#agnes x reader

[pigeonp0st]

heelloo!! uhm i was thinking could u write an agatha harkness x reader one with Agatha sees r with another person (just as closer friends but Agatha doesn’t know it). Then Agatha invites r to her house and Agatha has to bite down on their lip so hard whenever r talks about the other person, angst with happy ending please (and if your are comfortable, maybe you can add smut)?

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary:

Agatha gets jealous of your relationship with Wanda. Emotion ensues.

Warning:

Jealousy, angst (not really)

Notes:

Thanks for the request! I wrote this pretty fast and have not even read it over once…I’ll probably fix it up later…anyways! Hope you enjoy still <3 I always love an Agatha request

——

Agatha stopped Wanda for you. She brought down Westview, and forced Wanda into reality. In the process she ruined both of their fantasies; Wanda’s fantasy of a perfect life, and Agathas of all consuming power.

She did it for you. Because the prospect of power was nothing compared to the prospect of your devastation. Because you asked her to. You with your warm eyes, full of more emotion and humanity than both Agatha and Wanda have in power combined.

You asked her to, and there was no other option.

So no. She doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret trailing behind you and Wanda to help the Avengers, doesn’t regret following you. Can’t possibly. She doesn’t regret it, but Wanda smiles at you, leans in close, and Agatha feels a bit like she’s been betrayed. Betrayed because you smile back, and whisper something into Wanda’s ear that makes her flush a color that’s just perfect for the Scarlett Witch.

Agatha grits her teeth and returns to her book. She’s lived centuries and has never felt more childish.

It shouldn’t bother how close you and Wanda have gotten, she knows. She has no right to feel betrayed. She hasn’t done anything she’s done expecting anything more than your happiness. You aren’t hers.

You aren’t hers, and so Agatha just fumes silently in the corner of the room and imagines burning this whole damn tower down.

You don’t even know how Agatha cares, she knows. Every bit of vulnerability, love, and affection is hidden behind layers of humor and sarcasm.

You watch Agatha with distrust still because of it; wondering about alternative motives. Everyone in this god forsaken tower does, and Agatha has no idea why she’s here giving up centuries of planning for this game. These people are no different to those in Westview. Children playing dress up and pretend. All of them wearing costumes of heroes who aren’t afraid.

Cowards. All of them.

Your loud laugh draws Agatha’s attention from her page. Wanda is smiling at you with a gentleness Agatha can’t afford, and Agatha thinks, both with affection and a heavy heart; all of them but you.

She knows that despite her help she has given no one here good reason to trust her. She admits to herself that she enjoys letting them think she’s scheming—that she plays into it.

They’re just as uncaring for her as she is them. They push her away, but all you do is pull her in. To be brave and foolish is one in the same to Agatha, and she loves you for all the things she can’t afford to be.

—-

It’s only the next day that Agatha walks into the compound looking for you. She wants your help to test her potion.

She’s been visiting every day this week, and she’s beginning to feel a bit like the person she thought she wouldn’t ever be again. She’s beginning to settle into the thoughts instead of jerk away.

Then she sees you. You’re on top of Wanda, both you and her sleeping peacefully on the couch. Your head on her chest, her hand threaded in your hair, your legs intertwined.

The glass potion in Agatha’s hand shatters violently and loudly, startling only Wanda awake. She jerks and snaps her eyes towards Agatha, always on edge after being raised in war. Their eyes meet for only a second, and then both turn back to you, still sleeping peacefully.

Agatha turns on her heel. Wanda says, with a knowing that ruins her; “wait—”

Agatha, cowardly, no different than the people she despises, and never having claimed otherwise, teleports away.

—-

Agatha avoids the compound for just a week before she caves and invites you over.

She can’t bear to see Wanda, which is a new thing because usually she enjoys tormenting her. The image of her protective hand tangled in your hair, and your possessive leg thrown over her is still fresh in Agatha’s mind though.

Then there’s the text Wanda sent after Agatha left; filled with the same knowing Agatha sensed with her departure. You’re 5 years old.

(Then a bit later; whatever was in that potion melted through the compound. I hope you can magic up some money to fix your tantrum.)

Agatha, the picture of wisdom, sends Wanda two middle fingers and then blocks her.

So, naturally, she’s glad when you show up only an hour after Agatha’s text. No Wanda, for the first time in weeks.

At least—that’s what Agatha expected. It’s an hour later and all you’ve talked about is Wanda. Wanda this, Wanda that. Agatha has always had a challenge with patience, it’s always the biggest challenge of her schemes, and biting on her lip is barely constraining her from lashing out at this point.

It’s when Agatha tones your voice out though, that she notices the hunch to your shoulders, the heaviness in your eyes.

And the bruise around your neck. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? “Who did this to you?”

Agatha drops her dishes immediately, rushing to where you’re seated at the kitchen island. She thinks; who, who, with a desperate frustration as she tilts your head up to inspect the injury. She’ll kill them. Kill them.

For now, she pulls her magic forward, setting to the task of healing the violence inflicted on you, but you pull away from Agatha just as suddenly as she calls on her magic; angry in a way Agatha is caught off guard by.

“All you are is hot and cold,” you mutter, looking away. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days and you haven’t responded, then I come as soon as you call and you ignore me for an hour. Now…now you suddenly care that I’m hurt?”

Agatha blinks, once, twice, and then you’re standing up and pacing her kitchen. Agatha stands, hand still hovering where it was touching your cheek, and watches.

“If you’re done—If you’ve already gotten what you needed from us, whatever it is, and are done, just tell me. Tell me and stop pretending to care,” you plead. Agatha notices the dark circles under your eyes. Notices all the parts of you that are dimmed now that she’s not stuck on Wanda, Wanda. “I can’t play pretend like you do, Ag. I don’t get what it serves you to act like you care about me. I have nothing to offer.”

You’re spiraling in the middle of Agatha’s kitchen, and Agatha is torn between all of the parts of herself. The one that wants to laugh and brush this all aside, the one that wants to comfort you, the one that wants to kiss you, and the one she settles on; the version of her that’s angry and feeling misunderstood by the person she knows she’s done everything to deceive.

She’s not often hit by regret, or not often this out of control over her own emotions. It makes her angrier. Angrier because it takes her back and makes her feel younger than she’s been in centuries. She’s not that child anymore, can’t be.

Don’t you get that you’re ruining her?

—-

“I care,” Agatha whispers urgently, silently fuming and with her face morphed into a frustrated scowl. “Of course I care,” she says, like it should have never been in question—because she’s made it so clear apparently, you think disbelievingly, unable to help the scoff that chokes out of you.

Yeah right.

With more disappointment than Agatha could ever understand, you shake your head. “The only thing you care about, Agatha, is power. You tell me yourself all the time. I just thought— ” you pause, untamed tears coming to your eyes. “I don’t know what I thought…”

The moment the words leave your lips, you and Agatha enter into a standoff. Agatha furious and raging, and you too wrapped in your own emotions to register it as it is.

Agatha angry for the first time—at this. At the doubting of her care. It should say all you need to know, but you’ve missed it completely now that you’ve stopped looking.

It’s another moment of glaring before Agatha scoffs and stalks forward, pushing you into the wall and trapping you. Anyone else would be scared, but you just continue to glare (even as you flush).

There’s a part of you somewhere, one you don’t notice, but that Agatha does. A part of you that knows Agatha would never hurt you.

“I’m too old for this, ” Agatha grits out, and then her hand is around your throat. You don’t even flinch. Aren’t even surprised when you feel the rush of healing magic. All you’re surprised about is just that— your lack of surprise.

Agatha’s eyes turn inspecting, she shifts your head to the side with her other hand, ignoring your protests. You’re beginning to feel like a child, beginning to see things as they are.

Of course Agatha cares, you know. Somehow it hurts just as much. How could she both care and be so unpredictable, so cold? Had she thought of how you’d feel at all when you ignored her for the week? The other Avengers grew suspicious, checking everywhere around the compound for something stolen. You thought something terrible happened to her.

Only Wanda seemed unbothered. “She’s just throwing a tantrum,” she said, and wouldn’t explain further.

“Who did this?” Agatha repeats, pulling you from your thoughts.

“It was a mission”, you explained, the fire leaving you with it. You can’t afford to be mad at Agatha. You need and miss her too much.

Agatha growls, not settled at all. “Isn’t Wanda supposed to be protecting you?” She asks venomously, her jaw tightening along with her hand. “What good is your little girlfriend if she can’t even do that?”

It’s so laced with bitterness, with wanting, you’re left to blink at her, utterly shocked. Does Agatha think—? Wanda’s voice comes to your head; “she saw us cuddling and looked like she was going to murder me with the shattered glass in her hand.”

Seriously?

“What?” Agatha asks, self conscious in a way she never is. Self conscious because she likes—possibly loves you back.

All of this week’s turmoil, and for what? Because the two of you love each other?

—

You’re grinning at Agatha now, and Agatha is completely suspicious and unnerved. She tries to step back but you capture her wrists, pull her even closer.

Agatha’s heart pounds at the look on your face. Like a Cheshire cat. She can’t escape the feeling that she’s been caught. She eyes you with uneasiness.

You look at her expectantly now. “So much wisdom and yet you’re still so stupid?”

“Stupid?” Agatha repeats with disgust, like the word isn’t even in the dictionary.

You nod. “Agatha,” you breathe, affectionately. Agatha feels her world shift. “You know I love you, don’t you? Wanda is only ever going to be my frie—”

Agatha doesn’t let you finish. Couldn’t bear too. She’s always standing on the precipice of something. Always hovering over lines, too impatient to stand back, and your I love you snaps Agatha forward, like she’s been waiting for it for centuries. She kisses you roughly, pushing you back against the wall, and tries to claim it.

I love you, to the person who has never felt loved. She turned her back on love the moment love turned her back on her. She was only a teenager then, realizing that there was not a strength she could have that would make her enough for her mother—for her clan. There was not a person she could be beside herself, and never a version that wasn’t lacking, just out of reach of affection.

Then you. You showed up in Westview, strong enough to break in unaffected, and suspicious of Agatha, suspicious and then knowing, but still caring through it, and Agatha felt herself enough in the moments her mother would have claimed were her weakest; her moments where she was vulnerable and honest.

She kisses you like you’re her testament of her strength, now. Like you’re a testament of just how enough she is. She’s always been wanting, and doesn’t know how to exist without it. Without the yearning of; more, more, more, but as her kisses slow down, turn loving instead of passionate, she thinks for the first time that to exist like this—for the first time at peace, is something she could get used to forever.

You’re breathing heavily when Agatha breaks away, completely flustered and shaken. Agatha feels her heart pick up again, and thinks, no—she’ll always be wanting, and moves in to kiss you again.

You laugh, so joyful and happy—because of her. Because of her—a hand over Agatha’s mouth to stop her. “Are we ever going to talk?” You wonder breathlessly. “About feelings? About where you got that idea about Wanda and me?

Agatha pulls your hand away, smiles devilishly and possessively. “After I’ve had you against every corner of this house, we’ll invite Wanda over and talk over everything you’d like.”

You groan in exasperation, but there’s no protesting when Agatha kisses you next, and from the way you practically fall into the way Agatha’s hand curls loosely around your neck, she doesn’t expect one anytime soon.

#marvel x reader #marvel x female reader #marvel imagine #marvel x you #marvel #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda marvel #agnes x you #agnes wandavision #agnes x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha: darkhold diaries #avenger x reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x female y/n #x fem oc #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you

[zafirosreverie]

Universe was too big for me to hold (Agatha x F!Reader)

The silence of the night was suddenly broken when a cry of pain ran through the entire place. Maybe it was a good thing that Westview was abandoned because if anyone had gone to find out what was going on, they would have been met with a not-so-pretty scene. Not that she cared, of course.

Agatha continued throwing all the objects that crossed her path, not caring about their value or provenance, and not even finding any comfort in seeing them smash against the wall, but it was okay, she wasn't doing it for comfort, she just needed to get out a deep pain and the rage that gnawed at her soul.

She had failed. 

She had failed so pathetically, so miserably, that just remembering it filled her with an intense, ancient rage that burned inside her as if fire, not blood, ran through her veins. Cursed the hour she had felt the power of chaos magic, cursed the moment she had tempted the scarlet witch, and cursed the second you had appeared out of nowhere.

You shouldn't have been there. You shouldn't have gone looking for her, she wasn't even sure you should have noticed her to begin with. She had always known that she was doomed to a life of solitude, to a life sentence of bitterness and hate. Love had not been created for her, because everything she touched got corrupted.

She had made peace with that years ago, she had resigned herself to the fact that her road was hers alone, without friendly stops or extra passengers. But then…then she met you, and you changed her entire life, turned her reality upside down, and broke every single one of her beliefs. You showed her that there was more than one way, and you planted in her the small hope that, perhaps, love could be named after her.

After living for more than three hundred years, there were many things that her mind had forgotten over time, things that had once been important to her but were now nothing more than a blur in her memory. But even if she lived a million more years, she could never forget the day you had entered her life, so pure and innocent, full of life and ready to love the creature that everyone feared, the being in which she had converted.

Agatha was no fool, she knew that her name had quickly become taboo after what she had done with her mother's coven, and it was not common for the few witches who recognized her to run away from her or try to kill her, the looks of ice, fear or hate were not foreign to her.

But you hadn't had any of that when you looked at her. In your eyes, there was nothing but almost childlike fascination, tenderness, emotion, and admiration, and your kind smile told her of a tentative promise, an illusion that was just beginning to take shape in the veil of time, and she couldn't help but feel drawn to your velvet arms.

Of course, she wasn't going to say that everything had been wonderful and smooth because she was Agatha Harkness and trouble was always around the corner, and on more than one occasion she was sure you would leave her, but you always had surprised her with your loyalty and infinite love towards her and you proved to her that no matter what you had to face for her, you would do it without a second thought.

Agatha found that complete surrender intriguing and inspiring, so she swore to you, to herself, and to the entire world that she would never give you less than the same devotion you had for her. And she had been able to do it for almost two hundred years. Then Wanda happened.

The brunette was not going to run away from her own fault, she knew that it was all because of her, that her mistakes had accumulated a huge debt that you had ended up paying. At some point in her history, she had believed her own legend, she had believed that she really was the most powerful magical being in the world and that she could challenge the universe itself.

Her ambition had been enormous, and eating the world didn't seem like enough for her, so she'd gone after this magic, this bloody red magic, as intoxicating and tempting in the imagination as it was dangerous in essence. She believed Wanda to be a clumsy, pathetic girl with no skills, a puppet that would be easy to manipulate at her whim, she believed that she had the perfect victim, and she entered the spider's web without suspecting it.

She was wrong. She miscalculated and messed with the one witch no one should ever piss off. Wanda had awesome power, greater than any magic the brunette had ever known, but she was unstable, too broken by a cruel life that wouldn't stop beating her down. The redhead was fighting the demons she had created herself, and Agatha had entered the game just as the bomb was about to go off. And she got burned.

Once upon a time, she had sworn to protect you from everything, she had sworn to fight the universe itself if necessary, but she had not been able to even win against a witch who did not know her own power, she had bitten off more than she could chew and the universe laughed at her.

She could never forget the day she met you, but that moment was now fighting in her mind against the horrible vision of seeing you appear in front of her, absorbing Wanda's final attack. Your laughter would be confused with the memory of your cries of pain and she would never be able to think of you again, without her chest aching. Because you were dead.

Your lifeless body had fallen in front of her, your lifeless eyes pierced her soul, your expression of pain would remain frozen in time, and your stopped heart turned off hers too. She didn't even feel when Wanda absorbed her magic, she could only see you, dead, gone.

She was alone now, condemned to wander a ghost town, without magic, without life, without love. Only with a broken heart and a debt with the stars.

______________

a/n: I’m not even going to say that I’m sorry :)

#reader insert #x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness preference #agatha harkness #agnes x reader #mcu x reader #MCU #marvel x reader #wandavision x reader #wandavision #gay for kathryn hahn #giveagathaagirlfriendchallenge

[aggieharkness]

I have a request for Agatha. So you know how Agatha is always the top what if R was top I would absolutely die of happiness to see one where R tops Agatha and she doesn’t really know how to reasons to her cause she hasn’t ever been topped before.

Thristy for more than blood (Part 3) (Agatha x reader)

Summary: You and Agatha have been arrested and taken to SWORD headquarters to kill you both, but once free you have a lot of lost time to make up for and Agatha can be very persuasive.

Subsummary: finally you decide to turn the tables and let Agatha have a taste of her own medicine.

a/n: I hope you like what I wrote but if it's not what you had in mind or there's something you don't quite like tell me and I'll change it or write you something else, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)) Part 1 and part 2 of this series can be found here.

warnings: smut, blood, public sex, dom/sub situation.

Thristy for more than blood

It was an absolute treat whenever Agatha decided to attend to her magical but dangerous garden. Yeah, the plants were pretty and all that but you didn’t give a crap about them, your eyes were far more interested in the way she would kneel and bend to take care of the soil or to pluck weeds out; it put all those yoga teachers out there to shame. On this clear spring morning she had woken up thinking that today would be a great day to work on her Belladonna and Poison Ivy but she had conveniently forgotten to tell you that before she had left the bedroom, so when you walked down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee your eyes opened wide at the sight. Endless white creamy skin reached your vision from where she was kneeling over a rug, her bottom raised to the air as the upper part of her body was lost in between the leaves of her extremely overgrown plants and a translucent purple mist to protect herself from getting rashes. It wouldn’t be as scandalous as it was if it weren’t for the garments she was wearing. Anything Agatha wore looked exquisite, clinging to her body just in the right places, leaving nothing to the imagination when the occasion called for it, so it wouldn’t have been quite as hot if she had worn her usual black leggings; it always sculpted her ass in the most wonderful way, round and hard almost as if it was fighting to be set free, but no, today she had chosen to wear shorts, and not the basketball player sort of shorts, that wouldn’t be as fun; what she had picked up this morning looked more like underwear than something someone would wear to go to the mall, not that you were complaining, the amount flesh escaping from the jeans was enough to make you forget about coffee, entranced by the way the sun reflected on her skin making it glow. 

There had always been something about her legs, even after centuries of you two being together the sight of her pale flesh that never seemed to end woke up a hunger that you most certainly weren’t going to keep to yourself. When you got up the first thing you had picked up to cover your naked body had been Agatha’s forgotten clothes from the night before,her purple shirt that sometimes you used for sleeping, with just your panties underneath and hair wrapped high up in a bun, the perfect look for your very ungodly intentions. Heading for the garden through the kitchen door you heard soft humming coming from the woman, her ass moving softly from side to side along with the music. You were definitely getting her more of those shorts. As you got closer you saw that her t-shirt had been discarded and was resting beside her bare feet which of course made you realise she might either be wearing nothing waist up or she might be in one of those extremely tiny lace bras that she was so fond of, either way you weren’t going to complain. Her lavender perfume mixed with that of the magical flowers around her, but your nose picked up the spicy scent of her essence, her magic. The sun that came through the leaves created patterns over her skin as they moved with the breeze, making Agatha's body respond by spreading a soft pink tint over her knees and elbows along with goosebumps that followed the line of her spine. The power emanating from her was grandiose, controlled, careful in all her movements and you could feel it deep in your veins calling out for you. And you weren't one to disappoint.

The grasp of your hands on her hips was strong, slightly painful if Agatha wanted to encourage you to go on but it wasn't hurting her by any means. She had sensed your own power as soon as you had stepped into the garden, a smile painting her lips as she plucked daisies out of the bed in which her Belladonna's grew, her covered chest brushing over the soil ever so slightly. When she felt your hands on her body it responded with a quiet biting of her lower lip although you couldn’t see it. She wanted to get this done before full spring came but your skillful movements were proving to be a most exciting distraction and she couldn't really find a reason why she shouldn't indulge you a bit so she slowly came out of her hiding spot revealing her smooth back to you were her dark long hair rested in soft locks. When her head turned to look at you over her shoulder you came face to face with her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. There wasn't anything more beautiful in the world to you. 

-Finally up I see. Find anything interesting in the waistband of my jeans, pumpkin?

-Quite an interesting garment. Doesn't leave much to the imagination, now, does it?

-That's the whole point. - your fingers travelled at a torturously slow pace down her sides towards her butt where her body was trying to escape from the shorts, feeling her firm ass underneath your palms as you kneaded it gently. The movements of your hands were rewarded by a quiet moan that escaped her cherry lips before she could stop it, holding your gaze in a taunting manner. - Learned new tricks, have we?

-One has to innovate Aggie, we can't have a boring sex life. 

-I can assure you that it's impossible to be bored with you. - with a flick of her fingers you were laid over the plucked bed of daisies, purple threads of magic holding you down lazily in place. - All your tricks light me on fire, baby, the way your hips move when we are out, - she crawled around to face you properly giving you a magnificent view of her flushed chest heaving under her tight bra, small bits of dirt still clinging to her skin. The way she moved towards you left your mouth dry but made another set of lips extremely wet, her eyes devouring your body; even without touching you your body felt as if it was about to burst into flames. Her hands made way for her swaying hips until she was hovering over you, her body lowering to press her mouth to your ear, her chest resting over yours over the shirt that you were wearing. - the way I can make you scream into the night. I can do it over and over until your body's so numb you can't even feel my tongue licking you.

She always knew how to turn you on without even touching you, her voice husky and low, as dangerous as she always was, but as much as you wanted to treat yourself you still owed her an earth shattering experience just like the one she had given you last night. The only tinsy winsy little problem that no one could fix was the fact that she had magic and you didn't. With a twist of her wrist, a snap of her fingers even with the smallest movement of hand she could do anything she wanted to you and it just wouldn't do; she liked to always be in control and when she let you handle things there was always some sort of percentage that she still held some dominance over. In other words you had never fucked her, she always let you fuck her but oh boy, that was about to change. Your hands that had previously been pressed against the flowers were pushing Agatha's arms away, an idea popping into your head.

-Wait a minute, Ags, I need to pee first, I'll be right back. - there was a shadow of doubt in her eyes but she didn't question you, just moved aside to let you up. 

As fast as your legs could run you practically slid into the bathroom but not to do what she thought you were doing, your hand shot towards your makeup bag to grab your liquid eyeliner. The black ink stained your skin as you began to draw runes all over your body: behind your ears, on your armpits, the back of your knees, anywhere really that you knew she would not find or see straight away but wouldn't be able to get rid of. She should thank whoever invented waterproof and smudge proof makeup. As you finished the last one underneath your right boob you threw the eyeliner back into the bag and rushed back out. She had barely moved from her spot, dawning on you when you saw her still very flushed skin that you had done it all at superspeed and had probably taken no more than a few seconds. As soon as her eyes fell on your form again her hand waved, thin strands of purplish magic floating in between her fingers, but this time the puff of her magic dissipated around you without the slightest effect on you. You took the opportunity to jump over her, sending her body backwards into the fresh soil she had just attended to, both hands trapped under your super strength. All she did was raise an eyebrow in a questioning manner narrowing her eyes.

-Do you think you are the only one with tricks up her sleeve? - now that she was secured underneath you by the strength of your hips pressed against hers as you straddled her your hands travelled to your shirt. With each button that you unhooked her eyes became darker, pupils dilating so much her baby blue was barely visible, fingertips brushing over the garment you were wearing as the last button came undone. Her hands shot towards you to push it off your shoulders to reveal what was underneath but you quickly pressed her arms against the soil bending to put your mouth against her ear, shirt hanging open only letting some of your cleavage through. - I'm in charge now. 

-We'll see about that. - another puff of purple mist  came and went, your body still strandling hers completely unbothered. - Why isn't it working? You are not a witch, you can't cast protective spells non verbally.

-I'm following your teachings, buttercup.

-Stealing my words?

-I'm going to steal more than just a nickname. - returning to a sitting position you let the garment slide off your body before tossing it to the side. Her eyes devoured you now that your firm breasts were out for her to see but a little black thing just above your collarbone caught Agatha's eyes and upon closer inspection when you lowered your body again she connected the dots.

-You little shit.

-Ah ah ah, language Aggie. You have a very bad habit of teaching runes to every living thing.

-Not all of them are mine, you've been snooping in my books.

-Obviously, and the best part is that you can't do anything about it. I'm in control now, so relax and enjoy the ride.

