Wanda knows it the second she steps through the door -- knows it in the way the air sits wrong, thick and unmoving, like even the dust is waiting for something to break.
She hears the soft slam of a cabinet in the kitchen.
Your cabinet slam. Small, sharp, frustrated.
Her heart drops. She caused that. She caused all of this.
“Y/n?” Her voice is cautious. Too cautious, even to her own ears.
She finds you standing at the counter, hands braced on either side of the sink, shoulders tense. You don’t turn when she walks in. You don’t even pretend.
Wanda swallows hard. She deserves that.
“You left,” she says quietly. “Before we finished talking.”
You let out a breath that sounds like you’re trying not to cry or yell or both. “Yeah. Because you weren’t listening.”
Wanda closes her eyes. That’s fair. That’s painfully fair.
She takes a slow step forward. “I was listening, dorogaya. I just--”
“--don’t trust yourself.” You cut her off with a tired laugh, shaking your head. “I know, Wanda. I know. It’s always the same thing. You’re scared you’ll hurt me. Or touch me wrong. Or lose control. Or--”
“Stop,” she whispers, the word cracking. “Please.”
You finally look at her.
And that alone almost brings her to her knees.
Because you’re not angry. You’re hurt.
Quietly, deeply, devastatingly hurt. And Wanda would rather be shot than be the reason for that expression on your face.
She takes another step toward you. You don’t back away, but you don’t soften, either.
“I laid rules down because I love you,” she says, voice low, steady only because she wills it to be. “Because I’ve lived my entire life being told my power destroys everything it touches. That I destroy everything I touch.”
Your jaw tightens. “Wanda, you don’t destroy me.”
She lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. “I’m terrified I will.”
Silence. Not angry -- just heavy.
You push your fingers through your hair, pacing once before facing her again.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you say quietly. “I don’t need you to be safe. I just need you to stop assuming the worst version of yourself is the only one I get to love.”
Wanda’s throat goes tight. Painfully tight.
Because she hears the truth in your voice -- the exhaustion from fighting to be close to someone who keeps putting distance where you’re trying to build a home.
She steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her, the little static flickers of power under her skin.
She has spent years repressing that warmth around others--but around you, she wants to offer it.
“You shouldn’t have walked out,” she murmurs. “You shouldn’t leave in the middle of a fight. Not with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to scream at you in your own house, Wanda.”
“I didn’t want a fight.” Her voice lowers. “I wanted you to stay. With me. Even if we were angry. Even if it was messy. I don’t… I don’t want distance with you.”
Your heartbeat stutters. Her eyes follow the movement in your chest like it matters more than anything else.
She exhales shakily. “I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you. And that should make me happy, but it terrifies me because wanting you means I have something to lose.”
You soften. Just barely.
“Wanda--”
“No,” she says quickly, stepping even closer until your bodies almost touch. “You need to hear this.”
Her hand lifts -- slowly -- and hovers near your cheek but doesn’t touch.
Not until you lean in the tiniest bit.
She cups your jaw with trembling fingers.
“I lay rules down because I am selfish,” she confesses. “Because if I ever hurt you, I wouldn’t survive it. I would rather chain my own powers, silence myself, cage every part of me that scares me—than risk losing you.”
Your lips part, breath catching.
Her thumb brushes your cheek in a feather-light stroke, and your eyes sting because god, she’s trying. She’s really trying.
“I love you,” she whispers, like she’s bleeding it out. “I love you so much it feels dangerous. And I don’t know how to do this without being afraid.”
You step forward until your forehead meets hers.
“Wanda,” you say softly, “loving someone doesn’t mean controlling all the ways they could get hurt. It means letting them stay anyway.”
She closes her eyes.
Her breathing steadies against your skin.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she murmurs, voice small in a way she never lets anyone hear.
“You’re not going to.”
She finally opens her eyes--bright, emotional, glassy but not broken.
“You left earlier,” she reminds you, voice cracking again.
You shake your head gently. “I walked out, Wanda. I didn’t leave you.”
Her lips part like she’s tasting that difference for the first time.
Then she whispers, “Come here,” and pulls you into her chest, arms wrapping around you with a desperate tenderness that isn’t rough or magical or frantic.
Just human.
Her face buries into your shoulder as she exhales a shaky breath against your neck. One of her hands slides into your hair; the other presses flat against your back like she’s trying to memorize the exact shape of you.
You melt. You forgive. You breathe again.
“You always think you’re too much,” you whisper into her hair. “But you’re not. You’re just scared. And that’s okay. But don’t shut me out when I’m the one person you’re safe with.”
She swallows hard, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead with a slow, reverent heat that promises more but doesn’t rush.
“Don’t walk away from me again,” she whispers.
You smile, small and tired and full.
“Then fight with me,” you answer, “not against me.”
Wanda lets out a tiny laugh -- pained, relieved, unbelievably soft -- and kisses you again, this time on the corner of your mouth.
“You’re stubborn,” she murmurs.
“So are you.”
Her lips ghost over yours, barely there, asking for permission without words.
You give her a quiet nod.
And when Wanda finally kisses you -- carefully, hungrily, terrified and hopeful all at once -- everything in the room exhales with you.
It’s not fixed. It’s not perfect.
But it’s real. And it’s the kind of love she never thought she’d have.
Content: swimming lessons, first time at a water park, protective mommies, age regression
A/N: so this ask actually disappeared from my inbox and im so glad I had it saved in my notes because I really got into this one so thank you to the anon that sent it to me.
p.s if you sent in an ask and I never responded to it, it might be because it has also disappeared so feel free to send it in again!
Prompt: Hihi i dunno if this is where we request things but could you maybe write wandanat x little!reader with maybe a trip to a water park or going swimming or something please? Maybe teaching her how to swim? I can't swim and I miss summer.
It was the height of summer. The worst season ever, because it meant you were always hot and always sweaty. It was the kind of hot that made all of your clothes cling to your skin and your hair feel like a sticky mess if it wasn’t tied up properly. But today your mommies were trying to make your summer a little less awful, because today they were taking you to the water park.
The drive felt like it was taking forever. You were practically vibrating in your car seat with excitement, asking, “Are we there yet?” every five minutes, much to Natasha and Wanda’s amusement. But, finally, finally, the twisting water slides appeared in the distance, and you pressed your face against the glass, straining to get a better look.
“Someone’s excited,” Natasha smirked, catching you bouncing in the rearview mirror.
Wanda turned around in her seat, brushing your knee with her hand to get your attention. “Remember our rule, sweetheart? You stay close, and tell mommy or me if it starts to feel like too much.”
You nodded eagerly, too busy staring out the window at the water slides to answer. This was your very first time at a water park, and even though you couldn’t really swim—if at all—your mommies had promised they’d stay with you the whole time, no matter what.
Once the car was parked, Natasha helped you out of your car seat while Wanda grabbed the bags from the trunk. Together, you joined the queue to enter the park ,then made your way to the family changing room.
Inside, Wanda knelt down helping you out of your clothes and into your swimsuit. “Arms up,” she prompted gently. You obeyed with a giggle, delighted as she helped you wriggle into your swimsuit.
But then came the worst part.
“Sunscreen time,” Natasha announced, kneeling in front of you with the bottle in her hand. “Hold still, lovebug,” she said, trying to smother the cold lotion onto your skin.
“Eww! It’s yucky!” you whined, trying to squirm away. You knew sunscreen was important, but did it always have to feel so cold? You felt Wanda’s hands rest gently but firmly on your shoulders to stop you squirming even more.
“Just a little more,” Wanda soothed, bending down to kiss your cheek. “We don’t want you coming home looking like a tomato, now do we?”
You sighed and gave a reluctant nod, murmuring a soft “hm” as you finally gave in.
“And done,” Natasha said with a satisfied nod, tossing the bottle back into the beach bag.
You immediately turned scrambling toward the door, your hand already on the handle. “Can we go, can we go?”
Behind you, Wanda was half naked, she hadn’t even had time to put her bikini bra on before you opened the door.
“Hey—! Wait, wait!” Wanda gasped, fumbling to cover herself before you could swing the door all the way open exposing her. “Mama’s not trying to flash the whole water park here, sweetheart.”
Natasha chuckled from where she was folding your clothes back into the bag. “Easy, tiger,” she said with a teasing glance.
Wanda smirked as she finally got the ties of her bikini top secured.
“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, bouncing on your heels as you waited. “Can we go now?!”
“Hm…” Wanda drew out the sound as she looked you over thoughtfully. “I don’t know… I think something’s missing.”
You tilted your head in confusion. “What?”
She knelt down beside one of the bags on the floor and unzipped it.
“I have something for you,” she whispered, with a smile.
Your eyes widened as she revealed a pair of colourful armband floats and a floatie shaped exactly like your favourite animal.
“Mama!” you gasped, reaching out with grabby hands. “I love them!”
Natasha and Wanda chuckled, happy with your reaction.
“What do we say?” Natasha prompted gently, one eyebrow raised as she stood and slung the bag over her shoulder.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you squealed in delight, throwing your arms around your mama and hugging her tightly.
————
The water park was… a lot.
It was bigger than you imagined. Louder too. You stood there hesitantly, unsure of what to do first. You watched as the other children darted past you, shrieking with laughter, water splashing everywhere. There were so many people and it all felt like chaos, which was exciting but also overwhelming.
You reached for your mommies’ hands without thinking, suddenly feeling very, very small.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Wanda murmured, sensing your nervousness. “How about we start with something gentle? We could try the lazy river, hm?”
You nodded, not entirely sure what that was but trusting your mommy’s suggestion.
You didn’t have to wait in line long before, you were settling into your brightly coloured inflatable ring. Natasha held it steady for you so you didn’t drift off, then climbed into her own once Wanda had settled into hers.
You could feel the current tugging at you gently eager to move and for a moment you were worried that as soon as Natasha let go you would be whisked away, but she didn’t. The water stayed slow and gently, carrying all three of you along.
You trailed your fingers through the warm water, watching the ripples spread. One loop around the river turned into two before you even realised, and you were secretly hoping to go around a third time but Wanda gave your ring a soft nudge.
“Alright, little fish,” she smiled, “let’s try something else?”
———
After the lazy river, you wandered through the park for a while, taking everything in from the safety of your mommies arms. They took turns giving you piggy backs when you complained that the ground was getting too hot for your bare feet. Together you looked at the wave pool, watched the bigger kids zoom down the slides that were way too tall for you, and found it particularly hilarious to watch the giant water buckets fill up and tip over, splashing water onto people’s heads.
Eventually though your tummy started to rumble.
You ate lunch with your mommies by the lagoon pool, munching on sandwiches and fruit cups. As you ate your food, you watched the other kids slide down the smaller slides nearby, eyes glued to them.
You were too small for the big slides you saw earlier, but these ones looked smaller, something you might be able to try.
“You wanna try it out, lovebug?” Natasha asked, following your gaze.
You bit your lip. You really wanted to… but it was new and that made it scary.
“I can go with you,” she offered gently. “You can sit right in my lap the whole way down.”
You looked at your mama, unsure. Wanda gave you an encouraging smile, her voice soft as she spoke. “You can do it sweetheart,” she said, her eyes warm and reassuring.
That was all you needed to hear to convince you. You nodded, but you were only going if mommy went with you like she said she would, and if mama would wait for you in the pool below.
Taking a deep breath, you started to climb the metal stairs. Natasha’s hand found yours, steadying your nerves as you climbed, but still each step forward made your heart beat faster and butterflies flutter in your belly. Natasha’s voice was soft and low beside you so only you could hear, soothing you gently. “You’ve got this, lovebug. We’re almost there.”
When you reached the top, you realised just how high up you were. It didn’t look that tall from the ground but now you were here you were unsure if you could do it at all.
You watched as Natasha sat down first on the slide, the water rushing past her. She reached out her arms for you but you stood there hesitantly. “Come on, squirt” she said.
Carefully you shuffled over to her and she pulled you effortlessly into her lap.
“Ready?” she asked, adjusting you slightly so you were secure. You gave her a nervous nod, and with your approval she pushed off gently, starting your descent down the slide.
You screamed the entire way down, clinging to her as you whooshed around the bends of the slide, cold water spraying your face. You had your eyes shut tight the entire way down, so the big splash into the pool took you by complete surprise.
You felt Natasha’s grip tighten on your waist just before bringing you up above the water.
As you wiped the water from your face and blinked your eyes open, you saw your mama waiting right where she said she’d be. In the pool, only she had a waterproof camera in hand.
“You did it, sweetheart!” she cheered, beaming. She waded over and planted a big kiss on your cheeks, making you giggle.
“Again!!” you shouted as soon as you caught your breath.
Natasha laughed. “Could you hear her screaming the whole way down?”
“I’m pretty sure half of the park heard her,” Wanda laughed.
—————
The rest of the afternoon consisted of waiting in line for the same exact slide, over and over again and running around in the splash pads.
But there was only one thing left you really wanted to try: the wave pool.
Wanda frowned slightly. “I think you might be too little, sweetheart…”
Your bottom lip wobbled. “Please, Mommy?” you whispered, turning to Natasha. You knew Natasha was much easier to convince than your mama.
Natasha sighed, and looked over at Wanda. “Maybe we give her a quick swimming lesson first?”
Wanda didn’t answer right away. She glanced between the two of you, looking at your hopeful little face made her soften, just a bit.
“Okay,” she said finally, “but I want to see you swimming like a little fish before we even think about the waves.”
—————
“I can’t do it mommy,” you whimpered, your little toes curling over the edge of the pool. Even though the water was shallow and you could see the bottom, see the toys that had sunk down there waiting to be recovered. it was still so scary.
“Yes you can,” Natasha encouraged from the water, her red hair now pulled back into a ponytail, her arms wide open for you, “you’re so brave, I know you can do this.”
“And I’m right behind you,” Wanda added, rubbing small circles on your back but your heart still felt as though it was going to beat its way out from your ribcage.
“What if I sink?” you asked in a small voice, feeling yourself slipping deeper into your headspace.
Wanda knelt beside you, taking your hands gently in hers. “Watch,” her voice was soft. She waved a hand and tendrils of her red magic rippled through the water, and a toy that had sunk to the bottom of the pool floated up into her hand. “If you go under, I’ll just bring you back to me.”
You giggled. Her magic always helped and you loved watching her use it.
“Okay,” you whispered. “But do I have to jump?”
Natasha smiled. “No, silly.”
“Come sit on the steps with me,” Wanda said, guiding you down to sit on the first step. The water lapped at your waist, and Natasha waded over to come closer to you.
“Lesson Number 1,” Natasha said, slipping into what you called her "secret spy" voice, “is learning to be friends with the water. Let’s start by splashing.”
You kicked and splashed and giggled, slowly relaxing. Natasha taught you to blow bubbles with your face partially submerged.
“That’s it, just like blowing out birthday candles.”
You watched as she showed you how to use your arms to push you forward in the water.
“Imagine you’re scooping ice cream.”
And she showed you how to float on your back without your armbands on.
Wanda sat at the edge of the pool, watching and taking pictures with her camera, occasionally giving your floatie that you had insisted on bringing with you a nudge closer with her magic, making you giggle through your nerves.
It didn’t take you long to catch on, and now you were barely holding onto Natasha. You were only using her as a guide, scared you would bump your head on the pool wall without her.
“Okay, I’m going to let go of one hand,” she warned, “but I’ll be right here.”
You nodded, determined to this. She let go and you kept going, you kept kicking and scooping and you were finally swimming!
“You’re doing it!” Wanda cheered from the side of the pool, her camera clicking rapidly.
“Mommy, I wanna try without you holding me!”
Natasha raised a brow but nodded. “Alright then squirt. Swim from me to Mama.”
You took a deep breath, scooped, kicked and swam, doing your best to go in a straight of a line as possible. You knew you’d made it when Wanda scooped you into a tight hug.
You let out a squeal.
“Now back to me!” Natasha called, her arms outstretched for you.
You felt much more confident this time, but you kicked yourself right into Natasha’s embrace.
“Mission accomplished!” she declared, giving you a big kiss on your wet cheeks and spinning you around. “Wave pool time?”
You grinned, nodding excitedly.
——————
You waded in together just at the right time. The horn blared signalling the start of the waves. The gentle swells of the water began to rise, rolling in lazily at first before you saw them really starting to build in size.
Wanda had one hand resting on your back, her other subtly weaving glowing red threads of her magic into the water around you. You didn’t notice what she was doing exactly, but you could tell the water felt different where you were, it was softer. Nowhere near as exciting as further out, where you wanted to be.
But then you noticed why.
“Mama,” you pouted, craning to look up at her. “You’re making the waves small!”
Wanda sighed, caught in her act. “I was just trying to keep them from being too rough for you, sweetheart.”
“I want the big ones,” you insisted, pointing further out. “The real waves,”
You could see her hesitation. She glanced at Natasha for backup, but Natasha only smiled. “She’s got her armbands on, Wanda,” Natasha said. “She’ll be fine.”
You beamed happily, and latched yourself onto Natasha’s hip as you couldn’t quite reach the bottom of the pool anymore. You wrapped your little arms and legs around her like a baby koala as she walked the two of you out into deeper water. Wanda stayed close beside you, her brows slightly knit together with concern.
You felt the water gradually lifting around you, rising and falling like it was breathing. It almost felt like you were flying. The thrill of it made your heart pound hard in your chest
“I wanna go deeper!” You squealed.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Wanda asked cautiously, brushing your wet hair out of your eyes.
“Yes! Deeper!”
Your mama looked like she might say no, but Natasha was already racing ahead, stepping further in, her grip firm around your waist.
“She’s okay,” Natasha called back confidently. “I’ve got her.”
You were in the thick of it now, the waves were cresting higher than anywhere else in the pool, more violent too. You had your arms wrapped around Natasha’s neck, laughing. You were so far out you don’t even think she could touch the floor anymore but you didn’t care. You were having fun. You felt brave. You felt big.
But then it happened.
A massive wave rolled in. “Hold on-“ Natasha started, but it was too late.
She tried to hold you tighter, but the wave knocked into her full force, and for a terrifying moment, you felt yourself slip out of her arms.
You were under the water.
You tumbled with the wave, turning upside down, water burning your nose and throat.
Before you could panic fully, you felt a familiar warmth grasp wrapping itself around you like a ribbon and pull you through the water, into the arms of your Mama. She clutched you tightly to her chest, holding the back of your head, her heart pounding against you. You were sputtering, coughing, trying to blink away the water from your eyes.
Your chest felt tight and your face scrunched in confusion from what just happened. You weren’t crying…not yet.
“Oh my god, is she okay?” Natasha swam up, breathless and soaked, her hands hovering near you. “I’m so sorry, I had her- I didn’t mean to -shit.”
Your head snapped toward her, still dazed by the wave, but you caught what she said.
“Bad word,” you mumbled, sniffling a little.
“What?” Natasha blinked in confusion.
“You said a bad word, mommy,” you repeated, the tiniest form of a grin breaking on your face.
Wanda huffed a soft laugh, before pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. “She’s fine,” She murmured with relief, but you could tell her voice was still tight. She looked up at Natasha with a stern frown. “No more wave pool.”
Natasha nodded immediately, the guilt written all over her face. “Agreed. I’m so sorry, lovebug.”
You didn’t answer—just wrapped your arms tightly around Wanda’s neck, pressing your cheek against her shoulder.
Wanda carried you out of the pool, not letting go for even a second. You were still a little shaky, your face pink and damp, but you stayed quiet as she wrapped a towel around you and gently patted you dry.
“Let’s get you warm,” Wanda said softly, tucking your floaties under her arm.
Natasha came back with a bottle of water and your favourite snack from the cooler bag, crouching beside your lounge chair.
“Here,” she whispered, holding it out. “Hydration mission, agent. Top priority.”
You took the bottle with both hands and drank obediently, eyes still a bit wide but your fingers curling in comfort when Wanda sat down beside you and draped another towel across your lap.
“Think we’re done with deep water for today,”Natasha said gently, brushing her knuckles against your cheek.
You nodded slowly, leaning into Wanda’s side as she wrapped her arm around you. The events of the day were beginning to catch up to you. You were warm, dry, full of snacks, and now totally tuckered out.
“Can we do lazy river again later?” you asked with a yawn, your voice small, already starting to lose your battle with sleep.
Wanda smiled and tucked your damp hair behind your ear. “Of course we can, my love.”
Natasha leaned in and kissed your temple. “But only if you promise to let me hold you extra tight.”
You gave a sleepy nod, and let your eyes flutter shut, needing to close them for just a few moments. But the sounds of the water park, the laughter, the splashing, the feeling of the sun on your skin slipped further and further away from you and before you knew it, you were fast asleep, wrapped contently in Wanda’s arms.
Summary: Mourning is never a straight path. It has its ups and downs, a spiral of emotions and thoughts that would never settle down fast enough. But nothing love and patience couldn’t heal.
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem! reader
Warnings(+18): mentions of blood, loss, hurt/comfort, you are the lost triplet of the Maximoff twins, dark-ish Wanda (if you squint), fluff
you don’t have permission to translate/repost my work anywhere. Please be respectful. Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated. MDNI — Regina
A/N: I WANT TO SAY, this is the second time I try to post this and I might just snap to Tumblr if it messes it up again. Anyway, enjoy babies! Thank you for the support ♡
Series masterlist
The lights were too bright when you opened your eyes. Squinting and lifting your hand to cover your face.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
An unknown voice filled the air but you weren’t really paying attention, your eyes were focused on the blood in your hands. Dry and turning brown.
“Am I hurt?” your voice sounded weak, almost like it was someone else’s. You patted your body, trying to find the source but the lights turned black again.
Your ears were drumming as your eyes met your father’s. You could see the moment life escaped away from him, still smiling as blood dripped down on your face making you squeeze your eyes shut.
“D-Dad?”
Voices pulled you back of what seemed to be a nightmare. Lights still bright and your head feeling dizzy. You blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust to the room as your eyes wander around the room.
Your body was sore, you learnt as much when you tried to get up as some man pushed you down to keep you in place. Your hand instinctively ran to the pocket of your jeans, trying to find the little box.
“The ring. Where’s the ring?”
Your voice still sounded weak, out of place. You licked your lips, you needed water. Your body tried again to get up and a different person pushed you down, a woman. She was telling you something but your ears seemed to be muffling every noise.
And darkness came back.
You cried out the moment your father’s body fell against yours, your hands were shaking as you tried to push him off. A pair of blue eyes were looking down on you when you finally looked up. Steve, he was alive. His shirt was ripped, a bulletproof vest covering his chest and you frowned.
“I- I thought you were dead” you whispered, your head turning to look for Pietro. He wasn’t moving, his head was bleeding and you tried to reach him but Steve stopped you “Is he…” your voice died down the moment your brain caught up with what you were saying.
“Hey, hey. Look at me” Steve grabbed your chin, his eyes steady and warm “Everything is going to be okay”
You looked to your right, where your father’s body was lying and then your eyes looked down. The gun was in your hands and you dropped it, afraid of what happened.
“Did I just-“
Your head kept feeling dizzy, heavy and you were sure you had a headache. A pair of hazel eyes were looking at you with worry clouding them. Billy, he was okay.
“Where am I?” your voice sounded louder but still gave you the impression it wasn’t yours. Billy tried to smile softly, and said something you couldn’t hear “The ring, where is it?”
His hand grabbed yours, giving you a gentle squeeze and he kept talking but you weren’t listening. You tilted your head slightly and frowned, he stopped talking realising you weren’t there. Not really.
Steve tried to hold you down, you started crying and fighting him to free you. But his arms were wrapped around you, holding you tight as you let out a scream.
The twins crawled out of the table, worried looks as they took in the scene. Tommy was the first one to try and approach you but Steve shook his head and Billy held him back.
The place was filled with your screams and cries. In the back, sirens were approaching.
You were starting to hate the way your head kept drifting away and coming back. It was only making you feel more dizzy and you were getting impatient with yourself.
Your eyes looked around the room, adjusting to the light just to find your girlfriend curled up on an armchair with a blanket covering her body.
Instinctively your hand tried to reach her, noticing again the dry blood over your skin and some cables around your body. Were you hurt?
A grab over your shoulder startled you, and you turned back as your body instantly tensed up as if you were in danger. Wanda could be in danger. But when you looked up, Tommy was smiling softly but his eyes were clouded with worry.
He lifted his hand, showing you a small box and then signaling to keep quiet as he put it back on his pocket. Your chest tightened and strangled scream left your throat, something felt like burning in your skin.
Tommy’s eyes looked directly to your abdomen, and you sat up to notice the blood that was coming out. He yelled something his face turned red and his legs started moving to the door, making Wanda wake up and when you looked at her, she tried to smile, caressing your cheek to keep you calmed.
“No, no, let me hold him” you were crying, trying to crawl back to your father’s body. Strong hands pulled you back and you let out a sob “Please, just a minute” you were screaming, your ears kept drumming and you were somehow disoriented.
“Give her a minute” Steve’s voice was the only thing you could made out in the middle of the chaos.
You crawled to your father and held him close. You weren’t even sure why you were crying, your tears mixing with blood and landing on his face.
“Come on, wake up” you whispered, patting his face gently “I will go with you, please wake up”
You screamed again when they finally managed to pull you away. Your eyes too focused on your father to make out who was holding you tight. Your body was trembling and you bit down your lip as strong hands pushed you down, securing your body and a friendly face looked down on you.
“I need you to breathe, please” you tried to listen, but your lungs felt like they were failing. The man in front of you looked up “Maybe we should sedate her”
Everything went black again.
(—)
You woke up and the soreness that took over your body made you grunt. The sun was shining bright outside, and you looked around the room. You blinked trying to make sense of where you were.
The hospital.
The beeping of the monitor next to you was filling the room, and you tried to sit up but a burning feeling over your abdomen kept you from doing it. Still, you managed to look down.
Your hands were clean, your robe was a little wrinkled and the covers were over half of your body. You touched your face, then your arms and then you patted your legs. You were complete, at least that was reassuring.
The door opened, making you look up just to find Wanda with a warm smile followed by Pietro that had a bandage around his head but kept smiling at you.
“Hey, malysh. You are awake” Wanda sat next to you, your hand instantly grabbing hers to ground yourself. She smiled softly “How are you feeling?”
Your throat was sore, you learnt as much when you tried to talk. You licked your lips, and Pietro rushed to give you a plastic cup with water. You nodded as a silent ‘thank you’ and took a small sip.
“I feel like I was ran over again” you finally mumbled, letting Wanda’s touch soothe your nerves “What happened?”
Wanda and Pietro exchanged a look, the type of look that meant they weren’t sure if they should tell you. But then Pietro nodded and excused himself so he could get a nurse or a doctor in there.
“My love?” your voice trembled when you noticed Wanda’s sad eyes looking down to your hands, like she was still deciding if she should talk. You gave her a gentle squeeze and she looked up just to find you smiling softly “What is it? Are the twins okay?” you frowned, taking another sip of the cup.
Wanda shook her head “They are okay, malyshka. It’s not that”
You gave her another squeeze and nodded to let her know everything would be okay. But that only made her heart drop. She bit her lower lip.
“What is it? You are scaring me” you said softly “Is it because I’m in the hospital again? I swear I’m sorry”
She chuckled softly, dropping your hand to caress your cheek and you turned your head to kiss the inside of her hand. Your hand hovering hers, feeling her heat against your cheek.
“I need you to stay calm okay?” she said after a few minutes and you nodded “There was an attack. Your-“ her mouth felt dry and she cleared her throat, green eyes were full of worry when looking at you “Your father attacked you during your lunch with the twins” you frowned at her words, like it was something you should remember but your brain felt tired of thinking. Wanda hesitated, knowing she needed to be clear and still she was scared you would lose it again “He’s dead, (Y/N). Steve shot him before he could hurt you but the gun was unstable in your hands and a bullet came out” her hand lingered over your abdomen and your body trembled when you felt the heat of her hand over your wound “It’s superficial, the doctors had to sedate you because you kept moving and opening the wound” her breath hitched for a second, a tear rolled down her cheek as your brain tried to process all the information “It’s been two day, moya lyubov’. You’ve been out for two days”
The memories of what happened came crashing down like a wave that was threatening to tear you into pieces. But tears weren’t coming out, you just felt the burning in your eyes and nothing was rolling down.
