watched you. “You’re being nosy,” she repeated, her tone playful.
“That’s a love language, you know,” you shot back, walking over to the bed with a smirk.
“What? Stalking?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow to tease you further. You nodded, climbing onto the bed beside her. “Yes. It means I like you.”
She let out a fake, dramatic gasp, clutching her chest as if wounded. “Like me?! And here I was thinking you loved me.”
You laughed, leaning in to kiss her cheek, then her nose—which made her scrunch it up in that adorable way you absolutely adored—before finally pressing a soft peck to her lips. Wanda smiled, her hands instinctively finding your waist as you settled into her lap.
“So, you’re nosy, a stalker, and a thief?” she teased, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was checking you out, her gaze lingering on the way her gray sweatpants and black tank top hung loosely on your frame. Even your damp hair smelled like her shampoo.
“You knew all of that before you started dating me,” you fired back, grinning sweetly at her
Wanda chuckled, her hands moving to your hips as she gently swayed you from side to side, her touch playful and affectionate.
“I can’t run away now, hm?” Wanda teased, arching her eyebrows at you with that playful smirk you loved so much.
You quickly shook your head, grinning from ear to ear. “Nooo, no! You can’t,” you replied, leaning in to kiss her again, as if to seal the deal.
Before Wanda could fire back with another quip, a slightly robotic voice interrupted the moment. It was Jarvis, the ever-helpful A.I. that seemed to know everything happening in the Avengers Tower.
“Miss Maximoff, you have been requested in the kitchen for breakfast. Miss Y/L/N as well,”
You blinked, surprised. “They know I’m here?” you asked, turning to Wanda with wide eyes. Wanda shrugged, her expression a mix of amusement and nonchalance.
It didn’t take long before the two of you were heading to the kitchen—after Wanda’s whole morning routine, of course, and a few (okay, maybe more than a few) kisses in between.
You were kind of used to walking around the tower by now—not enough to feel completely at ease wandering alone in the massive building, but enough to find your way to Wanda’s room, the gym, and the garden without getting lost.
But here’s the thing: even though you were somewhat familiar with the place, you’d never been in a room with all of the Avengers at once. Sure, after Wanda dragged you to one of Stark’s infamous parties, you’d met a few of them. There was Clint, who somehow always gave off “cool dad” vibes. Natasha, who you still couldn’t figure out—did she hate you, or was she just like that with everyone? (Wanda assured you it was the latter.) And, of course, Tony Stark himself, the party host. You’d exchanged polite smiles with a few others, but that was about it.
Being in a room with all of them, casually having breakfast? That was an entirely different beast.
You expressed your nerves to Wanda as the two of you walked down the hallway, your fingers tightening around hers. “What if I say something stupid? Or, I don’t know, spill coffee on Captain America?” you whispered, only half-joking.
Wanda chuckled, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “You’ll be fine,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “They’re just people. And besides, you’ve already survived a Stark party. This is nothing.”
You weren’t entirely convinced, but the way Wanda laced her fingers with yours and gave you that soft, encouraging smile made it a little easier to breathe. Still, as you approached the kitchen, you couldn’t help but feel like you were walking into a lion’s den.
But right now, as you sat at the table with a cup of coffee poured by Tony Stark himself, a stack of pancakes offered by Bruce Banner, and an excessive amount of chocolate syrup drizzled over your plate by none other than the God of Thunder, Wanda found herself feeling increasingly uneasy.
Everything was about you. They wanted to monopolize your time, your attention, your breakfast. They bombarded you with questions: about your life before Wanda, your life with Wanda, your thoughts on global warming, and even your theories on what lies beyond a rainbow. They wanted to know every single little thing about you, it was like they’d collectively decided you were the most fascinating person in the world, and Wanda couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
She tried, though. Oh, she tried. She crossed her arms, pouting like a child, and reached for you every chance she got—your thigh, your arm, your waist, your hands—but every time she managed to steal even the tiniest bit of your attention, someone else would jump in with a question or a story or a joke.
For heaven’s sake, you were her girlfriend. You were in the tower because of her, to have breakfast with her. And now it was all about them.
Even Natasha, who had always been hard to read, seemed to have taken a sudden liking to you. She poured you more coffee, for crying out loud! And Bucky—ugh, don’t even get Wanda started on Bucky—the man who had been silent all breakfasts until the present day, suddenly became way too curious about your life. Wanda made a mental note to hide his fake arm later.
When Sam teased Wanda about “losing her girlfriend to the team,” her eyes flickered red, jealousy flaring up like a wildfire. Sam laughed, clearly getting the reaction he wanted, but he quickly assured her he was just joking. It didn’t help. Wanda gave up on her nearly finished breakfast and decided to keep both hands firmly on your upper arm, as if claiming you back.
But even that wasn’t enough. After a few more minutes of watching you laugh and chat with everyone, Wanda had had it. She stood up abruptly, sighing heavily.
“The questionnaire time is over,” she announced, her voice loud and clear. “If you’ll excuse me, she’ll spend her time alone with me now. Because she’s my girlfriend.”
Her jealous tone made you chuckle, but you didn’t argue. You waved goodbye to the table as Wanda dragged you down the hallway, her grip firm but not unkind. Before you even made it to her room, Wanda had you pinned against the wall in a dimly lit hallway—somewhere you were pretty sure you’d never been before.
She kissed you like her life depended on it, her hands gripping your waist as if to remind you who you belonged to. You smiled into the kiss, knowing full well this was her way of reclaiming you.
“I can’t believe they took all of my breakfast time,” she complained between sweet, lingering pecks on your lips.
“You know I’m all yours,” you smirked, trying not to laugh at the adorable jealousy she couldn’t quite hide.
She nodded, burying her face in your neck, her arms tightening around you. “Mine,” she muttered, her voice muffled but firm.
But as possessive as she was, Wanda couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness underneath it all. She hadn’t planned on introducing you to her found family like this—not so early in your relationship—but seeing how easily you fit in, how naturally you charmed everyone, made her heart swell. You had a way of making her feel comfortable, of making her feel like she belonged, even in her own chaotic world.
As she’d watched you at the table, your lips smudged with chocolate syrup and your hand lazily wrapped around your coffee cup, she realized something: she could never, ever let you go.
How could she, when you made her feel like a perfect, solved puzzle—like everything in her life finally made sense?
Because when she was with you, she didn't care if things made sense, they always did if she had you by her side.
the head tilt. the eyeliner. her jawline. those collarbones. the teeny bit of cleavage. her cheekbones. THAT LOOK. her cute button nose. the high ponytail! the necklace. the leather jacket.. OH MY FUCKING GOD. emo wanda is grossly underrated. i will take that to my grave.
please please please can someone indulge me here in my ask box n we can talk about all emo wanda thoughts 👉🏻👈🏻🖤