Your tongue made contact with that sweet spot behind her ear sending shivers down her spine but she refused to let out a sound. Never in her life had she ever been a bottom, always a top and she wasn’t very pleased with the fact that you were using her own area of expertise against her to do what you pleased; without magic you were the most powerful being in the relationship. Your kisses followed to her pulse point feeling the rush of blood through her veins as each beat of her heart made contact with your tongue leaving a tingling sensation. Sensitive thin skin protected her jugular from the world; she knew perfectly well you could just bite your fangs into her and suck each droplet of that delicious metallic liquid that gave her life but you very much preferred to feel the rush of it hearing the speed of her heart as you played her like a musical instrument drinking each noise, each little motion as if it were water. Sucking softly you finally drew a quiet moan out of her, smiling against her flesh encouraging you to suck harder, brushing her skin with your fangs leaving two deep red marks. Agatha squirmed underneath you to try and get some sort of control over you but the tender purple magic simply crawled lazily around you, she couldn’t even read your thoughts, she was completely clueless as to what your next move would be and it unsettled her. The tension on her muscles was hard not to notice and made you think about whether to give her what she wanted or what she needed. Her eyes locked with yours when you rose to stare at her seeing that condescending veil cross them before returning to her previous aroused state. She really thought she was in any sort of position to get mad at you for forcing her to enjoy herself, it made your blood boil; the nerve of this woman. Your hands practically slammed her arms against the floor earning a pained growl mixed with pleasure, your face barely a few inches away from hers.

-Such an ungrateful little witch. You think you can do as you please? You are mine and I’m going to make sure you don’t forget that I know how to play as well.

She was taken aback by this show of power from your part but for once since she had woken up that morning she was actually looking forward to this new side of you, her previous doubts and need for control forgotten in the back of her head at the sight of your glowing eyes barely a few inches from her. Your mouth crashed against hers unceremoniously bruising and biting at her cherry lips forcing her to open her mouth granting your tongue access. It was hard to breathe but her mind was completely focused on the way you felt against her, the taste of the chocolate cookie she had left in your nightstand still on your tongue intoxicating her senses. When you finally broke the kiss her gasps for air were loud but you didn’t give her time to take a proper breath before your mouth attacked the flesh of her neck sucking hard making sure to leave bruises and angry red marks. In between the scents of the Belladonna and daisies something musky and sweet caught your attention. One of your hands let go of her, travelling down her side purposely brushing against her breast before you found the waistband of those devilish shorts but you didn’t follow the path Agatha had hoped you would do, no, your fingertips caressed the fabric as it went lower until it felt a damp spot just in between her legs. So wet just for you and you had barely started. The palm of your hand was pressed against that exact spot making her buckle her hips but you quickly pulled it away returning to the trail of kisses that you had been delivering all over her chest. What you were doing to her could be considered old fanshioned torture, but hell, what a way to go she thought as your lips found the fabric of her bra, nipples hard underneath the black lace. She didn’t notice, her eyes were too focused on what you were doing, but with each kiss, each brushing of your fangs over her skin a whine or a moan would escape her throat, growing more urgent and demanding as your actions became slower, teasing. 

When your mouth made contact with her breast the ungodly sound that she made brought a new rush of accomplishment and raw arousal through your body but you ignored the latter and carried on sucking and playing with the peak twirling it around your tongue through the fabric. The way the garment felt against it along with what you were doing with your mouth was heavenly, and when she went to move her hands towards your head she found that they were still trapped in that iron grip of yours. It was frustrating and she didn’t bother to keep quiet about it, mixing a new rush of pleasure with the wine of disappointment. Such arrogance couldn’t be rewarded, she had to learn to lay back and relax, let things come her way, so with certain reluctance you let go of her nipple with a dull pop sound and sat back to look at her, flesh red and bruised where you had done your masterpieces, chest heavy and flushed along with her cheeks, and all for you. The trees above you provided enough shade not to fully set Agatha on fire out of arousal and frustration, she needed to get things going at a faster rate, to get in charge but it was no use. Blue eyes dared to hold your gaze as if challenging you to do your worst, to give her a weak moment so she could turn the tables but you were smarter than that and played with a card that she wasn’t thinking about. You knew Agatha, her weaknesses and her strengths and knew perfectly well when she was planning something. A rush of anger made you raise your hand not really knowing what was going on until you felt the back of it collide with the soft skin of her cheek, a surprised yelp escaping her lips. You bent over her frame pressing your fingers against her throat, words dangerous filled with power coming out of your mouth. 

-You think you have the right to complain, I am your master, I’m in control of you and you will do anything I say. - she could still breath but the way your slender hand pressed against her sensitive flesh was driving her insane. This whole dom situation was starting to grow on her. - Who is in charge? Say it.

-You are.

-Louder.

-You are! You control me!

Pleased beyond belief she was rewarded by a rough kiss that was planted on her lips both your hands letting go of her arms pressing your palms on her still covered breasts. You fondled them as if they were cushions listening to her yelps of pain and pleasure against your mouth. This whole foreplay situation was starting to bore you, the need to feel more of her, to see more of her was becoming torturous to you instead of her. Without much thought the kiss was broken and your hands ripped the bra apart finally freeing her gorgeous bosom to the spring air around you. She would complain later that this was her favourite bra and all that but right now neither of you gave shit, your thumbs rolling around her stiff peaks drowning in the sounds Agatha was making. In the back of your head there was the question of what if someone happened to come by and see you both like this, staring at your bodies as you gave your wife all the pleasure in the world. It actually made you work harder instead of shying you away, if there was indeed someone out there in the woods hearing the moans and screams that were coming from her then you might as well accomplish two things; give them a show and make her come harder than ever before. Your mouth kissed softly just above her right breast before taking her nipple in your mouth, biting and sucking, your other hand kneading the other one, delivering a long lick over her sternum when you finally decided to head down. 

The waistband of her shorts came in contact with your chin when you finished trailing kisses over her abdomen, long nails scratching her flesh leaving red lines over the pale skin. By then Agatha had stopped fighting you and simply laid there waiting to see what you were going to do next, feeling everything a thousand times enhanced by her magic now that she didn’t have to waste energy holding you in place or using it to fuck you until you laid unconcious. With one sharp motion the shorts were pulled down and thrown aside presenting her fully naked to your eyes, lips swollen and dripping wet, her juices glistening in the sunlight. She bent her knees to grant you a better view, an evil smirk on her lips. Oh, so she thought she was getting you to do just what she wanted, she truly believed she held the power again? Your hand was pressed against her throat sending her back against the soil to lie down, a shadow of fear crossing her eyes ever so briefly, but you knew her better than she knew herself, and it was all a show to get you to pull her up. Your other hand traced slow circles on her thighs moving to the inner part at the pace of a snail until your fingertips found her heated cunt begging you to touch it. Unconsciously she buckled her hips to find some sort of release but the tightening of your hand around her throat served as a warning to stay still. Her juices coated your fingers when they made contact with her lips, spreading her folds apart, exploring every inch you could hearing how her moans were becoming more guttural and deep. Without permission or warning two fingers dipped inside her, a scream tearing its way out of her, but it only made you move them faster, deeper and harder, curving them just so to hit that sweet spot inside her; her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the sudden wave of pleasure, returning to stare at you after a second.

This was a race to see who could maintain the composure longer, but then again you were knuckles deep inside Agatha and she was only grabbing and scratching onto the soil underneath her. Two fingers became three, her moans switching to screams at your increased speed causing black and white spots to begin appearing in her vision, that tightness in her lower belly becoming bigger by the second. Your body bent towards her, the speed never faltering, until your mouth was an inch away from her ear but what you were going to say was cut by her quiet words that took you aback. “Bite me” it wasn’t much of a request, it was an order and one you loved to comply with whenever she wanted. Your fangs sank deep into the skin of her shoulder, the metallic taste of her blood assaulting your senses as you drank drop by drop. She was two seconds away from letting go, the pain and the pleasure a killer mix that she couldn’t get enough of. “Cum for me, Agatha'' the instant those words reached her brain she exploded like fireworks, a white hot fire spreading all over her body as she came, walls contracting around your fingers coating your hand in her juices, back arching of the floor with a loud powerful scream, but you weren’t done yet. She whined when your fingers left her body feeling empty, but much to her surprise the hand on her throat didn’t move, the grasp only became harder as your fingers were exchanged for that skilful tongue of yours. She hadn’t even come down from her high when she felt your mouth on her pussy licking her clean from the mess she had created, tongue playing with her folds until it grew tired and searched for her clit, finding it wollen and needy. One suck, then another and some playful grazing of your teeth over it and she was screaming for the second time, another orgasm claiming her but you didn’t stop, your movements only became faster until you felt her tensing underneath you for the third time, pushing your fingers inside her at superspeed as deep as they could go. 

She felt as if she was floating in the centre of the universe as her third orgasm washed over her and instead of hearing that primal scream, her mouth opened in a big O the force of the pleasure having stolen her ability to speak, back arching off the floor until she was almost sitting with her thighs trapping you in between her legs, tongue still circling her clit and fingers pumping in and out of her. You had expected her to take a bit more time to come to be honest, but that game of dominance you were playing had her on the edge since you had pressed her against the floor the first time, it had aroused her more than that time you had opened the door completely naked with a dildo deep inside you and that time the sex had been amazing, but today the way her mind was completely gone from this plane of exixstance as you helped her ride her orgasm was something she had never experienced in her life, and there had been extremely good ones over the centuries. She slumped back onto the soil completely spent her body still twitching every once in a while with her eyes completely closed focusing on the way her limbs felt like melted butter. She hadn’t even noticed that your fingers weren’t inside her any more nor that you were kneeling in between her legs looking at her completely cherry red body with her chest rising and falling in quick breaths. Both of you spent nearly five minutes like this until Agatha was able to open her eyes, her baby blue glistening with a veil of pleasure that refused to leave her yet. You took the opportunity to run a single finger between her folds watching as she shivered from overstimulation following it in the air until it was placed inside your mouth sucking the sweet taste of her.

-Someone has been eating pineapple.

-I had a bowl of fruit before you came down. Like it?

-Love it. Want to try? - bending over her frame your lips connected with hers in a gentle kiss, a moan at tasting herself escaping her lips revervariting into your mouth. - Well, some feedback would be great, flower.

-I’m never topping you again, but I do think I’m going to have to hide your eyeliner so you don’t use my teachings against me, although I must admit that I wasn’t expecting to see runes all over your body.

-I could get them tattooed if you’d like.

-No, I prefer to have you at the mercy of my powers.

-Who’s at the mercy of who, eh? Watch your mouth Harkness, you are still underneath me and I won’t hesitate to get the handcuffs or the chains if necessary.

-Bullshit.

-Want to bet? - this time it was Agatha who initiated the kiss but you didn’t mind, by the smell of her she was still leaking juices onto the soil fertilising the flowers underneath

#agatha harkness #kathryn hahn #wandavision #marvel #agatha harkness x reader #agnes x reader

[that-tmr-girl]

How TMR Character would react if someone asked about your sex life

Aris

Offended that anyone thinks they have the right to ask about that

Nobody needs to know about that special part of your relationship, and he makes that clear

Seeing him get protective over it is pretty hot though

Brenda

Looks at the person like they're stupid until they leave

If they're going to try and make you guys uncomfortable by bringing up that private topic, they get to feel it twice as hard

Makes you scream her name later so that person has an answer

Gally

Would start insulting the person

Makes it clear that that's a conversation that he won't have with anybody but his girl

If the person tries again his warning will feel like it had please and thank you in it

Harriet

Messes with the person so they back off

"Why's it matter? It's not like you'll ever find out."

Casually rails you later

Minho

Has a sarcastic response

He'll make the person feel stupid and look like an idiot to anyone that's around

He makes them feel embarrassed so they never ask again

Newt

If you're in the Glade they go into the slammer

If you're not, he lectures them on why you shouldn't ask those sorts of things to people

Sonya

Doesn't bother to engage in that conversation

Goes to find you and ignore that person's existence

If you're with her she turns her attention fully towards you and has a nice conversation

Teresa

She shuts that conversation down before it even starts

Walks away with no shame

Thomas

He tells the person to shuck off

He will not have that while he's around

Or ever

#aris jones #aris x reader #brenda tmr #brenda x reader #gally tmr #gally x reader #minho tmr #minho x reader #newt tmr #newt x reader #teresa agnes #teresa x reader #thomas tmr #thomas x reader #smut related #tmr smut #smut and fluff #tmr preferences #the maze runner #harriet tmr #harriet x reader

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Can I request Agatha fucking R with her strap and overstimulating her? Reader misses this phrase in middle of the sex “Fuck… Mommy! … Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?”

Enchanted Gifts ~Mommy!Agatha Harkness xFem Witch!Reader ~Holiday Bingo

Summary— Reader and Agatha host a Secret Santa, and the Reader gets Agatha a special gift. Agatha can’t wait to put it to use… Anon Response—Hey hey anon!! Thank you for the request! I would love to write this, Agatha could always use more content. Enjoy! ♥️

Previous Day <—found here!!

Holiday Bingo <—Here!!

Mommy… Master List

Request & Prompt-List

Prompt— Secret Santa/Gift Exchange

#52. “Fuck… Mommy! … Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?”

Warnings: NSFW, smut, strap-on use, strap fucking, rough sex, overstimulation, mommy kink, enchanted strap, magic use, etc.

Enjoy (;

Your quaint little cottage that you shared with Agatha was hustling and bustling with many witches tonight. It was your annual Witchy Gift Exchange tonight, and you were hosting this year. It wasn’t a massive group, but it was a substantial group of some of the most talented Magic users.

Your finger foods were disappearing at an extremely fast rate, as everyone chattered away.

You always loved this tradition. Every year, you would all get to together and exchange presents. Who would get who a gift was determined two weeks prior. But the best part was the gifts. It was always so chaotic and funny. Any gift was on the table. Funny, embarrassing, sexy, expensive, cheap, as long as it was a gift.

This year you had drawn Agatha by coincidence. And you had found the perfect gift for her…

Eventually, everyone settled together in the living room and the gift giving began. This usually took a couple hours, and this years gifts were just as on point as usual. You got a herbal remedy from one of your witch girlfriends, a younger witch who was a herbologist as heart. You thanked her and the exchange continued.

Finally, it was Agatha’s turn. You handed her your gift with a slight smirk. Agatha quirked her brows and chuckled as she took the gift from you. She opened the gift and her lips quirked up into a mischievous smile.

“I should have known…” she teased, picking up and showing off a brand new, deep purple strap.

The women all oohd and aahd, but weren’t too phased, and so the game continued. But for the rest of the game, Agatha couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. It was like she was undressing you with her gaze. And she held the strap in her hand the entire time.

When the gift exchange was over and all the guests had left, Agatha wasted no time in colliding her lips into yours. She kissed you passionately and with dominance, pushing and pinning you against her cottage door.

“Agi wait—” you squeaked, as Agatha picked you up and threw you over her shoulder with ease.

She carried you and the strap directly into your shared bedroom. She threw you on the bed, muttering a spell before all your clothes and hers as well repeated. You shivered slightly in the newly exposed cold air. But it didn’t take long for you to forget that, as you watched Agatha strap up and pounce on top of you on the bed.

Before you could get out what you wanted to say, Agatha thrusted inside you with a shit eating grin. You both let out howls of pleasure. This was the biggest you’d ever taken.

“Shit Baby—!!” Agatha screamed, feeling everything in the strap as if it were apart of her body.

“Fuuuuck…! I tried… to tell you Agi—!!” You groaned, “Oh fuck, sss so big, so thick…”

The thickness and length of the strap was making you dizzy. You’d never felt so full. It was stretching you so well.

Agatha looked at you as if she didn’t believe you.

“You enchanted it, and just forgot to tell me…? Oh sure…” she chuckled, before grabbing your hips and thrusting out and back into your hard.

“Holy FUCK AGI—!!!”

Agatha groaned, which then turned into a laugh as she watched you spasm in pleasurable pain. She then began to fuck you fast and with a ruthless pace. The sound of the skin slapping alone made you so close to the edge already.

“Didn’t mean to… tried to tell you…!” You mumbled as she fucked you with no mercy.

But Agatha wasn’t having it. It was more fun to fuck you hard for not telling her anyway. Intentional or not.

You were sure that your skin would bruise from her hands, but your mind had drifted too far to care about that.

The woman then hooked one of your legs above her shoulder, her strap hitting a brand new found spot inside you, making you squirm and scream in pleasure.

“Fuck… Mommy!!!” You howled as she plowed into you.

You gasped and expected Agatha to stop and be surprise by your words, but quite the opposite happened. No, she al stated to fuck you harder and with a wicked smirk.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?” You squeaked immediately.

Agatha shook her head and chuckled darkly.

“Come on… don’t pretend you don’t want to call me Mommy…” she rasped wickedly, not relenting in her pounding.

You were trembling, as a new wave of intense pleasure coursed through you with Agatha’s words. You shuddered and tried to say something, but all you could do was nod and groan loudly.

“Awwww, poor baby… Is mommy fucking you so good…?” Agatha jeered.

You nodded your head, unable to form words at this point. Your mind completely blanked out.

Agatha chuckled.