Wanda watched you carefully, like she was expecting you to fall apart any minute now. But you stood still, staring blankly as she read your face.
Your father was dead. Steve and Pietro were pretty much alive. And your hands were swollen from the punches, and the pain in your scalp made sense now. But again, your father was dead.
And as the words dawned on you, your body started shaking as tears started rolling down your face and a mix of laughter and a sob left your throat. Wanda held your hands, looking at you patiently as you navigated your own feelings.
The asshole that threatened your life and the life of your girlfriend was dead, and for a second you thought you killed him. Then was the fact that some part of you needed him back, you crawled back to him crying and urging him to react when he was pretty much really dead.
Your feelings were conflicted. He got himself killed, that was for sure. No one else to blame but himself and a part of you was relieved about it. But the other part was crashing down, realising your father died.
It was your father, that psycho managed to bring you to this earth and now he was dead. And you weren’t sure if you felt sad because he was dead or just too shocked that he died trying to harm you. It was confusing, and your brain was crashing down.
You kept laughing and crying loudly. Clearly, you were conflicted about the situation. You were sedated for two days and then woke up to the bittersweet news of him being gone. Your life got crazier every time you opened your eyes, that was for sure.
He was never a good parent. You had many reasons to hate him, to want him dead. And now that he really was, the fact wasn’t what you expected. You weren’t calmed but you weren’t in distress either.
You felt free.
The type of freedom that felt right but was tainted with blood, literally. And you weren’t sure if that made you a bad person.
Pietro finally came back with a nurse and a doctor. Both women looked at you with worried eyes, their eyes finding Wanda’s who just shook her head, telling them silently you were processing everything.
They did the check up. Everything seemed right besides the fact that you were having a mental breakdown. And you weren’t even listening when the doctor talked to Wanda, explaining you could leave now that you were awake and just needed to rest.
You just kept laughing and crying like a fucking maniac.
(—)
Three days passed before your feelings could settle down. Police paid you a visit just to take your statement. And you were worried Steve was in trouble just to learn he was a certified bodyguard and had a perm to carry and use the gun as he worked. And they wished you a full recovery, not before telling you your father’s body would be going back to your hometown.
And Wanda made the awkward question. Would you like to go to the funeral? He was your father, after all. But she wasn’t pressuring you. She just let the idea hung in the air for a few days.
Steve refused to believe his mission was done, if anything he doubled down on taking care of you and you were too tired to fight him back.
Wanda was glued to your side, making sure you ate, stayed hydrated and holding you when you slept. And the twins tried not to smother you with attention, but they managed to show up to watch movies with you as you curled up between their bodies.
The girls came with Lucky, trying to cheer you up. But your eyes kept looking empty and confused. Still you smiled at their efforts and Yelena even tried to make a joke about the future scar on your belly, saying you would look too hot and that Wanda better watched out. She made you chuckle softly, and that was a win. And Kate brought you an awful amount of ice cream, the cherry garcia flavour from Ben&Jerry’s that she knew you loved. And the three of you emptied a couple of cups before Wanda started scolding you about your sugar consumption but stole some spoonfuls of your ice cream.
Then Natasha showed up. She wasn’t teasing nor flirting. She actually just laid down next to you in your bed, trying to pick a movie as you found your way next to her body because you needed safety. And Wanda ended up joining you both, nestling your body between theirs so you didn’t felt alone.
Both women chatted over you, a soft noise in the background as you drifted away. Your head resting in Wanda’s chest, and Natasha kept a respectful distance but her hand grabbed your hip just to let you know she was still there and she wasn’t leaving.
By the time you noticed, a week passed. Everything kept moving in slow-motion around you. Your body too tired to react and your brain craving to shut down. But you kept going.
Wanda was your safety net. If anything, you needed her more than ever and she was there willing to give you anything you wanted. She kept kissing you softly, peppering kisses all over your face, her hands never leaving your body just to make sure you were breathing and at the same time as a reminder that she was there. And she cooked your favourite meals, an attempt to make you eat something. Never pushing, always trying anyway.
You were in a sort of silent strike, you barely spoke up, the most everyone got from you were nods, shakes of head and taps. Sometimes you would mutter something, sometimes you just whimpered, and the best they could get were soft chuckles that gave them hope of you still being there.
When Pietro finally visited, you found yourself leaving Wanda’s side to hold him. For the first time, there was no silly banter between you, no bickering, you just needed to feel him close. And after a few days, you finally cried against his chest and apologised for getting him hurt. But he rubbed circles on your back as you curled in his lap and whispered he would do it all over again just to keep you safe, that you were now his family and he would do anything to protect what he loved.
And Wanda watched you both with a soft smile in her face, because you and her twin managed to creat a chaotic bond that only turned stronger with the recent events. You already loved each other, she knew that. But now you were linked to Pietro in a whole new level, and that warmed Wanda’s heart.
And when weekend arrived, you woke up with your bed empty and soft murmurs that came from the living room. And you walked out of the bedroom, Wanda’s robe clung around your body and making you look tiny.
You found the whole family there, chatting and bickering as Wanda and Natasha cooked breakfast. Billy and Yelena kept sneaking treats to Lucky and Kate kept scolding them. Pietro, Tommy and surprisingly Steve were playing video games on the couch, and Steve was beating them in Mario kart.
You smiled softly, your heart feeling warm for the first time in days. The loft feeling tiny for the amount of people that was there but it didn’t matter, those people were your family and that was all you needed.
And then, your voice dragged everyone’s attention. A loud noise compared to your small mumbles.
“I think we should go to the funeral”
(—)
You were looking down to your jeans. Washed out jeans that looked sad on your legs but were grounding somehow.
Your girlfriend’s hand was on your thigh as she drove. You kept humming to the music and looking at the road like it could muffle the noise in your head.
The twins, Pietro and Steve were on another car. Yelena, Kate and Natasha tried to come but they couldn’t get away from work and you just smiled and thanked them for trying.
In that moment, with Wanda holding your thigh and the music filling the air you felt that was all you really needed. The emptiness in your chest was almost gone, replaced with anxiety because you were going back to your hometown after almost two years of not visiting.
Wanda reserved a hotel for you to stay, it was supposed to be one night but she told you that it was really up to you if you wanted to stay a little longer. No pressure, no questions asked. Just the power of the decision laid on you.
‘Your Love’ started filling the car. Your finger was tapping over your thigh as you let the music soothe you and you glanced over Wanda.
“That song reminds me of you” you said softly and Wanda threw you a quick glance just to look back at the road and smiled.
“Is that so, moya lyubov’?”
You hummed, letting the lyrics fill the air. And Wanda’s smile grew wider as she followed the song. You were singing softly, and Wanda’s heart skipped a beat because you were going back to be yourself.
“You are the one that I need. Take my hand, baby please” you sang to her, your hand holding hers over your thigh.
Wanda kept smiling, her heart fluttered as she listened to you sing for her. And you lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, your soft lips sending a tingle down her body.
“I love you so much” you whispered, your voice warm as you kissed her hand again “I would be lost without you”
Wanda glanced at you and shook her head “No, detka. I would be the lost one. I love you so much”
She brought your hand to her lips and kissed it while her eyes were on the road. A gentle exchange between you two, something that made your chest bloomed with love.
The rest of the ride was full with your soft voice singing and Wanda’s soft chuckles every time you made a silly movement while singing to her. And you let the moment wrapped around you, like it could protect you of what was coming.
But the bubble started to crack as soon as the car arrived to your hometown. Anxiety came back as the familiar streets started passing by, holding onto Wanda’s hand like she could protect you from everything. And she noticed the shift in your mood, trying to distract you from letting your thoughts drown you.
You had asked her to stop by at your grandparents house before you went to the hotel. And she said yes to everything you asked because Wanda would do anything you wanted, especially in that moment.
So when the car stopped in front of an old house, the one that held your best childhood memories, your heart skipped a beat. Wanda rushed to help you out of the car, you were walking a little more but still relying on the crutches for safety.
And the boys arrived two minutes later. None of them ready to leave you alone, everyone wanted to be glued to you like you needed to be protected at all times. You smiled at them when Billy approached you and Tommy found his place behind you.
Steve and Pietro kept a respectful distance as you all walked to the front door, climbing up the small stairs of the porch and knocking on the door.
You clung to Wanda’s side, and she held you close protectively as she whispered sweet and soothing things in your ear to ease you. But nothing could help when the door opened and your heart skipped a beat.
A tall man with white hair and amber eyes looked stunned when he found the big group in front of him. But as soon as his eyes landed on you, they softened and he opened his arms. You rushed to wrap yourself around him and he squeezed you tight, his hands already making sure you were real. You nuzzled his chest, his old cologne filling your lungs and he kissed your forehead.
“Hey, sweetie. Long time no see” he said softly when you finally broke the embrace, a warm smile on his face and eyes full of love “Your nan will be thrilled, come inside”
(—)
Your big family barely fitted in your grandparents living room. Steve and Pietro were cramped in one sofa, Wanda had you in her lap so the twins could fit next to you in the same sofa and your grandad was sitting on his usual armchair and your grandma was already making tea after showering you in kisses, hugs and a bunch of compliments that turned you into a tomato.
Steve was chatting with your grandad about the military, of course they would do that. Then and there he would nudge Pietro to keep on his lane as he tried to grab a cookie your grandma just placed on the coffee table.
Billy and Tommy kept looking around, initiating a little game of who could spot more pictures of yourself around the house. Tommy was winning somehow.
And Wanda kept rubbing soothing circles in your lower back, as she paid attention to whatever Steve and your grandpa were saying.
But nothing mattered in that moment, not when you were squirming nervously on your girlfriend’s lap and waiting for your grandparents to notice your relationship with Wanda. Afraid of what they might say but keeping your place on her lap nonetheless.
Your grandma finally came back. She still dyed her hair into her usual golden locks, soft makeup and a cheerful smile. The type of smile that felt like home. And she placed a tray full of tea and some sandwiches on the table, food that soon ran out with the monsters of men you brought.
She chuckled and sat on the armchair next to your grandpa, her soft greyish eyes landing on you making you squirm again on Wanda’s lap and your girlfriend grabbed your waist trying to keep you calmed.
“You two look lovely, don’t they my love?” she said looking at your grandpa, your cheeks flushed when both of them looked back at you and your shoulders tensed up.
“Oh yes, my dear. They make such a good couple” he chuckled and grabbed a cup of tea “Mind if I ask how you both met?”
You looked around the room, all eyes set on you with grins but your mind was not catching up. You looked back at your grandparents, dumbfounded.
“What?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. You and Wanda are together, aren’t you?” your grandma chuckled softly, and you kept staring at her blankly like maybe you were hearing wrong.
You frowned, despite Wanda keeping her administrations on your back to ease your nerves, you were still on edge. And you wondered if you were still sedated at the hospital, and your mind was just playing games with you. You even pinched yourself.
“Wait, wait” you breathed out, your grandparents looking at you patiently “You are not mad?”
Your grandma tilted her head slightly, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. And your grandpa limited himself to chuckle, a raspy sound that filled the room reminding you that he once smoked.
“Why would we be mad, sweetie? She seems lovely” your grandma’s eyes met Wanda’s and the redhead just blushed at the words but offered her a grateful nod.
Your frown deepened. You were almost preparing yourself to get kicked out of the house and yet, they were looking at you like everything was just as always. The type of acceptance you were used to with your built family, not the blood-related one.
“How you know?” your lower lip trembled, and Wanda’s grip tightened when she felt your body slightly shaking like you were about to cry.
“You are not subtle, Jesus” Tommy breathed out and you glared at him, but he offered you a smile between the bite to his sandwich.
You looked back to your grandparents and they were chuckling, the dots were not connecting. Even when you were on Wanda’s lap, would they think you were dating anyone else if it was Billy’s or Tommy’s?
“Yeah, that and one of your cousins finally made us get those silly portable phones” your grandpa grunted “I hate the thing, but we were desperate to find you”
“And they download that photo app? I can’t remember its name but we found your account. Your grandpa was too stubborn to ask how to message you, though” your grandma sighed and you blinked repeatedly.
They had a phone. They found your instagram. But most importantly, they knew about Wanda and still wanted to find you.
You looked around the room again, trying to catch up with everything. For the first time since you arrived, you noticed that there were no pictures of your father. Only your uncles and aunts, some of your cousins and you. No trace of him, and it dawned on you that they haven’t even asked about him and you wondered if they knew.
Wanda patted your back gently, bringing you back to the conversation and you tried to smile at your grandparents. They were looking expectantly.
“So, how you both met?” your grandpa repeated when he noticed you weren’t really listening.
Your cheeks flushed. Everyone in that room, except your grandparents, knew the messy story. The bachelorette, the engagement party, your failed attempt to marry Billy and Wanda’s divorce. And they all were smirking, waiting for you to reply.
You weren’t ashamed of how you both met, it was one of your best nights in your life. But it wasn’t something easy to tell to your grandparents. It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park that ended up with two strangers chatting on a bench. It was more like burning desire that ended up with you moaning Wanda’s name all night just to find out a week later she was your fiancé’s mother.
“I- Well, we- hm” Wanda giggled behind you and you turned to look at her but she shook her head, you were alone on this one “Did my parents tell you I was going to get married?”
If you were about to start the story, it was better to know how much they knew already. But by their stunned faces, you realised they didn’t even know about that small detail.
“I- huh well Billy and I” Billy raised his hand waving cheerfully and you rolled your eyes “we were going to get married. A poor choice just to make my parents happy” you sighed, your eyes looking at your grandparents nervously and your grandad only fisted his hand but said nothing “Long-story-short, Wanda is the twins’ mother, we met, fell in love, the rest is as they say, history” you rushed to say.
Tommy and Pietro let out a hysterical laugh, even Billy chuckled and Steve was fighting back an amused smirk. Wanda patted your back again, giggling softly because you tried so hard to explain the context to end up saying whatever came to your mind.
“Zolovka, that’s not how it happened” Pietro said between laughs, wiping an invisible tear “I will tell the story, I was basically there”
“Pietro, shut up. You weren’t” you glared at him but he waved you off.
“I was there by proxy, twin bond and that stuff” he shrugged and Wanda held you back when you tried to jump off her lap to kill him “Anyway, it all started when my sister and her ex-husband arrived to the country”
“Wait, ex-husband?” your grandmother arched a brow and your cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red.
“Yeah, yeah. Some blonde twink that keeps saying he is the twins’ father” Pietro said cheerfully, even Steve laughed at that “Anyway, so they arrived here with nothing but fear…”
Pietro started telling the whole and unnecessary story. And you started sinking in Wanda’s lap the more he talked, leaning against her chest more and more as your grandparents threw quick and amused glances at you. By the time Pietro was over, skipping skilfully the part where your dad tried to basically kill you, your face was already buried in the crook of Wanda’s neck and your ears were reddened.
Self-note: kill Pietro, you thought.
Your grandparents seemed amused and somehow enchanted with Pietro. You kept glaring at him the more he received compliments about his storytelling skills. And then they looked at you.
“Well, that was quite a story” you grandpa said softly, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms over his chest “Assuming everything it’s true, I fear dear Pietro added some parts, it sounds like we missed a lot”
“I’m sorry” you muttered, because you should’ve reached out anyway. You should’ve found a way to call them, but forgot about them the moment your life turned upside down.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. We understand” you grandma offered you a sweet and comforting smile “Wanda, dear, is she treating you well? I would hate to hear my dear (Y/N) forgot her manners”
“Grandma” you hissed, and Wanda chuckled softly.
“Oh yes, she’s a really good girl. Aren’t you, detka?” you turned to look at her in awe, your cheeks flushed as she smiled at you with faux innocence “Very good manners”
Wanda pinched softly your waist, and you flinched when her hand moved down your body and left another pinch on your ass. You looked around but everyone seemed unaware of her hand movements.
“What I don’t understand is… how come you never called her directly?” Billy suddenly asked, dragging all the attention towards him and Wanda took that as an opportunity to wrap her arm around your torso, suspiciously bumping her hand with your breasts and apologising for it.
“We tried, we asked for her number but no one in the family had it except for her late father and that awful mother of hers” you flinched at your grandma’s words, they always made an effort to at least pretend they liked your parents until now “Sorry, sweetie, but your mother is a complete snake”
“Preach, sister” Tommy said and Billy smacked the back of his head “What? She’s not wrong. We all had met the woman”
“I haven’t” Pietro and Steve said in unison and you rolled your eyes.
“You are not missing much, but I guess you will see her at the funeral” your grandpa said casually, like the death of his own son didn’t bother him at all “That’s why you are here, right? To pay respect to that disgusting excuse of father you had” you flinched again, but your grandpa offered you a warm smile “We know what happened, sweetheart. And honestly, I’m ashamed of being his dad. The only good thing he ever did was bringing you into this world” he opened his arms not before patting his lap and Wanda let you go so you could hug him “We should’ve done something when we could, I’m so sorry”
Your grandma’s hand landed on your arm, giving you a gentle squeeze. A few tears rolled down your cheeks but she smiled softly and wiped them away.
“We really are sorry, but we are glad you are okay and healthy” your grandma said softly, pinching your cheek “Maybe we should go and visit you, we’ve never been to New York” you gave her half a smile and nodded “Well, it’s settled. Now, who wants more tea and food?”
The four men in your life raised their hands and you rolled your eyes. They looked like you starved them to death. Your grandpa released you and you went back to Wanda’s lap.
“So, are you two getting married?”
“Oh my god! Grandpa!”
(—)
By the time you arrive to the hotel, the sun was set and your heart stopped pounding against your ribcage.
At some point of the evening, the conversation shifted from your current messy life to your shenanigans when you were a kid. You grandma pulled out your pictures, Pietro threatened to make them a sticker, Steve mentioned they were cute, the twins snapped a few photos and Wanda got out with a baby picture of yourself that your own grandma gave her.
And your cheeks managed to stay flushed the whole day, as you watched your grandparents enter your built family. Wanda never left your side, except when your grandmother asked her for a word and then she refused to tell you what happened. But it didn’t matter, the way she held you all the time helped you settled down.
You crawled onto the bed the second Wanda opened the door. And after leaving your duffle bags at the floor, Wanda followed you. Her arms already searching for your body, that took less than a second to curl up to hers.
You closed your eyes as soon as your head rested on her chest, hearing the steady rhythm of her heart like it could muffle the world around you. And her fingers started stoking your hair, making your eyelids feel heavy.
“You okay, malyshka?” she whispered, almost unsure that you were awake. You nodded against her chest and your hands tightened on her waist “That was a lot”
You chuckled softly, a sound she had been missing for more than a week that only made her heart fluttered.
“It’s weird, you know?” Wanda hummed, letting you talk as your fingers played with the hem of her shirt “Getting acceptance from your family. I’m not used to that”
Wanda’s arms tightened around your body, her heart skipped a beat and you noticed. And the silence filled the room, your emotions settling down and turning the air heavy.
She kept her administrations over your hair. Wanda always knew what to say, her mind was always fast and sure. But in that moment, she was speechless. All she could do was held you close in hopes that you knew you would never be alone.
Your mind was still all over the place. Emotions going to every direction, ups and downs that were shattering. But being in between Wanda’s arms somehow managed to make you feel at ease. Like one day you would wake up and remember all of this like a bad nightmare and nothing else.
“I love you”
Three words filled the room, setting over the heavy air like a shield around you. And you weren’t sure who said them, maybe it was her, maybe it was you, but the truth in them hung in the air like your lifeboat.
(—)
Your hands were fixing your dress over and over again. The more you looked in the mirror, the more it felt wrong over your body. You tilted your head, watching your body through the mirror and taking in your image.
You managed to lose some pounds over the last week, and maybe it had something to do with the fact that you refused to eat properly. And the black dress was making your skin looked paler than it should.
You rested your weight over your right leg, something you started doing when you felt more comfortable away from the crutches. And the wound over your abdomen kept tingling as a reminder of what happened.
Still, you managed to notice that the bright colours of yourself came from all the little things hanging on you. The necklace over your collarbone, the promise ring on your left hand, Billy’s engagement ring on your right hand and Tommy’s gold chain. All of you screamed Maximoff property somehow. You belonged to them.
Green eyes appeared behind you, soft and loving as Wanda placed a hand over your shoulders. She leaned close, her lips lingered over your neck and then she placed a soft kiss. Her arms knew the routine, finding their way to wrap around your waist and pulled you closer to her chest.
“Ready?”
It was a soft question, a word that meant that you still had options. You could just not go, you could stay with her in that hotel room and forget about your parents existence. You wanted to do that, because the thought of facing your mother was scarier than simply letting their presence in your life fade away.
Still, you nodded. And Wanda nuzzled your cheek and gave you a soft kiss.
“I will be right next to you”
A promise of a lifetime. She didn’t mean it for just one moment, she was telling you she wouldn’t leave. And your hand grabbed hers, intertwining your fingers as you walked out of the room.
The men were already waiting for you at the lobby, suited up and looking like your whole bodyguard squad the moment they surrounded you and Wanda.
Tommy asked for the cars to the valet, Billy commented that you looked beautiful and it sounded like a lie you decided to believe, Pietro and Steve were just talking about cars. But you were clung to Wanda, uncertain of what would happen next.
And the ride to the funeral was silent. Billy managed to sneak into the car with you and Wanda, claiming that the other one was too straight for him and he was two steps closer to become a jock that only knew how to talk about sports.
Wanda asked if you wanted to play music, but for once you declined and none of them dared to take your place as the designated DJ. So your girlfriend just drove.
You didn’t even notice when the car stopped until Billy appeared next to you, holding the door opened. He helped you out, steadying yourself with his chest as you grabbed the crutches.
Wanda walked next to you and the boys managed to flank your sides as you slowly made your way through the cemetery.
It was easy to spot the place, your father somehow managed to enchant people in town that actually cared about him but the people gathered around wasn’t the thing that made you found the right spot but your mother’s strangled screams. And you wondered if it was just for show or if she really was in pain.
You all kept a respectful distance from the group, listening to the priest talk about your father being a beautiful soul and making you want to puke. It was a lie, everyone knew that. His attack even made it to the news. But everyone was nodding and sobbing like the skies took away an innocent soul instead of the true evil.
One of your neighbours, a short black haired woman looked around and spotted you. She was your mother’s best friend, almost as awful as your mother. She nudged your mother who raised her face, swollen and tears streaming down, and her eyes turned full of wrath as she started walking through the crowd, dragging everyone’s attention to you as the priest’s voice died down.
“You! What the hell are you doing here?” her fingers were pointing at you, stumbling a little when her heel got caught with the grass but her pace was firm.
Instinctively, your family moved around you to block her from reaching you. Steve was the first one to appear in front of you followed by Pietro, and Billy squeezed your hand as Wanda pulled you closer to her and Tommy appeared behind you grabbing your shoulders.
Your mother let out a bitter laugh “Still can’t face your own battles, I see” she barked out and you flinched.
Your hand landed on Steve’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze when he looked over his shoulder and gave you a slight shake of his head. But you tried to smile and he stepped aside, still close and ready to take down your mother if she did so much as breathe close to you.
Everyone had their eyes set on you, something in between curiosity, disgust and surprise. But you were focused on your mother, taking in her distraught image. You tilted your head, a slight movement that Wanda noticed as her grip tightened around you.
Your mother looked broken, somehow. In the past, you would’ve done anything to make her feel better, begging her to let you in just to be rejected. But now, when looking at her, you felt nothing. Not an ounce of love nor hatred. Pure emptiness. Maybe a little pity.
You couldn’t figure out why you wanted to go, and no one asked anyway. You set the trip in motion that morning that you announced your decision and your family moved around you ready to make it happen. Whatever you wanted, you had it.
But in that moment, in the middle of the cemetery, with a bunch of eyes watching the scene and your mother in front of you it dawned on you.
You weren’t there to pay respect for the sad excuse of father you had. You weren’t mourning his death, you didn’t feel bad about it. You didn’t even go to make sure the son of a bitch was really dead. You just wanted to close the door, lock it forever and never look back.
With him, it died every tiny hope of making amends with them, if there were really any left. The part of you that held onto the idea of a happy family next to them, died the second he pointed a gun at you. And if you felt bad for his death, your mother’s hateful stare wiped it away. A reminder that they got themselves into this mess, no one put them there.
Still, you surprised yourself when you leaned and hugged your mother. A few gasps filled the air, she stood still with her arms against your chest blocking you from getting closer.
“I’m sorry for your loss” you whispered softly in her ear.
She started trembling under your arms, you weren’t sure if it was because she was crying or out of anger. But she made an effort to remind you, you were nothing for her by just pushing you back.
You stumbled, and Steve moved fast to catch you. A soft ‘I got you’ reached your ears but your eyes were focused on your mother.
She expected tears and pleads from you, but your eyes were empty. Not a single emotion in your face, not a sound, nothing. You didn’t care and that was the worst thing you could do to her.
People like your mother needed people like you to feed their egos. People ready to give them the world, easy to tear apart, easy to manipulate. And you were just that, yearning for something that would never come. Until that day, when you kept staring at her like she meant nothing to you. Not a single string she could pull, not a weak spot she could use against you, nothing.
Still, she wasn’t ready to go down without a fight.
“This is your fault. He is dead because of you” she got dangerously close, Steve was ready to push her back but you stopped him “You and your stupid little family ruined us. You are such a selfish little brat” she whimpered and grabbed your chin with force, and you felt Wanda’s hands grabbing your waist but you didn’t even flinch at the force your mother was using “This is your fucking fault, I hope you can live with that” it was like an empty threat, you both knew that. Her eyes looked desperate at the lack of reaction, you weren’t crumbling, you weren’t fighting, you were just there looking at her with bored eyes “Say something!”
“I’m sorry for your loss” you repeated, your hand grabbing her wrist and pushing it away from your face “But I’m not really sorry he is dead. He deserved it”
And it came before everyone could react, a hard slap across your face. The burning feeling of the hit going down to your jaw and the metallic taste of blood reached your tongue, making you spit to your side and looked back at her.
“How dare you say that? He was…”
“My father? He barely did the job” you laughed bitterly, sending a shiver down your mother’s spine as she looked at you, stunned “He is dead because he tried to kill me. Actions have consequences, you taught me as much”
Your mother’s eyes looked around, trying to search for support but everyone seemed to be kept in place. Not a single reaction, not anyone trying to help. It was her against you and for once, you were winning.
Her eyes met Steve’s. His usual friendly eyes were darkened and serious, a look he never gave you but was sure to make your mother feel small. Still, she chuckled dryly.
“And you brought his killer, unbelievable”
Steve tilted his head, a cold smirk appeared on his face. A smirk that only came when he was actually proud of something he did even when he knew it was morally wrong. He never liked taking a life, but if war taught him anything, that was the fact that sometimes you had to do it to survive. Or in this case, protected someone you cared about.
“You mean the man that had been taking care of me because you needed money?” Wanda’s grip got tighter, afraid you were about to snap but your hand managed to hover hers, locked your fingers together and gave her a gentle squeeze “These people you see are my family. They’ve been my family the last year more than you were for the last twenty-six years” you took a step closer, Wanda glued to your back since she wasn’t planning on letting you go but she wasn’t going to talk either way “Everyone here was a witness of the poor treatment you both gave me” you looked around, curious eyes suddenly ashamed and looking down when they met yours “Keep mourning, knowing this happened because none of you stopped them. You just watched”
You turned around, green eyes met yours clouded with worry that faded away when you smiled at them. Wanda’s thumb caressed your broken lip and you winced but kissed it, a silent ‘I’m okay’ and she nodded. Then you looked at the twins, too stunned to talk but also at the edge of actually snapping at your mother. You looked at them and smile, Billy’s eyes softened and Tommy looked at you with his usual loving glint. Pietro was focused on your mother still, his jaw clenched and his fists glued to his sides as if he was trying to keep his cool. And Steve’s hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle and supportive squeeze reminding you he was there.
You stumbled back when your mother pulled your hair. A low and desperate move, a last ditch effort that made her look pathetic. And Steve steadied you and Wanda’s eyes ignited with wrath.
“That’s enough! We are leaving” Wanda grunted, pulling you closer to her and keeping you from turning around.
“She’s not leaving, she will pay for what she did” your mother said bitterly and Wanda chuckled.
“That’s just pathetic, even for someone like you”
She moved your body behind her, letting the twins keep you safe. Her body trembling with all the anger she kept locked ever since the attack.
Wanda kept it together, not because she wanted to but because you needed her to. You were lost, shocked and broken. Navigating all the feelings of the attack in a painful silence while she waited patiently. It wasn’t your fault, so she locked whatever bad feeling that ignited inside of her to be supportive. Now, with your mother and her defiance look in front of her, she let her emotions come out to play.
Wanda was always polite, she always managed to smile even if the person in front of her was pure trash. Her emotions were always under control, unless someone pushed the wrong button. Messing with her kids or you was something that turned her into an animal ready to hunt just for the fun of it.
And she tried to be respectful, even if she hated your mother with every cell in her body. Wanda was doing it out of respect for you, but she had enough. She watched the way she talked to you, the way she dared to touch you, the looks that were threatening to kill you and now, she was more than ready to rip your mother’s head off.
“Can’t believe a woman like you still is with… that” your mother really was reaching, she was a cornered animal and still she was trying to get out of there alive. Not today.
Wanda took a step closer, her hand grabbed her by the chin the same way your mother did to you, maybe with a lot more of force. And your mother whined trying to push her away.
“What? You don’t like that?” Wanda tilted her head, deadly eyes focused on your mother, her tone sharp and a cold smirk on her face. She was ignoring everyone around her “You touched her like that and you don’t like it? Pathetic” she spat and her grip got tighter, her face dangerously close to your mother’s as Wanda’s eyes wandered over her face “If you ever do so much as look at her again, I will make sure you join your stupid husband” she whispered, a threat for your mother’s ears only “And I will make sure the bullet goes right here” with her other hand she pressed two fingers over your mother’s forehead, simulating a gun “Forget about her. That’s my best advice”
Wanda let her go, and your mother panted like she ran a marathon. Looked up to your girlfriend, Wanda’s energy only making her look taller than she was. And the redhead smirked.
“Cat got your tongue, dear?” Wanda bent down, her hands resting on her knees as she pouted mockingly “Good, snakes like you don’t deserve to have a voice” she turned around and offered you her hand, her eyes softened when you took it and she pulled you closer. She kissed you, gently and soft like she didn’t just threaten your mother, coaxing gasps from the crowd when you melted in her arms and she pressed her forehead against yours when she broke the kiss “Let’s go home, moya lyubov’”
(—)
The ride back home seemed to be shorter, lighter and you were breathing properly. Before you left, you went to see your grandparents and made sure to teach them how to call you and promised them you would keep in touch. And they promised to visit soon.
And the twins refused to go in Pietro’s car. They were attached to you after the events with your mother and weren’t ready to let you go.
But Wanda seemed lighter, glowing as she held your hand all the way back to New York. And somehow, you were too.
You barely heard what she told your mother when they were close, but you couldn’t find yourself caring or being scared of Wanda. If anything, she just made it clearer the lengths she would take for you and you didn’t know if it was morally correct the way your heart fluttered.
And you sang and teased the twins, leaving behind any worry or pain the last days brought on you. You were free, really free. No past haunting you, no more doubts about yourself.
For the first time in days, you asked to go out for dinner and of course Wanda said yes. And you invited the whole gang, messaged Vision about the trip and he told you he would call the next day, and then let the familiar chatting, teasing and bickering take over you.
Yelena and Kate were carefully listening to Pietro’s point of view of what happened. And he really was exaggerating but you weren’t stopping him. Your hands too focused on Wanda’s thigh, teasing her and feeling her squirm under your touch.
And Natasha went back to flirt with you and for once you didn’t mind. Because you were falling back to normal, and that was the normality around your girlfriend’s best friend. So you just took it, even when your cheeks flushed and you slightly rolled your eyes.
And by the time dinner was over, you were full and ready to go back to your bed. You just didn’t know the twins had other plans for you.
Billy begged Steve to let you go alone, and you were too focused pecking Wanda’s lips to actually care. And then Tommy promised they would share their live location and that they just needed a couple of hours with you. Even Pietro was there, looking at Steve with big puppy eyes and a faux innocent pout like that could melt his heart. And after fifteen-minutes, the twins snatched you away from their mother’s side.
“Hey! Let me flirt alone” you giggled trying to reach Wanda, who was also pretending like she couldn’t reach you and pouting “I need her to breathe”
“God, you are a simp” Tommy muttered and lifted you in his shoulder “William, I’m ready to go”
“Put me down, you idiot. Did Pietro teach you this?” you punched his back weakly and Tommy just shrugged, like your weight made no difference on his body.
“Maybe”
You scoffed and looked up at Wanda, she was grinning and her eyes were glinting with love “I will be back, my love! Wait for me!”
Tommy smacked playfully your thigh but you whimpered like he actually harmed you. He didn’t care.
“I’m your love” he hissed and you rolled your eyes.
“Do you make me scream like your mother does?”
“Please don’t” he pleaded, walking with you while Billy was saying goodbye to everyone.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought”
Billy joined you. Long legs reaching your side with ease as he bent down to look at you and grinned. You looked like a rag doll, a weightless toy that Tommy was carrying around.
“You okay in there?”
You rolled your eyes playfully, not really fighting back and just letting them take you wherever they wanted. You smiled even when your face turned all red.
“Yeah, sometimes you two forget I can walk”
Tommy scoffed “Barely, but it’s okay princess. We got you”
You punched his back and he laughed. Billy grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“We always got you, wifey”
(—)
The twins took a taxi and you thought Pietro would join you but he never showed up. And they started telling you jokes, fighting over you and showering you with love. Just like old times.
You were on Manhattan, at the Upper West Side. You frowned and tried to ask what was going on but Tommy shushed you and kept telling you about this cute girl he met.
The taxi stopped in a corner, in front of a big house with three floors and Central Park just across the street. That only made your frown grow deeper, your eyes confused as Billy jumped out of the taxi and offered you his hand while Tommy paid the driver.
You leaned into Billy’s chest as soon as you touched the ground. The crutches were left at Wanda’s car so you had to relay on the twins to walk with ease. Tommy stood next to you and the taxi took off, his hands were inside the pockets of his jeans and he was grinning at you.
“Do you like it, princess?” he asked softly and Billy’s grip tightened around your hips.
“Do I like what?”
His chin pointed to the house and you looked to the place and then back to him. Tilting your head as you tried to figure out what was this about.
“I think so? Why?”
He pulled out a ridiculous keychain that said ‘I❤️NYC’ with a small key hanging, looking at you like the item itself could give you the answer but you were too stunned to actually think.
“Come on, let’s go inside” he turned to look at his brother “Want some help with her, William?”
“No, no. I got her” Billy started guiding you up the stairs of the house, telling you to be patient and take one step at a time “You must think we are crazy”
“I don’t think so” you hissed when you took another step “I know so”
“That’s fair, I guess” Billy chuckled, his hand still holding yours as you leaned to steady yourself to keep going up.
Tommy was tapping his foot impatiently, looking the way you struggled to go up and glaring at his brother because he could’ve carried you. Still, he waited with the door already opened behind him.
“Come on, princess! Your grandma is faster” Tommy teased and you looked up to glare at him, giving a steady step like you would just run to kill him.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if one day you wake up dead, Thomas” Billy chuckled and pulled you up for the last step “You love pushing her”
You flipped Tommy off but he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles. Playful eyes set on you, trying to get on your good side.
“I love everything about her” he whispered, something that was just for you “Now, let’s go inside. The night is getting chilly”
You stepped inside, the twins holding you steady as you dragged your left leg after deciding you had enough with it. The house had dimmed lights, barely empty with some bookshelves and large curtains slightly opened letting the moonlight sneak inside. On the left wall, was a big wooden staircase and it had some paintings hanging.
“Are we here to rob? I’ve talked to the police more times I’ve should’ve in the last four months. I don’t want to be a current costumer” you looked at both and Billy chuckled.
“No, wifey. We are not committing crimes tonight” he kissed your temple and then your cheek “Let’s go upstairs”
Tommy lifted you in his arms, already deciding it would take you a lifetime to get to the top. They walked in silence, as your eyes kept wandering around the place and adjusting to the light every time Billy turned them on. The second floor had two doors on each side of the small hallway, but Tommy kept going up, landing on what seemed a small apartment in the house with a big terrace. The room itself was empty, the terrace on the other hand, had a couple of deckchairs, a small coffee table and was illuminated with some fairy lights.
Billy sat on one of the deckchairs, spreading his legs open so Tommy could put you down. And then he dragged the other deckchair closer as Billy urged you to lay over his chest.
“I almost forgot” Tommy mumbled, walking behind the deckchairs and pulled three beers “courtesy of Stephen” he grinned offering you one and you took it, still lost and confused but your head resting against Billy’s chest.
They took some sips, the silence settling down and your anxiety spiking up. Tommy grabbed your hand and rubbed soft circles on the back with his thumb, and Billy’s hand was resting over your abdomen protectively.
“Guys, what…”
“Do you know how hard is to buy a house in a week without the real state agent thinking you are money laundering?” Tommy said with a chuckle, cutting you off and Billy laughed along with him.
“Man, that dude looked at us like we were crazy” Billy shook his head and took another sip.
“You bought this place?! How? Why?” you tried to sit up but Billy kept you in place and shrugged.
“We did. Stephen helped us with his contacts and maybe we had some help from dad, Pietro and Natasha” Billy said softly, his hand still keeping you in place over your abdomen.
“And Steve, don’t forget him” Tommy pointed out, taking another sip of his beer and sat on the edge of the deckchair looking at you. A lot of questions hanging in the air, they knew you too well “It all started as a joke, I swear”
Billy chuckled, his chest shaking under your head “It was after Pietro kept joking with you getting pregnant”
You tensed a little, your mind trying to follow the story and biting your tongue to let them speak because you knew they would ignore any question you threw just to make you squirm.
“Then you told us about the ring, and well your father went psycho on all of us” Tommy stood up, pacing around as he kept drinking his beer, leaving the bottle when he finished it “And William and I talked, like really talked”
Billy’s fingers started tracing circles over your abdomen, your skin electrified at the touch as you followed Tommy around, he opened another beer.
“Who would’ve thought my brother actually can have a decent conversation?” Billy teased behind you and Tommy stopped for a second to glare at him, you let out a small giggle “But yeah, we talked. And the joke came back, maybe we laughed a little but the idea kept hanging in the air”
Tommy stopped, squatting in front of you with a wide grin.
“This is yours” he gave you the key and closed your fist around it. You looked at him in awe.
“Wha-what?!” you stuttered and tried to give it back but Tommy raised his hands and looked at you. Loving eyes still managing to throw you a serious look as he shook his head.
“I figured you and mom needed a place to start the new line of little Maximoffs” Billy said, hovering your hand with his and making you take the key “Well, if that’s something you both want. Maybe you don’t want kids”
You turned to look at him, hazel eyes looking at you behind his beer with a small smirk. And yours filled with tears.
“No, you both are losing it” you said, your hand shaking as you looked back and forth to both of them “This is expensive, I really can’t accept it”
Tommy grabbed your chin gently, blue eyes softened and a smile painted on his face that reached his eyes. He licked his lips and yours trembled.
“It’s an early wedding gift” he whispered “Everyone wanted to help, we are not paying for this alone” his fingers lingered over your cheek and then his warm palm rested against your skin, making you lean into his touch “Please, accept it”
You shook your head, tears rolling down as Tommy gently wiped them clean. Billy straightened up, with you still against his chest and kissed your cheek.
“This is the place for us to grow as an official family, wifey” he whispered, his lips still lingering over your skin as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear “You deserve a true home, something of your own”
You turned to look at him, his face close to yours and hazel eyes full of love. You pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes as your hand grabbed Tommy’s and squeezed it.
“You both are crazy” you breathed out and Billy chuckled, kissing your nose.
“And you love us anyway”
It was true. You loved them more than words could say.
(—)
“Hey, I’m Billy”
A tall brunette man was looking down on you, offering you a drink and smiling softly. You tilted your head, listening to the girls you were talking to, giggled but those hazel eyes captured your attention. You took the drink, skeptical but a smile threatening to appear on your face.
“Hey, Billy. I’m (Y/N)”
His cheeks flushed, but he kept his smile as he scratched his head nervously. He glanced over his shoulder and you followed his gaze, a group of men chatting and whistling to him. You sighed, of course it was too good to be true.
“Want to get out of here?” his voice was shy, and his cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red when you rolled your eyes.
“Not interested. You really aren’t my type” you said sternly, trying to be polite but he already burned the bridge with you.
He chuckled softly, offering you his hand as a peace offering and you noticed the slight trembled in his fingers. You looked up and blinked like he was not taking the hint.
“And you aren’t mine, either” he leaned to whisper “But I really could use some fresh air”
You frowned, looking back to the hand that seemed to be calling for you and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or something about this boy that made you took it. But the moment your hands touched, you felt safe for some reason.
He dragged you upstairs to leave the basement, his group of friends whistling and clapping while calling him a champ. You ignored them and so did he. And he nudged people to clear the path for you, not letting go of your hand and throwing you quick glances to make sure you were safe.
You finally made it out, the cold night air hitting your face as he guided you through the front yard. He found a small spot, not so far away from the door but keeping a safe distance from the drunk students.
Billy sat on the grass and patted the spot next to him. You arched your brow but he just smiled, a friendly and warm smile like he meant no harm.
“I’m sorry for that” he said softly, looking down to his hands and then looking back at you when you finally sat down “They dared me to talk to you and you seemed friendly so I took my shot”
You chuckled “Still not my type, William”
“And you aren’t mine, I swear” his cheeks flushed and you tilted your head “I- I like men” he stuttered and you offered him a gentle smile. He seemed to be adjusting to his true self and you could relate to that.
“Now we are talking” you bumped your shoulder with his and took a sip.
And time passed, it could’ve been minutes or hours but you spent your night sitting on the front yard with this cute and shy boy that kept blushing every time you teased him. And he relaxed when you told him you were a lesbian. And then you talked about the university, the dorms, your dreams and hopes.
He seemed to be genuine. He kept apologising every time your fingers brushed, blushing hard when you complimented his eyes, and he kept a respectful distance. Both seemed to be long-time friends, the more time passed, the more the bond started to build up. None of you noticed it, both blaming the alcohol but thankful for the company of the other.
“You know how long I’ve been looking for you, asshole?”
An angry voice filled the air and you looked up just in time to watch a silver haired man smacking Billy’s head. Billy grimaced and glared at him.
“Boyfriend?” you asked and the new face looked at you like he just noticed your presence.
“Worse. Brother” Billy hissed and you hummed.
Billy’s brother offered you his hand, and you looked at it like it just insulted you. Your eyes going back to find blue ones looking at you with some glint on them. He wasn’t budging until you took the hand, so you reluctantly did.
“Thomas Maximoff, princess” he smiled charmingly and walked to sat next to you, his knees bumping against yours “But you can call me my love”
You rolled your eyes and looked at Billy, but he shrugged and smiled softly. Billy knew his twin meant no harm, he still looked like an asshole anyway.
“I will call you idiot, that seems to be more fitting” you looked back to Tommy, his grin kept in place.
“We’ll see about that”
You rolled your eyes, but the presence of Tommy never seemed to make you uncomfortable. The three of you talking as you learnt they were actually twins, listening to their bickering and making you laugh with every silly joke they told you.
And Tommy seemed to be a flirt, just to turned into a cute golden-retriever that was trying to charm his way into your heart. He kept calling you princess, you kept calling him an idiot. And at some point that night, your head was resting on Billy’s shoulder, Tommy looking over you like everything seemed how it was supposed to be.
The three of you unaware of the bond that formed between you. Unaware that the future would lead you to their mother. Unaware that you found your family and it started with those two.
(—)
You blinked repeatedly, the memory crashed down on you making you shiver. It was crazy all the things you lived next to them.
Parties, late night study sessions, fights that ended up with them bringing peace offerings to get on your good side, graduating next to them, getting your first jobs, planning a wedding and failing to meet the end, and now they bought you a freaking house. A house for you to build your own family with their mother.
Tommy’s eyes were glinting with curiosity, and Billy’s hands kept tracing circles over your abdomen. Tears streamed down your face but you were smiling.
“I really love you both” you whispered, the words barely making it out your throat and both held you tight. Nestling your body protectively and kissing your cheeks and temples to soothe you.
“Is that a yes to the house?” Tommy asked cheerfully and you rolled your eyes.
“I assume you already picked your rooms?” you teased and Billy chuckled. You also knew them so well.
“Of course, hear me out-“ Tommy started explaining his whole plan for the house.
And you watched him, listened to him and laughed at every ridiculous idea he had. And Billy chimed in saying they could share as his brother glared at him. And they started bickering over their hypothetical rooms, and you just kept smiling as the tears dried over your skin.
The night felt like the first night around them. With the huge difference that now both were familiar with your body and you didn’t mind having them around.
They loved you. You loved them. That was all the family you needed.
“Hold this” Tommy said giving you his beer and you frowned, he pulled out a little velvet black box and gave it to you “I think this belongs to you. I kept it safe” he grinned proudly.
The ring. He kept the ring for you. And in that moment you thought you could actually kiss him.
Summary: You grew up with an abusive mother and a cold father, mother’s day used to mean broken dishes and bruised feelings. Now, it’s different. Wanda shows you what unconditional love really looks like. Gentle hands, lullabies, and whispered affirmations when the tears come back. This year, you planned Mama & Me Day down to the glitter stickers and muffins... but when old trauma hits hard that morning, Wanda meets you with warmth instead of expectations.
Warnings: childhood abuse (emotional/verbal/neglectful), a toxic mother, and an emotionally distant father. It touches on trauma responses, including a mild panic attack, and explores internalized guilt and fear surrounding Mother’s Day. Themes of healing, reparenting, found family, comfort and emotional safety
Authors notes: I'm sorry to any others who had neglectful parents and how hard these days can be <3
You remember the sounds of dishes breaking and yelling. Of pleading as your toys got shoved into black garbage bags.
“I'm sorry Mommy! I didn't mean it! Please! I'll be good! I'll be a good girl!” You plead and plead until your voice is raw, until you're curled up on just a mattress, shaking from the lack of blanket.
You wouldn't get your stuff back for another week when you proved you were good.
You sat across from your step-mom, Wanda, your dad had remarried less than a month after your mom passed. What you did not understand was what Wanda saw in your dad. He was older; much older. In his eighties, Wanda was closer to you in age, her being thirty-five and you being twenty-seven.
A scowl was covering your face, arms crossed. Your father is standing above Wanda, hand on her shoulder. He was almost as sharp as your mom. People used to, well probably do still think he is or was in the mob. A thick accent that never left him,
“Mother's day is next month and I'll be away on a trip unfortunately. I know things have been rocky, but–” you dont let him finish your defenses coming up like walls, your voice carrying until it hits the walls with how loud it was.
“SHE'S NOT MY MOM! I DON'T WANT A MOM! MOM WAS TERRIBLE AND I HATED HER AND I DON'T WANT TO CELEBRATE ANYTHING!” Your fists slammed the table. Then a slap to the face. It stung but you were used to it. Wanda gasped it wasn't the first time he'd smacked you, wouldn't be the last.
You leave the table, holding your cheek, heading out the door with nothing.
You came back hours later, cold, soaked to the bone because it had started to pour on your way back. As soon as you walked through the door Wanda was there. Towel wrapping around you before you could blink. Her hand gently cupping your cheek. The cheek your father hit. You felt like you weren't there. You weren't real as Wanda gently took you to the bathroom.
A hot bath running as she helped you out of the clothes stuck to your body. You felt like a little doll, her doll, no maybe not a doll, a baby…hers.
She helps you into the tub, kneeling next to it and gently washing your skin, she's using her body wash, cherry blossoms, it's grounding. You slowly look at her and she smiles gently. You try and give one back, but you can tell it's not right.
“It's okay baby don't force it. It'll happen naturally.” Her voice is so soft and sweet. You aren't sure what to do with it. No one besides Wanda has ever treated you with this kindness. It doesn't feel real. You want to lash out again, but your energy is gone.
She helps you out, puts you in an oversized night shirt. It reminds you of being a kid, but in a good way. It makes you feel small, childlike. Your head was already a bit floaty before, but she takes you to your bed, gently brushes through the damp hair, softly sings a Sokovian lullaby, and hands you a teddy bear.
You brush your hands over the soft fur, everything about her movements and actions help ground you back from your episode. You lean back into her.
“I'm sorry mama…” It comes out softly and she kisses the top of your head.
“It’s okay Milaya I understand why you did it.” You feel tears in your eyes at her words. She was always so understanding of every lash out you had. From the very beginning when you were expecting a slap or harsh words back they never came.
It had only been a few weeks since the funeral. Since the house stopped smelling like your mom’s perfume and started smelling like lavender and coffee. Wanda had started staying over not long after—your father didn't believe in waiting, and you didn't believe in him anymore.
You came home from a miserable day at work to find a gift bag sitting on your bed. Pale pink with gold tissue paper and a tag that said:
Just because. –W
You stared at it like it was a threat.
Your chest tightened as you reached inside and pulled out a soft cardigan, light gray, your favorite color. Beneath it, a little enamel pin shaped like a cat with a book in its paws. The kind of thing someone only picks out if they’ve been paying attention.
That made it worse.
You stormed out of the room and into the kitchen where Wanda stood, humming as she stirred something on the stove. She turned with a warm smile—one that melted the second she saw your face.
“What is this?” you snapped, holding the cardigan out like it was burning your hands.
She blinked. “It’s… for you. I thought it looked soft. I know you get cold in the mornings sometimes.”
You threw it on the floor. “I didn’t ask for this! I don’t need your pity presents! You’re not my mom, so stop pretending you care!”
The words came out louder than you intended. Sharper. But you didn’t stop. Your fists were clenched, your voice shaking. “Just stop trying! You don’t know anything about me! You can’t fix me with a sweater and some dumb little pin!”
And then… silence.
You stood there, braced for it—your pulse pounding in your ears. Waiting for her to yell. To slap. To throw something. Your body tensed like it knew what was supposed to happen next.
But Wanda just stepped forward.
Slowly. Carefully.
You flinched as she approached, but she only lifted her arms. Gently. She wrapped them around your trembling shoulders and pulled you into her chest.
You froze.
No one had ever hugged you after something like that.
Her fingers moved softly through your hair as she rested her chin on top of your head. Her voice came low, warm like honey. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe. It’s okay to have big feelings.”
Your body shook as the dam inside cracked wide open.
All the anger, the grief, the guilt—it spilled out in quiet sobs against her shirt. You didn’t even notice when your hands curled into her back, holding on like you were drowning.
“I didn’t mean to yell,” you choked out, barely audible.
“I know,” she murmured, swaying you gently. “You’ve been carrying so much. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
You turn in her arms, burying your head in her chest, you hear the soft chuckle as her fingers comb through your hair. “It's all okay baby Mama's here. I'm not upset or angry, not one bit. I know why you said it to him. I understand. We'll celebrate in our own way won't we, pretty girl?” She tilts your chin up to meet her soft gaze. You get lost in them for a moment.
“Mhmm I have the day planned out!” You reach over to your notebook and flip through the pages, opening it to a beautifully designed page with times and bullet points. The title at the top of the page made Wanda smile; Mama and me day!
“Oh look at you sweetheart planning everything out for us!” She leaned down to kiss your cheek, but you turned your head, your lips met and you melted. It was unexpected, but not the first time. You reach up to cup her cheek and deepen the kiss.
It was late.
The kind of late where the world outside the windows had gone completely quiet. Just you and Wanda on the couch, wrapped in the soft glow of the fairy lights she’d insisted on hanging around the living room, “for ambiance,” she said. You’d rolled your eyes, but secretly… you loved them.
You’d had a hard day—one of those where everything felt too loud, where the weight of grief and history pressed on your chest like wet blankets. You hadn’t spoken much all evening, just let Wanda pull you into her side, her hand running slow and steady up and down your back.
Her touch grounded you, always. And she never asked you to explain. She never demanded your pain to be pretty or palatable.
You weren’t even sure when your head ended up on her lap, or when her fingers started gently combing through your hair. But they had, and her voice had eventually started humming something soft and unfamiliar. Sokovian, maybe.
“I wish…” you whispered into the quiet.
Wanda looked down. “What do you wish, baby?”
You looked up at her, heart in your throat. “I wish I’d had someone like you… back then. When I was little. When it all started falling apart.”
She smiled, bittersweet and full of something unspoken. “You have me now,” she said, fingers brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something about the way she said it made your chest ache. You sat up, blinking back tears, looking at her like you were seeing her for the first time. All of her: soft and strong and steady. A lighthouse in the middle of the storm.
“Can I…?” you started, but didn’t finish. Your voice barely above a breath.
But she understood. Of course she did.
She leaned in slowly, her hand rising to cradle your jaw. There was no rush. No urgency. Just patience and quiet tenderness.
When your lips met, it wasn’t fireworks. It was safety. It was breath. It was the kind of kiss that stitched something back together inside of you.
And when you pulled back, Wanda didn’t say anything at first. She just rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.
Then softly, like a promise: “We go slow. As slow as you need.”
You nodded, the ghost of a smile forming as you whispered back, “Okay, Mama.”
You had it all planned.
The notebook still sat open on your desk, filled with scribbled hearts and bullet points written in your best handwriting. “Mama and Me Day!” it said in pink gel pen, with glittery stickers pressed carefully into the margins. Breakfast in bed. A walk in the park. Her favorite tea shop. A movie night with a blanket fort.
You even prepped everything the night before. Her favorite muffins were ready to bake. The card you spent three days making was tucked into the kitchen drawer. You went to sleep smiling.
But when you opened your eyes that morning, something felt wrong.
Heavy.
Like a shadow was sitting on your chest.
You lay still, staring at the ceiling. The excitement you’d felt for days was gone—replaced by a hollow ache in your stomach. The kind of ache that made you want to disappear beneath the covers and never come back out.
Your chest tightened. Tears welled up, uninvited.
You weren’t even sure why. It was supposed to be a happy day. Your day with her. Something you’d chosen—something she deserved.
But your body remembered other Mother’s Days. The ones filled with broken dishes, raised voices, the pressure to smile and say thank you when you were already in survival mode. The guilt. The confusion. The cold silence that followed if you didn’t do it perfectly.
You’d been up before the sun.
Tiptoeing around the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise, even though your small hands fumbled with the toaster and the eggs. You’d seen people do it in movies—Mother’s Day breakfast in bed. That’s what good kids did, right?
The toast was a little too brown. The eggs stuck to the pan a bit, and you’d spilled orange juice when you tried to pour it into her favorite glass.
But you were proud.
You’d even made her a card—cut out of folded construction paper, covered in glitter glue and crayon hearts. “To the best mom in the world!” it said, surrounded by crooked smiley faces and a drawing of the two of you holding hands.
And the bracelet—you’d spent all week secretly stringing beads in your room. Purple and silver, her favorite colors.
You carefully arranged everything on a tray and crept into her room, beaming.
“Happy Mother’s Day!” you said softly, your smile stretching wide.
She sat up groggily, eyes narrowing as she looked down at the tray. Her face changed quickly.
“What the hell is this mess?”
You blinked, smile faltering.
“The kitchen better not look like a tornado hit it,” she snapped. She picked up a piece of toast, sniffed it, and threw it back down on the tray. “It’s burnt. The eggs are rubber. Did you think this was good enough?”
You shrank back.
“I-I just wanted to surprise you…”
She scoffed and reached for the card. Her eyes scanned it for a second before she barked a laugh.