“Sweet girl… didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you bought this for me, hmmmm…? I can feel everything, your walls fluttering and so much more… and you feel so good.” she rasped.

~~~

Next Bingo Fic <—Here!!

Agatha Harkness Masterlist

Holiday Bingo 2023 Masterlist

Tag List: @storiesofsvu @aemilia19 @vexed-jade @willowshadenox @lunala-rose23 @sapphixwriter

#storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #agnes #agatha Harkness x reader #Agatha Harkness smut #kathryn hahn #wandavision #wandavision fanfic #wandavision smut #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu smut #marvel smut #cissyenthusiast010155 answers

[nomoreusername]

TMR characters favorite place to kiss you

Your cheek. He always kisses you there before he has to go somewhere. 

Your hand and forehead. Both are enough to fill anyone with butterflies (but so is Newt).

Your collarbone. Does this really need an explanation though? It is Minho after all.

Your lips. It's simple and a classic, but if it's not broken why fix it? 

Your forehead. It's so sweet, and it's the perfect way to be waken up. It's literally the purest form of affection. 

Your lips. Once again, simple, yet loving

Your cheek. It's so small yet always leaves you weak in the knees. Why wouldn't it when it's literally Sonya?

Also your lips. Why wouldn't it be when they fit so well on hers?

Your nose. It's a simple and quick yet lasting way to show how much she loves you.

#thomas x reader #newt x reader #minho x reader #gally x reader #aris x reader #brenda x reader #sonya x reader #harriet x reader #teresa x reader #tmr thomas #tmr newt #tmr minho #tmr gally #tmr aris #aris jones #tmr sonya #tmr harriet #teresa tmr #teresa agnes #the maze runner #tmr preferences #fluff

[thenatashamaximoff]

Heart Of Stone; Ch. 3

Summary: After decades of being HYDRA’s most prized possession, you’re finally free and find yourself under the protective eye of the Avengers. But with a piece of one of the Infinity Stones embedded into your heart, you’re never truly safe…

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mind control, panic/anxiety attacks

Words: 22,897

✎ | დ

a/n: The add-ons are not necessary to be read to understand what's going on, but they are very subtly mentioned (the "what if" ones are not canon). You're not missing anything if you don't read them, I promise you. However, the events of the main storyline will be mentioned and will connect with this chapter. It's been a long time since we've been here. If y'all need a refresher, I recommend rereading them. Also, don't be afraid to comment! Your thoughts and opinions always motivate me to write more. ┌─────────────ᗢ─────────────┐ @diaryoflife @women-am-i-right @creatively-analytical @obsessed-with-wandamaximoff @beforeoursecrets @iliketozoneout @olsensnpm @hoefnagel521 @chasingmaximoff @unrealskye └─────────────ᗢ─────────────┘ ┌─────────────∞─────────────┐ @myfavoriteficss @pinkytoecrust @cyncity32 @peachbear88 @magicallymaximoff @therealmeari @peggycarter-steverogers @ba-romanoff @natashabelovas @morbid-gaymer @reminiscingtonight @when-wolves-howl @idontknownemore @natashasilverfox @sayah13 @fuxk182 @scarletwitchofthewilds @natashamaximoff69 @wuwu96 @jsonebraincell @whendarknessturns @marvel4liferz @red1culous @cd-4848 @theperfectlovestory └─────────────∞─────────────┘

2023 You took it with you when you left. And, for the longest time, it wandered lost and wounded; the heart that she misplaced. But it didn’t give up. It kept beating, albeit with a dull ache, as it searched for a place where it could belong once again. It encountered moments of despair and moments of hope, but it never stopped yearning for the one who had taken it away. Through trials and tribulations, the heart carried on, fueled by the memories of a love that had once been so strong yet so… incomplete. A love that had never gotten the chance to blossom into its full potential. The scars left by the absence of that love were etched deep within, a constant reminder of what could have been.

And, just when it had almost given up hope, destiny intervened, leading the heart on a path of an unexpected reunion, where it would finally find solace and healing in the most astonishing way.

“Do you know what a… a supernova is?” She couldn’t help but smile at your soft-spoken question, and it was extremely easy for her to turn her gaze away from the night sky to look at the side of your face. How untroubled you were in this moment, relaxed in a state of bliss that was nearly contagious. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm wash over her as she gazed at you, her healing heart beating steadily in her chest. “When a star… A star can run out of fuel, and that triggers a series of- of explosive events.” She could feel her stomach flip when your cheeks stretched against your lips as a smile formed. “It can briefly outshine an… entire galaxy.”

“Tell me more.” Her voice was lower than yours, a mere breath in the scant space between you and her, but she knew you heard her when your grin only grew wider.

“It marks the end of a- a star’s life,” you continued, “but it also creates new… elements that can be used to form new stars and… and planets.” Finally, you turned your head to meet her gaze, and she had to fight every fiber in her being to not close the little distance. “The end of something old, but… the beginning of something new. Like a… a rewritten story.”

No need for her to utter a sound, no need to fill the new quiet with meaningless words. Instead, she preferred to simply enjoy the view, to bask in the beauty of you. Your face, illuminated by the moonlight, gave you an ethereal aura. The soft light of the stars embraced you as if they were shining solely for you, creating an image of a heavenly being in her mind.

“You could be an angel.” The whispered words slipped past her lips before she even realized it, and she saw your expression change. Your features, once warm and relaxed, now creased with wrinkles of confusion. Your eyebrows knitted together, and your head tilted slightly, but a faint smile still lingered on your lips. However, the uncertainty in your eyes was unmistakable.

“But I… I don’t want to die, Wanda…” you said softly, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Her throat constricted almost as tight as her heart did when she gasped lightly at your words, a thin yet obvious layer of tears glossing over her eyes. She found herself inching toward you on the blanket, desperate to get close enough for your nose to brush across hers. “You won’t,” she declared, the bewilderment riddling your features washing away at the determination in her voice. “Nothing will happen to you. Nothing will ever hurt you.” She shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of saliva thickly. “I won’t let it, dove.” 

She leaned forward, but her movements were interrupted by the appearance of your hand in front of her face. Her eyebrows furrowed tightly together, confusion washing over her like water, yet it was all dried out when she noticed all of your fingers tucked into a fist, with your pinky standing tall and proud. “Do you… promise?”

A soft smile lifted the corners of her lips as she wrapped her pinky around yours tightly. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.” As you nodded, her eyes fluttered closed long before she pressed her lips against yours in a deep kiss that ignited a fire in her soul. She broke the hold your pinky had on hers to move her hand toward you, the tips of her fingers gently caressing your jawline in a delicate touch. The tenderness of her gesture sent a shiver down your spine as if her fingertips carried a soothing warmth that spread throughout your body. 

In that moment, it felt as if time stood still. The world faded away around her, replaced by a sense of peace and security. It was just the two of you, connected by the gentle touch of her hand and the soft, passionate pressure of your lips. And, even when you parted to catch your breath, her fingers remained, eyes locked in a hypnotic trance.

Her touch spoke volumes in the silence, conveying a depth of love and affection that words couldn’t fully capture. It was a dialect only the two of you understood, a silent conversation that transcended the boundaries of spoken language.

“I… I want to stay here. With… you. My Wanda.” Your eyes somehow sparkled brighter in the darkness, making the stars above envy your shine. The vulnerability in your voice tugged at her heart, and a gentle smile graced her mouth. She brushed the pad of her thumb across your bottom lip, featherlight yet warm all the same. “I like… the stars.” Your movement was reluctant, not wanting to turn from her touch, yet you ultimately returned your gaze to the night sky above. Wanda’s heart swelled with a mixture of adoration and longing.

She shifted closer, her body pressing against yours as if to bridge the gap between the stars and your souls. Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with an unwavering determination and tenderness, “Then let’s stay.” She wanted to feel you, to relish in the warmth a single touch brings. She brought her hand back up, tracing gentle circles on your cheek. The chills that overtook your body caused you to shiver underneath her fingertip, and she smiled softly at you when you pulled your attention away from the stars to meet her gaze. “Right here.”

Your lips pursed together, your eyes unmoving as your mind raced through words. “Aren’t you… tired?”

“No, my dove,” she answered warmly, her voice filled with affection. “I want to hear more about the stars.” As her words danced through the air, she couldn’t help but feel her stomach twist with joy. The way your eyes lit up, a radiant smile spreading across your face, was a sight that made her heart skip a beat. 

You extended your arm, a silent invitation for Wanda to move closer, and instinctively she leaned into you. But instead of resting her head against your shoulder, she nestled her ear over your chest, finding solace in the rhythmic thumping that reverberated through her being. It was as if she sought refuge in the steady cadence, the comforting song that echoed within your body. When you spoke, your voice was low and husky, “Some stars are so far away that… that their light takes thousands of years to… reach us.” The steady beat in her ear, your lulling voice in the other, she felt a profound sense of calm and tranquility. Every word that slipped from your lips was like a gentle caress to her soul, painting vivid pictures of serenity and peace. “We’re actually gazing into the past… Seeing the remnants of… the stars long gone.”

Wanda’s fingers gently intertwined with yours, deepening the connection between you and her. “Show me some constellations.”

Gently, you guided Wanda’s hand, pointing to the night sky speckled with stars. Your fingers traced invisible lines, connecting the celestial dots to form constellations. “There…” you said softly, your voice filled with a mix of enthusiasm and admiration. “That cluster is… Orion. The hunter. Do you see how the three stars in the… middle form his belt?”

Wanda’s eyes followed your guidance, her gaze fixed on the starry canvas above. She leaned in closer as if trying to capture every detail of the constellations you were unveiling. “And what about that one?” she asked, her voice filled with curiosity, as her fingers traced the outline of a different group of stars.

“That’s… Ursa Major,” you replied, your voice holding a touch of wonder, “the Great Bear. The seven stars that form the… the Big Dipper- They’re part of it.”

Gradually, the tranquility of the night and the lilting beat of the drumming in your chest began to soothe Wanda into a peaceful slumber. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her, but in your embrace, she found solace and safety. With a gentle sigh, her eyes slid closed, her head nestling further against you. Your heartbeat, the steady rhythm that had provided her comfort through the night, now served as a lullaby, lulling her deeper into sleep.

Your ancient tales of the stars faded to a pause when you looked down at her, a soft smile tugging your lips as you watched the rise and fall of her chest with each tranquil breath. The sky above continued to twinkle as if keeping watch over the two of you, the celestial light casting a gentle glow upon your peaceful tableau.

Carefully, you adjusted your position, ensuring Wanda was comfortable against you, as you leaned your head against the warm blanket beneath you. You gazed up at the stars that had become witnesses to your love story, and, as the night embraced you both, you surrendered to its tender embrace, knowing that tomorrow would bring new adventures, new constellations to discover, and a love that would continue to shine brightly… just like the stars above.

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Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the gentle caress of sunlight on her face. As her surroundings came into focus, she found herself sitting on the blanket, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric beneath her. A sense of disorientation washed over her as she realized the space beside her was empty.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she searched the immediate vicinity, hoping to catch a glimpse of your familiar presence. But all she found were the remnants of the night’s stargazing adventures, the memories still fresh in her mind.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she recalled the warmth of your embrace, the comforting thump of your heartbeat, and the whispered words that had filled the air. Had it all been a dream? The doubt lingered, tugging at her heartstrings. Questions swirled in her mind as she tried to make sense of the situation. Had you left while she was lost in slumber? Was it all just a figment of her imagination, a manifestation of her longing and desire?

As she rose to her feet, determination mingled with trepidation in Wanda’s gaze. She turned her attention towards the front of the house behind her, her eyes scanning the windows in search of a glimpse of you. Her stomach twisted with anticipation, knowing that the next few moments held the answer to her unspoken question.

Leaving the blanket behind, a testament to the fleeting moments shared, Wanda made her way toward the quaint home. Each step felt like an eternity, yet she couldn’t help but feel drawn to the possibility that awaited her inside. Reaching the front door, her trembling hand grasped the doorknob. With a deep breath, she turned it and pushed it open, allowing the familiar creaking sound to fill the air. The weight of her anticipation was palpable as she stepped across the threshold, her eyes daring around the still room.

“Y/N?” Her voice was barely a whisper, catching in her throat as she called out your name. The silence that followed was deafening, echoing the emptiness that mirrored her heart. It threatened to swallow her whole, fueling the fear that she was too late, that you had slipped away. 

But then, a sound reached her ears. A clanging noise emanated from the kitchen, a hint of life amidst the stillness. Her pulse quickened, and a glimmer of hope sparkled within her. With renewed determination, she followed the sound, her steps becoming more assured with each passing moment.

Rounding the corner, her eyes fell upon you. And there you stood, amidst the chaos of bubbling pots and sizzling pans, a concentrated expression on your face - seen underneath the smudges of flour coloring your complexion - as you were oblivious to her arrival. Smoke wafted through the air from the burnt bacon that sat on the hot stove, and it was then that Wanda noticed the broken fire alarm sitting next to the sink, silent and useless.

Amusement washed over her as she took in the scene, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the doorway. A playful smile danced on her lips as she watched you navigate the confusion of the kitchen,  your movements an uneven blend of purpose and panic. Pots and pans clanged, ingredients were scattered haphazardly, the nose-burning smell of charred meat… There was a certain charm in the disarray.

She observed your furrowed brow and the occasional look of perplexity that flickered across your face. It was evident that this culinary endeavor was challenging, but your enthusiasm remained unwavering. She couldn’t help but be captivated by your perseverance to tackle something new, even if it resulted in a temporary state of chaos.

As you reached for a spice jar, knocking over a measuring cup in the process, Wanda couldn’t contain her laughter. The sound echoed through the kitchen, filling the room with contagious joy. The sound brought a momentary pause to your frantic activity, causing you to look up and meet her gaze. And though your eyebrows shot up in shock, it seemed as if her presence brought a sense of calm amidst the culinary storm.

An embarrassed smile tugged your lips as your arms fell to your side, looking down while she walked further into the room. “I- I wanted to… surprise you.” You rested your hands on the counter, digging your thumb nervously into your palm. Wanda’s laughter subsided, replaced by a tender expression.  “You… You cook for me all the time. I wanted to…” You huffed, shaking your head and, though she couldn’t see it, she could see the signs that your bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “I’m… I’m not very good at it. Maybe I should just… stick to peanut butter sandwiches.”

She rounded the island, placing a delicate hand over your nervous ones upon reaching you as she swiftly flicked the stove top off. “It’s not about the perfect meal, my dove. It’s about the effort and intention behind it.” You looked up at her through your lashes, and seeing the warm smile on her face caused you to relax further. “And, in my eyes… you’re already succeeding.”

Your posture straightened with newfound determination. The embarrassment that had made a home on your face washed away as a bright smile turned that frown upside down. “Will you… teach me?” The words slipped from your lips, laced with eagerness and vulnerability. Wanda’s eyes softened as she looked at the culinary disaster spread out on the counter - from the charred strips of bacon to the watery pancakes sitting on a plate - and she nodded her head in agreement.

“After we clean up,” she offered with a soft laugh, her voice gentle and reassuring. Her hand moved from yours to rest against your cheek, her touch both comforting and electrifying. The warmth of her palm against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but lean into her touch, reveling in the affectionate connection between you. Her thumb moved in soft circles, wiping away some of the flour painting your features.

With a shared understanding, you both set aside the wreckage of your cooking attempt and began the task of cleaning up. It became a shared endeavor, a dance of laughter and gentle touches as you worked side by side, turning a chaotic kitchen into a space of order and cleanliness.

As the last dish was placed in its rightful spot, Wanda turned towards you, a playful glimmer in her eyes. “Now, let the real culinary adventure begin,” she claimed, your face lighting up with excitement.

You watched carefully as she turned the stove back on, the flame flickering to life beneath the burner. She grabbed the pan and placed it on the now-heated surface, the metal hissing with anticipation. With a graceful motion, she picked up a few strips of bacon and expertly placed them onto the skillet, the sound of the sizzle filling the kitchen.

Your eyes were fixed on her hands, marveling at the precision and confidence with which she handled the task. Each movement was deliberate as if she had done this a hundred times before. It was a simple act, cooking bacon, but the way she did it made it seem like a work of art.

As the aroma of crackling bacon filled the air, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration for Wanda’s skills. She had effortlessly transformed a chaotic kitchen into a space of culinary magic, and you were grateful to be a witness to her expertise. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned against the countertop, content to watch her work her magic. The clattering of pots and pans, the occasional laughter, and the tantalizing scent of cooking filled the air, creating a symphony of domestic bliss.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that the pancakes had been watery or that the fire alarm had been broken. What mattered was the connection between you, the shared experience of learning and growing together. And as you watched Wanda cook, you knew that every adventure would be an opportunity to strengthen your bond and create beautiful memories. Together, you would navigate the world, supporting each other, laughing at the mishaps, and savoring the delicious results. It was a journey you were excited to embark on, hand in hand, knowing that with Wanda by your side, every day would be a celebration of love, passion, and shared experiences.

As Wanda turned off the stove and stacked the dirty dishes into the sink (once again), a realization struck you. Lost in the mesmerizing sight of her, you hadn’t paid attention to the details or learned anything from her culinary expertise. The awareness brought a sheepish smile to your face.

With an amused smirk, Wanda met your gaze, her eyes twinkling with mirth. It was as if she were reading your thoughts this very moment, knowing that you had been too captivated by her presence to absorb any practical knowledge. She took a step closer, her hands gently cradling your face. She couldn’t help it, thriving on the way your touch warms her insides.

“Why don’t you go freshen up while the food cools down?” she proposed, her voice filled with affection and a hint of playfulness. Her suggestion was accompanied by a tender gesture, her thumbs moving in delicate circles against your skin. The intimacy of the moment made your heart skip a beat, and you found yourself getting lost in the deep emeralds of her eyes, feeling a connection that went beyond words.

You nodded in agreement, appreciating her for just a moment longer before taking the opportunity to collect yourself after the whirlwind of emotions and sensations. As you turned your head towards the kitchen door, you couldn’t resist stealing a quick glance at Wanda, admiring her in that moment. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners, the soft curves of her lips, and the gentle touch of her hands on your face - they were all reminders of the affection and tenderness you shared.

A light laugh parted her mouth after you stole a sneaky kiss before making your way out of the room.

With a couple of fixed plates in her hands and a hint of intrigue in her eyes, Wanda set aside the task of arranging the meal and walked toward the front of the house. The knock grew slightly louder, slightly more impatient, as she approached the door, filling her with curiosity. When she opened it, a soft smile formed on the Sokovian’s lips, yet the unfamiliar face didn’t sate her confusion.

“Hello, dear.” The woman beamed widely, a potted plant held carelessly in her hands. “I’m Agnes, your neighbor to the right.” Wanda’s soft smile strengthened at the friendly greeting. “Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to the block! My mother-in-law was in town, so I wasn’t.” She walked further into the house, plopping the housewarming gift into Wanda’s arms. “What’s your name? Where are you from? And, most importantly, what is that fantastic smell?”

“Well, I’m Wanda.”

“Wanda. Charmed.” Agnes chuckled softly as she looked around. “Golly, you settled in fast! Did you use a moving company?”

“I sure did,” Wanda claimed, quickly nodding as she placed the plant on the table. “Those boxes certainly didn’t move themselves.” She wiped her hands across the front of her shirt, watching Agnes lean forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with interest.

“So, what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

Wanda’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly, her mind briefly wandering to you just upstairs. “Oh, no. I’m not single,” she replied, her voice a touch softer.

Agnes raised an eyebrow playfully, her gaze shifting to Wanda’s left hand as she sat down on the couch. “I don’t see a ring,” the neighbor pointed out.

The Sokovian cleared her throat, her cheeks growing warmer. “Well, I- I assure you I’m happily married.” She placed her hands on her hips in hopes of hiding her fingers, though she knew there was no use now. “As a matter of fact, she’s just upstairs.”

“Wands, I-” The two women turned their heads at the sound of your approach, and you froze in the middle of the stairs upon making eye contact with Agnes. Wanda was quick to move toward you, catching one of your hands before you could bother the scar marking your palm to gently tug you down the rest of the way as the unknown woman stood up respectfully. Your lips seemed to glue shut the moment you processed the guest, your hand squeezing Wanda’s fingers.

“The woman of the hour!” Agnes announced, stepping up to you. “Always in the know, that’s me. How are you, dear?” She laughed heartily, and you glanced at Wanda uneasily, who was looking at you with care and concern. Agnes’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she beamed at you with the widest smile you had ever seen on a stranger. “Aren’t you a precious little thing,” she claimed, tapping the tip of your nose in a quick and unexpected move that caught you off guard. “I could just eat you up!”

You took a small step to the side, instinctively trying to protect your nose from further attacks, and peeked over Wanda’s shoulder, hoping to find some sort of shield from Agnes’s playful teasing. “Please don’t…” you whispered, and her robust chuckle told you she heard you.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I don’t eat people.” A smirk played at the side of her lips, leaning forward slightly as she added in a low voice, “At least, not anymore.”

Feeling a surge of apprehension, your hand squeezed Wanda’s gently once more, seeking comfort and support. Sensing your need, she cleared her throat, redirecting Agnes’s attention back to her. “Y/N and I were just about to sit down for breakfast,” the Sokovian clarified, her voice steady and composed.

The neighbor’s eyes lit up with curiosity, and she nodded in understanding. “Ah, breakfast! Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt such a delicious affair! I’ll leave you two lovebirds to enjoy your meal.” She winked mischievously, her playful demeanor evident. “But remember, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. I’m just to the right.” You stayed behind Wanda as your eyes followed the retreating woman, watching her pull open the door as she turned to face the two of you. “My right, not yours!” She chuckled softly this time as she stepped out, leaving you and Wanda alone.

The witch turned to you, a gentle expression on her face. “Are you okay?” Her fingers intertwined with yours as you nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Did you want to do something today?” Wanda used her hold on you to tug you to the table, leaving you to take your own seat for a brief moment before she returned with the two plates piled with the food she had cooked moments before the interruption. 

“Can… Nat come over?” Your hopeful eyes met her bright green ones almost instantly as you picked up a fork. “I… I want her to see our… home.”

Wanda could feel her posture weaken as her shoulders sagged at your question, her bottom lip finding its way in between her teeth as you turned your attention to the food in front of you. “Oh, sweetheart…” She eyed you carefully. “She’s not in the country, you know that.” The prongs of your fork poked at the slices of toast on your plate, and she could feel the sharp tug of her heart at the sight of your frown. She reached toward you, placing her hand gently over yours to offer comfort. “I know how much you miss her,” she said, her voice filled with empathy. “I miss her, too, but she’s on a mission. We have to respect that.” Her thumb traced soothing circles on the back of your hand, trying to ease the disappointment you felt. “How about we take a walk this afternoon?” she continued, her tone growing more cheerful.

Your eyes brightened a little, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “That… sounds nice,” you replied, your voice carrying a glimmer of enthusiasm. “Just the… two of us, right?”

Wanda’s grin matched yours as she squeezed your hand gently. “Of course,” she stated. “We can even go to that little place we went to the other day. What was it called again?” Her heart skipped a beat when your small smile grew wide, a comfortable knot forming in her stomach when you flipped your hand over to intertwine your fingers through hers. It was the source of the warmth radiating throughout her entire body.

“For… For Art’s Sake?” She couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your enthusiasm, wondering how it was possible for a human to hold more light than the sun. “I… We can go?”

“Anything for you, my dove.” She moved her hand to rest her palm against your cheek in a delicate touch, feeling just how quickly she relaxed when you leaned against her.

With renewed optimism, you picked up your fork and resumed eating, savoring each bite of the delicious meal. As you enjoyed the breakfast together, the anticipation of exploring the neighborhood filled the air, creating a sense of excitement and possibility. In that moment, you knew that no matter what the day had in store, being with Wanda was all you needed to make it special.

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As the afternoon sun painted the neighborhood in golden hues, you and Wanda embarked on a leisurely stroll down the charming streets, reveling in the beauty of your new surroundings. Towering trees line the sidewalks, their branches swaying softly in the breeze. The houses, adorned with charming facades and well-tended gardens, exuded a sense of warmth and tranquility.

A symphony of colors greets your eyes as vibrant flowers bloom in every yard, splashing the landscape with nature’s artwork. Roses in various shades whispered sweet scents, while daisies and tulips danced in the morning light. The air was alive with the melodic chirping of birds, their songs interweaving harmoniously to create a serene soundtrack.

But Wanda’s attention wasn’t captured by the picturesque scenery alone. Her gaze was fixed on you, captivated by the way you eagerly absorbed every detail around you. She didn’t fight the feeling, becoming enchanted by the way your eyes darted from one beautiful sight to another, like a child in a candy store. She smiled warmly, filled with affection as she observed the way your features sparkled with excitement. The gentle breeze tousled your hair, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to the way your face lit up with joy. It was in these simple moments that she found herself falling in love with you all over again.

“Witnessing the world through your eyes is a gift,” Wanda murmured, her voice filled with admiration. “You have an incredible ability to find wonder in the smallest things.”