“This? You couldn’t even be bothered to write neatly. You think this is sweet? This is sloppy. You’re too old to draw like this.”
Your cheeks burned. Your heart pounded.
“And where’s my real present?” she demanded, like you owed her something grand. “Mother’s Day is my day. This is about me, not whatever crap you put together.”
You scrambled, hands fumbling in your hoodie pocket.
“I made you something,” you said quickly, pulling out the beaded bracelet and holding it out like a peace offering. “I wanted it to match your earrings—”
She took one glance, snatched it from your hand, and without a word walked over to the trash can and dropped it in.
“That’s not a real present,” she said flatly. “Jesus. You really know how to ruin a day.”
You just stood there, frozen.
And after a moment, she turned back to her bed, pulling the blankets up.
“Close the door on your way out.”
So you did.
You returned to the kitchen in silence, cleaned everything up on shaky legs, and sat at the table with your glitter-stained fingers, staring at the trash can where your bracelet disappeared.
And you promised yourself that next year… you wouldn’t try.
That it was safer not to.
A small sob caught in your throat. You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stop it before it spilled over.
Then—soft footsteps.
The door creaked open gently, and Wanda peeked in.
She was still in her robe, a sleepy smile on her face—until she saw you curled up, stiff and shaking.
“Oh, baby…” she crossed the room in an instant, crawling onto the bed beside you. Her arms wrapped around you from behind, warm and steady.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I had everything ready, I wanted today to be perfect, I swear—”
Wanda gently hushed you, one hand combing through your hair, the other rubbing slow circles into your arm.
“Hey… look at me, sweetheart.” You hesitated, but turned slowly. Her eyes were soft, full of knowing. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect for me. Not today. Not ever.”
You sniffled, burying your face in her neck.
“But I wanted to make you happy,” you mumbled.
She pulled you closer. “You do. Every day. Even when you're hurting. Especially when you let me be here for you like this.”
You clung to her, shaking.
And after a while, she whispered, “How about we start the day right here, just like this? My favorite girl in my arms, where she’s safe and loved. No schedule. No pressure. Just us.”
You nodded slowly, breathing her in, letting her words settle over your skin like a blanket.
Wanda didn’t let go of you for a long time—not until your breathing evened out and your hands stopped trembling against her robe. You stayed tangled together beneath the blankets, your head tucked under her chin, her arms strong around you like armor.
Eventually, she kissed your forehead. “I’m going to go start some tea, okay?” she murmured. “You stay right here. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
You nodded wordlessly, reluctant to let go, but trusting her to return.
She always did.
When she came back, it was with a tray balanced in her hands—your favorite mug, one of her muffins warmed and sliced, a small bowl of strawberries. She set it on the nightstand and climbed back into bed beside you, pulling the blankets up again like you were in your own little world. Safe. Sealed off.
You sat up slowly and she handed you the tea, careful to wrap your fingers around the warm mug like she always did when your hands were shaky.
“You remembered,” you whispered.
“Of course I did.” She brushed her thumb gently across your knuckles. “You matter to me, baby. All of you. Even the messy mornings.”
A few moments passed, quiet but not empty.
Then you reached over, picking up the envelope you’d almost left in the drawer. You held it out with trembling fingers.
“I wrote you something,” you murmured. “A letter. I wasn’t sure if I could read it out loud, but…”
Wanda took it gently, eyes soft. “Would it be okay if I read it now?”
You nodded.
She carefully unfolded it, smoothing the page out in her lap. Her eyes moved over your handwriting, and you watched her face shift with every word—tender, proud, tearful.
When she looked back at you, there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.
“I’m going to keep this forever,” she said, voice thick. “I’m going to keep it somewhere safe, so that any time I doubt myself, I’ll remember that I’ve been the kind of Mama you deserve.”
That cracked something open in you.
You launched forward, wrapping your arms around her middle. “You’re everything I ever wanted,” you choked. “Even when I didn’t know how to say it. Even when I was mean. You never stopped being soft.”
She held you tightly. “Because you deserved softness, even when you couldn’t ask for it.”
You stayed like that for hours.
The rest of the day wasn’t about plans or gifts or outings.
It was spent in the warmth of the blanket fort Wanda built on the couch, watching old cartoons, sharing quiet laughs, her hand stroking your back whenever your body tensed. You dozed in and out on her chest, a teddy bear cradled to your side and her heartbeat in your ear.
Note: Written for a prompt request by @atendrilofscarlet.
Hope you all enjoy!
The walkway is lined with glistening white sand, pearlescent shells twisted into perfect spirals gleam under the hot sun, placed at even intervals to denote the path to the resort. Not that it is possible for them to get lost, their personal concierge for the trip, Kenneth, forging a clear path as he pushes the luggage trolley filled with suitcases and duffel bags, the top bars weighted down with hanging luggage for suits and dresses. Only two of the bags actually contain clothes, the rest stuffed with surveillance equipment, wiretaps, communicators, and smoke bombs, just in case.
Wanda squeezes his hand tighter, leaning her body into his shoulder as she smiles up at him. “Feet on the ground,” her teeth touch her lip in preparation of the V, but she catches herself just in time, “darling.”
Immediately his freshly polished loafers connect with the stone pathway, the thud of his steps a bit too pronounced for a normal density human, but she doesn’t think anyone else will pick up on the slight difference in sound. “My apologies.”
“So,” Kenneth slows down, walking backwards so he can see them, a beaming smile on his face and an overenthusiastic, golden retriever puppy level of warmth and charm to the casualness of his existence, “how’d you propose?”
His fingers tense, gripping her hand as he begins the explanation, one they rehearsed over and over on the private jet. “It was our second anniversary and we were in Paris, we went to dinner,” the usual polished politeness of his voice seems to have fled, replaced by a nervous edge filled with faltering pauses.
Wanda determines it might be best to take over, cutting in with a dreamy, well-placed sigh and a toss of her wavy blonde hair, “It was so romantic! He rented out the entire Eiffel Tower and there was a string quartet and roses everywhere.” Wanda puffs out her chest and tilts her chin up, attempting to embody the essence of affluence, treating this extravagance as just a touch more exceptional than a usual Thursday. She throws in one more sigh for good measure.
It seems to work, a proud thumbs up from Kenneth and a “Well done, good sir!” They keep going, transitioning to a wooden-planked walkway surrounded by individual huts with thatched roofs hovering above crystalline blue waters flecked with the undulating bodies of fish darting under the surface.
“I, thank you,” which is said to both the concierge for the compliment and to Wanda for taking the lead.
The pathway branches to the left, leading them to one of the huts. Kenneth stops, stepping back and motioning with a gallant bow towards the door, “Mr. and Mrs. Williams, welcome to paradise.”
Each and every move for this first interaction has been expertly planned and rehearsed, scrutinized by not only Natasha but Sam as well (having labeled himself the king of romance). She's not surprised when Vision scoops her up into his arms with a disarmingly handsome smile - even with the pale skin, dull blue eyes, and blonde hair - yet Wanda still finds her heart fluttering and a genuine smile tugging at her cheeks as he carries her bridal style through the doorway. Since this is where their script ends, she decides to improvise, filling the time it takes for their luggage to be placed in the room by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers, savoring the impossible to disguise nip of vibranium and the perfect texture of his synthetic lips.
The click of the door latching ends the embrace, Vision pulling back with a relieved smile, his nervousness ebbing slightly at the reprieve from prying eyes. “That went well.”
“It did, though we need to work on the proposal story a bit more.”
He lowers her feet to the ground, hand remaining at the small of her back, “The unnecessary extravagance of the action still confounds me, is that a normal proposal?” The way his voice dips from confusion into worry throws her off, but she assumes it’s simply the remnants of his nervousness given it is his first undercover mission now that Steve and Natasha have approved his disguise.
A scarlet wisp caresses his cheek, encouraging his eyes down towards her hand where she waves the glistening 3 carat diamond ring (on loan from a local jeweler), catching the sunlight just right to send prismatic rays around the room. “This ring dictates extravagance.”
“I-” even through the disguise she can tell the gears in his eyes are working overtime, sorting through whatever confusion he is experiencing, multiple thoughts seemingly at war in his unusually muddled mind, “did not believe that would be the type of ring you desired.” The words come out slower than usual, laced with an odd existential worry, and there is an almost cornered look in his eye as he says it.
Wanda studies the ring, agreeing with his assessment, it is far too showy for her tastes. “Yeah, I’d never want this,” a look of relief washes over his face, “but socialite Ana Williams most certainly wants this ring. Let’s see yours.” Slowly he removes his hand from her back, bringing it up to show her the smooth finish of the ring, flexing his fingers to test out the feel of the metal. “See I never would have pegged you as a yellow gold fan.”
“No?” His eyes bore into hers, a singular focus in his gaze that kickstarts the pooling of heat in her cheeks. The topic of marriage was easy to discuss for the mission but sometimes she feels it slip past the detachment of work and into more personal territory. That she finds is terrifying, especially when he looks at her so intently, as if every word is building the foundation of reality, one wrong syllable and the world crumbles.
“No, you seem more like, um, a white gold or probably vibranium type of person, if I had to guess.” The blush breaks on her face and she has to turn away from his intense and questioning stare, deciding that now is a good time to explore their room. The lofted ceilings create a sense of grandness, wood-paneled walls dotted with one-of-a-kind paintings of local floral, a luxurious couch positioned in the center of the room creating a path that she follows to the floor to ceiling sliding glass doors. There’s not even a sound as the door opens, a resort like this would never let the mundane scratch of a door disrupt the soothing melody of the ocean. “Steve really outdid himself with this room.”
Wanda peeks back inside, curious why he’s not responding, and finds him examining the room, fingers lighting over the surface of each board and painting, a contemplative slant to his mouth as he catalogues the textures of the environment. Her eyes remain on him, since the day he was created she has found herself always drawn to the elegance of his body and the tightly controlled ease he puts into each step, but today there is a hesitation to his gait, legs stiff and, she hates to use the word, robotic as he moves towards the suitcases, beginning to unpack their supplies into piles based on type of equipment. “Vizh, you doing okay? You’re walking funny.”
He glances over his shoulder at her, an embarrassed tightness on his lips as he turns to face her. “I am,” his hands wave to indicate his tan linen suit, “unused to actual clothes. The tailoring seems a bit constricting.”
A twirling of her finger through the air is met with his semi-reluctant compliance, Vision turning his body to give her a complete view of the extremely well tailored suit. “I think I found the problem.” One finger to his chest halts his fashion show, his slightly duller eyes following along as Wanda walks her fingers up the row of iridescent seashell buttons of his crisp white shirt until she reaches the top one. “We’re at the beach, not the synagogue.” Carefully she undoes the top button, thrilled at the way the shirt flutters open but even more enthralled at the fact she can actually unbutton his shirt. Wanda grins at the tiny, almost inaudible gasp from above when she traces the exposed skin of his chest, relishing how he tenses when she continues down his shirt. After the third button she leans in, brushing her lips to his chest, the pale skin dissolving away to exquisite vibranium-laced red. A victorious and mischievous smile curls up her lips as she steps back, waving a finger with a tsk tsk “You need to hold your disguise better than that, Vizh.”
Vision releases a shaky breath as he composes himself, the gears in his eyes fading with the red of his skin as he realigns his molecules. “You are very distracting.”
“Steve doesn’t accept excuses,” she pats his chest before sinking into the insanely fluffy cushions of the couch. “You know I’m going to be touching you a lot more than that on this mission,” she finishes with an exaggeratedly posh “darling.”
A tiny smirk flirts with his lips as he sits next to her. “I am aware but I believe my fortitude will increase when it becomes perilous to lose the disguise.”
Wanda tries hard not to roll her eyes, instead allowing her amused and skeptical, “Let’s hope so” do the work for her.
“How is your hair?”
Since they're mission involves a resort, Natasha deemed the traditional baseball cap not good enough, requiring Wanda to undergo hours of extensive braiding, netting, and weaving, worried a bobby pin wig would be too cumbersome. “Still kind of itchy and I'm not sold on being blonde.”
“You are gorgeous.” Vision kisses her cheek, fingers scrunching gently against her head, offering slight relief. “Would you like to review the mission files before our first activity?”
The mission-approved answer is yes, but the allure of the king-size bed visible through the doorway is much stronger, a shift of her body allowing her to swing her leg over his, positioning herself on his lap with her hands tracing the hidden island of vibranium on his sternum. “We could, or we could practice being newlyweds.”
Indecision sends his forehead into a frenzy of wrinkles, a steady exhale of air greeting her words as his hands curve along her sides. “I believe that would be a detrimental, though quite enjoyable, way to commence the mission.”
“Which means?” Her hands undo two more of the buttons, confirming that she might see if he’s willing to wear real clothes one day a month so she can experience this bliss more often.
He catches her wrists in his hands, pulling her flush against him, his mouth just out of reach. “We should review the files,” the disappointment of his decision deflates her shoulders, head dipping to rest in the crook of his neck.
“Fine.”
“So,” Wanda loops her arms through Vision’s, keeping her voice low while plastering a breezy smile on her face to match what is expected of newlyweds who probably spent the past two hours entangled in sweaty, breathless euphoria instead of pouring over hundreds of pages of cryptic files and grainy pictures. “Do we really think the mastermind is an adults only entertainer?”
Their mission is fairly straightforward, an alarming number of couples are not returning from their honeymoons at the French Polynesian Luxury Resort and Spa, their families, friends, and bosses frantically reporting them missing yet so far not a single person has been found and the resort has been oddly silent on the disappearances. This by itself does not dictate the Avengers’ involvement. What pushes it into the realm of requiring a mind reader and a synthezoid masquerading as a married couple is that two of S.H.I.E.L.D’s best operatives were sent to investigate the issue a month ago and never returned.
A few whispered apologies fall from Vision’s lips as he guides her along a row of people until they settle into their pre-assigned seats. He glances around, ensuring no one is eavesdropping before answering her. “The intel suggests she is high on the list. The first reported disappearance occurred two weeks after she began her residency here.”
“Why didn’t they just fire her?”
Everything about him is off when he’s in the disguise, the shrug of his shoulders seeming less genuine, less endearing when she can’t see the movement of vibranium or the twirl of his irises. “There is little to no proof and the guests rate her quite highly,” yet even with the discomfort of this new face, the essence of him still exists, including his tendency to pause, lips quirking just a touch up when he’s about to make what he considers a humorous remark, “Well other than the ones who are missing.”
Wanda rolls her eyes at him, “I’m sure they find it amusing as well.”
“So,” the twisting of his wrist catches her attention, eyes fixated on the way his thumb brushes the diamond of her ring, “is it normative to have proportionality between the extravagance of the proposal and the size of the ring?”
Disbelief bubbles up, escaping as an exasperated laugh, the topic of appropriate proposals for their characters a long-running theme since the mission was announced. Even Nat joined the debate, sidling up to Wanda in random locations in the compound to run a few ideas past her until they settled on what was best. “I guess that’s fair,” until all the attention of the mission she’d never really put much thought into proposals, well that’s not completely true, she has occasionally allowed her mind to wander to such things, usually on cold afternoons when she’s wrapped up in Vision’s arms, basking in the warmth of his comfort, but nothing concrete. Proportionality is definitely not a concept she's cogitated. Somehow he always offers a perspective just slightly askew of her own that forces her to view things differently. It’s one of the many things she loves about him. “It also depends a lot on the person as well. Like, that would be way too much for me regardless of the ring.”
His analytic “I see,” is so densely layered her fingers itch to just dive into his head to see what’s going on but the dimming overhead lights and rumble of drums announcing the act distract her from further inquiry.
A disembodied voice floats down from the speakers embedded in the ceiling, “Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my honor to present the ever enthralling,” the drums crescendo as the announcer deepens his voice for a purposely elongated and overly enunciated, “Enchantress.”
Applause fill the room as the curtains open, the stage filled with exotic plants, emerald green leaves contrasting against the brilliant reds and yellows of the flowers, but none compare to the dramatic stance of the black-haired woman standing proudly on a gem encrusted flower, the green of her dress a touch darker than the backdrop. “A bit gaudy, don’t you think.”
Vision watches the woman unfurl her arms and spin, lifting several feet into the air and hovering to the ground without any readily apparent apparatus. “Is that not a requirement of showmanship?”
“Still tacky.”
The show is fairly standard, a mix of dancing, singing, and comedic interludes, the Enchantress strutting along the stage and losing clothes as the night continues until she ends up in a green corset, matching sequined thong, and black fishnets threaded with golden circles up the middle of her legs. “I think it’s time for our newlywed portion,” the woman on stage announces, howling cheers from the people around them suggests this is what everyone’s been waiting for. “Please, check below your seats to find out who gets the,” her voice drops an octave, a sultry edge lacing the word, “pleasure of joining me up here.”
Wanda glances around the room, watching a couple stand up with a “Whoop!” and another reluctantly rising from their seats, hands waving in a clear sign of a small argument over whether they should admit to being selected. “There is still one more out there.”
“W--Ana?” A gentle hand to her shoulder conveys a rare fear, one she’s only experienced from him twice before, but it’s wholly understandable, his other hand holding up a leaf-shaped paper exclaiming Congratulations! Head up to the stage now! “I do not recall seeing this in the dossier.”
“Maybe it was a last minute addition?” A reminder that there is still one more invitation out there is broadcast to everyone, the people nearest to them staring expectantly at the leaf in Vision’s hand, a few encouraging Get up theres whispered from behind them. “Let’s go.” Wanda stands, grabbing his hand to pull him up with her and takes the leaf, waving it in pseudo-triumph as they join the other two couples on stage.
A stagehand carries out three chairs and the Enchantress twirls around, instructing them on what comes next, “Our dashing men, please sit down,” all three of them take a seat. “Now ladies, pick a lap, any lap will do.” Vision immediately sends her a desperate, pleading gaze and Wanda sits on his lap, unsurprised when the other couples remain together, but a prickle of unease from the directions forms a portent of what is to come in the show. Their host turns back to the audience with a “Let’s meet our lucky guests, shall we?”
The cheers from the audience fill the room as she sashays to the first couple. Wanda finds herself unable to fully pay attention to anything. Part of her mind is focused on what is being asked of the first couple (Rees and Layla from Wales, married three days ago, what he loves most about her is her tits), another on the erratic pulsing of discomfort from Vision whose arms are tighter than needed around her waist yet impressively his face is neutral with a decently faked smirk of amusement, and finally, perhaps most prominently, Wanda studies the way the Enchantress moves. Each question is technically asked of the pair, but her hand caresses the man’s shoulder, outside of the view of his partner, fingers climbing up through his hair and brushing his forehead. There is something else, a flash of green around her fingers but Wanda can’t parse out exactly what it is before she sees the simpering saunter of their host approaching them. The woman places herself at an angle, one hip behind Vision, her hand falling to his shoulder (which leads to an immediate build up of tension in his muscles). “Last but not least we have?”
The microphone hovers in front of Vision’s mouth, “Simon and Ana Williams, we have been married for a day.”
“Oh, the freshest meat of the bunch.” Catcalls intermix with clapping from the audience, but all Wanda can focus on is the trailing of the woman’s hand along Vision’s shoulders. “You, handsome,” her hand ruffles the hair on the back of his head and Wanda finds a strange, roiling rage fanning into existence in her stomach, “look like you have a brilliant mind, what do you do?”
“I am a roboticist.”
The Enchantress finally removes her hand from his head, turning towards the audience with a playful smile as she fans herself, releasing a suggestive sigh before she comments on his answer, “I can only imagine what he’s wired up for the bedroom, you lucky lady.” Annoyingly her hand descends again onto his shoulder, trailing lazily back and forth, “So Mr. Roboto, what do you love most about your wife?”
“I,” Vision stares into her eyes and suddenly Wanda no longer feels like they're on a stage, but his smile draws her to the compound, to their bed, wrapped up in each other, alone and safe and warm, his hand releasing its grip on her waist to brush a strand of hair from her face, “admire and adore her resilience.”
The moment is broken when someone from the crowd, clearly a regular, or at least semi-regular attendee, impatiently yells, “We don't care! Show them the dance!”
The solitary demand quickly builds into a chant, crescendoing within seconds before the green-clad woman raises her hands in defeat, “Oh if you insist. Ladies?” Wanda eyes the woman suspiciously, not particularly excited by the husk developing in her voice. “It is my solemn duty to add a bit of spice into your life,” a wink is thrown at the audience, the music sliding from the sultry background jazz to the easily recognizable dun-dun-nah-nah-nah of burlesque. The implication makes the hairs along her arm stand on end as Wanda wraps herself protectively around Vision’s neck. The Enchantress pulls a feather boa seemingly from thin air, shimmying it down her arms as she walks back and forth in front of the three couples. “So,who’s willing to step away from your husband for a demonstration that I’m sure you’ll all,” the end of the boa points suggestively at each one of them as she talks, “want to use tonight.”
Vision’s mind screams at her to please stay where she is despite the cacophony of encouraging yells from the crowd and the expectant stares of both the host and the stagehands hiding in the curtains. This might technically be part of the mission, but Wanda finds herself unwilling to budge, briefly wondering if maybe it would have been best to bring Sam since he’d probably be perfectly okay offering himself as a sacrificial lamb right now. But then, like a guardian angel descending from the stifling, bright stage lights of heaven, Rees, from couple number 1, proudly declares “I volunteer as tribute!”
The glass is refreshingly cold in her hand, a little rainbow umbrella sticking up from the bright red daiquiri to denote, if there was any such confusion, that this is a fun drink. Wanda plucks the umbrella, twirling it between her fingers while she studies Vision, his body leaned back into the chair, legs crossed, and elbow resting comfortably on the armrest. It’s odd spending so much time with him looking like this, at having to remind herself it’s not a stranger whenever she catches him in her periphery. The disguise is impressive and since he’s already extraordinarily sexy, it comes as no surprise that his alter ego is as well. Still, she can’t help but imagine how beautifully his crimson skin would compliment the tropical prints all around them and then she chuckles at the image of him in a floral printed button up. Vision doesn’t even flinch at her laugh, eyes not so subtly glued to the bartender as he expertly pours out a martini for a woman at the bar. Wanda twirls the umbrella again, deciding she should probably get his attention before he gives away their stake out.
She leans closer to him, eying the side of his head, never realizing until now just how strange ears are and how wrong they look on him, but she's determined the only way to be okay with the disguise is to find little things she doesn't usually get to experience. Delicately she reaches out and places the umbrella behind his ear, allowing her fingers the luxury to brush through the silken threads of his synthetic hair.
The attempt fails, in fact the rainbow umbrella only serves to highlight the dense seriousness in the air between them, his mind trapped in the vortices of analytic reconnaissance as his eyes track their mark. Attempt two needs to be less subtle, apparently, so she lifts her glass. “A toast!” She waits until her words have reached him, Vision turning towards her, blinking in confusion at the brush of the umbrella against his face. Wanda smirks at his confusion and then repeats herself, tilting her head towards his glass, “A toast.” Finally the words seem to resonate with him, his daiquiri rising to the same level as her glass, a silent inquiry in his apprehensive squint, “to our honeymoon not starting with an uncomfortably long lap dance from a stranger.”
Finally his I’m-on-a-mission face breaks, replaced by a bashful, commiserable smirk at the fresh mortification of what almost happened to him during the show. “Yes, cheers indeed.” Their glasses clink and she can’t help smiling when he actually joins her in enjoying their free beverages, a compensation for their willingness to be part of the show. Vision tilts his head, eyes narrowing while his lips smack approvingly. “That is quite delicious.”
“Not sure why you sound so surprised.”
He shrugs and she’s mesmerized at the way his very real shirt parts slightly wider at the end of the motion. “Based on observations of our teammates and my one experience, the imbibing of alcoholic beverages is typically met with unpleasant shudders.”
It’s adorable to watch him experience new things, a childlike vim overtaking his body. “That’s just because Natasha believes drinks should be 95 percent alcohol and 5 percent mixer.”
The bartender glances over at them, a blender of bright red deliciousness held up with a questioning point. Neither of their drinks are close to being empty but given they’re supposed to be gathering information on the bartender Wanda sends him a thumbs up. “Just to let you know,” she reaches out to squeeze Vision’s knee, Natasha’s undercover bootcamp stressing that they need to always be touching to sell their can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other newlywed status, “our mark is heading over.”
His hand falls on hers, a conspiratorial smirk tipping his lips up. “Understood.”
“You are drinking too slowly! Is it not to your standards?”
The question is asked in jest, but the frown on VIsion’s face is utterly serious when he insists, “Not at all, the drinks are quite delicious, we are simply savoring them.”
The bartender brings his hand to Vision’s shoulder and shakes it with a laugh, “Good, let me top you off.” Before they can turn him down, the blender is already over their drinks, expertly filling every groove of emptiness without a single drip on the table.
“Thank you,” Wanda grabs the cup and lifts it to the man.
A nonchalant wave and a shrug is her you’re welcome. “Oh, I was asked to drop this off for you.” He reaches into his back pocket and draws out an emerald envelop with gold filigree around the edges.
Vision takes, turning it over in his hand. “Who is this from?”
“I never know,” which is true, based on Wanda's surface level reading of his mind, “they hand me things and say ‘Fetu, deliver this and deliver that’ as if I'm some unimportant errand boy.” The man frowns, eyes sad, “sorry, work in paradise is still work.” His jubilation returns, an expertly applied mask he puts on for the customers. “Most important piece of information for you,” a suggestive nod is sent towards her hand on Vision’s knee, “you are more than welcome to remove your drinks from this area, we understand the,” a finger taps his nose as if he is in on some secret with them, “needs of our honeymooners.”
This is where they have to sell their cover, which Wanda does gleefully, sliding her hand up along the inside of Vision’s thigh, relishing his slight jump but impressed when he recovers quickly with a knowing wink towards the bartender, “We appreciate the information, now,” Vision stops her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and gently pulling her up to stand with him, “we have other important matters to attend to, my dear.”
“Enjoy paradise, my friends!”
Once they’re out of the bar, they duck into a small, dark alcove in the hallway, Wanda sipping her drink while her eyes follow his fingers as he opens the envelope. “What is it?” Vision doesn’t immediately respond, lips pursed as he reads it again.
“We have been cordially invited to use the VIP pool tomorrow.” He passes the invitation to her and a waft of floral perfume strangles her senses when she flips the card open. There is no name at the bottom, nothing to indicate who invited them or exactly what this means but Wanda’s fairly certain it’s a good thing for their mission. “Shall we proceed to more reconnaissance?”
Wanda shuts the invitation, stepping up close enough for their bodies to touch as she reaches down to slide the paper into his pocket, her hand lingering several seconds longer than necessary to accomplish the task. “I thought we were going to be newlyweds?” It’s not quite disappointment in his eyes, closer to disbelief but with a slight annoyance. “I’m joking, Vizh.” Someone walks past them and Wanda presses her body closer, hoping it discourages anyone from approaching them. “So,” thoughtfully her fingers play with the lapels of his jacket, “I assume we’re following what we practiced? You lead the way but follow my lead?”
“Correct.”
She matches the mischievous grin on his face. “Where to, darling?”
They wind through the resort, doing their best to avoid prying eyes, a purposefully disoriented loping to their steps as they make their way with several whispered warnings of “Drunk does not mean you phase through the floor, darling.” Anytime someone attempts to talk to them, mostly to inquire if they are lost, Wanda pulls a Romanov, capturing Vision’s lips and savoring the remnants of daiquiri on his tongue until the person gets the hint and leaves. Eventually they reach a door with a professionally done sign that informs them it is a restricted area and legal action is guaranteed for trespassers.
Wanda turns the handle, unsurprisingly finding it to be locked. “How do we-” his mouth stifles her question, an arm wrapping around her waist as he shoves her against the door pulling a low, throaty moan from her mouth. He changes the angle of the kiss, lifting her slightly as he slides his leg between her thighs, an action that is mission-wise unnecessary, but in her opinion completely needed, and then the door clicks open. Much to her dismay he pecks her cheek and pulls back, his hand solidifying once it is out of the door.
“This way,” the cocky grin on his face is almost wide enough to show teeth as he mulls over his word choice, hand running lazily along her thigh “my beloved.”
Her eyes narrow, not used to be one-upped, “Tease,” and she steps past him, elbowing him in the ribs for good measure, into a dimly lit room filled with filing cabinets and shelves covered in boxes. A quick assessment of the space identifies two security cameras and a flick of a finger sends scarlet into the wires, short circuiting the security system hopefully for long enough to gather information. “So, what do we want to find?”
Before the question ends, he is already elbow deep in a box, eyes scanning the contents, frowning when he clearly doesn’t find anything of value, and then he moves on. “I have a hypothesis.” Vision continues moving through the boxes, never finishing the thought.
“That would be?”
“Oh,” he stops, embarrassment at his actions manifesting in a shuffle of his feet and a widening of his eyes, “I wish to determine if all of the missing couples were included in the Enchantress’ show.”
This works for her, the bartender, other than passing along an invitation, didn’t seem at all suspicious, something Wanda cannot say is true for the entertainer. “Sounds good.” She moves to the opposite side of the room, flicking through tabbed folders labeled with meaningless names. In the tenth box, however, there is a thick folder labeled Amora Vahiné, she removes it, leaning against the shelf as she flips it open, immediately met with a picture of the Enchantress and her application to work at the resort. “Vizh.”
The absence of any cameras or the risk of being found out means his head pops out of the wall of filing cabinets separating them. “Yes, Wanda?”
“Really? You can’t just walk around it?”
“I could if I wished to be inefficient.”
Wanda rolls her eyes, showing him the picture, “I’m pretty certain we have the right person. Have you found anything?”
“Um,” his head disappears and there is a shuffle of papers and then the thud of feet, his body rounding the corner, five folders in his hands. “Perhaps, these are the five couples that went missing, but I have not been able to examine the contents yet.”
A knock on the door startles them, Vision losing control, phasing several inches through the floor, his disguise flickering briefly. “Who’s in there?” The voice is not happy, a threat evident in the question.
Wanda hugs him close, hands desperately tugging at the back of his shirt until it is free of his pants. “Give me the files.”
“I-”
“Give them to me.” Reluctantly he hands them over and Wanda shoves them in the back of his pants, dropping his shirt and jacket to cover them. “Now let’s be newlyweds.”
Right now is when she is supremely happy Vision convinced Steve and Natasha to send him instead of Sam, a process that included a 45 minute powerpoint presentation given to the team concerning all the reasons Vision, even with his slightly unstable disguise, would be a more beneficial choice. She’s not certain how it worked, Sam was pumped at the idea of a resort mission, but she’s thankful nonetheless, because the way Vision lifts her, hands under her thighs, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist, and the hunger in his lips against her neck are far more convincing than anything she’d ever be willing to think about doing with Sam. Wanda allows herself to get lost in him, mission be damned, squeezing her legs in time with his kisses, gripping the poles holding the shelves up as he pushes her dress up, fingers toying with the edge of her underwear. Somewhere, far in the back of her head, she knows the door opens, that three more minds enter the room, but the novel sensation of a wedding ring skimming her thighs, a band of metal on his body that she hasn’t grown accustomed to is far too distracting, and the surprising thrill at the idea of this being a lifelong sensation intensifies the passion building within her when he sucks at the hollow of her neck. A confused and uncertain, “Hey!” ruins the moment, Vision turning his head, the rise and fall of his heaving chest against hers deeply satisfying, and she joins him seconds later, staring at three armed guards.
Wanda tries to think of a reply but is saved the mental trouble by a surprisingly convincing slur in Vision’s typically smooth accent. “Oh this is embarrassing.” Briefly he turns to smile at her and it is alarmingly disorienting, “Is this not our room?”
A disgusted and fed up, “Honeymooners” is shared between the guards before they encourage Vision to place her back on the ground and then they are led on a procession of shame through the resort, flanked by the guards, until they are dropped off at their room, the lead guard pointing at the door, voice akin to one used on misbehaving children. “This is your room.”
Wanda waves drunkenly at the guards, closing the door and allowing an impish smile to overtake her lips as she approaches Vision, his back facing her as he lays the stolen folders on the table. “So,” leisurely she slides her hands under his shirt, using the tips of her nails to draw diamonds on his skin, “want to pick up where we left off, hubby?”
The folder in his hand drops to the table, the muscles in his back tensing in what she hopes is desire. “Were you aware,”
“That you’re wearing too many clothes?”
Vision turns around slowly, eyes closing as her hand dips to trace the edge of his pocket, “A subjective question, but not my intended one, no, that if we solve the mission early we are permitted to enjoy the remainder of the reservation in peace?”
This is new information, something this important surely would have been included in the mission briefing. “I think you’re bluffing.”
“Page 197, line 35, footnote 207 in the fine print, I swear.”
Wanda eyes him, glancing curiously over to the fat binder of information for the mission and then back at him. One of the many joys of dating Vision is knowing he is a horrible liar and thus rarely attempts trickery. Currently his eyes, the dull blue brightening a hue the longer she stares at him, brim with honesty and a barely contained lust. All she’d have to do is lean into him and she knows he’d cave. “So if we delay our gratification…”
It’s a gamble on his part, touching her, but the innocent, calm brush of his finger down her neck emphasizes his next point, “Without a mission we would be unhindered in partaking of each other’s company, wherever and whenever we like.”
A bit begrudgingly she concedes to the logic, already planning their obligation free days as she lifts onto the tips of her toes to kiss him. “Let’s dive into these folders, then.”
“What am I looking at, exactly?” Vision had been gone on extra reconnaissance for almost the entire night, creeping into the room with the sunrise, allowing her a whole twenty minutes of whispered good mornings, and achingly tame kisses before informing her they needed to make a stop on the way to their luxury VIP pool party. The hope, foolishly, was that he had planned some romantic breakfast, the brochure on their nightstand lauding the ambience and intimacy of a beachside cabana for two, instead she is standing in another restricted room, though this one is a bit brighter than the last one. There’s a pool in the middle of the room, more of a moat, if she had to be specific, that surrounds a raised platform holding a wide-mouthed pot that is itself housing a plant with long, arcing saw-toothed leaves and a tightly clenched pod in the center.
Vision steps forward, leaning over the water for a closer look. “I am not wholly certain but several of the workers in this section spoke of the upcoming unveiling.”
The moat is impressive, five vibrant and pied tropical fish darting after each other, but the plant itself is, well, a plant. “And you think this is important for the mission?”
A wishy-washy shrug goes along with his, “Perhaps? The files I was able to peruse suggested the flower was transplanted here three days before Amora interviewed for the position. It could be important or a coincidence.” Another shrug and a carefully practiced boyish, nonchalant smile is the perfect weapon to draw her closer, and she assumes, perhaps wrongly, he is aware of how well the smile pairs with his khaki shorts and short sleeved button-up. “I also thought it was peaceful and wished to share it.”
“Minus all the signs warning about trespassing, it is kind of peaceful.”
A surprisingly loud, “There you are!” catches them off guard, Wanda dropping into a defensive stance, hands a faint scarlet and Vision’s shoulders pulled back and ready to use the Mindstone if needed. When the voice is placed with the constantly smiling face of their concierge, they both resume normal, albeit slightly embarrassed stances. Kenneth’s forehead erupts into wrinkles once he glances around at the room, “How’d you get in here?”
Phasing and a bit of sorcery is probably not the best answer. “The door was unlocked,” is offered as a plausible explanation from Vision.
“Huh,” his brief frown is quickly replaced by a beaming smile, finger raised to point at the plant. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? We keep thinking she’s going to die any day now, it’s the first time anyone’s successfully transplanted one of them off the mountain.” The statement is filled with pride, a touch of awe, and a hint of deep, pulsing love.
Wanda tries to channel Natasha, reading not only the surface level of his words, but identifying the subtextual layers of meaning and potentially pertinent information. So far, however, she’s got nothing. “What type of plant is it?”
The glimmer in his eyes is one she does recognize, the same excitement sends Vision’s irises twirling anytime she asks him to explain what he and Helen are currently working on or to expand on a gibberish scientific comment he’s made. Which seems odd for their concierge concerning a flower. “It is a Tiare Apetahi, a flower that only grows on a plateau on this island. Every attempt to transplant it lower on the mountain or grow it in a lab has failed, well,” he shrugs as if it is not a huge accomplishment, “until now. I’m actually a botanist. But they won’t let me stay at the resort to look after her unless I work for them.”
Vision finally looks away from the plant, “What does it look like?”
“Oh,” the man fumbles in his pocket for his phone, swiping across the screen and then tapping until the smile returns to his face, “like this.” The phone is passed over to them the screen filled with a picture of an asymmetrical white flower, five petals all on one side. “It’s a really famous flower here, has a legend and everything, well,” he waves his head as he reconsiders his statement, “one legend but like 5 versions of it.”
A polite and curious smile forms on Vision’s face. “May we hear your preferred version?”
The man doesn't skip a beat before launching excitedly into the story. “It is a tale of love and loss,” Kenneth clutches his chest dramatically, eyes staring into far-offs lands, “a fisherman married a fair maiden, named Apetahi, and they were happy, blissful, much like you two.” A rare hesitation freezes his smile, but is whisked away quickly as he continues, “But then he strayed from her, lured in by the beauty of a younger woman. When his wife found out she was grief stricken, they argued, yelling so loud it attracted the attention of the entire village. In her sorrow she fled to the plateau, dug a hole in the ground, then cut off her hand and buried it. She died of blood loss and when they finally found her missing body, this flower had bloomed where her hand had been buried. That is why it's five petals form the shape of a hand.”
Vision frowns at the plant, and Wanda agrees with the pulse of painful confusion in his mind, wondering why such legends are always so laden with deceit and loss. “Are there other legends of the island?”
“Of course,” Kenneth steps back from the plant rotating his wrist to check the time, “I can have a book delivered to your hut, but you ought to get going, it’s almost time for your day at the pool.”
Confusion blossoms in Vision’s mind, but Kenneth shoos them along too quickly for Wanda to stop and ask what is bothering him.
They are dropped off at the VIP pool, though only after Kenneth triple checks they have their swimsuits and sunscreen, warning that sunburns are never conducive to newlywed activities. Wanda grips Vision’s hand, a small, tight ball of panic sitting on her chest, not exactly sure what is behind the door. “You’re wearing the right swimsuit?”
A defeated sigh is enough of an answer, but his quiet, “I do not understand why it is necessary, but yes.”
“I just have a feeling it is.”
The door opens and they are greeted by a bare-chested, impressively chiseled man dressed only in thin white pants and sunglasses. “Invitation?” Vision removes the paper from his pocket and hands it over, the man lifting his glasses, turning the paper in order to examine it from every angle, the pool apparently so exclusive they are worried about counterfeit invites. “Welcome.” A deep bow and the broad sweep of his arm ushers them in and Wanda has to keep her jaw from dropping at the shimmering water of the infinity pool, the edge seamlessly meeting the expanse of the ocean beyond, the strategically planted palm trees offering shade over the cushioned lounge chairs around the perimeter. There’s a thatch-roofed gazebo to the left, a chaise lounge with an emerald cushion and golden base housing the unmistakable body of their grinning host, Amora, waving happily at them.
Wanda leads them to a pair of chairs, the protocol for what to do at an exclusive pool unclear, especially since she assumed the other two couples from the show would be attending as well. “What do you think we do?”
He shrugs, adding an uncertain, “Perhaps we wait until she instigates contact?”
“Sounds good.” Swimming was not a common excursion in Sokovia, the winter dragging on longer than it was ever welcome and the brief summer unrelenting enough that even the promise of tepid water was not an overly strong temptation to risk the heat of the three mile walk. Despite this, Wanda is perfectly aware how to act, untying her wrap dress and letting it fall to the ground. “You going to stay like that?” Vision turns towards her and his agape, stuttering mouth is exactly the reaction she hoped for when she snuck the swimsuit into the suitcase. Her approach is slow and deliberate, toying with the buttons on his shirt once she’s close enough, undoing each one as she waits for him to respond in some way. Even after she’s reached the last button and cheerfully stripped it off his arms, he remains standing in awe, or confusion, but she hopes awe. “You liked it so much last time, figured it was a safe choice for our pseudo-honeymoon.” Still speechless, he nods, hands coming to trace the black straps crisscrossing over her chest, following the lines up her shoulders and to her upper back, smiling before dipping his face to catch her lips, stealing the breath from her lungs and making her dizzy.
A polite cough interrupts them and a different shirtless man is standing with two margaritas and sandwiches on a tray. “Compliments of Amora.”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Vision grips the tray, turning back and forth until he finds a suitable place for it. Cautiously he glances around, assessing the location of the two poolboys. “Do you believe it is safe to discuss updates?”
She joins him in studying their surroundings. It seems there are only three other people here, the one man at the door, their bartender tucked back in a shaded cabana bar, and their host across the pool. “It’ll be safer if you take off your shorts.” It could be the effects of the sun or the red cloth umbrellas overhead or his disguise fading briefly, but she thinks he might blush as he undoes his belt, eyes darting nervously around before he drops the khaki shorts and a ravenous smile spreads across her face at the reappearance of his tiny swim shorts. “Much better.”
A deep, unamused inhale reaffirms his misgivings about the swimsuit, but he doesn’t say anything else, lowering himself onto one of the chairs, shimmying his body from side to side until he is comfortable. “Would you,” the blush is back, joined this time by a sheepish pat to his thigh, “like join me?”
“Of course,” she curls easily along his body, head resting on his chest with her arm draped over his waist. “So, what’d you learn last night?”
One more check of their solitude and he fills her in, hand moving along her arm in long, even strokes. “As we discovered in the files,all five couples were part of her show.” This, to Wanda at least, is enough for her to feel confident in arresting their host, but Vision seems more reluctant, not wishing to mar her career in case they are wrong. “Additionally, it seems all five were invited to her pool the next day.”
“Oh, so we’re her next target then?”
He hesitates, “It is a logical hypothesis.”
“Okay, what else?”
The bartender passes by with an inquisitive and slightly offended look at their untouched margaritas. Once he resumes his position far away, Vision shifts slightly underneath her, cradling her closer so that he is talking quietly into her ear, just in case. “The bartender has solid alibis, as does the director of activities, and all of the custodial staff. The only other new addition just prior to the disappearances,” his breath is hot against her ear and it is almost impossible to pay attention, “was the successful transplant of the Tiare Apetahi.”
“The flower from today, right?”
He nods, the movement nudging her head slightly, “Correct. I am still unsure,” the explanation stops as the guard near the door walks in front of them, long strides taking him to the edge of the pool where he turns and walks back to the door, throwing out a friendly hello on his way back. “If the flower is important but it seems oddly coincidental.”
Wanda takes it all in, agreeing with his uncertainty about what, if any connection exists between the facts. “Just before we left the flower, Kenneth said something and you were confused.”
“Oh yes. There was never any indication-” another intrusion of footsteps echo behind her and Vision's eyes closely follow whoever it is,the edges of his lips drooping slightly. “May we help you?”
It’s the front gate guard, “She wants to see you.” A twitch of his head indicates the thatched gazebo where Amora is now sitting up, a posture of anticipation and what Wanda would label a predatory smile on her face, even though technically she’s too far away to fairly define exact emotions.
Wanda smiles up at the man, “Okay, we’ll head over.”
“Not you, ma’am, just him.” His tone business like, authoritative, but almost edging on apologetic. “You have to swim across.”
Without being able to phase out of the chair, Vision struggles to remove himself from her grip, something that she could help him with but she finds his slightly frustrated escape attempts too entertaining, only relenting and letting him move her arm once he offers a pleasant, “Please?” and a kiss.
He stands at the foot of the chair, the muscles in his back constricting as his fists clench. “Darling?” Vision turns towards her, nerves fading at what she hopes is an easygoing smile on her face, despite her own misgivings. “Remember to play along, it’s for the,” she mouths mission just in case. He nods and she has to ignore the chill crawling up her spine, has to repeat the advice to herself in an attempt to believe it.
The ease of his dive into the pool is beautiful, Rhodes nicknamed him the Swan Prince after the first Avenger pool party, a nickname Vision has graciously allowed them to continue using despite the fact Wanda knows it bothers him. He is incredibly graceful in the water, lanky arms propelling him effortlessly to the other side. Even if she is not wholly comfortable with whatever is about to happen, she does have to appreciate the view of Vision getting out of the pool, his tiny, teal swimsuit accentuating her favorite asset quite nicely.
Slowly he approaches the chaise lounge, gesticulating a bit wilder than usual, but it seems, based on the woman’s smile, that she doesn’t notice, or care, about his nervousness. She says something and there is a millisecond pause in Vision’s movements that causes the hair on Wanda’s arms stand to attention, his body language subtly shifting into a defensive stance. A beckoning finger brings him closer to the chaise with a hesitant step. He bends lower, the tilt of his head implies he's doing it to hear whatever she is saying, which is when a finely manicured hand falls on his back and Wanda feels her powers churning just below the surface. She has to start a mantra of it’s for the mission, it’s for the mission, it’s for the mission to keep herself from diving into the pool and joining them. Then the woman’s hand travels down his back, a finger teasingly flicking the waistband of his suit and Wanda finds herself talking out loud, “Don’t you dare go lower.”
When the Avengers Compound is breached, Wanda Maximoff becomes something far more dangerous than a hero, she becomes protective.
Written March 26-31 2024
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Morning came slowly not with sunlight, but with warmth.
The curtains hadn't opened yet, yet the room glowed faintly red, a low shimmer spilling across the ceiling. Wanda always did that when she woke first. A habit she'd never admitted to keeping, stretching the dawn a little longer so she could stay here.
You felt it before you opened your eyes.
Her bare weight hovering above you. Her auburn hair brushing your cheek. A careful kiss pressed just below your jaw like she was testing whether you'd disappear.
You smiled without looking. "You're staring again."
"I wasn't sure you would wake if I stopped," she murmured.
Your eyes opened then, finding her already watching, close enough her breath warmed your lips. The worry there was quiet but familiar, softened only when your hand slid to the back of her neck and pulled her down.
The next kiss wasn't cautious.
Her magic flickered along the headboard, a soft pulse, reacting faster than she could pretend she wasn't affected. She exhaled against you, forehead resting to yours as if grounding herself.
"Stay a little longer," she whispered.
"We have a briefing."
Her nose brushed yours. "Five minutes."
Her fingers traced slow lines along your arm, memorizing rather than touching, and every time you tried to speak she silenced you with another kiss, unhurried, unashamed, like the world outside the room didn't exist yet.
Eventually you laughed softly against her mouth. "You're going to make us late."
"I know," she said, not moving at all.
Her thigh settled between your legs, a gentle pressure that sent a shiver up your spine, a gesture both teasing and possessive. Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging softly as her mouth found yours again.
The kiss was slow, deliberate, an exploration as much as a reminder, every brush of her lips felt like a silent promise, one that she'd be happy to keep you here all day.
Her other hand roamed, exploring the curves and dips of your body with a light touch that left a trail of heat in its wake.
"You're distracting me," you managed between kisses, feeling her smile against your mouth.
"That's the point," she murmured, her mouth finding your neck now, leaving a trail of soft kisses down to your collarbone. Her hands were more daring, now slipping under the hem of your shirt, her touch a gentle tease as they brushed over your hip, your waist.
"Besides," she added, her voice low, "I think you like being distracted. By me."
A quiet moan escaped you, her words sending a shiver down your spine.
You couldn't argue with her, you did like being distracted by her, in more ways than one.
You tilted your chin up, giving her better access, and gasped quietly as her hands slid further up your sides, trailing over your skin with an almost worshipful touch.
"I hate it when you're right," you breathed, arching subtly into her touch.
"No, you don't," she murmured, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear.
Her hands were exploring now, moving with a growing sense of purpose. Her teeth teasingly nipped at your earlobe.
"You love it."
Her fingers had reached your ribs, tracing the outline of each bone through your shirt with a slow, deliberate touch. It was maddening how well she knew you, how easily she could unravel you.
Her lips curved into a satisfied smile against your skin, her hands moving with purpose now as she slowly pushed your shirt up.
She broke the kiss just long enough to pull the fabric over your head before capturing your mouth again, her body pressing flush against yours.
"Five minutes," she reminded softly, her hands roaming freely now.
Her fingers traced the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, the rise of your hip, mapping out every inch of your body with slow, deliberate touches.
She kissed the soft spot where your neck met your shoulder, her teeth grazing lightly, sending shivers down your spine.
"Four minutes," she whispered against your skin, her hands sliding up to cup your face, tilting your head back for a deeper kiss.
Her tongue traced the curve of your lip, dipping inside to taste you, her thumb brushing against your cheek gently.
The kiss grew more intense, her tongue exploring your mouth with a hungry yet gentle touch.
One hand remained cupped around your face while the other roamed down your body.
"Three minutes," she murmured breaking the kiss only to pull off your bra revealing bare breasts she'd memorized long ago.
Your sounds encouraged her, making her bolder.
She pressed you back against the pillows, kissing down your neck, between your breasts, her hands cupping and caressing gently.
Your nipples hardened under her touch and attention, one peak captured softly between her lips while her hand teased the other.
"Two minutes," she whispered against your breast, switching sides to give equal attention, knowing how much you loved this.
Her touch was familiar yet still felt like discovery each time, slow circles, gentle squeezes that made your back arch into her mouth.
She loved how responsive you were, how your body reacted to her touch like it was made for her hands.
Your moans and pants filled the room, making her own breath grow heavier.
She kissed down your stomach slowly, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear.
"One minute," she murmured, looking up at you from between your legs with a heated gaze, "and I'm not wasting it talking." She slowly pulled down your underwear, kissing along your inner thighs, making you widen your legs instinctively.
"Look at you," she whispered, her breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh, making you shudder. "So pretty, so wet for me." She spread you open with her thumbs, blowing a soft stream of air over your clit, watching you buck and whimper. "God, I love these sounds you make," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your center. "I love how you push against my mouth, how you grab the sheets when I lick you."
Her tongue finally made contact, a slow, deliberate stroke from your entrance to your clit that made you moan out, "Wanda—" Your hands flying to tangle in her hair.
"Mmm—" She hummed against you, the vibration sending shocks through your body.
"Please—" you begged, hips bucking up needlessly, chasing more. She gripped your thighs harder, holding you still.
"Please what?" she teased, pressing three teasing kisses to your clit instead of what you really wanted.
Another moan dripped from your lips, desperate and broken.
"Is this what you want?" she asked, her voice muffled against your wetness. She licked a slow circle around your clit, avoiding the exact spot you needed pressure. You whined, pushing your hips down, trying to force her mouth where you needed it. "Or this?" she asked, sucking your clit between her lips, releasing it with a soft pop.
Your entire body tensed, a strangled cry escaping you. "Fuck, Wanda—" You panted, "Just—"
"Just eat me out properly?" she finished with a soft laugh against your pussy. "You're so beautiful when you're needy." She finally gave you what you wanted, a firm press of her tongue directly on your clit, exactly how you liked it.
Your back bowed off the bed with a loud moan, fingers tightening painfully in her hair.
"Yes, right there," you gasped, finally getting the friction you needed. She hummed approval, finally giving you steady pressure and suction just like you begged for.
Her tongue worked in circles, pressing flat and firm against your clit while her thumbs spread you even wider.
The wet sound of her mouth on you filled the quiet room, mixing with your desperate moans and her occasional hums of pleasure.
She was taking her time even now, making sure you felt every lick, every suck, every tease of her teeth grazing lightly.
Your thighs trembled around her head, your whole body tensing as pleasure built higher and higher.
"Thirty seconds," she muttered against you, sucking hard for emphasis.
Your body was close to the edge, teetering on that delicate line between intense pleasure and release.
She knew your body so well, knew exactly how hard to suck, how fast to lick, how much pressure to apply. Her hands gripped your ass possessively, pulling you even closer to her mouth. She could feel you trembling, hear your rapid breaths, knew you were almost there.
"Twenty seconds," she whispered, her voice muffled but clear. She sucked harder, her tongue flicking rapidly against your clit. "Ten."
The countdown had you unraveling completely. Your thighs shook violently around her head, your moans growing louder and more desperate.
"Five," she murmured, sucking your clit between her lips and giving it a gentle bite that sent you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashed over you with a force that made you cry out her name, your body arching off the bed as pleasure pulsed through you in intense waves. She kept licking gently through it, catching every last drop, until you finally collapsed back onto the pillows.
Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your legs still trembling, still spread open for her. She crawled back up your body slowly, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your breasts, your collarbone before finally claiming your lips again.
You could taste yourself on her, a salty sweetness that made you pull her closer.
"Fuck," you breathed against her mouth, still panting. "We are so late."
She laughed softly, nuzzling into your neck.
You kissed her, the kiss was deep and passionate, a silent thank you for the orgasm and a clear sign that you were ready for more.
"You're going to make us even later," she warned but didn't resist as you pulled her hips up towards your face. She spread her legs over your head, lowering herself onto your mouth without hesitation.
"Are you going to eat me like I ate you?" she whispers softly, grinding against your lips.
You looked up at her, your expression serious and focused. Without a word, you grabbed her hips and pulled her down onto your mouth, flattening your tongue against her and licking slowly from her entrance up to her clit.
She gasped, her hands flying to the headboard for support.
"Oh god," she breathed, starting to rock against your mouth gently. You spread her open with your fingers, diving in with your tongue, licking, sucking, fucking her with your mouth like she'd done to you.
"Fuck, just like that," she moaned above you, grinding down onto your face.
Her arousal coated your chin and lips, making the room even warmer and wetter.
You loved how eager and needy she was, how she didn't hold back her sounds or her movements. She was always so controlled except when you had her pussy on your mouth.
"Your tongue feels so good," she panted, riding your face slowly but deeply.
She started moving faster, her hips rolling in circles, pushing her clit against your tongue and then backing up so you could lick into her again.
Your hands gripped her ass tightly, spreading her cheeks apart and exposing her even more.
You could feel her getting wetter and wetter, her pussy dripping onto your mouth and down your chin.
"Shit," she gasped, reaching down to grab a handful of your hair. "I'm gonna come," she warned, her voice strained with pleasure.
You doubled down, sucking her clit hard and fucking her with two fingers at the same time. She cried out, her body tensing and then shaking as she came violently on your mouth.
"Fuck! Fuck!" she moaned loudly, grinding against your lips and tongue until she was completely spent.
She collapsed forward, catching herself on the headboard, her heat still twitching against your mouth. You licked her gently through the aftershocks, cleaning her up slowly until she pushed gently at your forehead.
"Stop, stop," she laughed weakly, lifting herself off your face. She looked down at you, her chest heaving, her core still glistening with arousal and your saliva. "Jesus, we really are never going to make that briefing, are we?"
She wiped some of her arousal off your chin with her thumb before sucking it into her mouth.
The gesture was so dirty and intimate that you felt another rush of desire. "Look at you," she murmured, "all messy and satisfied with my cum on your face."
You smiled up at her, your face shiny with her wetness.
"Can't help it," you replied with a small smirk, "you make it too easy to get distracted."
She leaned down to kiss you messily, tasting herself on your lips before pulling away slightly.
"Well, when you put it like that..." She crawled down your body possessively, spreading your legs open. "Guess I'll just have to keep distracting you then."
The briefing, the responsibilities, the outside world, all faded beneath tangled sheets and tangled limbs.
Dinner hour at the compound always carried a strange quiet.
Not silence, never that, but a softened hum. Ventilation breathing through steel walls. Distant elevator cables shifting. The low murmur of staff rotating shifts. It was the kind of calm that only existed in places built for war.
You weren't at the debrief this afternoon at all.
Technically, neither was Wanda.
When Natasha had raised a brow at the empty seats earlier that afternoon, Wanda hadn't even looked up from her tablet.
"Training overran," she had said smoothly. "I kept her."
No one questioned it.