You turned to her, a bright grin gracing your lips. “It’s… It’s hard not to be amazed when everything around us is so… beautiful.” Your arms swayed by your sides as you walked, and there was no mistaking the intentional brush of your knuckles against hers. “But… it’s even more special because I… I get to share it with you.” Her heart fluttered at your words, warmth swallowing her insides as she looked away to hide the dark red coloring her cheeks. “It’s… surreal.”

Her gaze returned to you, eyebrows pinched together tightly with confusion. You noticed the change, the sign of her perplexity, and it made you pause for a moment as you realized your words might have come across as ambiguous. Your lips pursed together, your eyes bouncing back and forth between hers as you worked your mind to come up with a better explanation.

“I- I mean… being here with you. It’s like a… a dream come true.” You breathed out as you slowly reached out for her hand, looking down to watch your fingers intertwine through hers, and the way her heart skipped a beat was serene. “I never imagined I’d be able to… touch you like this.”

Her brows unfurrowed slightly, the confusion giving way to a glimmer of understanding. Wanda’s lips curved into a tender smile, a mixture of relief and affection shining in her eyes. She hooked a finger under your chin, delicately guiding your head up to meet her gaze once more. “Being here with you feels like a dream for me too,” she murmured lowly, feeling a surge of warmth flow through her arm when you gave her hand a subconscious squeeze. “To hold your hand, to feel your touch… I never thought we’d see the day when I’d be able to do that.” The gentle breeze continued to brush against her skin, almost as if nature itself was encouraging her to bridge the gap between you. And she did.

Using her finger under your chin, she gently steered you closer, closing the distance between your lips. As they met in a soft kiss, the warmth that lingered in her arm expanded, spreading like wildfire through her entire body. Time seemed to stand still, and the world around you faded away. With each lingering touch of your lips, the warmth only intensified, enveloping them in a cocoon of bliss and contentment.

When you finally parted, a shared breathless smile danced on your lips, and Wanda’s eyes sparkled with a newfound certainty. “I never want to let go of this feeling,” she whispered. “Being with you, touching you… It’s everything I’ve ever longed for. And I won’t take it for granted.”

With a nod of her head, you continued your stroll, hand in hand. “I-” You looked down, watching your feet move you forward. “I don’t want to… take it for granted either.” You picked your head up, turning toward her to catch her small smile and twinkling eyes. “Wands… I l-”

“Hey there, Wanda.” Her smile tightened as she turned her head at the sound of her name. The mailman, with a cheerful expression, approached you with his cart in tow. He reached into the cart and retrieved a single card, instantly recognizable by its appearance. Wanda’s heart skipped a beat, and a sense of anticipation filled the air. “Just this today,” he confirmed, extending the card towards you. However, after a moment of hesitation, Wanda reached out and took it instead.

“Wh- Where?” you asked, your eyes fixed on her as the man walked away. She laughed lightly when you eagerly accepted the card from her outstretched hand, your fingers grazing hers. Your gaze shifted to the picture on the postcard, revealing a serene beach lined with people and what appeared to be a castle hidden behind trees dancing on the space between sand and grass. As you studied the image, Wanda’s gaze was glued to you, observing the emotions flickering across your face. “Spain… She’s in Spain.” Your voice was laced with excitement, yet there was a tinge of longing minced in your words. Handing the postcard back to Wanda, you watched as she delicately flipped it over with another soft chuckle, tracing the curves of the handwritten message with her eyes. “Wh- What did… she say?”

“‘Thinking of you from the shores of Spain. Wish you were here to explore the enchantment together. Until then, let this postcard be a glimpse into the magic we’ll experience when we reunite. Sending love across the distance. Nat.’”

“She’s… She’s…” Your eyes shimmered with a mixture of joy and wistfulness. Excitement overwhelmed your entire being, leaving you rendered incapable of speaking. 

“She’s thinking of you,” Wanda finished your thought with a soft smile, her eyes filled with fondness. “Nat always had a way of making every place magical, whether she’s on assignment or not.” You let out a contented sigh, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you. The weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, and watching them relax helped Wanda do just the same.

She extended her hand, a silent invitation to continue exploring the city together. You gladly accepted, intertwining your fingers with hers. The postcard, now safely tucked away in your pocket, held a cherished place in both your hearts as you walked hand in hand.

“What’s… that?” Wanda hadn’t realized she had been lost in your smile once again until you spoke, pulling her out of her reverie. She followed your gesture and looked in the direction you were pointing. In the distance, a lively scene unfolded before them. Tents were pitched, colorful balloons adorned tables, and the sound of music gradually grew louder as they approached.

It was a block party.

A mix of excitement and curiosity bubbled within Wanda as she observed the gathering. Laughter filled the air, and the aroma of delicious food wafted through the streets. Adults of all ages mingled, dancing to the upbeat rhythm and indulging in the festive atmosphere. As you slowed to a stop, her hand tightened around yours, a silent expression of her anticipation and willingness to join in the celebration, before the connection between you fell away. You looked at her, captivated by the longing in her eyes, and took a deep breath before walking forward.

“Y/N?” Wanda tailed after you, her face pinched up in confusion. “We don’t have to-”

“I’m…” You pursed your lips together, contemplating the next few seconds, before saying, “I see your new… friend.” Wanda, momentarily taken aback by your sudden determination, followed your gaze and spotted Agnes among the partygoers. A flicker of recognition crossed her face, and she couldn’t help but have her curiosity overwhelmed with intrigue. With a small nod, she understood your intentions and followed you to the festivities.

As you entered the lively atmosphere of the party, Wanda couldn’t help but notice the subtle glances you would steal in her direction. It reminded her of the way you used to look towards Natasha, seeking her support and comfort in public settings. The memory stirred a bittersweet feeling within her, as she understood the significance of those stolen glances. Realizing that you now sought solace and reassurance in her presence warmed Wanda’s heart. It was a testament to the bond you had developed and the trust that had grown between you. She felt a deep sense of gratitude and a renewed determination to be there for you, just as Natasha had been.

“Wanda!” Agnes, leaving her little group behind, made her way toward you with her signature grin. “And Y/N, a pleasure.”

Wanda’s gaze shifted towards Agnes as she approached, her curiosity piqued by the woman’s loud but friendly demeanor. She quickly glanced toward you, but your eyes were drawn to the neighbor’s nearing figure. She couldn’t see what you were thinking if you wouldn’t look at her.

“You two look absolutely fetching,” she claimed, crossing her arms over her chest with a touch of enthusiasm. “I’m thrilled you joined us! A block party just isn’t complete without the whole block, am I right?” Her laughter boomed, causing a faint twitch in your expression, a subtle reaction that Wanda’s observant gaze didn’t miss. Agnes’s piercing blue eyes seemed to fixate on you, making you instinctively tense up beside the Sokovian.

“We actually weren’t aware that a party was planned today,” Wanda confessed, luring Agnes’s attention away from you and onto her, “but it’s a pleasant way to get to know the neighbors!” Her chuckle was soothing and melodic - a stark difference to Agnes’s - and the sound of it melted away the tension that had gripped your muscles. “How about we explore the food options together? I’m sure they’ll have your favorite…” Her words trailed off as she realized you were suddenly no longer by her side, an instant knot of worry forming in the pit of her stomach. Swiftly, her eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for your familiar presence amidst the crowd.

“You’ve got quite the crafty spouse, huh?” Agnes teased, her laughter carrying a light, playful tone. But she could see panic slowly overtaking the color of Wanda’s eyes and she gestured towards her with a reassuring wave. “No need to fret, dear. I’ll help you find her.”

Wanda gently moved past Agnes, her brain not quite registering the words the neighbor had just spoken. A heavy sensation settled in her chest, constricting her breathing and causing her heart to beat in slow, heavy thumps. The party’s atmosphere was warm and inviting, filled with friendly faces, but she hardly noticed them as she pushed deeper into the gathering. Her thoughts spun in a whirlwind, waves of worries and scenarios flooding her mind. How had you managed to step away from her without her noticing? Where could you have possibly gone in this small space? And, more importantly, what’s going to happen when you bump into a stranger who is overly friendly?

She let out a heavy sigh, shaking her head gently. The party scene wasn’t exactly your forte, and that was one of the aspects she cherished about you. Your preference for cozy nights indoors, where you’d spend time doodling in your notebook or sitting together, engrossed in her favorite sitcoms, had its own kind of charm she absolutely loved. The sight of the lively party, though, had stirred a fleeting thought in her - a desire to proudly present you to the neighborhood, to walk in together with her arm intertwined with yours, showing off the treasure she had found. However, it was a fleeting thought, gone almost as soon as it had surfaced. A brief moment, a flicker in her eyes, which you had perhaps misconstrued for something else.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” Wanda snapped out of her daze to focus on the woman in front of her, her hands resting on the witch’s shoulders as if she were keeping her up. “I should’ve been focusing on where I was walking!” The woman laughed generously, awkwardly, releasing the gentle hold she held on Wanda. The stranger sighed, shaking her head lightly as she fanned herself with her hand. “I actually don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“I’m starting to feel that way myself. I’m Wanda.” She held out a hand, smiling politely, yet the expression felt forced as the panic that had formed in her stomach only seemed to grow tighter the longer she went without seeing you.

“I’m, uh… Geraldine.” Geraldine accepted Wanda’s hand, giving her a gentle squeeze before letting go. “Say, I’m pretty new to town and I-” She interrupted herself when she noticed the lack of attention she was receiving from Wanda, an eyebrow raised slightly with curiosity as she watched the Sokovian’s eyes dart around the party behind her. “Are you-” She maneuvered her way to get in front of her, cutting off her line of sight to gain her attention. “Are you looking for somebody?”

“What?” Wanda blinked, focusing her gaze to meet Geraldine’s. “Oh, yes. My wife.”

“Your wife?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I lost track of her a few minutes ago and I’m just worried she might be…” Wanda’s voice faded as her gaze landed on you. You were seated at a picnic table with Agnes beside you, positioned at your preferred distance. The sight of you began to untangle the knot in Wanda’s gut. Her yearning to be closer to you was palpable as she watched you dig your thumb into your palm while Agnes chatted with you. However, she wondered if the neighbor’s words were even registering with you.

Agnes picked up a fry between her fingers delicately from the plate in front of her. “So, what made you and your wife move to our charming little town?” You blinked, muscles freezing as if you hadn't expected her to break the silence. Your eyebrows knitted together as you processed her sudden question, a hint of uncertainty playing on your features. Your mind worked quickly, trying to recall the answer to this seemingly straightforward icebreaker. A slight unease settled in as you searched for the words. You pushed your thumb into the scar riddling your palm slowly, breathing out deeply through your nose as you focused intently on the empty space before you. Agnes watched you for a moment longer, chewing thoughtfully. It didn’t seem like you had any intentions of answering the question. Hell, it didn’t seem like you had any intentions of talking at all. There had to be something Agnes could do to make you more comfortable around her. She leaned back, her wide grin shrinking to a softer, warmer smile. “No pressure, dear,” she assured, sliding the plate closer to you. “Are you hungry?”

For a fleeting moment, your gaze moved towards the food before you raised your head to lock eyes with her, a spark of curiosity coloring your irises. As her nod of encouragement came, your fingers moved, and by some accident, they brushed against Agnes’s. The connection was brief, but it sent a puzzling warmth flowing through you as your muscles locked. She moved her hand as she cleared her throat, and that managed to pull you out of your panic state. You grabbed a fry, bringing it to your mouth to let the salty flavor dance across your tongue. A sensation of ease embraced you at the taste, your shoulders falling as you relaxed. However, as you reached for another, the plate seemed to move away from you, as if you had unintentionally pushed it. Confusion knitted your brows together as you looked up at Agnes, only for a tightness to return to your muscles at the sight of her crooked smile.

“How about we indulge in a little game?” she proposed, keeping the plate - complete with a hotdog, though your attention was riveted on the fries - closer to herself. “I’ll happily provide you with more of these,” she gestured toward the food, “in exchange for an answer.” You found yourself chewing on the inside of your cheek, your gaze darting quickly across the party as you searched for Wanda in a moment of unease. Unable to locate her, you relented, nodding in agreement with Agnes’s offer, a subtle grin of satisfaction gracing her features.

“I-” You cleared your throat, a bit of discomfort lingering as you gathered your thoughts. “We… We were looking for a… change. A quieter place to… to settle down.” Your eyes flickered toward Agnes before your hands found their way onto the table, tracing an idle pattern with your nail across your palm.

Agnes nodded appreciatively as if you had just shared a fascinating tidbit. “Ah, the quest for a peaceful haven. It’s something we can all relate to. Westview is the perfect place for that.” Her lips curled into a knowing smile as she noted your subtle interest in the plate, the way you’d look at it from the corner of your eyes. “A deal’s a deal.” She inched the food closer to you, her chuckle soft as she observed the way you eagerly reached for another fry. Leaning in slightly, she added, “Have the two of you explored the town a bit? Discovered any hidden gems I ought to be aware of?”

Your enthusiasm surged, and a radiant smile painted your face as you eagerly nodded. “We found a little… art museum,” you began, your gaze lifting to meet Agnes’s, where you found her typically piercing blue eyes now soft and gentle. “It’s… uh, a l- local place.” You glanced around the party once more, your gaze seemingly searching for your other half, but this time it wasn’t in need of comfort. It held an air of secrecy, as if you were about to share a juicy secret with your nosy neighbor. You turned back towards Agnes, your voice lowering an octave to keep your next sentence out of the ears of any bystanders. “I’m trying to… get my art displayed so… so I can surprise Wanda.”

“For Art’s Sake?” Agnes wore a sly smile when you cautiously nodded, her voice suddenly tinged with excitement. “Can you believe it, my husband, Ralph, is the one who runs that place. Isn’t that a marvelous coincidence?” She playfully wagged her finger, adding, “In fact, there’s an empty spot in the gallery he’s been itching to fill.”

“R- Really?” you responded, perking up.

“Absolutely!” She beamed, sliding the plate of fries closer to you. “It’s a charmingly small town, darling, just teeming with delightful surprises.” She leaned in even closer, her tone conspiratorial. “How about we make a little reverse art heist? You and I can swing by your place to grab that painting. Meanwhile, I’ll discreetly pop over to the museum and set it up. By the time you return with Wanda, it’ll be a wonderful surprise waiting for her.”

You scanned the lively gathering, but amidst the bustling crowd, you were still incapable of locating Wanda. A nagging thought in the back of your mind urged you to seek her out, to share the scheme you were hatching. After all, she was your confidant, your partner in navigating life’s twists and turns. Yet, here you stood at a crossroads, torn between the instinctual desire to include her in your plans and the wish to keep the surprise intact.

Agnes had a fleeting concern that you might change your mind as moments stretched in silence, so imagine her surprise when you finally nodded, returning your gaze to her with newfound determination. “Okay…” As you began to rise from your seat, it became clear that there was no room for her to do or say anything else; you had made up your mind, and you fully expected her to follow your lead.

To her credit, she did indeed follow. And, soon, she found herself standing in front of a map of the world hanging up in your living room. A few postcards were pinned to it, marking the locations from which they were presumably sent, although the pictures on the front held no names of the states. Agnes, being the nosy neighbor she is, couldn’t help but sneak a peek at what was written on the other side, but the sound of you descending the stairs quickly made her abandon her attempts.

“I… I’ve got it.” You presented a canvas as you looked toward her, your eyes landing on the map she was standing in front of. You made your way over to it, reaching into your pocket and leaning the artwork against the wall. She watched with curious eyes as you pinned a new postcard over Spain, now totaling four in all. “We can… We can go now.” You picked up the painting as you turned to leave, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Who are they from?”

“Nat.” You looked at the map, your expression briefly clouded by sorrow. “She’s… on an assign- mission. But she’s going to take me and Wanda to… see the world when she’s done!” A grin spread across your face, eyes lighting up with excitement as you pointed at the postcard you had just pinned. “She’s in… Spain right now. She’s tracking down a… a rogue agent.”

Agnes tilted her head to the side as she looked at you. “Who’s Nat?”

“Natasha,” you expressed, meeting her gaze, “Romanoff. She’s…” Your smile turned rueful. “She’s my mom. I- I miss her… all the time, but… she’s doing her job. And her job… It’s important.” She watched as your gaze quickly shifted back to the card on the wall, your lips caught between your teeth. There was a sense of innocence about you that Agnes almost found endearing, a childlike wonder that time hadn’t managed to erase.

“Well, this painting isn’t going to hang itself, dear!” she declared, extending her hand. “May I?” 

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek as you stared at her opened palm. It was as if you had momentarily forgotten the plan altogether, pulling the painted canvas against you to prevent Agnes from reaching it. She released an impatient sigh but maintained a small, warm smile as her hands fell away. “Do you… Be- Be careful with it,” you quietly pleaded, passing the artwork to her. You felt a momentary tension in your muscles as her fingers brushed lightly across your knuckles. Yet when she pulled away, a perplexing warmth flowed through your veins, leaving you somewhat bewildered and frozen.

She rewarded you with a radiant grin. “I’ll be extremely delicate with it,” she assured you. “Give me an hour.” She passed you to make her way toward the door, pulling it open before glancing back over her shoulder. “It’ll be perfectly set up by then.” With a wink, she vanished behind the closing door, leaving you frozen with deep breaths to steady your racing heart…

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“There you are!” Wanda’s voice resonated with relief the moment you joined her. If that wasn’t enough to convey her emotions, her arms wrapping around you in one of the tightest hugs you’d ever experienced certainly did the trick. “Where did you wander off to?” She pulled back slightly so she could look into your eyes, yet her wrists still lingered on your shoulders with the tips of her fingers dancing across the bottom of your jaw.

“I, uh… I- I was with-” You attempted to explain, but your words were interrupted.

“Sorry, Wanda, but I can’t seem to find her anywhere.” A newcomer approached, and you turned to regard her, eyebrows knitting and head tilting slightly with curiosity.

“Geraldine, meet Y/N.” Wanda introduced you with evident pride, her posture radiating confidence. “Y/N, this is Geraldine. She’s new to Westview, too.” Geraldine extended her hand, but you only glanced toward Wanda, eyes pleading for assistance. She chuckled softly, intertwining her arm with yours and pulling you closer. “Thank you for your help, Geraldine, but I think we should be heading home,” Wanda remarked, steering you away before any further conversation could ensue. You felt a mixture of relief and lingering uncertainty.

“You… We should’ve stayed,” you ventured, clearing your throat as Wanda continued to walk down the sidewalk, her arm still linked with yours. “They- You were making… friends. Why not stay… hang out?”

She looked at you for a brief second before saying, “I’m quite tired. You know someone can only withstand so much social time before getting burned out.” She smirked, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Besides, I’d much rather cuddle on the couch with you and get some TV in.”

“Are you… really tired?” you questioned, looking down at the way her arm wrapped through yours. “Are we really going… home?” You picked your head up to meet her gaze, and you had trouble fighting the smirk teasing your lips when you saw the way one of her eyebrows was quirked.

“Why?” Her voice held a hint of playful skepticism. 

“Can… Can we still go to the art gallery?” You straightened your form just slightly, yet it gave you the confidence to continue,  “I- I heard that there’s a… a new piece there!” You flashed her a wide smile, one she always had a hard time saying no to, and she chuckled softly, knowing exactly why you were giving her that grin.

“Of course, Y/N,” she expressed, “but let’s take the long way there, shall we?”

The charming art museum came into view not long after, filling you with overwhelming excitement. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you courteously held the door open, allowing Wanda to step inside before you.

Once again, the museum appeared just as it had before, but that didn’t diminish the sense of awe that washed over you, reminiscent of the very first time you’d set foot in this place. And, as before, Wanda paid no attention to the art on display. After all, why would she when the most beautiful artwork she’d ever bear witness to was holding her hand?

Then she saw it. And, when she did, she couldn’t seem to look away.

The painting presented an enthralling tapestry of colors and forms, orchestrating an enchanting ballet where lines and edges converged and blurred, weaving an almost dreamlike quality into the portrait. At the heart of the canvas stood a solitary figure, radiating an air of enigma and power. Her hair cascaded around her like a fiery halo, and her expressive eyes held a deep emerald hue that seemed to move, capturing the endless ebb and flow of emotions.

The indistinct strokes that shaped her features conveyed an evasive allure, as if she were in an everlasting state of metamorphosis, perpetually shifting between an array of sentiments. Behind her, a blend of hues swirled into existence, employing a rich combination of reds and blacks. This vivid palette created an illusion of chaos and magic, as though the very essence of reality was bending and undulating in response to the figure’s presence.

It was clear that she had momentarily lost her ability to use her lungs, her breath having been caught in her throat the moment she laid eyes on the painting. However, when you gently squeezed her hand - as if you were reminding her that she was actually awake - it brought her back to reality. She quickly glanced at the plate beneath the artwork…

“The Scarlet Sorceress” Y/N Maximoff

…and in an instant, her gaze locked onto yours. “Y/N,” she gasped, her eyes wide with astonishment. “H- How?”

You cleared your throat, feeling a sudden wave of nervousness under her intense gaze. “I- I can’t cook… for you, Wanda,” you stammered as her focus returned to the painting, “but I can… I can paint for you.” Your eyes stayed fixed on the side of her face, noting the subtle part of her lips and the sparkling of her eyes as they remained locked on the artwork as if it were the only thing in the room. “I just- I wanted to… surprise you,” you added quietly, but as she continued to remain silent, your anxiety grew. “Is it… too much?”

“Absolutely not,” she quickly declared, turning her head to focus her gaze on you. “It’s… beautiful, Y/N.” Bringing your intertwined hands up, she pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, causing the anxious knot in your gut to begin to untie. “It’s the best thing anyone has ever done for me.” Her smile illuminated the green hues in her irises, making them even more vibrant. “I love it.”

“I… didn’t name it,” you whispered, and she followed your gaze back to the painting as she pulled you closer to her. “But it… fits.” Your smile nearly matched Wanda’s brightness as the two of you stood there for a while longer, because at that moment, nothing else seemed to matter…

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“I’ve made us some hot chocolate,” Wanda announced as she entered the living room later that night, carefully carrying two steaming mugs topped with overflowing whipped cream. A soft smile played on her lips as she recalled the first time you had tasted the drink, the look on your face when your entire body had relaxed the moment the rich, chocolaty liquid touched your tongue. “Remember when-” Her voice caught in her throat when she spotted you on the couch. Your legs were drawn up to your chest, your arms tightly wrapped around your knees, and your thumb pressing harshly into your scarred palm. She pursed her lips, then placed the cups onto the end table, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong, my dove?”

“A- Agnes.” A tightness formed in her gut as the name left your lips, and she took a step closer to you, her jaw clenched tightly, feeling as if it were nearly impossible to pry it open again. You had filled her in on your little “art heist” with the nosy neighbor on the walk home, yet it only left her mind to race through all the possible scenarios of what might have transpired during the time between. Did Agnes make you feel uncomfortable? Nervous? Did she make you feel scared, or even unsafe? The possibilities seemed endless to Wanda, and she was already planning a warpath to the house to the right- “She… She called you my… wife,” you continued, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Wanda’s lips. Her tension eased, and she continued listening as you spoke about the nameplate at the museum, realizing that Agnes had merely echoed Wanda’s own words toward you. “Is… Is that what… we are?” You looked up at her, seemingly melting into her brilliant green eyes as you softly asked, “Married?”

Wanda felt a sudden wave of nerves wash over her as if she had popped the life-altering question right then and there and was waiting for you to give her an answer. She shifted closer, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of you. Her voice, low and warm, broke the silence. “Is that what you want to be?” she asked gently.

Your response was equally soft, tinged with doubt. “We… don’t have rings… And I- I never… proposed.”

“What if I propose?” Wanda suggested, leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees, and her chin cradled in her palms. She smiled at you kindly.

“Is… Is that what you… want?” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, heavy with hesitation.

She bit her lower lip, her warm gaze locked onto yours, momentarily lost in their depths. Then, she blinked herself back to the present, moving closer until she was perched at the edge of the table. Wanda gently took hold of your wrists, coaxing you out of your curled-up posture. “Y/N Romanoff,” she began, her voice filled with emotion as she enveloped your hands within her own, “will you marry me?” Now she had popped the life-altering question, and she was waiting for you to give her an answer… which felt like forever. It seemed as if you could only manage to stare into her eyes as if you had lost your voice and didn’t know how else to give her a response. She could feel her heart picking up speed in her chest, beginning to thump against her ribcage as it gradually picked up the urgency to escape this tense silence. She was going to be sick, her stomach twisting angrily. She just needed to hear your voice. She didn’t care what the answer was, she just needed you to break the silence…

“I- I do,” you finally said, granting her reprieve as she visibly relaxed.

And then she chuckled softly as she interlaced her fingers with yours. “You’re not supposed to say that yet,” she teased, leaning closer to you, a mischievous smirk playing at her lips. “You’re supposed to wait for the wedding.”

A glint of excitement filled your eyes as you perked up. “Can… Can Nat come? I want her to… walk me down the aisle.” It was impossible to fight at this point, she lost the smile that had stretched her lips, yet you didn’t see it as you were already on your feet, making your way to the map on the wall. She was slow to follow you, watching as you tapped your finger against the new postcard. “She’s… here now,” you claimed, “so… it should take…” Your finger drew away from Spain, tracing a line towards America, but she was quick to catch your hand with hers, clearing her throat with a newfound nervousness.

“Y/N…” She sighed out, rubbing the top of your hand with her thumb. “We should talk about Nat…” She was hesitant to meet your gaze, watching her fingers twirl seamlessly around yours, her stomach twisting as her nerves caught fire. She needed to address the issue, to face it head-on. There was no point in dragging it out any longer. “Dove-”

“I… I know,” you assured in a hushed tone, prompting her to slowly raise her head, meeting your eyes. They held a kindness, a softness, an aura of forgiveness that unraveled the knot in her gut. And your smile, so innocent and just as forgiving, further eased her. “I… She came here and we… we talked.” Wanda’s brows furrowed with curiosity. She tilted her head slightly but remained silent as you went on, “I’m not… sure how she appeared, but… she told me not to… worry about her. That death is just a… a one-way ticket to a distant star.” Your face reflected intense concentration, momentarily distant, before reconnecting with her as you asked, “Is… she right?

Lost in the depths of your eyes for the millionth time, Wanda found solace in the gentle squeeze of your hand. You looked at her with a hopeful expression, waiting for an answer. “She is,” she whispered, nodding solemnly. Using your grip, she tugged you closer, savoring the warmth as your arms instinctively wrapped around her waist. “She got taken away, but it doesn’t mean she’s gone forever.”

Your lips pressed together in contemplation, your narrowed pupils seeming to gaze through her, despite the mere inches that separated your faces. She resisted the temptation to delve into your thoughts, instead patiently waiting for you to express your feelings aloud.

However, the warmth that had been steadily enveloping her began to dissipate when you stepped back, leaving an icy void. It was evident that you struggled to find the right words to express your feelings, and you chewed the inside of your cheek as your thoughts raced without capturing the depths of your emotions. She trailed after you as you slowly moved past her, making your way to the front door and then stepping out into the yard.

“Y/N….” Her words trailed off as you stopped and gazed up at the night sky, your shoulders slumping. She stood beside you, and despite the countless twinkling stars decorating the dark canvas above, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, your fingers wrapping around hers when you felt their presence at your side, seeking solace in her touch. “I- I wanted… to see her.” You exhaled a heavy, soft breath as Wanda tilted her head toward the sky with you. “Just… Just one more time.”

She gently squeezed your hand, sharing the moment of silence with you as you both stared up at the vast expanse of the night sky. The stars above seemed to twinkle with a knowing grace as if they held secrets of the universe. “I understand,” she whispered gently, her voice carrying a soothing tone. She turned her gaze toward you, her eyes reflecting the starlight. “Would you like to stay out here for a while, just the two of us?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you spared another second to gaze up at the starry canvas above. When your eyes returned to meet hers, they shimmered brightly. However, the smile that slowly graced your face contradicted the sadness she had expected. “No,” you spoke softly, gently shaking your head. “We… We have hot chocolate waiting for us. I don’t… want it to get cold.”

Wanda began to speak, her voice laced with concern, but you interrupted her.

“It’s…” Your smile held a touch of melancholy, yet your shoulders relaxed as you turned your head back to the bright dots coloring the night sky. “It’s okay, Wands. This… This was my goodbye.” You punctuated your words with a firm, confident nod, signaling a sense of closure and acceptance that enveloped the both of you like a comforting embrace. You flashed her a smile before being the first one to step away, gently releasing Wanda’s hand as you made your way back into the house.

However, Wanda lingered for a moment longer, releasing a long, low breath as her eyes locked onto the brightest star above her. With a soft smile directed at the beacon, she mouthed the words, “Thank you,” while pressing her palms together in a silent expression of gratitude.

“Wands!” Her name rang out, causing her to turn with a soft, amused laugh as she walked through the door, closing it gently behind her. You were back on the couch, your legs folded comfortably beneath you, cradling one of the mugs of hot chocolate in your hands. “I… Thank you for the… the hot chocolate,” you said, tilting your head back against the couch to look at her from an upside-down perspective. You shot her a small smile, your eyes sparkling vividly.

Observing you closely, she noticed the way you watched her, and her expression became pensive. There was something wrong, a question lingering in her mind. Were you truly okay? She knew the profound significance of Natasha in your life, which was why she had initially chosen not to reveal the truth. Yet, in less than five minutes of stargazing, you appeared to have accepted her death with an unexpected ease. Shouldn’t you be more emotionally affected by the passing of someone you regarded as a mother? How could you seemingly be so composed? Furthermore, you continued to carry on the illusion of her being alive even after discovering the truth. If Wanda hadn’t mustered the courage to reveal the reality, how long would you have maintained that pretense?

She cleared her throat, and your eyes attentively followed her graceful movements until she settled beside you. Sitting up, you reached for the second mug, offering it to her. “We should talk, Y/N,” she asserted, her voice firm yet gentle, as her hands enveloped the cup.

“Am… Am I in trouble?” you asked in a faint tone, your arms lowering to rest your drink in your lap.

“No, my dove,” she assured with a soft laugh, removing a hand from her cup to press her warm palm gently against your cheek. Her heart fluttered with warmth as you leaned into her touch. “I just think we need to talk about Nat.” She sighed, her thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin. “It’s going to be a very long time before you see her again, sweetheart.”

Your lips formed a thin line, and she felt her heart tighten when she noticed the hint of tears glistening in your eyes. Your next words were barely a whisper, and she had to strain her ears to hear you, “What if I… forget her, Wanda?”

Her heart swelled with empathy, finally seeing the pain and vulnerability in your face. “You once told me that looking at the stars is gazing into the past,” she reminded you, and you nodded in agreement. “So, whenever you gaze upon the night sky and see her star shining with all its might… it will be as if you’re experiencing those cherished memories with her once more.” Her hand tenderly ascended, her fingertips softly caressing your forehead. “You will never forget her, baby. Not as long as she’s up there.”

She managed to wipe away the tear that had escaped its confinement with her thumb, and your subtle but unmistakable smile warmed her heart. Leaning against her, you allowed her to wrap her arm around you, drawing you closer in a comforting embrace. You rested your head on her shoulder, your gaze fixed on your untouched drink. “I’m… I’m going to miss her… forever,” you confessed softly.

“I know, love,” Wanda whispered. “I’m going to miss her, too.”

“Wands,” you murmured. She responded with a low hum, gently rubbing your arm as you took slow breaths. “I… I want to keep… her name.” A smile tugged at her lips as she leaned her cheek against the top of your head. “Is… Is that okay?”

“Of course, my dove,” she assured quietly. 

“Can you… Can you fix another problem?” A mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes as you tilted your chin up to meet her gaze. “You’re my wife” - Wanda’s heart skipped a beat at the word, excitement fluttering in her stomach as she eagerly awaited your next words - “but… but we don’t… We need… rings, Wands.”

She laughed softly, a proud grin dancing on her lips as you picked up your left arm to showcase your bare finger. In response, she positioned her hand next to yours. “I can certainly fix that,” she declared. With a wave of her wrist and a shimmer of scarlet light, your once-bare finger was now adorned with a magnificent band. “A beautiful ring for my beautiful wife.” Your chuckle filled her body with warmth as you looked up to meet her gaze once more, but instead of saying something, you inched forward to bring your lips against hers.

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Each night, darkness and silence enveloped the room as bedtime approached. You and Wanda would assume your familiar sleeping positions - she always insists on resting her head on your chest - and she would gradually succumb to slumber, guided by the rhythmic thump of your heart. Meanwhile, you counted the seconds, matching them with her gentle breaths, until you, too, surrendered to the world of unconsciousness. However, it wasn’t the restful slumber most experienced; instead, it was a void of dreams, a peaceful yet empty serenity…

But tonight was different. Your descent into that bottomless abyss was extremely short-lived, interrupted by an unfamiliar yet unmistakable sound, jolting you awake. Your eyes darted around the room, quickly detecting the absence of Wanda on her side of the bed. Panic gripped you for a moment before you threw off the blankets, eager to find the source of the distress. Peeking around the door of the bathroom, your brows furrowed deeply with concern, you found your wife on the floor, clutching the toilet bowl as if it were her lifeline.

“Wands?” You cautiously moved to stand in the doorway, but she quickly raised her hand, signaling you to stay put. You paused, nervously pressing your thumb against your palm as you watched her heave into the toilet. “Are… Are you okay?”

She drew in a deep breath, resting her cheek against her arm for a moment before slowly regaining her composure enough to rise to her feet. Stepping over to the sink, she turned on the faucet, and you remained silent as she washed her hands. “I’ll be fine, dove,” she reassured you in a soft voice, barely audible over the rushing water. “I think it’s just a stomach bug.” 

She stood up straight, freezing when she noticed you were no longer in the doorway. Frowning with confusion, she took a step toward the hallway and gasped when she almost collided with you when you turned the corner back into the bathroom. Her laughter was soft, and she placed a hand over her heart while the other gently rested on your shoulder. “I- I’m sorry,” you whispered, your face briefly showing guilt before a smile lit it up. “I… I got you a ginger ale.” With a cup in hand filled with fizzy soda, you extended it toward her. “It almost always helped when… I get an upset tummy.”

“Thank you, my love,” she expressed, her fingers curling around the cool glass. “You should go back to bed. I’ll be okay, I promise.” She placed her free hand gently against your cheek in case her words weren’t enough, but the frown on your face made her tilt her head in curiosity. “What’s wrong?”

You looked away, focusing on your thumb tracing your scar. In a hushed tone, you confessed, “I don’t… I don’t like going to sleep.” She sighed, her eyes softening with sympathy as she placed her drink on the sink.

“Why not, baby?” She added her second hand to your other cheek when it was clear you were hesitating, gently guiding your head up until your eyes met hers. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” You nodded in response. “Why don’t you like sleeping?”

You chewed your bottom lip, taking a moment to gather yourself while the greens in her eyes offered you comfort. The warmth radiating from her fingertips encouraged you to share your feelings. “I… When I… close my eyes now,” you began, your voice barely more than a breath in the quiet room, “I don’t see you… anymore. It’s just… darkness.” Your hands moved to cover hers. “I… miss dreaming.” Wanda regarded you with a soft, understanding gaze. “It feels more like I’m sitting in a… in a dark room instead of sleeping. I… I'm always tired.”

“How long has this been going on, Y/N?” she inquired, her tone tender and empathetic. Her thumbs glided smoothly across your cheeks, and you found yourself melting further into her touch. “You know I could have helped you.”

“I- I know,” you replied, taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. You offered her a soft yet melancholic smile. “I just… I’ve been enjoying sleeping with… you.” Then your eyes widened, and Wanda burst into laughter, her amusement contagious as you stammered to clarify, “Not- Not like that. I- I mean… I do en- enjoy sleeping with you… in that way, b- but in this case, I…” Your expression shifted to a frown, your bottom lip jutting out, a telltale sign that you felt like you’d messed something up.

“It’s alright, my love,” she comforted, her hands sliding down to grip the nape of your neck, a smile growing on her face, unstoppable and unhidden. Leaning closer, her lips brushed across your earlobe, sending a wave of shivers down your spine as she whispered, “I enjoy sleeping with you as well.” Pulling away, she left a ghost of a kiss against your cheek. But her mischievous grin was cut short as waves of nausea hit her, sending her rushing back to the toilet.

You snapped out of your stupor, moving to her side, a hand on her back as you gently held her hair out of the way. “Did you eat… something?” you asked quietly when her convulses paused. “I… I noticed that the milk… went bad.”

She sat up a bit, looking over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “And when did you notice that?” she returned, but you only managed to send her a sheepish smile in response before she returned to the retching.

You had lost track of the time the two of you spent in the bathroom, but the sun was high in the sky by the time Wanda’s sickness seemed to ease a bit, allowing you to finally persuade her to lie down. Your nerves were palpable; taking care of someone when they were sick was uncharted territory for you. Natasha had always been the one to care for you when you fell ill, and she consistently downplayed her own illnesses, refusing your attempts to return the favor. In an attempt to distract your anxious mind and keep busy while sleep remained elusive, you found yourself rummaging through the refrigerator, searching for expired foods to dispose of.

The milk was the first to go.

Your distraction with reading expiration labels had been so effective that you hadn’t noticed the back door open, let alone any knocks, if they had occurred at all. You turned around, attempting to place an expired bottle of salad dressing onto the kitchen island when you suddenly spotted Agnes standing right behind you. Your heart jumped in your throat at the unexpected sight of your neighbor.

“Sorry, dear,” Agnes chuckled. “I’ve been told I can be awfully quiet on my feet!” She shifted to the side, allowing you to place the bottle down, and cast a curious eye over the assortment of perishables on the counter as you returned to the fridge. “Am I interrupting some spring cleaning?”

Your brows furrowed, and you turned to face her again. “It’s… It’s not spring.” Then, shaking your head, you stepped closer to her, closing the fridge door behind you. “Wanda. She’s not… feeling well.” Your lips pressed together as you glanced at the food, uncertain about what to do now that you’d isolated it. “I… I don’t know how to help.” Meeting Agnes’s gaze, you asked, “Y- Have you ever… taken care of someone with a… a bug?”

She laughed lightly, waving her hand as if the question was absurd. And, to be honest, it kind of was. ��Of course,” she replied. “Ralph always manages to catch the latest stomach bug going around.” She cupped her hand around the side of her mouth and added with a wink, “Sometimes I’m pretty sure he’s even patient zero, if you catch my drift.”

You perked up, eyes widening with hope. “Wh- What can I do… to help Wanda?”

“Well,” Agnes mused, “I know chicken noodle soup does wonders.” She offered a reassuring smile, but her expression turned quizzical when she noticed you seemed a bit hesitant.

“I… I’m not exactly a… skilled cook,” you confessed, your gaze drifting to the battered smoke detector that had been moved to the table, a reminder of your last culinary adventure. She followed your gaze and let out a sympathetic sigh, placing her hands on her hips as she turned her attention back to you. “Is… Is there something else I can… do? Maybe I… I can run to the store a- and buy it-”

“I can teach you,” she offered with a broad grin. “Trust me, dear, it’s going to make her feel so much better knowing it came from you and not some store.” Her gaze shifted back to the array of food on your counter. “We can use some ingredients from my house. Let me go get them, and I’ll be right back.” She playfully winked at you before turning on her heels and heading out.

She wasn’t sure how long she had drifted into sleep, but the sun still painted a glow through the sliver in the curtains when Wanda opened her eyes. Inhaling deeply, one hand resting on her upset stomach, she stretched the other across the bed. Turning her head, she noted your absence, prompting her to sit up and strain her ears. Muffled voices reached her, guiding her to rise and follow the source of the commotion.

“Exactly like that, dear!” Agnes’s voice, unusually enthusiastic, was more animated than Wanda had ever heard it. Apparently, the neighbor could be even more energetic. “Now, let’s get that chicken into the broth.”

Turning the corner into the kitchen, Wanda wrapped her arms around herself, a soft and slightly confused smile gracing her features as she observed you with curiosity. You were handling a bowl of chicken with deliberate caution, slowly pouring the contents into a pot of bubbling broth. “What’s going on here?” Wanda’s voice broke through your focus, and your eyes snapped to meet hers. It was as if you’d been caught in the act of doing something you’re not supposed to be doing, and the bowl you were holding slipped through your fingers, making a metallic sound as it hit the counter before spinning to the ground. A flush of red spread across your cheeks, and you cleared your throat.

“Y- You…” You huffed. “I- I was making you chicken noodle soup be- because you’re sick and Agnes… She said that it… helps.” Your voice wavered, and the confused smile on Wanda’s face transformed into a bright grin. The tension in your muscles visibly eased when she laughed softly.

“We did lose most of the chicken, dear,” Agnes claimed with a downward glance towards the mess at her feet, “so now it’s just noodle soup.” Your hand reached for a towel resting on the counter, seemingly coinciding with Agnes’s attempt. The tension in the room seemed to swallow you when your fingers brushed against hers, causing a noticeable stiffness in your muscles. That familiar perplexing warmth flowed through you, and it was only when Wanda’s voice reached your ears that you managed to release yourself from the unintentional discomfort once again.

“Thank you, baby,” she said, moving further into the room. “It smells delicious.” You had to look away to hide the blush that burned your face.

Turning to Wanda, Agnes sized her up with an assessing look. “How’re you feeling, Wanda? Y/N told me all about your morning adventures!”

As the two women chatted, you knelt down to address the spill. Their conversation formed a comforting backdrop as you efficiently scooped the chicken back into the bowl and stood up, placing it aside. Gazing into the simmering pot, you pondered if this simple remedy would suffice. It wasn’t a permanent solution, you knew that, but you hoped it might provide Wanda some relief, easing her nausea. Catching a bug was unpleasant, and it frustrated you that you couldn’t do more for her.

The ladies’ talk returned more prominently to your awareness, Agnes’s next words snapping your attention to them. “Oh, honey. You’re not sick.” Frozen, confusion etched across your face like a painting, you locked eyes with Wanda. There was no doubt she was! You held her hair back while she was- “You’re expecting! Congratulations.” Applause echoed through the room, but your mind struggled to process the revelation while your gaze dropped to your fingers as if they were magic, eyebrows knitted together tightly. Could that even be possible?

“Surely I’m not pregnant, Agnes!” Wanda scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s-” The abrupt pause in her sentence drew your attention back, and as you looked at your wife, you noticed her staring at her stomach. Following her gaze, you realized Agnes was right. The small bump that had formed under Wanda’s shirt attested to that. Your heart started to burn. Was this what a heart attack felt like? “Could that even be possible?” Wanda echoed your previous thought in a faint tone.

Whatever Agnes said to Wanda only became more background noise as your mind raced. You hadn’t received the most ideal education when you were younger, but you weren’t ignorant about the basics of human reproduction. You and Wanda? Well, that’s definitely not how that works. However, the evidence was undeniable. The sudden morning sickness, now coupled with the noticeable bump you had somehow overlooked until now, painted a vivid clear picture. Wanda was pregnant - a little bundle of joy was on the way, a child that would be part of both her and you. A newborn. Panic set in. How were you going to take care of a baby when you struggled to care for Wanda, an adult? A child would need much more, unable to do things for themselves. This wasn’t something you had ever thought of before. Children? You and Wanda had just decided to get married a few days ago. Children? You’re not ready. Would you ever be ready? What’s going to happen when the baby arrives? You struggled to talk confidently, would your child pick up on that? Would your child pick up on your other traits? You became uncomfortable with physical contact. Would you be able to pick up your child? You had gotten accustomed to Wanda’s touch, would you do the same for your child? You sure are thinking your child a lot. Because that’s what this was going to be. Your child. Your child. Your-

“Dove.” Wanda’s voice was a soft murmur, and the feel of her breath caressing the side of your neck caused you to snap out of the whirlwind of your thoughts. You turned, finding her unexpectedly close. Her green eyes shimmered with concern, a faint shine highlighting the contours of her face. It was a familiar glow, one you hadn’t seen in what felt like ages. You dropped your gaze to see the yellow hue matching the brilliance of the sun coloring your veins, enveloping your arms. It wasn’t a heart attack. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, her fingers leaving goosebumps as they gently traced your cheeks. “Take deep breaths.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, seeking release. As you looked back into her eyes, your nose tingled, the yellow glow only intensifying. “Wands…” you choked, shaking your head subtly, unable to tear your gaze away from her. “I- I can’t… I-” Your eyelids squeezed close tightly.

“Listen to me,” she urged, her palms tenderly cradling your face. Her touch worked like a tranquilizing agent, pacifying the chaotic thoughts in your mind. “We’re going to get through this together, you hear me? Just the two of us.” She rested her forehead against yours, your noses lightly grazing. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. You never have to face anything alone, my dove. Not as long as I’m here. And I’m here to stay.” Your eyes fluttered open, locking with hers as she teased with a playful smirk, “You’re stuck with me.”

You nodded, finally feeling the grip of panic loosening as her hands moved down to your shoulders. Her fingers intertwined behind your neck, and the yellow glow in your veins gradually faded. Your racing heart slowed, and you sniffed harshly. “T- Three.”

“What?” She furrowed her brows slightly, a hint of confusion in her expression as she pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, trying to decipher the meaning of the singular word before you voiced the explanation out loud.

You rested a hand against her stomach, inhaling deeply. “Just… Just the… three of us.”

In that moment, an overwhelming wave of emotions engulfed Wanda - joy, pride, excitement, and, at its core, love, all flooded her entire being. Leaning in, she captured your lips with hers in a tender, passionate kiss. It felt as if this kiss was imprinting the moment, sealing your future. She realized now she needed you as much as you needed her, and the two of you were going to embark on the journey of raising this child. Together. And she wouldn’t change that for the world.

“The doctor’s here.” Agnes’s voice cut through the air before she strolled into the room. You instinctively distanced yourself from Wanda, a flush of red coloring your cheeks. Agnes eyed the two of you, folding her arms with a knowing smirk. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting a celebration, dears.”

“Doctor…?” You furrowed your brows, sharing a glance with Wanda, who took your fingers into her hand to give them a gentle squeeze.

“It’s just a precaution, dove,” she reassured softly. “We need to make sure the baby’s okay.” Your lips pursed, nodding in understanding. Wanda guided you into the living room, and a glance at the doctor left your heart racing. If she weren’t tugging you, you would’ve been frozen at the doorway.

“I’ll give you three some privacy,” Agnes declared, lingering in the kitchen. “Just holler if you need anything!”

Wanda settled onto the couch, drawing you down beside her as the doctor delved into his bag, retrieving his stethoscope. Her grasp on your hand remained steadfast, sensing both your unease and the unconscious desire to fidget.

As the doctor pressed the instrument against Wanda’s belly, your breath caught, and a surge of nervous questions flooded your mind. Why were you so anxious? What was the source of this nervous energy? Were you more afraid of the possibility of a baby or the absence of one? The idea of a mistake crossed your mind. If Wanda wasn’t pregnant, she would be devastated. Her excitement at the notion was unmistakable. But how about you? Just five minutes ago, the news didn’t excite you. No, they made you panic. Had your feelings changed so swiftly? Were you… excited now? A baby - Wanda’s and yours.

A small smile tugged at your lips at the thought.

“Yep, definitely pregnant,” the doctor confirmed, and you felt a surge of… relief. Your smile grew as you gazed down at your intertwined hands.

“We pretty much guessed that,” Wanda commented. “It’s just taken us by surprise. It’s sudden. Overnight, practically.” You glanced at her, a slight furrow in your brows at her unexpected nervousness. Was she not ecstatic earlier? “How… How does this even happen?”

The doctor looked between the two of you as if contemplating the complexity of the situation himself. He then broke into a wide smile, attempting a light-hearted approach. “You see, when two people love each other very much-” He halted his joke mid-sentence, knowing how impossible it was, and straightened his form to place his hands on his hips. “You’re about four months along, right?” Wanda nodded, though you absentmindedly shook your head dubiously… until she sent you a look, causing you to switch your doubt to agreement. “I thought so. At this time, the fetus is about the size of a pear.”

You cleared your throat, leaning forward. You had to ignore the doctor’s stare, focusing on the feeling of Wanda’s fingers still interlocked with yours to say, “Wh- What… size would it be at, uh… twelve hours?”

“Pardon?” He smiled, hesitating. “Twelve hours?”

Wanda laughed lightly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it to pat your knee. You looked at her with curiosity as she said, “She’s just concerned.”

“Every new mother-to-be gets nervous,” the doctor claimed happily. “Don’t worry; that feeling will go away when you look your newborn in the eye!” He picked up his bag.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you see the doctor out?” Wanda’s eyes met yours, and it took you a moment to process her words before you blinked yourself out of her hypnotizing gaze, standing up. As you walked away with the doctor, Wanda’s face lit up with a smile, and she rose from the couch, her hands gently caressing her belly as she made her way toward the kitchen.

“It’s a stroke of luck you caught me in time,” he claimed as the two of you stepped out onto the porch. You looked away from him as he stopped to turn to you, eyes landing on the neighbor trimming his edges with curiosity. “I’m taking the wife on vacation this afternoon.” You watched him - you were pretty sure his name was Herb - as he ran his trimmers across the hedges. “Oh! This should be of great use for you.” You looked back at the doctor in time to see him reach into his bag, pulling out a book with an animated picture of a stork on it. You slowly accepted the gift. “It has all the answers to everything you need to know about being a parent. Maybe even help you with those nerves a bit.” He waved his fingers at you as he started to walk away, yet your eyes were too focused on the book to notice. “I’m off to Bermuda!”

Your attention returned to the neighbor, his wide smile contrasting the odd scene of him driving the hedge trimmers through the wall. Stepping backward, the book clutched in your hands, you closed the door before turning around. “Hey… Wands? Our… neigh-” Wanda pivoted to face you, your voice catching in your throat as you noticed her expanded belly. “You… You got… bigger?”

“Did I?” She looked down as you approached slowly. “It’s kind of hard to tell from this angle.” Her hands cradled her stomach as she picked her head up to meet your gaze, her eyes sparkling brightly as you stopped in front of her. “I have a surprise for you!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “Was… Was the pregnancy not the… surprise?” She rolled her eyes with a playful smirk, bringing your wrist in a gentle grip, and guided you to the room off to the side.

The room off the living room was a familiar mystery, a door you’d seen countless times but never put much thought into it. It seemed like just another storage space or perhaps unused territory. Until now. The assortment of wood, varied in shapes and colors, drew your attention immediately. A lone rocking chair sat to the side, and the walls were adorned in cheerful, childlike paint. It begged the question - how did this room come into existence? The pregnancy revelation had been mere moments ago, so how had Wanda managed to set up this nursery so quick?

“Sit down.” Wanda’s directive wasn’t optional, and you found yourself complying. Seeking comfort in the rocking chair, you observed as Wanda worked her magic, fingers wiggling to deftly assemble the pieces of wood into a crib. Your thoughts shifted from questioning the room’s origin to wondering where all this baby furniture had come from. It’s not like you had a dismantled crib lying around… did you?

Your gaze dropped to the book in your hands, lips pressed together in contemplation as you opened it.

“What does the book say?” Wanda’s soothing voice cut through your thoughts, prompting you to lift your head and meet her warm eyes. Her smile was soft, giving no hint of concern. She seemed genuinely happy about this whole parenting journey, and it left you grappling with the enormity of it all.