She was a commander now. Her authority carried weight, and the faint red flicker behind her eyes discouraged curiosity.
Hours later, the compound halls reflected gold from recessed lighting, long shadows stretching across polished floors. Wanda's heels clicked sharply against the metal beneat, precise, unhurried, controlled. Each step echoed just enough to announce her presence before she entered a space.
An agent walked briskly beside her, struggling slightly to keep pace.
"The rookies in Group B are overcompensating," Wanda said without looking at him, flipping through a thin black folder. Pages shifted with a soft snap. "They rely on brute force instead of coordination. Pair them with Simmons and Ortiz next week. I want them corrected before live simulations."
"Yes, Commander."
She stopped mid stride, scanning a note, red nails tapping once against the margin.
"And remove Daniels from weapons rotation temporarily. His trigger discipline is reactive. That is how civilians get hurt."
The agent nodded quickly, accepting the folder when she handed it over. Their fingers barely brushed.
"I'll see it handled."
"I know you will."
He peeled off down the adjacent corridor, footsteps fading quickly.
And just like that, she was alone.
The compound felt bigger in the evenings when half the Avengers were out on rotation. A quick retrieval mission, in and out, back before midnight. The kind that rarely went wrong.
The kind that made the base feel hollow.
Wanda adjusted the cuffs of her blazer and resumed walking, heels striking rhythmically against the corridor floor. Click. Click. Click.
She was heading toward the kitchen.
Toward you.
She could already imagine the scene, you probably leaning against the counter, stealing something before dinner was fully ready. Teasing her for being late. Pretending you hadn't checked the time three times waiting.
A faint smile tugged at her mouth. The overhead lights flickered once.
She didn't stop.
The compound systems did that sometimes, power rerouting, Stark tech recalibrating. Nothing unusual.
Then it flickered again. This time longer. The hum in the walls shifted pitch.
Wanda slowed. Somewhere far below or above, something metallic slammed.
Hard.
Her body reacted before her thoughts did. Shoulders straightened. Chin lifted. That softness from earlier evaporated like mist.
The PA system crackled. For half a second, there was only static.
Then "Security breach detected. Level Three lockdown initiated. All personnel return to designated safe zones immediately. This is not a drill."
The voice echoed through every corridor. The lights died. Darkness swallowed the hallway whole.
A beat later, emergency strips flared on, bathing everything in low, saturated red.
Her heels stopped mid step. Completely still.
The air felt different. Charged. Tight.
Another metallic crash echoed, closer this time. Followed by the unmistakable pop of distant gunfire.
Her jaw tightened. Not fear.
Focus.
Her hands lifted slightly at her sides, fingers flexing as crimson energy bled into her palms, coiling like something alive and waiting.
Her first thought wasn't about the breach. It wasn't about the rookies. It wasn't about command.
It was about you.
You were on this floor. And suddenly the distance between here and the kitchen felt enormous.
The PA system continued: "All access points sealed. Elevators disabled. External communication suspended."
The heavy thud of blast doors engaging reverberated through the walls.
Wanda turned toward the kitchen corridor. And ran.
Her heels didn't falter, just faster now, sharper, echoing violently in the red lit hall as somewhere ahead, another gunshot rang out.
The hallway seemed longer now.
Emergency lights washed everything in a violent red, walls, floors, the sharp angles of reinforced doors. The shadows moved when she moved, stretching and recoiling like something alive.
Another gunshot cracked through the corridor ahead.
Too close. Wanda didn't slow.
Two masked men rounded the corner at the far end of the hall, tactical gear, rifles raised, visors reflecting the emergency glow. They didn't hesitate.
They opened fire. Bullets screamed down the corridor. Her hand snapped forward.
Time didn't stop, but it bent. The rounds halted inches from her, suspended midair in a trembling constellation of brass and metal. The force of them pushed against her power, vibrating, trying to complete their violent path.
Her expression didn't change. She clenched her fist.
The bullets reversed direction with a sickening, unnatural snap.
The men barely had time to register what was happening before the metal tore back into them with lethal precision. One dropped instantly. The other staggered, choking behind his mask.
Wanda's other hand lifted.
His body jerked upward violently, boots scraping uselessly against the floor as invisible force crushed inward.
The metal of his rifle warped. His visor spiderwebbed. Then he went limp. She released him without ceremony. His body hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Her heels stepped over them. More movement to her left.
Three more figures burst through a side access door. One launched something cylindrical that clattered across the floor toward her.
An EMP grenade. Her eyes flared brighter. The device froze mid roll.
It trembled. Then crumpled inward like paper crushed in a fist, sparks spitting uselessly as her magic strangled the circuitry.
She didn't even look at it again. The nearest attacker lunged.
Big mistake.
She twisted her wrist and the wall behind him buckled inward, metal shrieking as it folded around his body and pinned him there with bone crushing force.
Another charged from the right. Her hand shot out. He was lifted and hurled down the corridor like debris in a hurricane, body smashing through reinforced glass with a brutal crash.
The last one tried to run.
Wanda didn't chase. She simply pulled. He flew backward violently, slamming into the floor at her feet. Her magic coiled around his throat, lifting him inches off the ground.
Her voice, when she spoke, was terrifyingly calm.
"How many?"
He struggled, clawing at nothing. Her fingers tightened.
"How many are inside?"
He didn't answer fast enough. Her hand closed. Silence returned to the corridor except for the distant alarms and the faint ringing hum of strained metal.
She dropped him. Her breathing was steady. Too steady.
She could feel it now, not your power, not magic, just instinct. The sense that you were close.
Another corridor ahead. Kitchen level.
She moved again. Faster.
She turned the corner.... and didn't see the shadow detach from the wall behind her.
A masked man rose from concealment, blade glinting in the emergency light. Silent. Precise.
He lunged. There was no warning. No shout. No time.
Except, You.
You came out of nowhere. One second the space behind her was empty. The next, you collided with the attacker full force. The blade meant for Wanda shifted trajectory.
There was a sound. Wet. Wrong. The impact drove you forward. The knife sank deep into your side.
Your body jerked, breath leaving you in a sharp, stunned exhale.
For half a second, Wanda didn't understand what she was seeing.
You were in front of her.
Too close. Too still. The attacker tried to pull the blade free for another strike.
He never got the chance. The air around him imploded. Wanda's scream tore down the hallway as her power detonated outward. The man's body lifted violently, limbs bending at impossible angles before being flung into the far wall with bone shattering force. The impact cracked reinforced steel.
He didn't move again. But Wanda wasn't looking at him. You staggered. Your hands instinctively pressed to your side.
Red. Too much red. It spread quickly between your fingers, dripping onto the sterile compound floor.
You swayed.
And then your knees gave out. You dropped in front of her.
"No— no, no, no—"
She was on you before you hit fully, catching you as your weight collapsed forward. Her knees slammed hard against the ground, heels scraping uselessly as she pulled you into her lap.
Her hands were already glowing. But they were shaking.
Your breath hitched. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't loud. Just small. Shallow.
"Wanda..." you managed, dazed.
Her hands pressed over the wound, crimson energy flooding outward, trying to seal, to mend, to undo.
But there was so much blood. The alarms continued to blare overhead.
"Lockdown in effect. All personnel remain in place—"
Her attention snapped back to you instantly.
"Look at me," she demanded, voice breaking despite the steel beneath it. "Look at me."
Your fingers weakly caught at her sleeve. You tried to smile. Even now.
"You're... welcome."
Her face crumpled, just for a second.
The same woman who had hovered over you that morning, kissing you awake, now had your blood soaking into her clothes.
"I didn't need saving," she whispered fiercely.
You coughed softly. "Yeah. You did."
Her magic flared brighter, unstable, pulsing hard enough that the emergency lights flickered in response.
Behind her, somewhere deep in the compound, another explosion rocked the structure.
She didn't move. Didn't look. Didn't care. Her entire universe had narrowed to the warmth draining from your body in her arms.
And for the first time since the alarms began....The Scarlet Witch was afraid.
Wanda's hands pressed against your side, magic pouring from her palms in frantic waves. It wasn't controlled anymore, it surged and stuttered, reacting to her panic. The air around you warped faintly, like heat over asphalt.
"Don't move," she breathed, voice unsteady. "I have it. I have it."
You let out a strained huff that might've been a laugh. "You're... shaking."
"I am not," she snapped automatically.
Her fingers trembled harder.
You could feel the blade had gone deep. Every breath dragged against it, sharp and wet. But the pain wasn't what made your chest tighten.
It was her face.
You'd seen Wanda angry. Ruthless. Untouchable. You had never seen her look small.
"Hey," you murmured, swallowing through the copper taste rising in your throat. Your hand lifted weakly, brushing clumsily against her wrist. "It's okay."
"It is not okay," she said immediately, voice cracking on the last word. "You are bleeding because of me."
"Pretty sure it was the guy with the knife."
Her jaw clenched. Her eyes flared brighter, red light bleeding into the whites.
The hallway lights dimmed in response.
"You should have let me handle him."
You shifted slightly, and a sharp gasp escaped you before you could stop it. Her hands pressed firmer, panic flashing across her face.
"Sorry," you whispered.
"Stop apologizing." Her voice dropped, low and fierce. "You do not get to apologize."
Another distant explosion rumbled through the compound. The floor trembled beneath you. Dust sifted from the ceiling.
She didn't even glance up.
Her entire body curved over yours, shielding you instinctively, like she could block the world itself if she tried hard enough.
"You can't leave me," she said suddenly. It wasn't a command. It wasn't dramatic.
It was raw.
Your fingers slid weakly into the fabric at her waist, grounding yourself in her warmth. "I'm not planning on it."
Her magic pulsed again, brighter this time, pushing deeper into the wound. You felt heat, intense, searing and you hissed through your teeth.
"Wanda—"
"I have to close it," she said quickly. "The blade missed anything vital. I just— I need a second—"
Her voice faltered.
You could feel it. The way her power trembled when her emotions spiked. The way reality seemed to thin at the edges when she lost control.
The red light overhead flickered violently.
"Wanda," you said more firmly, grabbing her wrist despite the weakness in your grip.
Her eyes snapped to yours instantly.
"Look at me."
She froze. For a second, the magic steadied.
"I need you calm," you whispered. "Not powerful. Calm."
Her breathing was uneven.
You reached up, slow, shaking, and pressed your palm against her cheek. Smearing blood there without meaning to.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the contact. The same way they had that morning when you pulled her down for another kiss.
The memory hung between you. Soft sheets. Sun warmed skin.
Her whisper: Stay a little longer.
Now her forehead rested against yours again, but the air was cold, metallic, filled with alarms and distant gunfire.
"I cannot do this without you," she admitted quietly. "I will not."
"You won't have to," you breathed.
Your strength was fading, not dramatically, not all at once, just a slow heaviness settling into your limbs.
She felt it. Her hands tightened.
"No," she whispered. "Stay with me."
"I am."
Her magic shifted then. Not explosive. Not violent.
Focused.
The red glow around her hands deepened, condensing into something precise, controlled by sheer force of will. The bleeding slowed under her palms. The torn muscle began to knit together, thread by thread.
It hurt. You didn't hide that it hurt. Your nails dug weakly into her side, breath stuttering as the heat intensified.
"I know," she murmured urgently. "I know, I know— just a little more."
Her voice softened unexpectedly.
"You always promised to come back to me."
You managed a faint smile. "I did."
"So you will."
It wasn't a plea this time. It was certainty. Somewhere deeper in the compound, the last of the gunfire faded.
The lockdown siren continued its steady, oppressive wail.
Her magic finally sealed the worst of it. Not perfect. Not clean. But enough.
You slumped more fully into her, exhausted.
Her arms slid around you instantly, lifting you carefully against her chest as if you weighed nothing at all.
Her face pressed into your hair. For a moment, she allowed herself to shake.
Just once. Then her spine straightened. The Scarlet Witch rose from the floor with you in her arms, blood staining her clothes, eyes burning brighter than the emergency lights.
"You're going to be okay," she said quietly into your temple.
And somewhere in the compound, doors began to groan under unseen pressure.
"But first," she whispered, voice turning cold as winter, "no one else touches you."
The hallway doors at the far end buckled inward with a violent groan.
Wanda's head snapped up. Bootsteps. Multiple. Heavy. Coordinated. They'd heard the explosions. They were sweeping the floor.
You felt it too, the vibration through the walls, the faint tremor under her boots as she shifted you higher in her arms.
"Wanda..." your voice was weaker now, breath shallow against her collarbone. "More coming."
"I know."
Her tone was ice.
She adjusted her grip, one arm under your knees, the other braced across your back, keeping pressure subtly aligned with the wound she'd sealed. You could feel her magic still working beneath your skin, slow and steady, holding you together through sheer refusal.
The emergency lights flickered again.
Then the blast doors at the end of the corridor detonated inward.
Smoke flooded the hall. Sparks rained down. Five masked men advanced through the haze, rifles already raised.
They saw her. Saw you bleeding in her arms. They didn't hesitate. Gunfire erupted. Wanda turned her body instinctively, shielding you completely with her back as her free hand snapped up.
A red barrier exploded outward.
Bullets slammed into it in a violent spray, metal flattening midair before clattering uselessly to the floor.
The force of it shoved her heels backward an inch, scraping against steel. Her jaw tightened.
"You will not," she breathed. She thrust her hand forward. The barrier inverted.
Every bullet fragment lifted and launched back with lethal precision. Two men dropped instantly. Another screamed as metal tore through his shoulder.
The remaining attackers split formation, tactical, disciplined, one flanking left, one right.
Smart. Wanda didn't have two hands free.
The one carrying you trembled slightly with the strain.
You felt it.
"Put me down," you rasped.
"No."
"Wanda—"
"No."
Her eyes flared brighter, but you could see the calculation flickering behind them. She couldn't unleash something wide scale without risking you. Every movement had to be controlled.
The man on the right lunged forward, pulling a blade when his rifle jammed.
Too close. Too fast.
Wanda shifted you abruptly, twisting her body to avoid the strike. Pain shot through your side at the movement and you gasped against her shoulder.
The attacker swung again.
Wanda caught his wrist midair with telekinesis, bones audibly straining, and crushed.
He screamed. She flung him sideways into the wall hard enough to dent reinforced steel.
The last man, the one flanking left, raised something small in his hand.
Not a gun. A detonator. Wanda saw it. Her pupils blew wide.
"No."
He pressed it. The hallway floor exploded behind her.
The shockwave hit like a truck, slamming into her back and driving her forward. Her grip tightened around you with inhuman force as debris rained down.
You both hit the ground hard.
Her body curled over yours instantly, shielding your head with her arm as chunks of ceiling crashed around you.
Smoke. Dust. The emergency lights flickered violently before going out completely.
Darkness swallowed everything. For a moment, there was only ringing.
High pitched. Disorienting. Then the dim red glow returned, weaker now, pulsing from damaged strips along the walls.
Wanda pushed up first.
Her hair was dusted with debris. A thin line of blood traced down from her temple, not hers originally, yours smeared across her skin.
Her eyes scanned.
The detonator lay crushed several feet away. The last attacker was trying to crawl.
Trying.
Her expression shifted.
Something ancient and merciless slid behind her gaze.
With a flick of her fingers, the man lifted off the ground, dragged backward across broken metal and concrete. He clawed at the floor, leaving streaks.
She didn't look at him when she closed her fist. The sound was quick.
Final. Silence fell again,heavier this time.
Your breathing hitched beneath her. She snapped back to you instantly, kneeling.
"Talk to me."
You swallowed. "Still... here." Your voice was thinner now.
The blast had taken more out of you than you let on. The seal she'd made was holding, but barely. She could feel it, the strain in her magic like a thread pulled too tight.
She slid one arm beneath you again, lifting carefully. The hallway behind you was collapsed.
The main route to the medical wing, gone. She looked down the opposite direction.
Longer path. Stairs. No elevators. More exposed corridors.
She didn't hesitate. She started running.
Heels abandoned. She kicked them off mid stride without breaking pace, bare feet silent against the cold metal floor as she moved through smoke and flashing red light.
Every corner she turned, her magic moved ahead of her, sweeping, sensing, crushing threats before they could fully emerge.
A man stepped from a side door. He hit the ceiling.
Another fired blindly from the shadows his weapon disassembled in his hands and the force threw him unconscious against the wall.
She wasn't fighting like before. Before had been controlled.
This was primal. You could feel her heart hammering against your cheek.
"Almost there," she whispered, though the medical wing was still two levels down.
Your hand fisted weakly in her torn blazer.
"Wanda..."
"Yes."
"If you drop me, I'm haunting you."
A breath of something like a laugh broke from her, fragile and furious all at once.
"You are not allowed to haunt me."
She reached the stairwell. The door was jammed. She didn't slow. Red energy surged outward and ripped it off its hinges.
The stairwell lights were dead.
Pitch black. She stepped inside anyway.
Her magic lit the space in a low crimson glow as she descended, carrying you through smoke and sirens and the echo of distant chaos.
Behind her, somewhere deep in the compound, the remaining intruders were retreating.
They could feel it now. The shift.
This was no longer a breach. This was a hunt. But Wanda didn't chase.
Not yet.
Right now, the only war that mattered was the one keeping your pulse steady against her chest as she pushed toward the medical wing.
And anyone who stepped between her and that door would not step again.
By the time Wanda reached the medical floor, her breathing had changed. Not ragged. Measured.
Every inhale controlled. Every exhale forced into discipline.
The doors to the medical wing slid open halfway before stuttering, scraping loudly as she forced them the rest of the way with a sharp flick of red energy.
The sight inside stopped her for half a second.
It looked like a battlefield.
Beds pulled into the center of the room. Equipment overturned. Blood across white tile floors. Two nurses crouched beside an agent with a shoulder wound. Another medic was applying pressure to someone's thigh while shouting for gauze that wasn't there.
Overhead lights flickered violently.
Then the medical generators cut.
Everything went black. Gasps echoed. Someone swore.
Then the emergency strips along the baseboards sputtered back to life, flashing dim red in uneven pulses.
The entire wing was bathed in the same bleeding glow as the corridors above.
A nurse looked up first. Her eyes widened instantly.
"Commander—"
They all saw it.
Wanda Maximoff standing in the doorway barefoot, clothes torn, blood smeared across her hands and collar, carrying you like something fragile and irreplaceable.
There was no hesitation in her stride.
No scanning the room. No assessment of damage.
You were her only objective. "Clear a table," she ordered.
Her voice cut through the chaos cleanly. Immediate.
Two nurses scrambled, shoving aside a tray of instruments to make space. One of them reached for you automatically.
Wanda's eyes flashed. The nurse froze mid motion.
"I will handle her," Wanda said.
Not hostile. Final. She laid you down carefully on the cleared table. The metal was cold beneath your back. You winced faintly.
Your skin had gone pale under the red light.
The makeshift seal she'd created was holding, but barely. Sweat beaded at your temple. Your breathing was shallow, uneven.
A medic stepped closer cautiously. "Commander, we need stable lighting, imaging— the generators—"
"I know."
Her voice was tight.
Another explosion rumbled faintly somewhere distant in the compound. Dust drifted from a ceiling vent.
The emergency lights flickered again. Then steadied. But weaker.
One of the nurses whispered, "We're running on auxiliary battery. It won't last."
Wanda didn't respond. She stepped closer to you, placing both hands back over your wound.
The med staff watched. They'd seen her fight. They'd seen what she could do to enemies. This was different. This was precision. This was fear sharpened into something lethal and controlled.
"Her blood pressure is dropping," a medic murmured, checking manually since monitors were dead. "We need to—"
Wanda's magic ignited. Not explosive. Not wild.
Dense.
It glowed deeper than before, a saturated crimson that illuminated the entire room brighter than the failing strips along the floor.
Shadows recoiled from her.
You sucked in a sharp breath as heat flooded your side again. It hurt worse this time. There was no surgical assistance now. No equipment. No imaging.
Just her.
She leaned over you, jaw clenched, fingers splayed as energy seeped through skin, muscle, torn vessels. She could feel everything, the damage, the internal bruising from the blast, the strain your body was under.
"Wanda..." you whispered faintly.
Her eyes snapped to yours immediately.
"I'm here."
"You're... glowing."
Despite everything, the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Focus."
A tremor ran through her magic as the lights overhead flickered violently again.
Then the remaining generator died completely. The room plunged into near darkness. Only her magic remained.
Red light bathed the entire medical wing, casting every injured agent, every nurse, every overturned tray in a surreal, hellish glow.
It looked less like a hospital. More like the aftermath of something catastrophic.
A nurse instinctively stepped back. No one spoke. The only sounds were distant alarms and your strained breathing.
Wanda lowered her forehead briefly to yours as she worked, voice dropping so only you could hear.
"You are not dying in my arms today."
Your lips moved weakly. "Wasn't... planning on it."
Her power deepened. She wasn't just sealing the wound now. She was rebuilding. Carefully rethreading torn muscle fibers. Forcing ruptured vessels closed. Easing internal bleeding. Reinforcing what shock had destabilized.
It drained her. You could see it, the way her shoulders tensed, the slight shake creeping back into her hands.
A medic whispered to another, "She's overexerting—"
Wanda heard. Her head tilted slightly. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
"I am fine," she said without looking away from you.
Her magic surged again.
You cried out this time, back arching slightly from the table before she pressed you down gently with her forearm.
"I know," she breathed urgently. "I know. Stay with me."
Your fingers found her sleeve again, weaker than before but still there.
"I'm not... going anywhere."
Her eyes burned.
"You are not allowed."
The wound finally began to close fully beneath her hands. Skin knitting together in thin, glowing seams that slowly faded from red to normal tone.
Your breathing steadied. Still shallow. But steadier.
The medics exchanged glances.
When the last thread sealed, Wanda didn't pull her hands away immediately.
She kept them there, hovering. Making sure. Your pulse strengthened under her senses.
You were still pale. Still exhausted.
But alive.
The red glow around the room dimmed slightly as her power eased. The darkness crept back in at the edges.
One nurse finally moved forward slowly. "Commander... we need to check for internal trauma."
Wanda looked at her then. Really looked. And for a split second, the Scarlet Witch flickered behind her eyes, warning, territorial, dangerous.
Then she looked back at you. Your eyes were open.
Tired.
But focused on her.
"I've got her," the nurse added gently.
There was a long pause. Then Wanda stepped half an inch back.
Only half.
"I am not leaving," she said quietly.
No one argued.
Because the way she stood there, blood stained, glowing faintly in the darkness, positioned between you and the rest of the world made it very clear.
You were her sole priority.
And anyone who mistook that devotion for weakness had not seen what she did in the halls above.
The Quinjet hadn't even fully powered down before Natasha knew something was wrong.
The landing platform lights were off. Not dimmed. Off.
Only emergency strips along the perimeter glowed faint red against the concrete, casting long skeletal shadows across the hangar walls.
Yelena stepped down first, rifle slung casually over her shoulder. "Either we missed a party," she muttered dryly, scanning the empty deck, "or someone forgot to pay the electricity bill."
Natasha didn't answer. She was already moving.
Her boots hit the platform in a smooth, controlled stride, eyes sweeping every corner, every blind spot, cataloguing damage before she even consciously processed it.
There were scorch marks along the far wall.
One of the access doors hung crooked on its hinges.
And in the distance, faint but unmistakable, the low wail of a lockdown siren cycling through the lower levels.
"FRIDAY," Natasha said sharply as she drew her sidearm in one fluid motion, the familiar weight settling into her grip like an extension of her arm. "Status report."
There was a beat of static before the AI responded, voice calm but edged with interference.
"Director Romanoff. Level Three security breach occurred forty seven minutes ago. Multiple hostile entities infiltrated the compound through sub basement access points. Lockdown protocol engaged. Power grid compromised in sectors two through five."
"Casualties?" Natasha asked, already heading toward the interior access corridor.
"Confirmed injured: nine agents. Two critical. No confirmed fatalities at this time."
Natasha's jaw tightened slightly.
"And Maximoff?"
A pause.
"Commander Maximoff is currently in the medical wing."
Natasha's pace didn't falter, but her voice sharpened a degree.
"And my daughter?"
Another brief flicker of static.
"Agent Y/n Romanoff status: severe laceration to left abdominal quadrant. Stabilized. Currently under Commander Maximoff's supervision in medical."
The world narrowed. Not outwardly. Not visibly. But something inside Natasha went cold and razor focused.
Yelena glanced at her from the corner of her eye. "She alive?"
"Yes," Natasha replied evenly.
But her grip on the gun tightened.
They moved through the corridors fast, clearing corners, weapons raised. The compound smelled like smoke and burned circuitry. Overhead lights flickered intermittently, casting unstable shadows that shifted with every step.
A body lay at the end of the first hall. Masked.
Neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Yelena crouched briefly, inspecting the damage. "That's not gunfire."
"No," Natasha said quietly.
They turned the corner. Another.
This one embedded halfway into a wall, metal buckled inward around him like he'd been thrown by something that didn't understand restraint.
Yelena exhaled slowly. "Your witch is upset."
Natasha didn't comment. But she could read the trail.
This wasn't random combat. This was a path.
A straight line of devastation cutting through the compound toward medical.
Wanda.
And if Wanda had been forced into that state.....
Natasha's expression hardened further. A sharp crack echoed from deeper in the corridor.
Gunfire. Not Wanda's style.
"FRIDAY, remaining hostiles?"
"Three active life signatures moving toward east stairwell. Attempting exfiltration."
Natasha moved like she always had, silent, efficient, lethal. She rounded the corner just as one of the masked men emerged from a side passage, rifle raised and wild eyed.
He didn't see her in time. Two suppressed shots. Center mass. He dropped before he could shout.
The second attacker reacted faster, firing blindly down the hall.
Natasha rolled into cover, returned fire with precise economy, one shot to disable the shoulder, another to the thigh.
He screamed and fell. She was on him in seconds, kicking the rifle away and pressing her gun under his chin.
"Who sent you?" she asked, voice calm and deadly soft.
He spat something in another language. She didn't blink.
Yelena appeared behind him and struck him hard across the temple with the butt of her weapon.
Natasha holstered her gun smoothly and knelt, securing the man's wrists with brutal efficiency.
"We're taking him alive," she said. "I want answers."
Yelena glanced down the hall at the wreckage left behin, at the warped metal and bodies that clearly hadn't survived Wanda's path.
"Maximoff already interrogated some of them, I think."
Natasha stood. Her gaze shifted toward the direction of the medical wing. For the first time since stepping off the jet, something flickered across her face.
"She was ambushed," Natasha said quietly, more to herself than to Yelena.
She could see it now in her mind, the angle, the chaos, the kind of breach that isolates targets. You had always been good at stepping into danger first. Too good.
She had trained you that way. From fifteen years old, stubborn, grieving, too sharp for your own good.
She'd taught you how to hold a knife. How to fall without breaking bone. How to get back up when it hurt.
And now someone had put a blade in you.
Her jaw set.
"FRIDAY," she said, voice returning to director level steel. "Lock down east stairwell. Route medical backups to sector three. Alert interrogation room to prepare."
"Yes, Director."
Yelena hoisted the restrained attacker easily. "You go to her," she said, tone losing its sarcasm for once. "I will make sure no one else leaves."
Natasha hesitated only a fraction of a second.
Then she nodded.
She moved toward medical at a pace just shy of running, controlled, but urgent.
When she reached the doors, she saw the red glow spilling out before she stepped inside.
The generators were dead. The room was lit almost entirely by Wanda.
Agents lay on cots. Nurses moved quickly in the crimson haze.
And at the center of it... You. On a table. Pale. Alive.
Wanda standing over you like a guardian carved from something ancient and volatile.
For one suspended moment, Natasha didn't move.
She took in the blood on Wanda's hands.
The way Wanda stood slightly angled, as if still shielding you even now. The way your fingers weakly curled in the fabric of her sleeve.
Natasha's composure cracked, not visibly to anyone else, but inside.
Her daughter. Her kid. Still breathing.
She stepped forward.
"Report," she said calmly.
But her eyes never left you. And beneath the director. Beneath the Black Widow. A mother was counting every rise and fall of your chest.