“You’re, um…” Your eyes flickered back to the book, scanning the page you’d opened to. “Morning… sickness.”

“We’ve already dealt with that stage,” Wanda breathed out, a soft laugh woven into her voice. With a casual wave of her hand, decorations levitated about the crib. “What else?”

“Uh, m- mood swings,” you mentioned, raising an eyebrow. “Aching back and… and feet.” Glancing back up at her, you swiftly rose from your seat. “Do… Do you hurt?” You gestured toward the rocking chair, then placed a firm hand on its back to halt any inadvertent rocking. “You shou- Sit down.”

Wanda dismissed your concern - and your attempt at being assertive - with a shake of her head. “Don’t be silly, dove. All I feel is excitement!” Her wide grin soon dimmed, forming an ‘O’ of shock as her gaze dropped to her belly.

“Wh- What? What’s wrong?” You took a tentative step toward her, then redirected your attention to the book, rapidly flipping through the pages. The doctor had claimed all the answers, but how were you supposed to find them if you didn’t even know the right questions?

“Y/N, sweetheart…” Wanda’s fingers delicately wrapped around your wrist, halting your quest through the book. Your body melted at her touch as she drew you closer and closer, until your palm pressed against her belly. A gasp caught in your throat as you felt the baby’s kick against your hand, your eyes wide… and smile even wider.

You leaned in closer to her, the tip of your nose gently brushing against the fabric concealing the bump of her stomach. “D- Do it again,” you whispered, laughing excitedly when you felt the push against you once more.

“He’s certainly a mama’s boy,” Wanda murmured softly, her eyes filled with a radiant warmth as you sank to your knees. The book lay forgotten on the floor as you pressed your other hand against her, and Wanda sensed a soothing calmness wash over her, seeing the joy she felt mirrored on your face. No more traces of concern or anxiety hiding in the lines around your eyes; just pure, unadulterated happiness.

“What… What does it… feel like to you?” You lifted your gaze to meet hers over the bump.

“It’s a… strange sensation,” she admitted, gently moving her hands to cover yours. “It’s kind of fluttery.” She chuckled, and as her laughter filled the room, the butterfly mobile hanging above the crib came to life, wings flapping in a graceful dance to the melodic sound emanating from Wanda. “Oh, did I do that?” With a sense of wonder, you eased one of your hands from beneath Wanda’s to hold a finger up, marveling at the beautiful insect as it perched lightly on you. Moving with delicate care, you placed the butterfly on top of Wanda’s belly, a proud and tender smile gracing your face.

“She’s… She’s going to be… gentle,” you murmured, meeting her gaze once more, “like you, Wands. A… butterfly.”

“She?” Wanda watched as you rose to your feet, briskly rubbing your hands together.

“I… I’m hoping for a… a girl,” you confessed sheepishly. “We can… name her after Nat. Is… that okay?”

Wanda reached up, the tips of her fingers delicately tracing the contours of your forehead and down your cheek. “We can definitely do that,” she assured with a tender smile, “but what if we get a boy?”

Your lips pursed together briefly before saying, “Wh- What would you… name him?”

She pondered for a moment, then leaned forward. “Tommy,” she answered. “A nice, classic, all-American name.”

“T- Tommy.” She felt her heart flutter as the name rolled off of your tongue. And she could’ve sworn she had flat-lined when you smiled after taking a moment to process it. “I… I like it.”

“But you’re still hoping for a girl,” Wanda pointed out, and you nodded unashamed, a broad grin of pride on your face as you walked out of the room with your head held high, causing Wanda to chuckle happily.

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“Wands.” She lifted her head at the sound of your voice, noticing you standing in the doorway of the kitchen, your nose buried in that book in your hands. A small smile played on her lips as she wiped her hands onto a towel, humming a response. “A- Are you going to the… bakery?” you inquired, picking your head up to meet her gaze as you stepped further into the room.

She furrowed her eyebrows slightly, tilting her head with a hint of confusion. “No?” A light chuckle accompanied her answer. “Why would I go to the bakery?”

You grinned, “Because you… you have a bun in the… oven.” Her soft laughter filled the air, a sound that brought a flutter to your gut as you moved closer. Placing the book onto the counter, you leaned against it. “Do you need… help? Are you… hungry? The book says that pregnant women get… weird cravings.”

“I’m okay, dove,” she assured lightly, smiling warmly as she reached over to stroke a thumb across your cheek. “I’ll tell you what, though. How about I make us some popcorn, and we can catch up on some-” Suddenly, she grasped her belly, a gasp escaping her lips. You straightened up, eyebrows furrowing with concern as you reached out to support her.

“Wands?”

“Does your book say anything about this?” she asked, gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s not painful, but it’s odd.” Panic flickered in her eyes, her worry evident.

Before you can say anything, the lights in the room began to flicker. The microwave behind you beeped rapidly, and the smell of popcorn filled the air. The kitchen faucet started to run, water building up in the sink and pouring over the edge onto the floor. Despite everything happening around you, your focus remained on your wife. You took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She watched you closely and followed your lead, grabbing your hand as the two of you took a moment to breathe.

The easing of contractions was evident as the vice-like grip she had on you gradually loosened. Simultaneously, the appliances around you ceased their malfunctioning, returning to their off state as she let out a deep exhale. A moment of relief passed, and her eyebrows twitched, a wide smile gracing her lips as she cleared her throat.

“How’d you do that?” she questioned.

“B- Braxton Hicks. Fake… False labor. I read it- The book says it can help with your… breathing exercises.”

But she shook her head, and your gaze turned into confusion. “How’d you manage to stay so calm,” she chuckled lightly. “That was… pretty impressive.”

You shrugged sheepishly, feeling you lose yourself in her shining emerald eyes. “I just… I saw you panicking and… and I wanted to help.” You placed another hand over hers, relishing in the comfort her touch brings to your palms. “We’re in this together… you and me. So… at least one of us has to stay… calm and think straight.” You released her, sending her a tender smile as you brought her face between your hands. “It was… It was my turn.” She blew out a soft sigh, and your small grin grew as you felt her breath caress your chin like a delicate breeze. The way your eyes lit up, emitting a cozy warmth no fire could replicate, she knew what needed to be said…

“Y/N-” Her voice caught, noticing the small yawn you tried to conceal. Your exhaustion was now unmistakable, reflected in the weariness coloring your eyes. She pressed her lips together, exhaling softly before a small smile graced her face. “You need sleep.” Bewilderment took over your expression, evident in the deep furrow of your eyebrows. She laughed, placing her hands over yours to gently pull them away.

“Wands-”

“Come on.” With her fingers wrapped around yours, she led you out of the kitchen and into the living room. With each step, the stress that had built up over the day seemed to gradually evaporate into a sense of relaxation.

Sitting on the couch, she gently led you to lie down, guiding you effortlessly. Your head found a comfortable spot on her lap, and as you breathed deeply, content, you looked up into her soft, warm eyes. Her fingernails traced soothing patterns across your forehead, lulling you into a deeper tranquility. “There’s…” You chewed the inside of your cheek, your thoughts momentarily scattered as if erased by the magic of her gaze. “There’s no… point,” you whispered.

“Trust me, baby,” her tone as gentle as her gaze. “Just try.” You sighed softly, adjusting your position before allowing your eyes to flutter closed. Oblivious to the crimson wisps of smoke disappearing into your skin, and with Wanda’s soft hums reaching your ears, you felt yourself drift away into the void of dreams… only, it wasn’t quite so empty anymore.

Wanda always found solace in watching your peaceful slumber, even if it did sound a bit creepy. In sleep, you weren’t burdened by the conscious efforts you made while awake. The realm of dreams she had opened for you offered a sanctuary where you could be entirely yourself, free from the shadows of anxiety that haunted your waking moments. It was a place where the exhausting overthinking ceased, and you could simply let go.

She cherished this moment, yearning for it to stretch into eternity. The gentle caresses of her nails against your forehead, the soothing hums that filled the air - she didn’t want to stop any of it. Above all, she dreaded the mere thought of you waking up, shattering this serene intermission. So delightful. So calming. So… soothing…

An elusive shift unfolded, as she shut her eyes for what she thought was a brief moment, only to open them to a radiant light. It appeared she had slept through the night and into the early morning, with the rays of sunshine illuminating the room. The weight on her lap almost tempted her back into slumber. As her hand, nestled in the crook of your collarbone, meandered downward, she jolted awake when her fingers met an unexpected searing heat.

Wait… heat?

Her eyes shifted downward, and her heart surged into her throat. The luminous glow she had mistaken for daylight was emanating from you. The warm, yellow light gently bathed the room, casting a surreal ambiance that mimicked the morning sun perfectly. Wanda’s concern deepened as she focused on your sleeping form, realizing that something potentially worrying was unfolding right beneath her.

Your face contorted with subtle twitches, and your eyes moved restlessly beneath your closed lids. It hadn’t occurred to Wanda until now that her ability to unlock the dream realm didn’t necessarily shield you from unsettling nightmares. After all, nightmares were dreams as well. Her protective instincts surged, and she gently rested a hand against your cheek, whispering your name with a mix of worry and care.

“Y/N.” Her voice was a hushed murmur.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the soft glow surrounding you seemed to dim as you blinked, evidently disoriented. Confusion etched your expression as you gazed up at Wanda, furrowing your brows in bewilderment. Scanning the room as if trying to piece together where you were, your thoughts ran rampant, quietly grappling to make sense of the situation.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s hands instinctively retreated as you sat up, confusion lingering on your features as you rose to your feet. She mirrored your movements, tension tightly wrapping around her heart as she observed the careful way your eyes traced the protective placement of her hands around her belly. “Dove.”

In an instant, your grin surfaced. The uncertainty that had clouded your face vanished as if it had never existed. Your eyes sparkled with a newfound light, your smile radiated warmth, and your shoulders relaxed. Nevertheless, Wanda’s unease lingered, and she couldn’t divert her curious gaze from you.

“Are you… Are you hungry?” You perked up, but she wasn’t oblivious to the glimmer of concern in your eyes. “I… I can make you a sandwich.” Without waiting for her response, you swiftly made your way to the kitchen. But just as you reached the doorway, you heard her gasp from behind. “Wands?” You turned, your hands nervously rubbing together. “Wh- What is it?”

“This is a real one,” she expressed.

“A- Already?” 

“Y/N.”

“Wands, I… I thought there was more… more time.” Panic started to seize your eyes, your arms once again taking on that vibrant yellow glow. She slowly guided you into doing some calming breathing exercises, moving closer to take your hands in hers.

You followed her lead, taking deep breaths until the glowing subsided. “Better,” she whispered.

“What- Should I get the… doctor?”

Before she could answer, thunder violently shook the house, and the room was suddenly drenched in rain. She met your wide-eyed gaze and offered you the softest smile you’d ever seen in such an intense moment. “I’m pretty sure my water just broke, dove, so I do believe it’s time to get the doctor.”

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You found yourself rooted at the front door, almost paralyzed by the sudden realism. It had all happened so quickly. Everything. It was like blinking and finding yourself here. How could you have seen this one coming? Confined within the walls of a HYDRA lab, never daring to dream of a life beyond. And then, out of nowhere, fate had found you. Like a lost child at a local flea market, you were scooped up by a patient woman and a suspicious man. It felt like just yesterday. As if you had only just tasted your first French fry. As if you had witnessed the sunset for the first time. And now… here you were, listening to the cries of a newborn and watching your wife cradle the other one. Yes, the other one.

Twins. Could you believe it?

“Dove.” You snapped out of your daze at the sound of Wanda’s voice, her soft smile a balm to your racing thoughts. “Come meet your boys.” It shouldn’t have caught you off guard with how many times you had thought it, but it did. Your boys. Hearing it out loud from someone else made it different. It made everything more real, more tangible, in a way that your own thoughts hadn’t.

Your steps were hesitant, slow, as if you were walking into a moment you’d long been preparing for (which, in reality, was only two days). The moment to meet one of your children face to face, to let the panic subside, just as the doctor had assured you…

But as you reached the bassinet, as you looked into the eyes of your baby, that panic which had become your unwanted companion seemed to intensify. His tiny hands appeared to reach out for you, and you found yourself frozen once more. Your fists clenched, your jaw locked. What if holding your own child triggered an uncontrollable overload? The idea of putting your children in danger was unthinkable. How could you protect them when you were the weapon?

Wanda was suddenly next to you, the other baby still cradled in her arms, her focus fixed on the one lying in wait in the bassinet before you. “Y/N-”

“I- I- I- I… can’t.” Disappointment, shame, and guilt, all flooded through you as you shook your head adamantly, tears pricking your eyes, tugged at your nose, and painted your cheeks a deep shade of red. Wanda’s gaze snapped onto you, her irises soft with understanding, but you were walking away long before she could speak a word.

You retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a resounding click, then leaned against the sink and stared down at the faucet. What were you doing? You were allowing your fear of potential overloads to keep you from even attempting to hold your newborn child. You had mastered your control over your powers, hadn’t you? …hadn’t you? Were you willing to test that?

A soft knock echoed through the room, and you lifted your gaze to meet your reflection in the mirror. Your complexion appeared pale, bearing a bluish hue. A chilling sensation seemed to wrap around your body. It suddenly felt as if you couldn’t breathe as you slowly lowered your gaze, an eerie emptiness occupied the hole in your chest where your heart should be.

A hand gently landed on your shoulder, pulling you out of whatever nightmare you had fallen into. In the mirror, your image reverted to your usual self with your heart intact. “Y/N?” You met her reflection’s eyes for a fleeting second before you pivoted to face her. You cleared your throat, mustered a half-smile, and focused. “Did you hear what I said?” She regarded you with a hint of skepticism as you shook your head. “I know physical contact makes you uncomfortable, but there are other ways to express your love for them.”

“Like… what?”

“Well,” she hummed, gently taking your hand and directing you out of the bathroom, leading you on a leisurely stroll back to the living room, “what did you do with the boys at the compound?”

Furrowing your brows, you concentrated on her question, and she chuckled softly as she noticed your struggle to give her a response.

“You spent time with Tony in his lab.” You always sensed a hint of loneliness in Tony. You even picked up a thing or two from him since he did all of the talking. “You listened to Clint gush about his family all the time.” Learning more about Clint’s family and the gleam in his eyes when he spoke about them always brought a smile to your face. “You lightened Steve’s load by going through all the mission reports.” Not being on the team gave you a glimpse of the tremendous responsibility Steve carried as the captain. You thought helping him by taking on some of the mission reports would make his life a bit easier. “You’d bring Bruce a coffee whenever he worked late.” Bruce often got lost in his work, and though you only ever had one-way conversations with him - much like the others - you recognized that he couldn’t be pulled away from it. Bringing him coffee was your way of offering support. “You even made everybody your delicious peanut butter sandwiches when they returned from a mission.” They were always too exhausted to make something themselves, and you’d noticed just how hungry Natasha was after an assignment. You presumed the rest of the team felt the same.

With a hint of confusion, you looked at her. “What does… that have to do with anything?”

“Those are all ways to express affection without physical touch, Y/N, because you showed you cared enough to go out of your way to be there.” She guided you to stand in front of the bassinets, where the boys slept peacefully. “You don’t need to hold them… You just need to be there for them.”

“I… I can do that,” you expressed firmly, nodding confidently. Wanda smiled softly, entwining her arm with yours and drawing you close. “I’m sorry I… missed the birth. I was trying to find the… doctor, but he was already…”

“It’s okay, my dove. You didn’t miss anything exciting,” she assured with a soft chuckle, stepping back to sit on the couch, pulling you down next to her. “Just a lot of screaming and crying. Mostly from me.” You grinned, laughing lightly as she rested her head on your shoulder.

“How did you… do it by yourself?” You nestled your cheek against the top of her head, and she inhaled deeply. 

“Geraldine helped me.” It was said automatically, and you felt her hold on your arm tense very briefly before she added, “It’s a shame she had somewhere to be, though. You would think you’d want to spend a bit more time with the babies you helped deliver.”

You stared at the two bassinets sitting in front of you, holding your twin boys. “I didn’t… expect two.”

“We still need to name the other one,” she pointed out, picking her head up to look at you, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off of the cradles. “I know you were hoping for a girl, but-”

“W… William.” You sniffled as you finally turned to meet her gaze, showing her the way your eyes glistened with fresh tears. You smiled at her, but she wasn’t oblivious to the sorrow you were trying to hide in that grin. “After my first… friend.” Her lips pursed together tightly as memories resurfaced.

“Tommy and Billy.” She settled back on the couch, leaning her head against the cushion. “I don’t think there’s a better pair of names than that.”

Your smile broadened, the earlier sadness she had noticed now replaced by genuine happiness. “Wanda and… Y/N.” She tilted her chin to look at you to see a teasing glint in your eyes. “A… A close second… right?”

She chuckled lightly, the melodious sound warming the room. “You’re adorable,” she whispered. Leaning closer, your noses brushed, and your lips hover tantalizingly close. But the sudden cries of the babies broke the moment. Wanda let out a sigh, still smiling, and rose to attend to their needs.

You followed her, standing by her side as she scooped one of the babies in her arms, swaying gently as she held him against her chest. You cleared your throat, looking away from Wanda to lean over the bassinet in an effort to soothe the other little one, but your attempt at rocking the cradle just seemed to make it worse as his wails only grew louder in unison with his brother.

Wanda tried everything in her repertoire to calm down Tommy. She hummed soft lullabies, swayed gently, rubbed his back, and even attempted some bouncing, but nothing seemed to ease his crying. She felt a growing sense of helplessness as her boys’ sobs echoed through the room.

Then, a hushed relief passed her lips as Tommy’s cries began to wane. However, as she shifted her attention from the baby in her arms to the one she had left with you, it was then that she realized it wasn’t Tommy that had settled down, but Billy, and her heart skipped a beat when her eyes landed on you.

You were standing beside the bassinet, your arm extended, eyes squeezed shut incredibly tight, and a soft, yellow glow emanated from within the cradle. Panic initially surged within Wanda, but it swiftly receded as she took a step forward to take in the full scene.

Billy was eagerly reaching out one of his tiny hands, aiming to touch the bright, glowing object before him. His wide eyes radiated a contagious joy, and an adorable smile painted his little face. Wanda couldn’t help but exhale softly, a smirk playing on her lips as she observed you just being there for your son.

“Y/N,” she began gently, her hand resting on your shoulder.

“I… panicked. I’m so… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, dove. Just take a look.” You hesitantly obeyed her, opening one eye, then the other, a sigh of relief escaping as you realized that your child was unharmed. You stood up, your grin returning, but as you pulled your arm away, Billy’s cries resumed, matching Tommy’s once more.

“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” Wanda mused, gently laying the baby back into his own bassinet. She smiled, glancing over at you. “Do you think you’re willing to do that all day?”

You met her gaze. “We… We’re new at this, Wands. I… I think we just need more time.”

“We just need some help.”

The front door swung open, and both of you turned to see Agnes confidently striding into the room. “Hello, kiddos,” she chimed, casting a broad smile toward the sobbing babies. She nonchalantly dropped a duffel bag onto the couch before approaching the two of you, resting her hands on her hips. “I was just on my way to yoga when I heard your new little bundles of joy were on a sleep strike.”

A perplexed frown creased your forehead. “Who… told you that?” 

“Uh… my ears,” she retorted matter-of-factly, causing you and Wanda to exchange a bemused glance. Agnes leaned over the cribs. “Anyway, Auntie Agnes has arrived, and I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve to settle fussy newborns.”

“A- Auntie…?” you began, your curiosity piqued.

“You’re a lifesaver, Agnes!” Wanda interjected.

You watched as your nosy neighbor eagerly rubbed her hands together, ready to work her magic in soothing the bawling babies. Clearing your throat, you cautiously stepped forward to gain her attention. “Okay, but just… Don’t forget to… support their heads.” You gave Agnes a pointed look as you took another step closer. “And… When was the last time you… washed your ha- Wait, Wands, I… I don’t think we should let her…” You moved yourself in between her and the cribs, shielding your children from the woman.

The once wide smile on Agnes’s face faded, replaced by a hint of uncertainty. In the meantime, the incessant crying that had been dominating the house for hours began to gradually subside. “Um…” Agnes hesitated, then turned to Wanda, and the room fell into complete and utter silence. “Do you want me to take that again?”

“Sorry?” Wanda’s expression bunched together with confusion as you looked at her, exchanging perplexed glances with you and Agnes.

Agnes tilted her head, scoffing out an awkward laugh. “You want me to hold the babies. Should we just take it from the top?” She casually picked up her gym bag, her gaze shifting between you and Wanda.

“Wh- What?” Your own confusion mirrored Wanda’s.

Wanda couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle, waving her hand dismissively as she approached you. “Don’t be silly, Y/N,” she encouraged you with a smile. “Let’s let Agnes give it a try.” The babies’ cries grew once more, and Wanda guided you aside, her hand gently resting on your shoulder. You observed Agnes behind her, rocking the cribs, mixing her baby-handling duties with lunges.

“Wands-” you began, your concern still evident.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both going insane from the crying, Y/N,” Wanda remarked.

“They… just started,” you pointed out, studying her emerald eyes. “Did you… really not see that?”

Wanda’s brows furrowed subtly, her lips forming a tight line. She laid a delicate hand against your cheek, rubbing soothing circles with her thumb. “Dove, the boys haven’t slept in days,” she reasoned. “We’re all tired and we all need a break.”

“It’s… It’s been less than a… day…?” You shook your head, gently removing her hand from your face. “Wands, I- Do you… hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Wanda said, walking towards the cribs, perplexed by your sudden shift in focus. However, movement on the stairs pulled your eyes in a different direction.

You turned to find two young boys, side by side, standing on the bottom step, gazing at you and Wanda with wide, expectant eyes.

“Mommy?”

“Mama?”

“Kids,” Agnes chuckled, her tone filled with amusement as she sat on the counter, a glass of dark amber liquid in her hand, which she raised in a toast. “You can’t control ‘em! No matter how hard you try…” She took a long sip of her drink, and you furrowed your brows as you turned your attention back to your sons.

“Do they… usually grow this fast?” you whispered as both boys rushed towards Wanda, eagerly wrapping their arms around her legs in a tight hug. You watched, running a thumb across the scar marking your palm.

“At least they’re not crying anymore, sweetheart,” Wanda pointed out with a smirk. She met your gaze, and a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach as she added, “We can finally get the sleep we all desperately need.”

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Wanda descended the stairs with a gentle, measured stride. Her eyes found you almost instantly, curled up on the couch with your sketch journal resting against your knees. A pencil danced graceful across the pages, creating professional, elegant strokes. She tried to sneak a peek at your latest artwork, but the creak of a floorboard under her weight dragged you from your creative trance. You swiftly pulled the journal out of her view, and she regarded you with curiosity but chose not to press further.

“Where are the boys?��� she inquired.

“They’re in… the kitchen,” you responded, using the eraser-end of your pencil to indicate the other room. “I heard the… sink running. It seems like they’re doing the… the dishes.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Just so you know, kids never willingly do chores, dove.”

“Oh… Well, I…” You dropped your journal on the vacant cushion beside you and quickly rose, setting the pencil atop it. “I can go… check on them.” You flashed her an innocent smile, your eyes bright and enthusiastic. Wanda crossed her arms, giving you a skeptical look. “I… I got this.”

“Alright,” she agreed, nodding. “I’ll give you five minutes, but you better be bad cop this time, Y/N. The last time I let you try to discipline them, you gave them ice cream before dinner.”

“They… They have your eyes, Wands,” you confessed quietly, causing her to laugh lightly as you made your way into the kitchen. The boys stood at the sink, turning at the sound of your approach to block whatever was happening behind them. 

Wanda watched you cross your arms over your chest, and she smiled softly as she watched you attempt to be assertive. She knew she was going to have to walk in before the five minutes were up otherwise you’d end up giving the boys a unicorn, but curiosity nagged at her as she turned to look at your art book. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she reached over the cushions to grab onto the journal, flipping to the last page you were drawing… and she felt her stomach tighten at the nearly-finished, monochromatic image on the paper.

Your eyes remained closed, the hushed sadness in your face accentuated by the delicate graphite strokes. A lone tear meandered down your cheek, a poignant contrast against the muted backdrop. But the most striking element was the chasm in your chest, a vividly rendered void that laid bare your absent heart with a stark yet haunting elegance.

A gasp caught in her through, and a rush of emotion welled up, stinging her nose with the threat of tears. Her body froze, as if turned to stone, her feet anchored to the ground. But then, a single, unexpected bark pierced through the wall of fear that had started to build, shattering it and snapping her out of her daze. With a quick, decisive motion, she tore the paper from the journal and tucked it safely into her pocket.

She steeled herself, cleared her throat to dispel the lingering remnants of fear, and ventured into the kitchen. Her movements halted abruptly as her eyes fell upon the small dog cradled in your arms.

“And who’s this?” She stepped up beside you, resting her hands on her hips as she assessed the dog and then her sons.

“We haven’t named him yet,” Billy explained.

“Name him?”

“Mama said we can keep him,” Tommy chimed in, his excitement evident. This news prompted Wanda to slowly turn toward you, her brow arching impressively, her arms crossing over her chest. Your eyes widened, and you cleared your throat as you faced the boys.

“I-” The back door swung open, and once again, Agnes entered the room, brandishing a dog collar in her hand.

“Hey, kiddos. I noticed you two got a new pooch! I’ve got just the thing you need.” She extended her arm, offering the collar to you, and you began to reach for it. But Wanda swiftly intervened, snatching the collar from Agnes.

“If we put a collar on him, then it’s official,” she pointed out, giving you another meaningful look.

“Uh, boys… Your mother and I… We don’t think you’re ready to… care for an animal until you’re at least…”

“Ten,” Wanda coughed under her breath.

“Ten… years old,” you confirmed with a firm nod.

As the twins exchanged a sly glance, Wanda made an effort to halt their rapid aging, but your attention flickered toward Agnes as they persisted. She remained unphased when Tommy and Billy transformed from innocent five-year-olds into mischievous ten-year-olds. Her response was far from astonished; she simply chuckled, folded her arms, and remarked, “Let’s hope that dog stays the same size.”

While the boys engaged in a spirited debate over a name, you peered down at the little creature cradled in your arms, completely oblivious to Wanda’s keen observation. When you gently set the dog onto the floor, she grasped your elbow before you could leave. Leaning closer, her voice was a hushed murmur in your ear, “What’s going on?”

“I… don’t…” Your head swiveled to meet her inquisitive gaze. “I just… I need some… air.” You exhaled softly, your arm slipped from her grasp as you continued toward the door, just as Tommy called for her attention.

Wanda’s search for you was swift, but her escape from the house proved more challenging. Every time she made a move toward the door, the boys required her assistance with something. By the time she finally set foot in For Art’s Sake, the moon had already claimed the night sky.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she felt relief flood over her like a gentle stream as she spotted you seated on the bench across from your painting. Her eyes flickered to the plaque underneath it.

“The Scarlet Sorceress” Y/N Romanoff

It was nice of Ralph to change the nameplate. Your gaze wasn’t fixed on the artwork, though; instead, you were gently rubbing your palm, as if the scar was a mere pencil mark and your thumb, the eraser. You didn’t look up when she took a seat beside you, nor did you react as she cleared her throat to make her presence known. Her eyes met her own in the painting, and she chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Where are… Are the boys okay?”

“They’re sleeping, but Agnes is still at the house.”

Nothing. Your refusal to meet her gaze hung heavily in the air, creating a tension that could suffocate her if it were able to. She disliked the sudden distance that had grown between you.

“Care to talk to me?” She broke the second wave of silence this time, her tone gentle but concerned. It was evident that you were making no effort to provide any response. The longer you stayed quiet, the tighter the knot twisted in her stomach. She needed to do something, say something to encourage you to open up. It was unfamiliar territory; usually, you were more than willing to share your thoughts with her. But this time, things had shifted. You were closing yourself off, and she could see the protective walls you were constructing.

She needed to destroy them before you finished.

Releasing a short breath, she dipped her hand into her pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and began to unfold it, her peripheral vision catching the slight turn of your head. “Is it this?” She unveiled your self-portrait, turning her attention to you, observing that you were now fixated on the artwork in her hands. “Y/N-”

“I… died… didn’t I?” You returned your gaze to your hands. “I… I remember. Nat. She showed me. In my… dreams.”

Wanda furrowed her eyebrows. “Nat seems to be showing you a lot of stuff,” she commented.

“T- Thanos. He… got the stone, didn’t he?” You sniffled, your brows knitting together in thought. “I… I died. And… Nat died…” You cleared your throat. “You… brought me back?”

She let out a deep sigh, relief washing over her once more. But why was she feeling relieved?

“You left a hole where my heart should be, Y/N, and I just… wanted to fill it up.” Your eyes shifted back to the drawing in her hands, and you emitted a dry chuckle. She exhaled in frustration, reaching out to grasp your hands to prevent you from fidgeting with your scar. But you swiftly withdrew from her, standing up and pacing forward. “Are you angry with me for bringing you back to life?”

“I- I don’t know.” You inhaled shallowly, exhaling rapidly. “I just… I… I need to… breathe, Wands… Please.” She leaned against the wall, her shoulders slumping, as you headed for the exit. She glanced back at the drawing in her hands once more, then shook her head, clenched her jaw, and began to chase after you.

“Y/N.” She caught up to you outside as you stepped onto the street. You paused, her voice holding you back, and she disregarded the single, cool raindrop landing on her cheek as she crossed the distance to reach you. “Please just talk to me, baby.”

“Why… me?” You turned to face her, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. More raindrops fell from the sky. “You c- could’ve brought anybody back. Like… V- Vision. But you… you chose me- Why didn’t you change me? Make me more… more confident. M- More… better? Why am I still… me?” you asked, your voice tinged with insecurity and self-doubt. Wanda moved closer, her eyes radiating warmth, her expression gentle. “I… I can’t be who you want me to be, Wands.” You huffed. “I’m… I’m not a people person. I can’t even… hug our own children.” You shook your head as if trying to shake the tears away from your eyes, but they continued to well up. “We tried- I tried. You… You deserve somebody who can… be with you, inside the house… and out.” Rain now poured down, a storm enveloping you both. Thunder rumbled overhead, lightning briefly illuminating the area. You sighed, your gaze drifting away from her to your hands. “You could’ve… made me that kind of- of person.”

Her head tilted to the side as she watched you intently. She gently clasped your wrist, ignoring your surprised look, and brought your hand close to her mouth. “I didn’t change you because I didn’t want you to change. You are exactly the person I want, just the way you are,” she declared, her voice ringing above the rain but her words a soft breath against your skin. “The Y/N I met all those years ago was already better than anyone I’ve ever known. And you’ve only become more perfect with time.” She placed a tender, affectionate kiss on the permanent mark on your palm, a smile gracing her lips as she added, “Scars and all.”

She couldn’t tell whether you’d finally let those tears escape, not with the raindrops tracing down your cheeks. Yet, the way you exhaled and gazed at her indicated that perhaps you had. She sensed those emotional barriers you’d been constructing beginning to crumble as you moved closer, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that felt like a blaze amidst the cool rain shower drenching both of you.

Amidst the brief symphony of thunder overhead, she knew that the sensible choice would be to break the kiss. To seek shelter from the rain. But instead, she defied this logic, her arms winding around your neck, pulling you closer to her, deepening the embrace as raindrops continued to fall and lightning continued to streak the sky.

Soon, she found herself chasing your lips as you pulled back slightly, and you ultimately rested your forehead against hers to quell the temptation. “We should… go home,” you whispered, and she nodded, your breaths mingling as you locked eyes. “Wands, I-” Just then, a louder clap of thunder seemed to shake the ground, forcing you apart. She beamed at your laughter, reaching for your hand as you looked up at the sky. She tugged you down the street, hand in hand, heading home. Together.

The door closed just as lightning illuminated the sky behind her, casting playful shadows on the wall. The rain had left you both drenched, but you paid little attention to it as you tugged her close, caught up in the embrace. The world outside faded away, and the fact that you were dripping wet ceased to matter, all except for a pair of eyes that observed you from the kitchen.

“Looks like you’ve figured things out in paradise,” Agnes chimed in, her voice breaking the intimate moment. Your muscles tensed, and Wanda let out an embarrassed laugh. “Don’t worry about me, dears. I’m just glad to see you both okay.” She grinned knowingly before adding, “I should get home. Thunderstorms don’t only affect the two of you, you know.” With a wink, she slipped out through the back door into the kitchen, leaving you with a sense of curiosity. You turned to Wanda, confusion written across your face.

“You don’t want to know,” she reassured you before you could question further. 

You pursed your lips together, hesitant, conflicted. She watched you with patience as you worked the situation out in your mind. And then you finally spoke, “Do you think that we can… There’s something else I- I need to tell you.”

“Okay, dove,” she said, pulling you back to her. “But let’s dry off before we turn our home into a puddle.”

“I’ll grab… some towels,” you replied and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. Then, you dashed upstairs, leaving her with a contented smile as she took a step forward.

However, the moment was interrupted by a knock at the front door. Wanda turned to open it, and her gasp matched the rain’s now-gentle patter outside. Before her stood a man, his presence triggering a mix of emotions. She couldn’t find her voice, and her heart raced as she watched the man throw his arms up in the air.

“Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin’ sister to death or what?”

“Pietro?” Her voice quivered as her brother stepped forward, enveloping her in a tight hug. “Oh.”

While they embraced, the floorboards behind them creaked, and you emerged on the scene, towels in hand. Uncertainty was etched across your features. As the siblings broke apart, Pietro sent you a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s the maid?”

Chapter 4

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #heart of stone #reader insert #wanda #maximoff #agnes #agatha harkness

[wmarximoff]

(she will always be) a broken girl | w. maximoff

summary: life away from home is good, and you're studying at the college of your dreams; however, your new neighbor is loud, irritating and a person who doesn't respect boundaries. and, also, is your ex-girlfriend from high school, Wanda Maximoff.

warnings: lots of cursing, smoking, drinking, very brief mentions of smut, mentions of physical parental abuse, mentions of homophobia, angst, fluff.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 14k

A/N: and I'm back guys! I hope you guys like this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it!

|masterlist|

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There's a thump on the wall behind your head, followed closely by a strident, full-bodied laugh and yet another dry bump, like a deferred hammer blow to a wet rag.

And then an eager conversation that goes back and forth around your head, which turns into lively, intelligible buzzes when muffled by a thin wall, which gives way to another round of drunken giggling like two intoxicated hyenas, as if the competition on the other side of the plaster, pipes and bricks were who could laugh the most without losing their breath first.

You open your eyes, but maybe you just haven't closed them quite yet. Your eyeballs sting as if carpeted by a thin dusty layer of sand that crinkles behind your eyelids, crying out for the sleep that never came, staring up at the white ceiling lit by the bluish luminosity coming from a streetlight outside.

Rolling lethargically to one side in your sheets, half grunting as you do so, your actions are shrouded in a thick veil of torpor; your tired left fingers grope vaguely on the pale wood dresser set beside your bed, and it is after considerable effort all blindly made in the helplessness of your dark room that you finally find the frozen plastic of your phone, that is plugged into the charger socket.

The white glow burns your retinas for half a second when you press the side button with the cheek of your thumb and unlock the screen half a foot away from the tip of your nose. Large digitized thin numbers show the time of 01:19 am. And you wonder who’s the goddamn bastard who would be making so much noise at 1:19 am on a full Monday, as if they were going to demolish the damn wall above your head.

Or a late Tuesday morning, in fact, your drunken brain kind of thinks so. But whatever, nobody cares.

You just know that you need a good night's sleep, and that your muscles are crying out for the much-needed relaxation found in the soft sheets of your bed, something that in the last week has seemed so difficult to achieve even while still inside your own home, your own apartment.

Life was placid, peaceful even, calm in the most acute sense of the word until it found its so fateful epilogue at the beginning of the last week. With the beginning of the college semester came the moving of your new next door neighbor (on the left), from who you don't even know what their face looks like, but who you sure know likes to enjoy life as if every day is the last one. Your healthy sleep has sickened and died on this neighbor's doorstep, so it's likely that each day will indeed be your last as long as your door is next to them.

And it's even odd for you, because your routine has been pretty much the same since you left the bliss of the small Westview, New Jersey (population 6,685), your birthplace and home, to go to college in the big city as soon as you got your high school diploma by shaking the headmistress' hand, three years ago or so.

Your day consists of working in the morning at a coffeeshop that has accepted your meager résumé as a recent high-school graduate and pays just enough to keep you from freezing or starving to death, a handful of classes to pay attention to in the afternoon, and overnight, after a few more hours of work, feed Loki, your grumpy black cat, and study for some upcoming test after having dinner on cereal with milk or instant noodles and drinking a bottle of cheap beer just because you can.

Sleep and repeat, one day after another.

But then it came, as the prelude to the descents of your peacetime; the thunderous beats and the guttural laughs, the intoxicating reek of smoked cigarettes one after the other, and the loud tunes of some distorted heavy guitar in an alternative rock song, engaged in a melodic voice that moans pro-sex and anti-system obscenities (and that actually, you kind of agree with that part).

But that mysterious person behind the wall is like a specter, a ethereal ghost, a foreboding sign that comes to haunt only at night, to torment and keep you from laying your head to rest against your pillow. And you know things aren't quite right with you because yesterday you burned the skin of your own hand by falling asleep propped up on the machine in the process of brewing a big, double espresso for a mean-looking man in a suit.

It's when the sound starts (and gets louder, and gets even louder after that, almost in the form of a rant) that you decide it's enough – the wall swelling with the sounds coming from behind it. Something in you comes undone in a bust, like a pulled thread that snaps in half from the tension at both ends, and the sleepless nights of the last week simply become too much to bear.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me..."

With your right hand you pull your covers to the side, and your bare feet nearly trample a sleeping Loki who's lying beside your bed like a pillow you accidentally dropped, and then you stand up, stretching your legs.

The cat meows in obvious displeasure when being woken up, straining with his front paws, but you just poke him in the side with the tip of your big toe.

“Sorry buddy, but I really need some sleep and this asshole next door isn't helping much.”

Your knees are bare, and your shoulders are tense as you step out of your tiny room into the single hallway, even scrawnier than your own room, and you go to your door, jerk it open, and then, marching like a general, you take about six or seven steps to the left to the side door, where the alternate metal song leaks through its cracks.

You knock once with your bent right fist, moving your wrist joint back and forth, but there is no immediate response and you just want to break down that door like your neighbor wants to break down your wall. Nor is there an eventual answer, when your good manners compel you to expect non-existent cooperation from this noisy stranger.

And you let out a cavernous grunt, plotting a lapse of hot rage inside you, feeling the tips of your ears and the skin of your shoulders smolder like embers.

“C’mon, open the damn door! I know you’re there! You can literally hear the music all the way down the hall, what the hell!”

And annoyance starts bubbling up inside you like magma inside a volcano about to erupt, growing and expanding in size, and then you hit it a second time, and then a third time, and you're barely counting how many times you knock on that damn door until you threaten to knock again (the side of your hand hurts), but then the door opens and your hand hangs in midair, like you're holding the handle of an invisible lantern.

You don't even hesitate to regurgitate, still half asleep and definitely very pissed off, the stress evaporating from inside you.

“Look here,” you begin to wiggle with your chest full of air and your cheeks burning, reciting the speech that has been stuck in your throat for about five or six days, “I know you probably have no idea or don’t care, I don't know which of the two options and honestly I don't give a damn about what you think, but some people around here tend to wake up early–”

And you blink at the figure in the doorway, a young girl with long dark hair who looks to be around your age. And she blinks back at you. And whatever you were going to say next, but the words die and wither behind your tongue, drying up in your throat. And you crease with the flash of skin between your eyebrows, as if you were facing some macabre apparition like in a horror movie.

“Wanda…?” a thoughtless whisper comes out of you that, without an effort, you would never have found actually slipped out of your lips, and not from some other person standing in the hallway that you just didn't see was there.

And it's like an atomic bomb being dropped from the skies on top of a city, because you see her (really see her), gorgeous and tangible, standing in front of you like a memory of your past, and your sleeping, irritated brain beeps and stops when your stomach drops, because your skin tingles as awareness leans over you and you realize that your incognito neighbor is, actually, an old acquaintance from a time you'd rather forget.

A time that you left behind, that you buried six feet from the ground and veiled and moved on after the due period of mourning paid in honor of your adolescence.

And the infectious smile she carries around the contour of her peach lips, with an air of excited laughter referring to a funny story still fresh on her features, fades, withers, and sets to dust when a glint of identification as helpless as yours breaks amidst her emerald irises, adorned by a smoky black eyeliner – the heavy makeup that looks like it was applied a long time ago, hours and hours behind the clock.

The atomic bomb dropped on the city exploded.

“Y/N...” she whispers your name, trying to understand, scrunching up her dark brows, and something in you breaks, “What are you... what are you...?”

“Wanda?” a male voice calls from behind her shoulder, intertwined with the sound of loud rock and the sour scent of cigarette ash, “Who is it? It’s late.”

And such a voice, to your deepest misery, is recognizable to your ears as if it were part of a second nature cloistered within you, of course – you would never forget the light chest, the quiet contentment that carried you during your days of youth, when you were part of the school's literature reading group and the debate club. Her shy smile and his voice carried by his native Eastern European accent.

Your onetime girlfriend, and your former best friend, the immigrant neighbors who moved in next door to you during your freshman year of high school. And you remember kissing her open-mouthed in the backseat of their father's car (by that time she already tasted like cigarettes and tears) and drinking hot beer with him behind the local gas station.

“No fucking way, Y/N!”

Pietro Maximoff is the one who calls out your name, passing his twin sister and almost bumping into Wanda Maximoff's left shoulder, who is motionless like a marble statue, as if her soul has left the shell that is her beautiful, (but) empty body.

And wearing nothing but a plain skinny blouse and sporty shorts that do nothing to cover your bare thighs, you feel suddenly exposed in front of the pair of siblings who should have stayed far away, buried in your past along with all of Westview. You don't want them to see you.

You don't want her to see you.

“Dude, what are the chances of us finding you around here, huh? It's been a long time, what the hell! And we are neighbors again, just like before!” he kind of chuckles to himself at his own line, his accent already faded, “I mean, Wanda is your neighbor again. But hey, are you here for college? I remember you got that approval letter! NYU, right?”

“Yes, I...” you whisper, half babbling, blinking sleep and shock out of your lingering brain, “I... yeah...”

You look at him, who has now grown a beard around his chin and bleached his short hair to a platinum silver tone, once the owner of streaks in a profuse coffee-brown color like the pretty hue that adorns the long beams on her head (he seems to be more of a man's bearing than a boy's per se), and your troubled gaze migrates towards Wanda, who is the only one of the two Maximoff twins who truly comprehends the core of your dazed silence, matched by a remorseful look that she hides behind her hair as she turns her chin appallingly to the side – because she knows, you know, and he doesn't.

He never knew. Nobody ever knew. She made sure no one ever knew.

Just as no one ever knew you ran off with Pietro in the middle of the night to drink cheap beer and eat cheeseburgers behind the gas station, no one ever knew you kissed the taste of red-filtered cigarettes on Wanda's tongue in the back of their father's car.

ᗢ

“And why did she break up with you?”

It's Yelena Belova who asks you the very next morning, your coworker and classmate alike, a friend for life, as her elbows work back and forth with the wooden handle of the wet mop that slides across the linoleum flooring in one fluid, continuous action, because today is her day to mop the floor and only tomorrow is yours, according to the appointment on the calendar adjacent to the staff room wall at the back of the store.

The two of you wear polo shirts on your torsos and similar aprons tied around your waists, the pieces arranged in the same shades of black and green and, behind the glass counter, which in turn has an array of sweet and savory to go with a cup of coffee, you growl lamely, like a grizzly mad dog that doesn't want to let go of the tennis ball in its mouth.

It's still fifteen minutes (and counting) before the store opens to a new wave of morning clients, and you just don't want to talk about your ex-high school sweetheart so early in the morning, even after a long sip of fresh coffee. Not after seeing her before you, (still as stunning, as enchanting, still as detestable as she was almost three years ago), in a dreadful revelation that the noisy, irritating, maddening neighbor, all this time, was just Wanda; an ex-girlfriend behind the door who distanced you from her.

But Yelena looks at you with keen amber eyes that gleam with insistent curiosity, pushing you over the edge, and your cup of coffee with shots of warm milk suddenly looks more interesting than your blonde friend who mops the floor under her feet.

“Homophobic rich dad, 'it's not you, it's me', stuff like that,” you mutter grudgingly from behind your drink, before shrugging your shoulders as if in a bogus performance of indifference.

“I mean, at least that's what she told me. You know, by text message. Three damn days before our senior prom, when everything was ready for us to go together. Just a single text message of four, five lines, whatever.”

And you take another sip of coffee, which even though it's soft against the milk, now feels as bitter as a crumbling lump of earth against the face of your tongue.

“Ouch,” Yelena exclaims in a falsely offended tone that smacks of laughter, “What a bitch.”

“Don't even tell me,” you muss, not being able to mask the wrath still pulsing in your tone, staring at the dark plastic lid that covers your paper coffee cup, “Just one hell of a bitch.”

“But hey, strict rich dad and mean teenage daughter, huh? Such a cliché.” She still mops the floor as she talks.

“Yeah, I guess,” you take a sip of coffee, “Erik Lester, Lehnsherr, any shit like that, whatever. He's a businessman, does something involving magnets, I don't know. All I know is that he has, like, a lot of money.”

Yelena mutters in agreement even though she has no idea who this much-hated father figure is, silently indicating that she is setting the stage for the continuation of your speech.

“She only met him after her mother died when she and Pietro were about ten years old, when they had to leave Sokovia. And like, the guy is a real asshole, I won't deny it, and he and Wanda never had a good relationship from what she told me and from what I've seen and heard, either. Sometimes I could hear his screams through my bedroom window.”

And you remember her crying, so beautiful and so broken at such a young age, the makeup smeared around her eyeballs that glistened in stinging tears, a black thread of eyeliner trail running down her ever so sharp cheekbones her as she crept out in your bedroom window, into the comfort of your arms or into your fogged-up car, searching for cigarette smoke through the desert streets of the small town, during the nights lit by the neon of streetlights and headlights.

And then, in a rather bittersweet mental parallel, you realize that you could never sleep properly while in the presence of Wanda, who is a nocturnal animal, a source of red energy – like a dream that came to torment you, disappearing along with the first cracks of sun to rise in the morning.

“I always thought she did those things – the clothes, the music, the cigarettes – to piss him off. And she did, yeah. He was very pissed off about all these things. The two were always up in arms in that house. But if there was one thing she was afraid of, it was that he would find out she liked girls. She was terrified of coming out to him. So she didn't come out to anyone. She didn't… she never assumed me to anyone.”

You gird your lips in a straight line, ending the sentence in a den of resentment that weighs heavily on the tip of your tongue; both your forearms braced on the clear face of the counter's reinforced glass, the half-full coffee cup placed in the space between your wrists.

“I thought that because we were together for the entire senior year it was going to work out, you know, me and her.”

Yelena looks at you from behind the counter, and there's an air of pity that envelops her facial expression, but that you prefer to just ignore as you focus your gaze on the rings that line the length of your fingers. Wanda wears these too.

“That thing we had, even if it was just between the two of us, it all felt so… right. So natural. Like, we were going to graduate and leave, weren't we? There was no reason to give up like that. It was me and her. Just the two of us. But then... then came the time for the prom.”

You sigh, as in a vicious memory. For a minute your vision threatens to cloud with smothered tears, but you blink them back from your eyelashes.

“And she freaked out and ditched me. Went with that stupid Jarvis Stark guy, an English idiot, son of Erik's business partner or some shit like that. And, well, I left town after that. Moved on. And now here I am, making coffee for rude people who barely look me in the face and having to deal with you bothering me all morning.”

Your voice is teasing, wrapped in a mockery that befits the goofy grin that breaks at the corner of your lips, and the young blonde girl half-laughs at you, swinging her high ponytail to back of her head.

“And now she's your noisy neighbor. Call it romantic.” Yelena reminds you in a voice full of petulant innuendo in an irritating retort, raising her thick, dark brows to the middle of her forehead.

You grunt against the plastic lid of your coffee cup.

“Ugh, please don't remind me of that right now, I don't want to think about it anymore.”

You can almost feel the heavy, dark bags under your droopy eyes, the sleepless nights weighty on the bones of your spine – but the young blonde woman smirks, having stopped mopping the floor for a good few minutes now.

“I'm pretty sure that would make a great plot for a low-budget romcom, if you ask me. One of those twin actresses could play her in the movie. She kinda looks like them, doesn’t she?”

“Yelena!”

“But it's true!” your friend laughs at your earnest displeasure, “But hey, maybe you can sneak into her apartment for the night and make her make it up to you for the prom. Or those sleepless nights, if you know what I mean.”

You blink in lethargic action, looking towards her.

“I swear I'm going to spill coffee on the floor you just cleaned if you don't stop pissing me off, Belova.”

ᗢ

The empty, hard blue plastic laundry basket rests against the right side of your hip bone, slithering against the waistband of your baggy, light jeans as you descend step by step on the concrete stairs that lead toward the laundry room in the building, located on the underground floor of the condominium residence.

The weight of the tiring day of flawed sleep still weighs on the muscles of your back, but you know the neighbors will nag like macaws if your laundry spends another day that takes possession of the washing machine again.

But it's late at night, past ten o'clock, so there's no one to be found in front of the sextet of washing machines that are still side by side against a white wall, like cars parked in a large parking lot. Your sneakers bounce against the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor as your left index finger presses the face of the switch, turning on a half-eerie, icy white light that flashes once and then stops right above your head.

You move without circumlocution, nonchalantly, walking toward the middle machine, and open the circular hatch to take out your now-clean, though damp, clothes.

But along with your clothes, you notice, with a curious and uncertain look, that there seem to be other pants and shirts that don't actually make up your wardrobe – in a way, such pieces don't even match your personal style, and you certainly don't remember putting them there in the first place.

Just take a single pair of tall black cotton socks between your fingers and something catches your eye, like a candle burning in the dark. Your eyebrows crease in the middle of your forehead, like a big question mark.

And, with the tips of your curious left fingers, you make your way to the hollow interior of the large domestic appliance to pull out, from inside, a thin red lace panties like the petals of a rose that is certainly not yours, hovering with the tiny piece in front of your eyes in midair – but you soon know whose it is when you realize that you already know that lingerie, the identification hovers like a crimson fog in front of your brain.

“For fuck’s sake...”