Night in the compound passed in fragments.
Interrogations. Repairs. Containment teams sweeping corridors until every shadow was accounted for. The hum of temporary generators kicking back to life in staggered sectors. Low voices. Controlled chaos stitched back together with discipline and exhaustion.
And through all of it... Wanda never left your side. Neither did Natasha.
Morning came pale and quiet.
The medical wing no longer glowed red. Power had been partially restored; soft white lights hummed overhead, sterile and almost too bright after the night before. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and burned circuitry.
You floated somewhere between sleep and weight.
There was a steady beep near your ear now. A monitor. Reconnected.
Your side felt tight, not sharp pain anymore, but deep soreness, like your body had been pulled apart and carefully reassembled.
Voices drifted in and out.
"...overexerted herself."
"She hasn't slept."
"She won't."
That one you recognized.
Natasha.
Your eyelids felt heavy, but you forced them upward.
The world blurred first, white ceiling, indistinct shapes, then slowly sharpened.
Red hair. Leaning over you. Cool fingers brushing gently against your temple.
"There she is," Natasha whispered.
Her voice wasn't director sharp. It wasn't Black Widow steel. It was soft. Controlled. But threaded with something warmer.
Across the room, pacing. Back and forth.
Barefoot. Wanda. She hadn't changed clothes. Same torn fabric, though cleaned now. Hair loose, slightly tangled. Arms folded tight across herself like she was holding her own ribs in place.
At Natasha's whisper, she froze mid step. Completely still.
You blinked again, vision clearing fully. Natasha's face came into focus first, composed, but her eyes were rimmed faintly red, like she hadn't blinked enough in hours.
"Easy," she murmured as your breathing shifted. "Don't try to sit up."
Your throat felt dry. "Wasn't... planning on it."
The faintest smirk ghosted across her lips.
Behind her Wanda moved. Slowly. Like approaching something fragile. Her voice was barely above a breath.
"You're awake." It wasn't a question.
You turned your head slightly toward her. She looked different in daylight. Less supernatural.
More human.Which somehow made the exhaustion on her face worse.
"Hi," you croaked.
She crossed the rest of the distance in three steps.
Not rushed. But inevitable.
Natasha stepped aside automatically, though she didn't move far.
Wanda stopped beside the bed, hands hovering uncertainly for a second before one finally settled carefully over yours.
Like she needed confirmation. Like she still didn't trust what she was seeing.
"You scared everyone," you murmured faintly.
Her jaw flexed. "I was not scared."
Natasha gave her a look. Wanda didn't look away from you.
"You lost a dangerous amount of blood," Wanda continued, voice controlled but thin around the edges. "Your vitals destabilized twice during the night."
"Twice?" you muttered weakly.
Natasha's hand came to rest lightly against your shoulder, grounding.
"You're difficult," she said evenly. "Always have been."
You managed the ghost of a smile. Your fingers tightened slightly in Wanda's grip. She felt it immediately. Her shoulders dropped half an inch.
A breath she hadn't allowed herself to take since the hallway finally left her lungs.
"I told you," you said quietly, eyes flicking between them. "Wasn't going anywhere."
Wanda's thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles. "You are not allowed to make promises like that and then test them."
The earpiece clicks once, soft, clean, and final, and your world narrows into a neat channel of sound.
Static. Breath. The faintest digital whine.
Then Wanda’s voice slides into your ear like a blade being drawn slowly from velvet.
“Positions.”
It isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. Wanda Maximoff doesn’t raise her voice in the field unless she wants the whole world to remember she can.
You press two fingers to the comms on instinct. “Copy.”
Around you, the city is a gray mouth held open by smoke. Night rain slicks the cracked asphalt and turns the gutters into thin rivers of ash. A siren wails somewhere in the distance, then abruptly cuts off like something reached up and pinched it shut.
The building ahead is a squat concrete block dressed up as a humanitarian front. The name on the sign is cheerful, rounded letters meant to reassure, RELIEF SERVICES, while the windows are blacked out and the corners are too sharp to belong to anything honest.
Inside, there are hostages.
Inside, there are armed men with cheap rifles and expensive confidence.
And inside, somewhere in the middle of all that human fear, is the reason SHIELD called in the Avengers in the first place an experimental power core stolen out of a secure lab, humming with the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms lift and your teeth ache.
You crouch behind the destroyed shell of a car, rain ticking softly on the roof above you. Your vest sits heavy over your chest, the ceramic plate reassuring in a way that feels almost superstitious. Your fingers are steady on your weapon. Your breathing is controlled.
You’ve been trained by the best.
And by her.
Wanda’s team doesn’t move like chaos; they move like a sentence written in sharp ink. Everyone has a place. Everyone has a job. Everyone knows the cost of getting sloppy.
There’s a shift to your right. A trainee, newer, younger, adjusts their grip too fast. Their shoulder jerks. Their eyes flick up and down the building like they’re trying to count threats by staring harder at them.
You catch it, because you always catch it. You do what you’ve been taught to do: you assess, you predict, you correct.
“Breathe,” you murmur, not into comms, just into the rain. “Slow.”
The trainee swallows and nods too hard.
Wanda’s voice returns, crisp and clean. “Natasha. East entry. Clint, overwatch. Steve, you’re with me on the front breach. Y/n--”
Your throat tightens a fraction. That pause before she says your name always does something to you, even when it shouldn’t.
“--you’re with the hostages,” Wanda finishes. “You prioritize them. You do not chase targets. You do not improvise.”
It’s direct. Commanding. Exact.
And underneath it, if you know her the way you do, there’s a second layer of meaning.
You come back.
You come back.
You come back.
Your lips part around a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding. “Copy. Hostages first.”
“Good girl,” Wanda says, so quietly you almost miss it under the rain and the comms hiss. The words hit the inside of your ribs like a thumb pressed to a bruise--firm, intimate, grounding.
Across the street, Steve gives a hand signal and the front line shifts. Natasha slides like a shadow along the east wall, so smooth she might as well be the night itself. Clint is already a silhouette somewhere high above, bow drawn, watching.
Yelena’s voice crackles into comms like she’s leaning too close to the mic. “I am in position. And if any of you die, I will be very annoyed.”
“Comforting,” Natasha replies without missing a beat.
“It is my love language,” Yelena says, and you hear the grin in her voice.
You almost smile. Almost. You don’t let yourself.
Wanda doesn’t banter. Not before a breach. Not when civilians are involved. Not when there’s too much that can go wrong.
She is, always, control.
That’s what SHIELD saw in her when they asked her to supervise training rotations. That’s why they paired her with you when you arrived, half-broken and too useful to ignore.
You weren’t born into this world.
You were dropped into it.
One day you were somewhere else, somewhere that didn’t have streetlights, didn’t have coffee, didn’t have the mundane, stupid comforts of Earth. Somewhere the sky was too close and the air tasted metallic and your power felt like a sickness trying to crawl out of your bones.
You survived.
You adapted.
SHIELD found you because something bright and wrong lit up their satellites. They brought you in with a soft voice and a hard hand. They called you an asset and smiled like it was kindness.
Wanda was the first person who didn’t talk to you like you were a weapon.
She talked to you like you were a person holding a weapon, and there is a difference so sharp it still cuts when you think about it.
She corrected your stance with two fingers at your elbow, not a shove.
She watched your breathing when your power spiked, not your hands.
She kept you in training longer than anyone thought necessary, because she refused to throw you into the field until you trusted your own body again.
And when you’d flinched once, once, at a sudden sound and everyone else had looked at you like you’d proven them right about you being unstable, Wanda had stepped closer, gaze steady, and said:
“Again.”
No pity. No fear. Just expectation.
You learned to meet it.
You learned to become someone she could trust.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, somewhere between her hands on your wrists adjusting a grip and her eyes on you during a sparring match like you were the only thing worth watching, something in her shifted.
It wasn’t obvious. Wanda is not obvious.
But you noticed.
Because you notice everything about her.
The way her gaze lingers a fraction too long on your mouth when you talk.
The way she says your name when she’s angry, like it’s a restraint.
The way she is harsher with everyone else, and softer with you in the small places she thinks no one can see.
In the field, she never touches the other trainees unless she has to.
With you, she’s always one step closer than necessary.
Always within reach.
Like she’s afraid the world will steal you if she doesn’t keep a hand on the thread.
“Breach in three,” Steve says on comms.
Wanda inhales.
You hear it.
Even over the line, even through the static, you hear the control in it.
Then: “Two.”
You shift your weight, muscles coiling. Your path is mapped, west hallway, down to the holding room. Wanda’s intel says the hostages are in the back, behind a metal door. Your job is to get to them, shield them, get them out.
“One.”
The front wall explodes inward with controlled force. Not Wanda’s magic, Steve’s charge, clean and brutal. Dust blooms into the rain like a gray flower.
The world lurches.
You move.
Everything becomes sound and motion and training.
You sprint, low, weapon up, eyes scanning. The air inside the building is warmer, stale, smelling of sweat and fear and old concrete. A man shouts in a language you don’t understand. Another one screams.
Gunfire erupts, sharp, fast, echoing off the narrow hallways.
Your heart doesn’t race it works. Steady. Efficient.
You take the west corridor, boots splashing through rainwater tracked in, and you are halfway down when the trainee behind you does exactly what Wanda told them not to do.
They improvise.
They break formation.
They push ahead, eager, trying to be heroic, trying to prove something.
You see it like a slow motion nightmare: their shoulder breaks into the open doorway on the left, their body exposed, their weapon angle wrong.
And from inside the room, a muzzle flashes.
Hostages.
The shooter isn’t aiming at the trainee.
He’s aiming past them.
At a woman crouched behind a table, hands over her head, eyes wide and wet in the dim.
You don’t think.
You don’t hesitate.
You throw yourself into the line.
The impact is a sledgehammer to your chest.
Your vest catches the bullet, your plate does its job, so there’s no clean hole, no neat wound, no immediate red blooming through fabric.
Instead, the force drives into you like a car crash compressed into a single point.
Your ribs feel like they fold.
Your lungs forget how to be lungs.
You hit the floor hard enough that your vision whites out at the edges.
Sound becomes underwater.
You try to inhale and nothing happens.
Your body sucks at air like it’s never done it before, like the motion is unfamiliar, like you’re drowning in dry space.
A wet sound tears from your throat.
Blood spills into your mouth, hot and metallic, and you cough--instinctively, violently
and it sprays out in a dark arc across the concrete.
The smell is immediate.
Iron.
Panic.
You claw at your chest, fingers scrabbling over the vest like you can rip your way back to breathing if you just try hard enough.
The trainee screams your name.
You can’t answer.
Your world tunnels into the savage need for air.
Somewhere above you, Wanda’s voice slices through comms.
“Y/n?”
It’s not command.
It’s fear, sharpened into a single syllable.
You try to speak. You can’t. Blood bubbles at your lips instead.
Your hand lifts, weak, reaching for nothing.
“Y/n,” Wanda says again, and you hear her moving, fast, too fast. The air hums. The building itself seems to vibrate with the sudden flare of red.
Steve says something, your name, an order, but it’s swallowed by the roar in your ears.
Footsteps thunder.
And then Wanda is there.
She drops to her knees so hard the concrete should bruise her. Her hands are on you immediately, everywhere, too many points of contact, like she’s trying to anchor you to the world by force.
Her fingers find your jaw, tilt your face up. Her other hand grabs the front of your vest, yanks at the straps with violent precision.
“Look at me,” she says, breath trembling on the words. Wanda Maximoff’s breath does not tremble. She is the calm in the storm.
Except right now.
Right now her hands shake so slightly you feel it in the way her fingers press into your skin.
You try to open your eyes. Your lashes are wet, rain, tears, blood spray, you don’t know. Everything is blurry. Wanda’s face is a dark shape edged in red light.
You cough again.
Blood pours out, thick and relentless, and you make a horrible, choking sound because it’s blocking everything.
Wanda’s eyes widen, pupils blown.
“No,” she whispers, like she can refuse reality into changing.
Her magic flares, scarlet threads curling around your torso, probing, searching, trying to assess damage the way a medic would, except it’s Wanda so it’s like being touched from the inside.
You feel it catch on something, your ribs, your lungs, and her breath breaks.
“moye serdtse” she murmurs, voice cracking. Something soft and Sokovian, something that sounds like a prayer and a promise at once. “moya lyubov'… stay with me.”
You don’t understand the words, but you understand the tone.
You understand the way her thumbs stroke your cheeks like she’s trying to soothe you while you’re actively dying.
Your chest heaves. Your lungs flutter uselessly, bruised and flooding. The world tilts.
You can’t get enough air.
You can’t.
Your fingers curl into her sleeve like a child’s grip, desperate, begging.
Wanda makes a sound, small, broken, furious. Her gaze flicks once, sharp as a whip, toward the room where the shooter was.
There’s a man with a rifle staring in shock. There are hostages pressed into corners, crying.
And there--standing frozen in the doorway, pale as ash--there’s the trainee.
The one who moved wrong.
The one who made you throw your body into a bullet’s path.
Wanda’s face goes blank.
Not calm.
Blank.
It’s the expression she wears when she’s about to do something that can’t be undone.
Red light crawls up her fingers.
The air thickens.
The trainee whimpers.
“Wanda,” Steve says on comms, firm. “Stay with her. We’ve got--”
Wanda doesn’t answer.
Her gaze locks onto the trainee like a target.
And then Natasha is there too, because Natasha Romanoff misses nothing. She drops beside Wanda, one knee hitting the floor, and her hand clamps around Wanda’s wrist.
Hard.
“Maximoff,” Natasha says, low. “Eyes here.”
Wanda’s jaw flexes. Her nostrils flare. Her magic surges against Natasha’s grip like a living thing trying to lunge.
“You--” Wanda starts, and it’s not even aimed at Natasha. It’s aimed at the universe.
Natasha doesn’t let her finish.
“Later,” she says, like it’s a promise and a warning. “Right now, you keep her alive.”
Wanda’s eyes flick back to you.
The sight of your blood at your mouth, the way your chest won’t rise properly, the panic in your gaze, something in her fractures.
She leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. Her breath is ragged in your face.
“Breathe,” she says, voice shaking now. “Breathe for me, detka. Please.”
You try.
You cannot.
Your throat makes a horrible wet rasp.
You see it in Wanda’s eyes the moment she realizes the truth:
You aren’t just hurt.
You are going to suffocate.
Your airway is failing.
Your lungs are failing.
You are drowning in yourself.
“Nat,” Wanda whispers, and there is naked terror in it. “She--”
“I know,” Natasha says.
Yelena’s voice crackles through comms, suddenly sharp. “Why is everyone quiet? Who is bleeding? Is it you? If it is you, I will--”
“Shut up,” Natasha snaps, then immediately softens her tone like she remembers you can hear her. “Yelena. Med kit. Now. West corridor. Run.”
“I am running,” Yelena says indignantly, and you hear pounding footsteps in the background and the clink of something metal. “I am always running in this family.”
Wanda’s hands are still on you. She’s already ripping open the front of your vest. The straps tear. The plate shifts. Cold air hits your skin.
Your chest is already blooming with bruising, a dark, ugly spread under your collarbone. Wanda’s fingers trace it as if touching it gently might undo it.
She presses two fingers to your throat, checking.
Her magic pulses, probing deeper.
And then she goes still.
Her eyes flick up, meet Natasha’s.
A silent exchange passes between them, the kind only people who have seen too much can have.
Natasha’s voice is grim. “Airway’s going.”
You want to say something. Anything. You want to tell them you’re here, you’re trying, you’re not ready, your mind throws a thousand words at your tongue and none of them get past the blood.
Wanda cups your face with both hands now like she’s afraid your head will roll away if she lets go.
“Stay with me,” she repeats, and this time it’s not a command. It’s a plea. “Stay, stay, stay…”
Your vision swims.
The edges darken.
You hear comms like a distant radio in another room.
Steve barking orders. Gunfire. Hostages crying. The mission still happening around you while your whole world becomes the brutal, humiliating fact that you can’t breathe.
Wanda’s thumb presses at the corner of your mouth, wiping blood away with a tenderness that feels obscene in a battlefield.
“Please,” she whispers again, and you realize she’s crying, not openly, not dramatically, but there’s a wet shine gathering in her eyes that makes your chest ache even more than the injury.
Yelena skids into the hallway, breathless, and drops to her knees across from you.
She takes one look at your face, at the blood, the panic, the way your lips are starting to tinge wrong, and she loses her usual sharpness for a beat.
“Oh,” she says, very quietly. “Okay. This is bad.”
“Stop narrating,” Natasha mutters.
“I am not narrating. I am observing. There is difference.”
Yelena fumbles the med kit open, hands moving fast but not smooth. She’s excellent at violence. Comfort is… not her natural habitat.
“Hi,” Yelena says to you, and her voice does something awkward, tries to be warm, lands somewhere near blunt. “Do not die. It will upset Wanda and she will then kill everyone and I will have to clean up mess.”
You might laugh if you weren’t drowning.
Wanda glares at her without looking away from you. “Yelena.”
“What? I am soothing,” Yelena insists, offended. “This is soothing where I am from.”
“Not helping,” Natasha says.
Wanda’s magic pulses again, and you feel it coil around your throat. Not choking. Supporting. Trying to keep tissue open, trying to hold a pathway where your body is collapsing.
But magic can’t change blood flooding your airway fast enough.
Natasha’s eyes track your breathing, or lack of it, and her decision is immediate.
“There’s no time,” she says.
You hear the knife before you see it, the soft metallic whisper as she draws it from its sheath.
Your eyes widen.
Wanda’s head snaps up. “Natasha--”
Natasha doesn’t flinch. “Cric,” she says, like a code. “She’s obstructing. She’s going to suffocate.”
“No,” Wanda says, and you don’t know if she’s denying the plan or denying the reality.
Natasha’s gaze is steady. “Wanda. Hold her.”
Wanda’s face twists. Her hands tighten on your jaw like she’s holding you together by force of will. Her magic flares around you, red threads whipping, frantic.
“You are not cutting her,” Wanda hisses, voice low and feral.
Natasha leans closer, voice even lower. “Then watch her die.”
The words hit like a slap.
Wanda’s breath stutters.
Your chest convulses with another useless attempt at air. A wet gurgle tears out of you. Your vision spots.
Wanda makes a sound, raw, torn, and then she nods once, jerky, like it costs her everything.
“Do it,” she whispers.
And then, because Wanda Maximoff cannot help but be Wanda, she leans down and presses her forehead to yours, hands cradling your face so gently it hurts.
“Look at me,” she says, voice trembling like the edge of a breakdown. “Stay with me. I am here. I have you. I have you…”
Her words wrap around you like a blanket and a chain at once.
Natasha positions herself at your throat. Her movements are precise, practiced. She’s done this before. The fact makes something cold slide down your spine.
Your mind screams.
Your body tries to pull away.
But you can’t move. You’re too weak, too panicked, too trapped in the simple animal need for oxygen.
Wanda’s magic presses you down, not cruel, not painful, just… holding. Immobilizing. Protecting you from yourself.
“Detka,” Wanda whispers, and the pet name lands like a kiss on your forehead. “I am so sorry. I am so--”
The knife touches your skin.
Cold.
You choke on a sound that isn’t a word.
Pain flashes, white, brutal, immediate, as Natasha makes the incision. It’s sharp and clean and it tears a cry out of you so raw it doesn’t sound like you.
Wanda’s hands shake around your face. Her eyes are wide, wet, furious at the universe.
“Breathe,” she says, over and over, like a spell. “Breathe, breathe, breathe…”
Natasha works fast. The world is reduced to sensation: the sting at your throat, the pressure, the awful awareness of something opening where nothing should open.
And then air. Not perfect. Not gentle.
But air hits you like a miracle.
You suck it in through the new passage with a harsh, ugly gasp that makes your whole body spasm.
Your eyes roll back for a second.
You come back with a strangled sob.
Wanda’s face crumples.
She lets out a broken breath like she’s been holding her own lungs shut this entire time. Her forehead stays pressed to yours as if she’s terrified you’ll disappear if she lifts it.
Yelena swears softly in Russian--something that sounds like both relief and rage.
Wanda laughs once, a wet sound that isn’t humor. It’s hysteria brushing the edge of her control.
She kisses your temple--quick, fierce--before she seems to realize what she’s done.
Her eyes flick around.
The trainees nearby stare like they’ve just witnessed something sacred and terrifying.
Because they have.
Wanda Maximoff does not do tenderness in front of them.
She does not show weakness.
She does not kneel.
Except she is kneeling now, covered in your blood, hands cradling your face like you are the only living thing in the world.
Her voice drops, so low it’s almost not comms anymore--it’s just for you.
“My love,” she whispers in Sokovian, words trembling on her tongue. “My heart. Don’t you dare leave me.”
You can’t answer. You can’t speak around the tube and the pain and the shock.
But your hand moves, weak, trembling, and finds her wrist.
Your fingers close around her like a promise.
Wanda’s eyes snap to your hand.
She inhales sharply.
Her magic surges in response, filling the hallway with a low red glow that makes the concrete look like it’s bleeding too.
“Command,” Steve’s voice barks on comms. “We need evac on west--now. Hostages moving. Clint, cover. Natasha--”
“I’m here,” Natasha answers. “We’re stabilizing. She needs a bird.”
“On it,” Clint says. “Clear the roof.”
The mission continues, because it has to.
But Wanda doesn’t move.
Wanda’s world has narrowed to the pulse under your skin and the fact that you are still looking at her.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Even if it’s through a wound.
Yelena leans closer, awkwardly patting your shoulder like she’s trying to remember how humans work.
“You did very good,” she tells you, voice strained. “Very… heroic. Next time, do not be so heroic. It is very inconvenient.”
You manage a small, painful exhale that might be a laugh.
Wanda shoots Yelena a look that could kill.
Then Wanda’s gaze slides past you, past the blood, the shattered hallway, the hostages being guided out by Steve
to the trainee still standing frozen, shaking.
The one who caused this.
Wanda’s face changes again.
Her grief doesn’t vanish.
It weaponizes.
She lifts her head slowly, eyes locking on the trainee like a predator sighting prey.
The trainee flinches backward. “I--I didn’t-- I thought--”
Wanda rises in one smooth motion, still keeping one hand on you as if she refuses to break contact. Her magic coils around her arms in lazy, deadly ribbons.
Everyone in the hallway feels it.
The temperature dips.
Even Natasha’s posture shifts, ready, cautious.
Wanda speaks, and her voice is Supervisor Maximoff again--except now it’s laced with something ancient and cruel.
“You thought,” she repeats softly.
The trainee swallows. “I-- I was trying to help--”
Wanda steps closer.
Red light spills over the trainee’s face, painting them in the color of consequence.
“You disobeyed a direct order,” Wanda says, tone calm in a way that makes your stomach turn. “You broke formation. You exposed civilians. You exposed her.”
The trainee’s eyes flick to you, wide, guilty, horrified.
Wanda follows the glance.
Her hand tightens on your shoulder, possessive even in your half-conscious state, like she’s claiming you with touch.
“She is not your lesson,” Wanda says.
The trainee’s lip trembles. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”
Wanda’s gaze sharpens. “Sorry does not reverse bruised lungs. Sorry does not refill blood. Sorry does not stop her from drowning.”
The trainee starts to cry.
Wanda doesn’t soften.
Natasha steps between them, voice low. “Wanda. Not now.”
Wanda’s eyes flash. “Move.”
Natasha doesn’t move.
Wanda’s magic flares.
Natasha’s hand goes toward her own weapon, not because she expects to use it on Wanda, because she expects to need it to stop Wanda from doing something irreversible.
And then you make a sound.
A wet, rasping inhale through the tube.
A small, broken noise of pain.
Wanda freezes like the sound has struck her physically.
Her head whips back to you.
Your eyes are open, barely, glassy, unfocused, but they’re on her.
There is fear in them.
Not of the injury.
Of her.
The realization hits Wanda like a punch.
Her jaw clenches. Her breath shudders.
She turns away from the trainee like ripping herself free of a temptation.
“Get them out,” she snaps at Natasha, at Steve, at everyone. “Now.”
Steve doesn’t argue. “Moving.”
The hallway becomes motion again, boots, voices, the shuffle of terrified civilians being guided toward the exit. The sound of rain grows louder as doors open.
Wanda drops back down beside you like gravity pulls her there.
She presses her palm to your sternum, gentle, careful, feeling the horrible instability under your skin. Her magic threads into your chest again, soothing bruised tissue as best as it can, trying to reduce swelling, trying to keep your lungs functioning.
Her eyes never leave your face.
“Stay with me,” she says again, quieter now, stripped down to truth. “Please. Please.”
You want to tell her you’re trying.
You want to tell her she’s scaring you and saving you at the same time.
You want to tell her you’ve never felt so held.
Your hand moves again, trembling, and you touch her cheek.
Your fingers smear blood on her skin.
Wanda closes her eyes for half a second like your touch is the only prayer she believes in.
She leans into your palm, breathing hard.
Then she kisses your fingers.
Right there, in the hallway, surrounded by team and trauma and rain.
A small, instinctive act.
Claiming.
Comforting.
Love slipping out despite her iron discipline.
Natasha watches it, expression unreadable.
Yelena’s brows rise in silent, startled recognition, like she’s seeing the shape of something she suspected but never had confirmed.
And the trainees, your team, stare like they’ve just learned what it means to be hers.
Because Wanda has favorites.
Everyone knows she’s harder on some trainees than others. That she demands more, pushes more, expects more.
But with you it has always been… different.
With the others, she says Again.
With you, she says Breathe.
With the others, she corrects mistakes like they’re technical.
With you, she watches your face like she’s reading your soul.
And now, with you bleeding and broken on the floor, Wanda isn’t a supervisor.
She’s a woman on her knees in the rain, desperate enough to bare her heart in front of everyone.
The evacuation bird whirs overhead before you see it, the deep thump-thump-thump of rotors slicing through wet air.
A rope ladder drops down through an opening in the roof.
Clint’s voice crackles through comms. “Roof is clear. Bring her up.”
Natasha moves first, helping position you carefully. Yelena secures the tube and stabilizes it with rough competence, grumbling under her breath.
Wanda’s hands are everywhere again, supporting your head, your shoulders, your ribs, touching you like she can’t bear not to.
Every movement makes pain flare in your chest. Your body shakes with it, weak, helpless.
Wanda’s face tightens.
“I’ve got you,” she says, and this time the words sound like a vow. “I have you.”
You cling to her sleeve again as they lift you, because you don’t know what else to do.
Because your body knows her.
The ladder is a blur of motion and rain and dizziness. Your vision smears. Your stomach lurches. The night air is cold, sharp, and it burns your new airway with each harsh inhale.
Wanda climbs beside you, one hand on you the whole way, magic subtly supporting your weight like invisible hands holding you up.
On the roof, the world opens into rain and rotor wind.
The quinjet door yawns like a mouth.
Inside, medics rush forward.
Wanda doesn’t let them take you immediately.
She stiffens the moment a gloved hand reaches for you.
“Wanda,” Natasha says sharply, right in her ear.
Wanda’s head snaps to her.
Natasha’s gaze is fierce. “Let them work.”
Wanda’s throat bobs.
She looks down at you, your blood on her hands, your eyes half-open, your breathing harsh and mechanical.
She looks like she might refuse.
Then you blink, slow, exhausted.
And your fingers twitch, still holding her.
Wanda exhales shakily.
“Okay,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Okay.”
She lets the medics move in, but she follows like a shadow, hovering so close she might as well be part of you.
They lay you on a stretcher. Straps tighten. A monitor beeps, fast and angry.
Your body shakes with cold and shock.
Wanda’s magic wraps around you like warmth, subtle enough that no one calls it out, but strong enough that you stop shivering quite so violently.
A medic peers at your throat, grim. “We need to get her to the Tower. Now.”
Clint’s voice crackles. “We’re wheels up.”
You feel the quinjet lift. Your stomach drops.
Wanda’s hand finds yours again and this time she laces your fingers together like she’s claiming you, holding you, keeping you tethered.
Her glove is wet with rain and blood.
Her grip is firm enough to hurt.
She doesn’t seem to notice.
She leans down close to your ear, voice low, trembling.
“You did not have permission,” she whispers, and there’s something sharp and possessive in it that makes your exhausted mind snag. “Do you understand me? You do not get to throw yourself in front of bullets. You do not get to leave me.”
Your eyes flutter.
You try to swallow. It hurts. Everything hurts.
Wanda’s thumb strokes your knuckles like she’s soothing a wild animal.
“I know,” she says, as if answering something you didn’t say. “I know you did it for them. I know you would do it again.”
Her breath catches.
“But you come back to me.”
The words are softer now.
Not command.
Need.
Her forehead lowers until it rests against your temple, careful of the tube.
For a moment, the quinjet noise fades behind the sheer intensity of her presence.
The smell of her, rain, smoke, something faintly sweet and human cuts through the blood taste.
You feel tears burn in your eyes, sudden and useless.
Wanda presses a kiss to your hairline.
Then another.
Then she whispers something in Sokovian, rapid and intimate--words you don’t understand but feel in your bones anyway.
A promise.
A prayer.
A threat to the universe itself.
Natasha watches from across the bay, arms crossed, expression hard.
But her eyes flick to Wanda’s face, just once, and there’s something like sympathy there.
Because Natasha knows what it looks like when love becomes a liability in the field.
And she knows Wanda is losing the war against it.
Yelena hovers awkwardly near your stretcher, then leans in as if she’s about to say something kind and immediately regrets it.
“I will… kill the trainee,” she offers instead, quietly.
Wanda’s head lifts.
Her eyes are bright with tears that never fell, full of a rage that is still there, still simmering, waiting.
“Touch them,” Wanda says, voice low as thunder, “and I will stop you.”
Yelena blinks, offended. “I am being helpful.”
“No,” Wanda says, and it’s terrifying because it’s calm. “You are being reckless.”
Yelena’s mouth twists. “Says you.”
Wanda’s gaze doesn’t leave Yelena. “I have reasons.”
Yelena glances at you, then back at Wanda, and her expression shifts into something quieter, something like understanding.
“Ah,” she says softly. “Yes. Reasons.”
Wanda turns back to you, and the whole world narrows again.
Her hand squeezes yours.
Her voice drops into that intimate frequency again, meant only for you.
“I am here,” she says. “You are not alone. You are not allowed to be alone.”
Your vision blurs.
The monitor beeps.
The quinjet hums.
And you float somewhere between pain and relief and the strange, aching fact that Wanda Maximoff is holding your hand like she might never let go again.
You want to tell her you can’t handle how much she cares.
You want to tell her you can.
You want to tell her you’re scared.
All that comes out is a wet, rasping exhale through the tube.
Wanda smiles, small, shaky, broken with relief.
“That’s it,” she whispers. “That’s my girl.”
The words wrap around you like warmth and possession.
Your eyes close.
Not because you’re giving up.
Because for the first time since the bullet hit, your body believes, truly believes, that someone else will fight for your breath when you can’t.
The quinjet lands like a verdict.
The floor shudders under the skids, rotors still hammering the air, and the moment the rear hatch starts to drop, the med bay team is already moving, gloved hands, bright lights, a stretcher rolling forward like it has its own gravity.
You feel it before you see it: the Tower’s sterile cold reaching for you.
Your eyes flutter open at the first blast of white light. The quinjet’s dim interior gives way to the hangar’s harsh fluorescents, and everything becomes too sharp, every sound too close, every vibration too loud.
The stretcher jolts.
Pain spears through your chest, then blooms outward, a deep bruised agony that makes your vision pinch at the edges.
Your hand tightens, instinctively, desperately, around Wanda’s.
She’s there. Still there.
Still refusing to be anything but there.
“I’ve got her,” Wanda says immediately when a medic tries to step in between. Her voice is calm, controlled--so controlled it’s terrifying. “Move.”
“Ma’am,” a doctor says, already walking beside you, fingers checking the tube at your throat, reading your vitals off the portable monitor. “We need clearance. We need space.”
Wanda doesn’t give any.
She walks with the gurney as if she is part of it--one hand anchored to your wrist, the other hovering over your sternum like she can physically hold your lungs together if she tries hard enough.
The hangar doors slide open. Cold air knifes in. The corridor ahead is a tunnel of bright light and polished floors, and the sound of boots on metal becomes the sound of wheels on tile.
They rush you through the Tower like a storm with a purpose.
Your world is fragments.....
ceiling lights streaking overhead
voices calling numbers you don’t understand
gloved hands pulling at straps and fabric
the smell of antiseptic replacing smoke
your own breathing, ugly and mechanical through the new airway
“No,” the lead trauma surgeon snaps, scanning you once and deciding fast. “No time. Straight to OR.”
Wanda’s head whips toward him.
“We stabilize her first,” she says, like she’s used to the world obeying her. Like she’s used to being the final word.
The surgeon doesn’t even look impressed. He looks busy.
“We stabilize her in surgery,” he says. “That tube bought us minutes, not comfort. She needs a chest drain, possible thoracotomy, and we don’t do that in the hallway.”
Wanda’s grip tightens around your hand so hard your fingers ache.
Your gaze drifts to her face--blurred, trembling at the edges--but you see her eyes.
Green, bright, wet. Furious with fear.
The doors ahead are marked SURGICAL WING in big, block letters that look too clean for what they mean.
A nurse steps into Wanda’s path, palms out. “Only surgical staff beyond this point.”
Wanda doesn’t slow.
The nurse’s voice sharpens. “Ma’am.”
Wanda stops so abruptly the gurney nearly bumps her hip.
For half a second the air thickens, and you feel it--Wanda’s power rising like a wave beneath her skin. Scarlet threads gather at her fingertips, the room responding to her emotions the way it always does.
The nurse stiffens.
The surgeon finally looks up, eyes flicking to Wanda’s hands. “Maximoff--”
Wanda’s voice is quiet. “I’m going with her.”
“No,” the surgeon says. “You’re not.”
Wanda’s nostrils flare. Her jaw flexes. The red glow intensifies until the white walls around you seem faintly pink, like the Tower itself is blushing under pressure.
Your breathing rasps. Your vision dims.
Your fingers twitch in Wanda’s grip, weak, pleading.
Not for her to fight.
For her to stay.
Wanda looks down at you.
Your eyes are half-lidded, glassy. Your lips are wrong-colored. Your chest rises unevenly under the torn vest and torn fabric, every breath a battle your body is losing more than winning.
And Wanda...Wanda can tear reality open, can bend minds and space, can rewrite the world into what she needs
but she cannot brute-force a surgical wing into letting her love you back to health.
Not without consequences.
Her expression fractures.
“Detka,” she whispers, the word spilling out like she didn’t mean to say it where anyone could hear. Her thumb strokes your knuckles, frantic-soft. “Look at me. Look at me.”
You try.
You barely manage it.
Wanda leans closer, mouth near your ear, voice trembling so quietly the doctors don’t hear the words, only the shape of them.
“Do not leave,” she says, and the plea is stripped bare. “Please.”
A tear finally escapes her lash line. It trails down her cheek, hot against the cold air.
Then her gaze flicks up, hardening, locking back into something like command.
She squeezes your hand once. Firm. Grounding.
“Stay,” she repeats, softer now. “I will be right here when you wake.”
It’s a promise, and something in her eyes dares the universe to break it.
The nurse steps forward again, gentler this time, like she recognizes the edge Wanda is standing on. “Ma’am. You can’t--”
Wanda’s fingers loosen around yours.
Not because she wants to.
Because she has to.
The separation is immediate and brutal.
Your hand falls back against the stretcher. The air where Wanda’s warmth was feels suddenly empty, too cold, too wide.
Your eyes flutter.
Panic spikes, sharp and animal.
Wanda reaches for you again on instinct
Natasha’s hand appears on Wanda’s forearm.
Not grabbing. Not restraining.
Anchoring.
“Wanda,” Natasha says, low. “Let them work.”
Wanda doesn’t look at Natasha.
Her eyes stay on you as the gurney rolls forward, wheels squeaking softly. The surgical doors swing open like a mouth.
You disappear through them.
And for a heartbeat--just one--Wanda looks like someone has ripped out her lungs and left her standing upright anyway.
The doors close.
The corridor falls into a sterile, horrible quiet.
Wanda stands there, hands still half-raised like she expects you to reappear any second.
Her palms are smeared with your blood.
Her clothes are damp with rain and battle.
Her breathing is ragged.
And then, with a slow turn of her head, she looks down the hall.
The trainee is there.
Hovering at the edge of the corridor like a child waiting outside a principal’s office. Eyes red. Face pale. Hands shaking.
The sight of them is a match struck in a room full of gas.
Wanda turns fully, cloak of control snapping back over her like armor.
“Emergency leadership meeting,” she says, and the Tower seems to listen. “Now.”
A nearby agent hesitates. “Commander Maximoff, we--”
Wanda’s gaze flicks to him.
The agent’s mouth shuts.
Her voice remains quiet. “Notify Fury. Hill. Medical chief. Training oversight. Bring the trainee.”
The trainee flinches like they’ve been slapped. “Wanda, I--”
Wanda takes one step toward them.
One.
They stumble backward.
Natasha moves with her, matching her pace, voice low. “Wanda. She’s in surgery. This can wait.”
Wanda’s eyes flash--bright, feverish with fear and rage. “No.”
Natasha’s jaw tightens. “This is you trying to control something you can’t.”
Wanda’s lips peel back in something that isn’t a smile. “Yes.”
Then she turns and starts walking, fast and purposeful, boots striking tile like a countdown.
Natasha follows. Yelena appears around the corner, still in tactical gear, brows lifted.
“What is happening?” Yelena asks.
Wanda doesn’t slow. “Meeting.”
Yelena’s eyes widen a fraction. “Ah. Someone is in trouble.”
Natasha shoots her a look. “Not the time.”
“It is always time,” Yelena murmurs, then falls into step anyway, because whatever this is--whatever Wanda is about to do--you don’t leave a hurricane unattended.
They move through the Tower’s arteries--security doors opening at the sight of Wanda’s face, agents stepping aside with rigid respect, conversations dying mid-sentence as she passes.
The whole building feels it.
The Scarlet Witch walking with purpose.
Not floating. Not dramatic.
Just… inevitable.
They reach a conference room on an upper level--one of the ugly, functional ones with reinforced walls and a table too large for comfort. A screen on one end displays mission telemetry still live. A thin smell of coffee lingers from whoever was here before they got summoned.
Director Hill is already inside when Wanda arrives, tablet in hand, expression tight. Fury appears a moment later, coat open, eye sharp.
Two training supervisors, a medical chief, and a security lead file in behind them.
Everyone takes in Wanda at once.
The blood on her hands.
The rain in her hair.
The look in her eyes.
Hill’s voice is careful. “Maximoff--what happened.”
Wanda doesn’t sit.
She stands at the head of the table like it’s her throne and the world has forgotten that fact.
“She is in surgery,” Wanda says, and the words are flat, like she’s saying the sky is blue, except everyone in the room feels the weight of it.
Fury’s jaw tightens. “Status.”
Wanda’s fingers curl against the tabletop.
Her nails are short. Controlled.
But the wood beneath her palm creaks faintly.
“Blunt-force thoracic trauma,” Wanda says, voice precise. Clinical. Like she’s reciting a report. “Pulmonary contusion. Internal bleeding. Airway compromise.”
The medical chief nods grimly. “We’re doing everything we can. She’s in the best hands.”
Wanda’s eyes snap to him. “She should not be in surgery.”
No one speaks.
Hill’s gaze flicks toward the trainee--who was brought in by an agent and is now standing near the door like they wish they could dissolve into the wall.
Hill’s voice is sharp now. “Was this a training failure.”
Wanda turns her head slowly.
Looks at the trainee.
The room goes colder.
“It was disobedience,” Wanda says. “It was ego. It was stupidity wearing a uniform.”
The trainee’s voice breaks. “I didn’t mean--”
Wanda’s hand lifts.
Not pointing. Not waving.
Just lifting.
The trainee’s mouth clamps shut like an invisible fist closed around their throat.
Yelena makes a small interested sound. Natasha’s posture tightens.
Fury’s voice cuts in, calm but edged. “Maximoff.”
Wanda’s gaze doesn’t move. “Do you know what I told them before the breach?”
The trainee’s eyes glisten with tears. Their hands shake harder.
Wanda answers her own question. “I told them not to improvise. I told them to maintain formation. I told them their job was support, not heroics.”
Her voice rises--not louder, but sharper. Each word a blade placed carefully on the table.
“They disobeyed. They stepped into an open doorway, exposed civilians, and forced her-” Wanda’s breath catches on the pronoun like it cuts her throat. “--forced Y/n to take the line.”
Hill’s expression hardens. “Is that accurate.”
The trainee nods frantically, tears slipping down their face. “Yes--yes, ma’am. I-- I panicked. I thought I could--”
Wanda’s hand tightens on the table.
The lights flicker.
A pen on the far end rolls, then lifts an inch off the surface like the room itself is recoiling.
“You thought you could,” Wanda repeats, and her voice---God, her voice is so calm it becomes the most frightening thing in the room.
Natasha steps closer, low in Wanda’s ear. “Wanda. Don’t.”
Wanda turns, just enough that Natasha can see her face.
And it’s not rage alone.
It’s terror. It’s grief. It’s love with nowhere safe to go.
Wanda looks back at Hill and Fury.
“You put her on my team,” Wanda says. “You assigned her to my supervision because you knew she was different. You knew she was… vulnerable.”
Fury’s eye narrows. “Don’t do this, Maximoff.”
Wanda’s lips part in a humorless exhale. “Do what. Tell you the truth?”
Hill’s expression is brittle. “Wanda--”
Wanda cuts her off.
“No,” Wanda says, voice finally cracking with heat. “No. You will listen.”
The room stills.
Even Fury doesn’t interrupt.
Wanda steps away from the table and paces once--one tight loop like a caged animal trying to find the seam in the walls.
“She came to us from somewhere none of you can pronounce,” Wanda says, voice low and venomous. “She learned our language. Our procedures. Our rules. She put her fear in a box and labeled it ‘handle later’ because that is what you asked of her.”
Her throat works.
Her hands tremble for half a second.
She curls them into fists to hide it.
“And today,” Wanda continues, eyes bright, “she bled out on a concrete floor because someone decided protocol was optional.”
The trainee makes a small broken sound.
Wanda whips around. “Do you know what it sounded like.”
Silence.
Wanda takes a step toward the trainee.
The air vibrates.
Natasha moves with her, ready to intervene if Wanda goes too far.
Wanda’s voice drops to a whisper that carries anyway.
“Do you know what it sounded like when she couldn’t breathe.”
The trainee sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I swear--”
Wanda’s magic pulses out involuntarily, scarlet pressure that makes the trainee’s knees buckle.
They drop to the floor with a choked gasp, palms braced on the tile.
“Wanda,” Hill says sharply, taking a step forward.
Fury’s voice is iron. “Enough.”
Wanda’s head snaps toward them.
Her eyes are wild now.
“Enough?” she repeats, incredulous. “Enough is what you say when someone breaks a vase.”
She points at the trainee--one sharp motion.
“This,” Wanda says, voice shaking now with restrained fury, “is what you say when someone breaks a person.”
The lights flicker again. The screen behind Hill glitches for a second.
Yelena mutters, almost reverent, “Oh, this is good.”
Natasha shoots her a look that could cauterize steel.
Wanda inhales.
Her chest rises, falls.
She forces herself back into control like it’s a physical act.
Then she speaks again, colder.
“This trainee is removed from field operations effective immediately,” Wanda says. “They will not touch a weapon on a mission for the next six months. They will be reassigned to support and simulation only. They will retrain from day one under direct observation.”
Hill opens her mouth
Wanda cuts her off again, eyes flashing. “And they will apologize. To her. When she wakes up.”
Fury’s tone is clipped. “You don’t get to dictate punishment.”
Wanda’s smile is sharp. “Then you do it. Right now. Tell me what consequence exists in this building that equals the sound of her choking on blood.”
No one answers.
Because there isn’t one.
The medical chief clears his throat carefully. “Commander… the surgical team will update us soon. This--this meeting--”
Wanda’s head snaps toward him. “I called you because I want you to understand something.”
She steps closer to the table again, palms flattening against it, leaning forward like she’s about to bite the world.
“If she dies,” Wanda says, and her voice goes so quiet it chills the room, “you will not have a Scarlet Witch problem.”
Everyone stills.
Fury’s eye narrows to a lethal slit. “Maximoff.”
Wanda’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“You will have a Wanda Maximoff problem,” she corrects softly. “And I will not be reasonable.”
Natasha’s hand clamps onto Wanda’s shoulder--hard. Grounding. A warning only Wanda can feel.
“Wanda,” Natasha says, low. “Don’t say things you can’t take back.”
Wanda blinks once.
A tear slips down her cheek.
She doesn’t wipe it away.
“I don’t care,” Wanda whispers, voice breaking at the edges. “I don’t care about reasonable.”
Her eyes flick toward the closed door behind which your body is currently being cut open to keep you alive.
Her breath trembles again, and this time she doesn’t hide it.
“I told her to come back,” Wanda says, and the words are almost childlike in their rawness. “I promised her.”
The room shifts. Even Hill’s face softens for a fraction.
Fury’s expression stays hard, but his voice lowers. “Maximoff. Go to the waiting area. Let the doctors work.”
Wanda’s gaze snaps back, sharp. “No. I’m not leaving this floor.”
Hill exhales. “Wanda--”
Wanda turns, eyes cutting to the trainee one last time.
The trainee is still on the floor, shaking, tears dripping onto tile. Terrified. Guilty. Ruined.
Wanda’s voice is lethal calm.
“You will remember this for the rest of your life,” she says. “Because if she wakes up and asks me why she got hurt, I will tell her the truth.”
The trainee sobs harder.
Wanda looks back at leadership, and all softness drains from her face again.
“I am going to the surgical wing doors,” Wanda says. “I will wait where I can see her come back out.”
Fury’s jaw tightens. “That’s not how this works.”
Wanda’s eyes flash. “Watch me.”
And she turns on her heel.
Natasha follows immediately--because Natasha knows you don’t let Wanda Maximoff walk through a hallway like that alone. Yelena trails behind, strangely quiet now.
As Wanda strides out, the meeting room remains frozen for a beat.
Hill looks at Fury. “She’s in love with her.”
Fury’s expression doesn’t change. “I know.”
Hill’s voice is tight. “That’s a problem.”
Fury’s eye flicks toward the door Wanda left through, then toward the surgical wing down the hall as if he can see it through walls.
His voice is low.
“So is losing the girl.”
Wanda reaches the surgical doors and stops so abruptly it’s like she hits an invisible wall.
The corridor here is quieter. Cleaner. The air smells like antiseptic and cold metal.
A sign reads AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Wanda stands under it like a threat.
Her hands are still stained red.
Her breathing is too shallow.
Natasha stops beside her. Doesn’t speak. Just stands.
Yelena leans against the wall and folds her arms, eyes on Wanda like she’s watching a bomb and trying to guess when it will go off.
Minutes pass like hours.
Then the surgical doors swing open
and Wanda’s entire body snaps tight like a bowstring pulled to breaking.
A doctor steps out, mask lowered, eyes tired.
Wanda’s voice is barely a whisper.
“How is she.”
The doctor looks at her hands, at her face, at the blood, and seems to decide honesty is safer than soothing.
“She’s alive,” he says. “But it’s critical. We’re still working.”
Wanda’s knees almost buckle.
Natasha’s hand catches her elbow, subtle, quick, before she can fall.
Wanda doesn’t thank her.
She just stares at the doors like she could will them open.
Like she could climb inside and hold your lungs in place with her bare hands.
Her voice breaks, raw and quiet.
“Tell her,” Wanda whispers, eyes shining. “Tell her I’m here.”
The doctor nods once--because even if he doesn’t know how to handle gods and witches, he knows love when it’s bleeding in front of him.
“I will,” he says, and disappears back inside.
The doors swing shut again.
Wanda stands there, unmoving.
Waiting.
Breathing only because you are.
The minutes don’t pass like minutes.
They pass like punishment, each one stretched thin, each one sharp at the edges.
Wanda doesn’t sit.
Natasha tries once, quietly, to guide her toward the chairs in the corner of the corridor. Wanda doesn’t even look at them. It’s like the concept of resting has been deleted from her body.
She stands in front of the surgical doors the way she stood in front of you on the battlefield--like if she holds her ground hard enough, nothing gets through.
Not death.
Not bad news.
Not the universe.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattles and then fades away. An intercom chirps and a voice calls a code you don’t understand.
Wanda understands nothing but the absence of you.
Her hands are still stained. Someone tried to offer wipes. She ignored them.
She keeps flexing her fingers like she can still feel your pulse in her palm.
Natasha leans on the wall beside her, arms crossed, eyes forward. The picture of calm--except every few minutes her gaze flicks to Wanda like she’s taking silent measurements: how close to the edge, how close to breaking, how close to burning the world down.
Yelena paces once, then stops, then paces again. Finally she mutters, “This is stupid. Humans are too fragile.”
Natasha doesn’t answer.
Wanda doesn’t move.
A nurse appears once, glances at Wanda’s face, and decides to walk the other way.
Time keeps dragging its nails down the corridor.
Wanda’s throat works around air that feels too thin. She stares at the surgical doors so hard it starts to feel like she’s trying to peel them open with her mind--not to invade, not to interfere, but to see you.
To confirm you’re real.
To confirm you didn’t evaporate into a nightmare the moment they took you away.
Her lips part on a whisper that is barely sound.
“Please.”
Natasha hears it anyway. Natasha always does.
“You did what you could,” Natasha says quietly.
Wanda’s eyes flick to her--bright, feverish. “I did not.”
Natasha’s jaw tightens. “Wanda--”
“I should have been faster.” Wanda’s voice is flat, merciless. “I should have seen it before it happened.”
“You can’t predict every idiot move a trainee makes,” Natasha says, controlled.
Wanda’s expression twists--pain, rage, grief, all braided together. “I can. I should. That is my job.”
Natasha exhales through her nose. “Your job is not to carry every loss like it’s your fault.”
Wanda’s gaze cuts back to the doors. “It’s not a loss,” she says, like the word itself is poison. “Not yet.”
Another stretch of silence.
Then, soft footsteps.
A shift of air.
The surgical doors swing open.
Wanda’s body reacts before her mind does. Her shoulders lift like she’s bracing for impact. Her hands curl into fists. The red in her veins rises, instinctive--protective, vicious, ready.
A surgeon steps out.
Mask lowered. Face drawn with fatigue. A smear of something dark on his sleeve.
Wanda’s voice comes out wrong--too quiet, too raw.
“Tell me.”
The surgeon looks at her like he understands he’s holding a match over gasoline. He chooses his words carefully.
“She’s alive,” he says.
Wanda’s breath leaves her in a sound that is almost a sob, almost a laugh, almost a collapse.
Natasha’s hand clamps on Wanda’s arm, steadying her without comment.
The surgeon continues, tone clinical, because that’s what he has to do to stay upright in a world where people break.
“Vest did its job. But the blunt force--she took significant thoracic trauma. Multiple rib fractures, severe pulmonary contusion. We placed a chest tube and stabilized internal bleeding. The airway incision bought us the time we needed.”
Wanda listens like a statue.
Like if she moves, the words will change.
“She’s sedated,” the surgeon says. “She’ll be in the ICU. We’re keeping her on oxygen support. She’s going to be in pain when she wakes up.”
Wanda swallows. Her eyes are wet, but her expression is fierce. “Can I see her.”
The surgeon hesitates--because they always hesitate with Wanda. Because she’s power wrapped in human skin, and people are never sure where the line is.
“Briefly,” he says. “One at a time. No touching the airway site. Keep it calm.”
Wanda nods once. Sharp. Immediate. Like she’ll obey any rule on earth if it gets her to you.
The surgeon steps aside.
The doors open wider.
And Wanda moves.
Not fast.
Not like the battlefield.
She walks like someone approaching a chapel, like the air itself might shatter if she breathes too hard.
Natasha follows a step behind, then stops at the threshold when a nurse lifts a hand.
“Only one,” the nurse says gently, and her eyes flick to Wanda with something like reverence and caution.
Natasha pauses, then nods once. “I’ll be right here.”
Wanda doesn’t look back.
She steps through.
The ICU is dimmer than the hallway, blessedly so. The lights are low, the air cool, the sound softened, machines humming and beeping in steady patterns, like the room itself is designed to keep panic from taking root.
You’re there.
In the bed.
Too still.
Your skin looks too pale against the sheets. Your hair is damp and tangled, a trace of dried blood near your mouth that someone tried to clean. Your chest rises and falls, shallow, assisted, stubborn.
There’s tape at your throat where the incision was. Tubing, oxygen, monitors.
A chest drain line curves from your side under the blanket.
Your hands are resting near your hips, palms slightly curled like you fell asleep mid-reach.
Wanda stops at the foot of the bed.
For a second she doesn’t move.
Like she can’t trust her legs to carry her closer.
Then she takes one slow step.
Another.
Her breathing catches on the sound of the monitor.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Life, reduced to electricity and rhythm.
She comes to your bedside and just… stands there, staring, eyes dragging over every bandage and tube like she’s memorizing them, like she’s counting proof that you made it through something that should’ve taken you.
Her hands hover in the air, unsure where to go. Wanda Maximoff--who can grab the fabric of reality and pull--looks helpless for the first time in a way that is almost unbearable to witness.
Her lower lip trembles.
She clamps her jaw to stop it.
A soft sound escapes her anyway, a broken little exhale.
“Oh, detka…”
She reaches out--slow, careful, obeying the rules like they’re sacred--and cups your cheek with the backs of her fingers, barely there.
Not touching the tape. Not tugging anything. Just… reminding herself you’re warm.
Your skin is warm.
You’re warm.
Wanda’s eyes close for half a second, and when they open there’s a shine in them that isn’t just tears.
It’s relief so violent it looks like pain.
She leans down until her forehead rests against the edge of the mattress near your shoulder, careful, controlled.
Her voice drops to a whisper meant only for you.
“You scared me,” she says, and it’s not an accusation. It’s a confession. “You scared me so badly I couldn’t think.”
Her fingers tremble against your cheek. She presses a kiss there, gentle, almost nothing. A brush of lips like a vow sealed in secret.
Then another, to your temple.
She swallows hard.
“You did everything right,” she whispers, like she needs you to hear it even through sedation. “You did what I trained you to do. You protected them.”
Her breath hitches.
“And I am so…” Her voice cracks. She inhales, tries again. “I am so proud of you.”
A tear slips down and drops silently onto the blanket.
Wanda doesn’t wipe it away.
She straightens slowly, gaze sweeping your face again, and her expression shifts, softness giving way to something possessive and resolute, the same steel that kept her on her knees beside you in the hallway.
She leans closer, mouth near your ear.
“Listen to me,” she whispers, voice trembling with the weight of command and love tangled together. “You come back. You heal. You wake up and you look at me, and you let me--”
Her throat works.
She exhales shakily.
“--you let me take care of you.”
Wanda’s hand slides down to your fingers. She doesn’t lace them. She doesn’t squeeze too hard.
She just places her fingertips against yours, like she’s afraid too much pressure will shatter the moment.
“You are not leaving,” she says, voice low and certain like she’s speaking it into existence. “Not on my watch.”
The monitor keeps its steady rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
And Wanda stands there, breathing with you, eyes locked on your face as if she can will you awake through sheer devotion.
Outside the glass, you can faintly make out a dark shape, Natasha, waiting exactly where she promised, arms crossed, silent guard at the door.
Wanda doesn’t look away from you.
Not even once.
Because you’re here.
Because you made it.
Because for the first time since the bullet hit, the world feels like it’s stopped trying to steal you, and Wanda Maximoff, your supervisor, your shield, your secret, finally allows herself one fragile, trembling moment of peace.