It's a beautiful piece that you bring close to your face to check, a cotton adorned with well-crafted details in the fabric and that, in the past, would be nothing more than purely sexy, which would incite libidinous feelings that would spark into the your chest and between your legs; but something in you inflates, bursts and goes flying, because you know whose alabaster thighs are from which you yourself have already taken those same panties, only to head towards the center wet with liquids of pleasure.

And you squeeze the damn red lace between your fingers, in a fist shape, like you're choking a chicken's skinny neck. A gust of hot air is expelled between your nostrils like steam coming out of a factory chimney.

So you turn on your heels and march toward the stairs, your cheeks burning in a snarling amalgamation of smoldering shame and volcanic rage, and six flights are a blur that burns your calf muscle as you walk hard to the second floor of the building, crossing the empty hallway in evenly spaced footsteps, like a guided missile aimed at the door next to yours on the left.

 The shiny metal of the numerals “1” and “9” attached to the center of the oak wooden door is what most attracts your solicitous attention when your closed fist knocks just above the handle; the round piece, large and gold, like a Christmas ornament the size of an apple or a clenched fist, you still holding the red garment in the palm of your hand placed to the side of your hip encased in the waistband of your jeans.

When footsteps are heard inside and Wanda comes to open the door, this time with her pretty face cleansed back to its natural state, devoid of the characteristic heavy makeup she usually puts on, it doesn't surprise you at all that she has a lit cigarette tucked between the fingers of her right hand, which has fingernails lacquered with a sober black polish that has peeled off the neatly cut and sanded ends.

“Y/N, what do you– do you have any idea what time it is, damn it?! It’s almost midnight!”

“What time is it? What time is it?! Look who's talking, for God's sake!”

When you brandish it with your hand, the underwear wobbles and it's only then that you remember that you still have it in your possession, and that seems to be able to irritate you even more.

“And is this yours by any chance?!” Holding the thin red strap just pressed between the tips of your forefinger and thumb, you lift the panties up to her face.

There's a curiously surprised frown in a flash of white skin between her dark brows, a light of disagreement circling the jade green of Wanda's eyes as they gaze at the underwear presented to her by you.

“What– what do you think you're doing with my panties, you creep?!” The accusatory tone in her voice, curled in thick cigarette smoke, is enough to pop a nerve in your neck.

“Creep?!” you whimper in thunderous rage, “I’m the goddamn creep?! You’re the one who put your underwear to wash with my clothes, you’re the creep in this whole situation! You creep!”

“What–?” Wanda looks at you like you're just insane, going into a snarky defensive pose, “I–I didn't do that!”

“Oh, of course,” your voice drips with angry sarcasm, “Your lingerie just decided to come out of the other washing machine and into the one I'm using. Seriously, Wanda, you've been better at lying before, I swear–”

“Look Y/N, I may have been confused, but I just moved here–”

“I don't,” your voice rises to match hers, ending whatever now-finished excuse that would come out of Wanda's mouth, “I don't wanna fucking know. I don’t care! Just– just take this and please don't bother me anymore!”

And there's barely a window that takes in the time it takes for the young woman with the jade eyes to plan with her brain an answer so her mouth can modulate it to you, because you crumple the red garment against her chest hidden inward the worn material of a loose-fitting band shirt that had faded to a tawny gray (that she had once sworn it was black), before turning around and, without giving her undue satisfaction, you head back toward the stairs that lead to the lower floor.

But you're barely ten or fifteen paces away from her door before Wanda's voice echoes across the hall, reverberating through the walls into your eardrums, through your muscles and your bones.

“Very mature, you asshole! How fucking old are you, five?!”

And you're just done dealing with her shit.

“Fuck you!” you bark like a shot in a game of table tennis and, without looking back, lift your elbow to your ribs, holding up the middle finger of your right hand for Wanda to see and take offense.

A shocked gasp comes from afar, but before she can even respond to you in a burst of rather naughty insults, there's the click of another door that opens at the end of the hall, and a third surly neighbor appears in a guttural rage as he engages in an unseemly bickering with Wanda ("It's late, shut the fuck up!" and "Go mind your own fucking business!" is the least that reaches your ears) while you, in full of silence and without giving much thought to the exchange of sharp curses between the young girl and an old gray-haired man from apartment sixteen, just turns the corner and walks down the stairs, trotting back to the laundry room.

Your right foot in your white sneaker taps arrhythmic to a distressed beat on the checkered linoleum floor, as you wait for the dryer to drying your clothes, your unflinching gaze staring at the silver device as it emits a round hum, your forearms interlaced down your chest, pressed against your rib cage, your shoulders stiffening in a recurring muscular tension from the episode of anger still fresh in your body.

When carefree footsteps echoes down the stairs, you don't stare toward the door of the laundry room because you only know who's approaching when the uncompromising scent of tobacco, smoke and strawberry moisturizer catches your nostrils, prompting a fearless grunt and an avid eye roll on your part.

Wanda carries a red plastic laundry basket with her, and doesn't exchange a word with you as she takes her clean clothes from the washing machine you've just used.

“It was a mistake, you know.”

For a moment, you think she's talking about your relationship. After all, it makes sense to imagine that this assumption is correct; your relationship with her was indeed a mistake, you know and imagine that she thinks so too. But her voice comes in a few seconds within the silence interspersed between the groans of the dryer machine, and she seems even half embarrassed as she doesn’t look directly at you, prickled into an almost intelligible thread.

You remain in terse silence as she gives it another try.

“It was an accident Y/N, that's all.”

But there's not a single answer that comes from you, and you don't even fix your proud gaze on Wanda, even though, with your nerves already chilled and your head clear away from the drowning fog of anger that seemed to have caught you in blind rage, you have realized that you have been quite unnecessarily rude to your new neighbor, your old lover.

“What do you want me to say, huh?” she claims your gaze, staring sideways at your profile, “That I'm sorry? Even by a stupid accident? All right, look, I apologize. I’m sorry. Now can you at least look at me, Y/N?”

But no, you don't look at her. And her shoulders sag in a sure sign of defeat.

When the machine finally dries your clean garments that smell sweetly of a softener pleasing to the senses, you pick them up, fold them, and place them in your blue hamper without uttering a word to make your actions light. And, walking behind Wanda carrying the basket on your hip, nonchalantly as if the girl in the cherry-red denim shorts were just an intangible ghost, you leave the laundry room—her gaze burns into the sore muscles of your back as you do.

ᗢ

Your nights are spent listening to loud music and smelling of toasted tobacco, and it's been a while since you've been able to watch TV anymore because of the loud noise from the neighbor next door. Maybe she's playing a tantrum, maybe she has no idea how life works in an apartment complex. But even Loki is more skittish by the lack of sleep that prompts his already grumpy nature.

The long scratch mark that grows angry red on your right forearm, towards the inside of your elbow, says a lot about how you and your cat have been having a rather toxic relationship on the feline’s part.

The early afternoon is engulfed by a partially warm climate, with a mild temperature, but even so, you chose to grab a sweater from your hanger, just before leaving the house early enough not to run into Wanda in the hallway, as had happened on a few unfortunate occasions since then – once when you went to meet a Thai food delivery boy and she was taking out the trash, and another time when you were leaving for work and she was arriving from whatever she'd spent the night before, looking a little woozy as she tried (and failed) to unlock her apartment door.

Carrying your backpack on your shoulders, your elbows tucked into your ribs and both your hands raised, squeezing the outline of your fingers adorned by a handful of silver rings through the dark straps. You walk in measure with Yelena's footsteps, who treads to your right, dressed in a stylish yellow flannel coat crisscrossed with gray and white stripes, and Kate Bishop, the tall girl with dark hair tied back from the of her head, who comes close to your left shoulder – the three of you heading towards the classroom befitting your third period Wednesday schedule.

“Man, I can't believe Nat actually became a cop,” is what Kate says in an indignant tone, addressed to Yelena.

“I mean, like, she's your sister, you know? And you’re so– so, so politically engaged! Besides, you are Russians, you should know about these things! Isn't your dad like, an anti-cops die-hard communist or something?”

“That literally says absolutely nothing,” Yelena answers her crookedly, wrinkling the skin on her nose, “Your mom is a goddamn CEO and yet you don't see me charging you about all the capitalist shit she does in her office.”

“But is different!” Kate exclaims back, almost offended, “My mom isn't like, that Howard Stark guy or something. She's just—”

“Rich,” spits the blonde girl, “She’s rich. She’s filthy rich. So yeah, she's kinda like him.”

“It’s different!”

“It's no different, Kate, I'm sorry,” you finally say to the girl in the purple blouse and ripped gray jeans, who just grunts in a pained, giving up response.

But it's when you turn the corner of a hallway that Kate turns to you with a certain air of curiosity that hovers over her actions.

“But hey Y/N,” she calls your name, and you turn your head towards her deep-brown eyes, “Is it true?”

“What exactly is true, Kate?” you blink in confusion towards her.

“That a crazy ex of yours moved in next door to you.”

One of your eyebrows rises in dubious ambiguity. You don't remember saying anything to Kate concerning Wanda, nor your disastrous relationship with the said Sokovian girl.

“How...?” but your train of thought soon traces towards Yelena, your confidant who lately is so close to Kate, who is also unnaturally quiet beside you, “Wait, did you tell her, Yelena?!”

“W-what? Sooner or later she would find out about it!” as the blonde girl shrugs her shoulders into the fabric of her yellow coat, you let a disgruntled grunt escape your lips.

Great, you allow yourself to think in an exhausted mindset, that's just great. What you most needed now is for people to know about your intimate life.

Not that the young Bishop heiress isn't a dear friend of yours, but it just so happens that you've only met her a few months ago, and it's not customary for you to open your heart to someone you're not so close to – for example, Yelena herself, who you've known for almost two years only became a close figure of your in the last eight months or so spent in each other’s company.

“I mean, everybody kinda knows that now...”

Kate says in a tiny voice, but it's not low enough to go unnoticed by your hearing or, for that matter, even by Yelena's ears, who scolds the other girl, exasperating a loud “Dude!” that echoes through the entire hall.

Your hands certainly yearn to strangle your friend in the coat who walks close to your right shoulder, to squeeze her neck which is adorned by thin and stylish chains in a good taste for fashion, but your fingers are content to just hold on enfolding the backpack straps that circle your shoulders, as your chin turns toward Yelena.

“Who else did you tell it to, huh?” but when the silence is lasting, your patience that is already running short insists on pressing the girl with the white backpack, “Who else knows about it, Yelena?”

“Well,” she starts, a little embarrassed, a little hesitant.

“Like, first of all, in my defense, it's not my fault you're an antisocial weirdo who doesn't go out to drink with us! But you know how it is, we went out with Natasha and Peter and Kamala this weekend and we went to this Irish pub that I keep saying you'll like, and I may or may not have had a shot or two more than the usual and, well... they started asking about you, well... and shit happens.”

“Shit happens,” you repeat in a half-tired, half-incredulous tone of voice, “Shit happens, sure.”

“Sure,” she repeats, before quickly adding a few more names to the list, “I mean, that Quill guy from the football team showed up with his girlfriend too, and Carol arrived later with Maria and Darcy, and then one of them called Jane and Brunnhilde, and then—”

“Ugh, okay, I get it, please don't continue,” you grunt, squeezing your eyelids together in pain, suddenly feeling several eyes turning to you as you cross the hall on a walk of shame, “Everyone knows.”

“Yeah, kinda everyone knows, yeah,” Yelena's tone is soaked in contrite agreement, and she shrugs her shoulders that carry the straps of her white backpack, “Sorry, dude.”

“No, it's okay,” you force plastic optimism out of your mouth, imagining that if you say it out loud the words will come true, “Everything's perfectly fine.”

Over their shoulders, Kate and Yelena exchange a worried glance.

But a few minutes pass after such a conversation had passed through the halls of the university with the other two girls dressed in the yellow coat and the purple jacket, and you can barely get your brain to focus on the mental activity of understanding the words uttered by Ms. Harkness's mouth, who dramatically cries out to the entire class of thirty or forty students as she gestures in a Shakespearean manner with her hands, waving her thick, long brown hair back and forth as she does – she was always a dramatic type, despite her genuine sympathy for students of her liking.

And even later that day is when you find yourself in the cafeteria's bathroom, rinsing the soap foam that lathers your palms under running tap water, when the door of a booth on your right opens, and you hadn't even realized there was anyone else there but yourself.

And your rib bones feel like they want to rip through the tissue in your lungs as you look up from the sink, only to realize that the figure in the open red sweatshirt and black miniskirt is Wanda, heading for a sink next to the left to the one you use to then squeak the record between her fingers and start the action of washing her own hands of matte black enamel nails.

You just want to blink and realize that it's an illusion, a mirage, a product of your twisted mind that hasn't been sleeping well and that you're certainly thinking too much about her, who is now your neighbor.

But she doesn't go away even as your eyelids open and close, once, twice, three times, and a hot, tangled thread rises from the muscle of your shoulders to the outline of your neck, crisscrossing your cheekbones and the tips of your ears.

The prickly anger that bristles your skin is like a hard, prickly grip around your throat, and a lump of flesh and gall weaves inside your larynx. The tips of your clipped nails scratch the palm of your left hand a little harder than necessary; the girl standing next to you is like a spark, and you are like a haystack.

And the ember burns loudly, almost even emanating smoke from the top of your head, as the melodiously unassuming voice in her usual low pitch echoes through the floor and the tiled walls.

“There's been word out there that your crazy ex moved in next door to you, did you know?” says Wanda, still looking at her wet, soapy hands.

You try to bite the words before they come out, but it's inevitable that you'll respond in the same tone.

“And what are you even doing here to begin with, huh? Have you become a stalker or something? That's kinda sad, even for you.”

And she half-laughs, which causes the blood in your body to leak to your head, but also to other rather unwanted locations in your lower organs.

“People have the right to study at this university. It's not all about you, Y/N,” you rub your hands together harder, “I mean, unless it's about your crazy ex. Then I think it's about you like, for real.”

And your tongue is quicker to rise to the roof of your mouth than your brain is to censor whatever it is you're about to regurgitate in the form of an insult, when the quick response comes in a reactionary backhand to the girl with the jacket of a deep shade of red like wine.

“Well, those rumors aren't even true. Because, you know, to have a crazy ex-girlfriend I would need to have had an official, public relationship, and as far as I can remember, I've never had that with anyone,” your saliva is bitter between your teeth, “So I don't think I need to worry about these rumors. It’s just gossip that everyone will eventually forget, anyways.”

You turn off the faucet on your use and Wanda does the same to hers, but neither of you moves to dry your hands or even head out of the bathroom. She looks at you instead, but you only find your own exhausted eyes in your reflection in front of the mirror placed on the wall in front of you.

“So you didn't have anyone,” Wanda says, her emerald irises fixedly contouring your jawbone, “After me.”

The thread of anger stretches from your stomach to your heart, and you still don't look at her as your curled fingers grip the oval edges of the white porcelain sink. She doesn't deserve satisfaction from you; after all, if you were never officially a couple, if there was never a title before the promise, it's all her fault, it fell on her, it starts and ends with her.

“That's literally none of your business,” you mutter under your breath, but you kind of hesitate a bit as she takes a step toward you in her biker boots that wrap around her ankles clad in a pair of black high tights.

“You didn't have anyone after me. Besides me. Did you, Y/N?”

And you turn your nose towards her, only to find a pair of verdant irises that lie dark as moss, a kind of possession that weaves through the abyssal dark puddles that are her dilated pupils, and the black smoky eyeshadow makes her retinas glow like two gemstones reflected by a beam of light in a darkened room.

Wanda is like a black hole that draws you into a dangerous magnetism, engulfing you like a supernova explosion.

And something primal inside of you kind of likes that, kind of craves for it, for her monopoly over you, for the exclusivity that's been maintained since the last time you two saw each other, three years ago, back in your hometown. Secretly you wonder if she hasn't had anyone else after you either, and you kind of hope the answer is a big fat no.

After all, if you're still hers, she's still yours too.

“Has anyone else ever touched you like I did?”

You swallow hard, the inside of your throat hardening when as close to her as you are, your shoulders deflating a little into your dark sweatshirt as the scent of strawberry moisturizer and toasted tobacco clogs up your nostrils, spilling Wanda's red into your bloodstream. She looks like an animal ready to devour you and you're not sure if you're going to let her do it or not, but you tend to think that yes, you will.

“Has anyone else licked you on the corner of your mouth before actually kissing you, because they know it turns you on?”

You swallow the still air in your throat.

“Did anyone else run their hands down the sides of your neck before holding your hair?”

She takes a step toward you, and you take another step back.

“Has anyone else,” her voice is a low, dangerous whisper, “Bitten the side of your rib before they went down on you? With their tongue slow and soft at first and accelerating as your moans get more desperate when you ask for more?”

You want to kiss her. Your hands tingle to cup the sides of her jaw and pull her face down so your lips meet in midair, and she kisses you the way she knows you like. As you've done before, as she once wanted. But then you remember why you hate her as much as you want to kiss her, and it's like a reality check. And a new gust of angry air ignites inside your chest.

“It's none of your business, Wanda,” you finally say through gritted teeth, steadying the bridge that connects your intense gazes. You are annoyed and turned on, and you just know that she will always be your undoing.

“And I don't owe you any fucking satisfaction. I don't need to remind you that it was you who broke up with me via texts, do I? You're the one who dumped me, not the other way around. I don't owe you shit.”

A guilty hesitation crosses her gaze, which taking slashes of blame, quickly turns away from you to stare at the sink pipe on the right side of your hip; Wanda seems to shrink a little, wilting, squeezing the folds of her ringed fingers through the single strap of the crossbody bag that spills down her torso.

“That’s not true, Y/N, I… I– I didn’t…” she muss, in a low voice soaked in massive regret, stepping back a step, “It’s not like that, you just… you don't… you don’t understand–”

“I don't understand what, huh, Wanda? I don’t understand what?!"

Your voice rises an octave, and something stuck inside you for the past two years, like a bottle of champagne that pops a cork, just starts to flow, pouring out of your chest in a loud, painful confession and just so, so purely angry.

“That you got tired of playing with my feelings and decided to finally be the perfect little girl your father wanted you to be? That you decided to pose as a straight girl for one night, hanging on that jerk Jarvis' arm to be the perfect couple with a bright future after graduation? That all our plans, our confessions, our dreams were nothing but a hobby for you, a toy to play until you got sick of me and threw me away when you just felt like it?”

She looks on the verge of tears, her waterline glistening in crystalline pools of liquid embarrassment and her bottom lip threatening to quiver, and you barely notice when hot strands of bottled up feelings begin to leak down your cheeks, dripping towards the contour of your chin.

“Because if that's what I don't understand, then yeah, I really don't. I don't understand how you had the courage to be so coward to hurt me and break my heart in that mean way, when the only thing I ever did for you was take you in, Wanda! I took care of you! I listened to you, I dedicated myself to you, I gave you my heart, I fucking loved you! And that's how you repaid me, because you're a walking fucking problem and nothing will ever, ever satisfy you!"

And there's a sharp, deafening silence that follows after that, rumbling in your eardrums. And a veil of reality falls both over you and her; after all, whether indirectly or not, at no time had you confessed to Wanda that in a way, even with the immaturity worthy of late adolescence, you loved her as much as was possible at that time.

She looks hurt by your words, her eyes a gloomy, sad green, her hands tightening on the strap of her bag. And even if you've spent three long years believing that you really wanted to harm her, once you've done it, you don't feel the way you should. It's not satisfactory at all, because it hurts you too. It hurts so, so much.

“Y/N...” she whispers, but there's nothing more to say after that, so your name just hangs and dies in the air around her.

You pant, inflating and deflating heavily with your chest as if you've just run the course of a long marathon. And she looks at you like a shy child who's done something stupid, and it only takes one blink for a drop of black makeup to run down her pale, sharp cheekbones, the green of the irises now as bright as the grass in the spring pastures or in Botticellian paintings.

Her tearful face should feel like your masterpiece, not your leading lament.

“Wanda, I…” you whisper, wanting to say something you don't know, wanting to undo what you've already done, “I... I didn't mean..."

She seems to take a gulp of air to part her peachy lips and start a whole new sentence when the bathroom entrance door opens and an agitated group of chatty girls enters, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere established between you and Wanda. You look at her who doesn't look at you.

With the back of your hand, you quickly sweep the tears away from your own cheeks. And, picking up your backpack that is on the floor, placed next to the sink, you brush past Wanda and head towards the door without saying another word to the young lady in the red sweatshirt, who looks just as broken as you do.

All you have to do is turn one corner to the thick tears begin to pour down the warm skin of your face.

ᗢ

The movement of warm-weather morning firstfruits is a little slow, even still, with the occasional businessperson in a suit or tired student stopping by to enter the store before the clock strikes nine in the morning, to resort to the necessary high doses of caffeine and only then can start their day with a temporary and bogus simulation of a burst of energy.

And it's when Yelena says something about needing to use the restroom, when there's no customer to attend to or even a soul sitting at the tables just to use the free WiFi, that you decide that checking a few emails in your phone's inbox will do no harm to your start of the day.

After all, you've already scrubbed the damn mop on the floor so much that the linoleum now looks like a mirror under your feet, and you've changed three times the napkins that didn't really need to be discarded and changed.

And you know well that you did, though, to take your mind away from the memory of the night before; of the loud, heavy music blasting through the dividing wall of your room with Wanda's, in a failed attempt to stifle the sobbing cry of the neighbor apartment, who kept your brain alert throughout the night, until tiredness won over by the fatigue of your muscles (or maybe her muscles first), allowing the both of you, so close and yet so far away, to fall asleep together, at the same time, each thinking of the other as you lost consciousness.

A few minutes pass, however, before the distinctive tinkling of the small bell above the front door engulfs your attention away from your cellphone screen, and your rehearsed speech of welcome comes almost as an involuntary response that fills your mouth, before the most genuine of smiles slip through the pulp of your lips as braided ginger hair comes into your field of view, clasped in a heavy, handsome leather jacket.

“Nat, hi!” you greet her, Yelena's older sister, and she smirks as she walks toward you from across the counter.

You always liked her and she always liked you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Natasha looks around as if scanning the area, before turning her piercing green gaze back to your face, never missing the tiny smile on her full lips, hands shoved in the back pockets of the dark jeans that she wears around her toned legs.

 “Yelena left you here to deal with those grumpy people all alone, huh? That suck. Guess I'm gonna have to rap her knuckles for a change.”

“Nah, it’s okay. She went to the restroom,” you smile, “I guess.”

“You guess, huh?” Natasha raises an orange brow, “Well, it must have been. She was never good at holding her bladder, you know? I mean, seriously, there was this time when we were kids back in Ohio where she was playing on the slide and then my mom—”

“Hey, don't you even dare to start it!” Yelena's voice comes from the back in a protesting exclamation, before the young blonde girl appears, tying her leaf-green apron around her waist.

“And may I know what you're doing here, huh? Don't you have, like, cop stuff to do around, officer? There must be some kitten stuck in a tree in Central Park or some sucker in a manhole in need of help.”

“I think this is a fire department thing,” you comment, and in return Yelena blinks in disbelief in your direction.

And the older sister lets out a lame giggle through her nose, expelling a gust of warm air through her nostrils.

“I was passing by and I decided to come around just to annoy you, 'Lena” says Natasha, half-laughing, prompting a roll of the eyes on the part of the youngest sister, “But I'll take the opportunity to ask Y/N to make me an espresso. You know, her coffee is really good.”

And when Natasha's voluptuous gaze falls on you, the corner of her lips twitching a little, there's a pang that nudges your stomach and makes your lungs inflate and deflate with warm air evaporating off your skin.

Natasha is a few years older than you (and therefore also more experienced), and you are well aware that she is a very stunning woman, who is constantly enveloped in a simple aura of sensuality, which spontaneous flirtation seems to be like a second nature to her. And it feels good, it's really warming to know that someone like her looks at someone like you in such a way. Even if, deep down, your brain is aware that your heart doesn't beat for her, and never will.

“For God's sake Natasha, the coffee is made by a damn machine, literally every time it's the same thing,” Yelena mutters crookedly under her grumpy breath, “Just get a room, damn it, this is a public place.”

“Come on, 'Lena, you don't need to be jealous,” and you know it's now nothing more than a sibling bickering, a healthy petulance that ends up trapping you in the middle of the situation that leans towards comic, “You're the lucky one who has to see Y/N every day, not me.”

And you take it easy, barely able to suppress a round of giggles when Yelena looks like she wants to jump over the counter and kick her sister in the face.

“Listen, get the hell out of here, go away! Go! Go! Go! You're not getting no fucking coffee anymore—!”

But the entrance bell jingles a second time as the glass door opens and someone enters the establishment.

And the second time is worse than the first, because all you need to do is glance over Natasha's left shoulder and a pair of emerald eyes other than the rookie cop's eyes connect with yours, like a knot tied in mid-air, two magnets that attract and repel each other. The soft smile plastered on your lips begins to fade and then disappears into a dry line and a wisp of skin between your brows.

And you just can't believe it's Wanda who's there, like an obsessive spirit or even an obsessed stalker, even though your apartment is just a block away from the coffeeshop, even though there's a cozy bookstore across the street and, if you hadn't paid so much attention to Natasha, you would have noticed the blood-red dress, so delicate against the imposing black jacket; the clothes dressed in the familiar silhouette that had entered the store on the sidewalk opposite your work environment.

“Such a psycho…” Yelena muss for only Natasha to hear, but you do the same and believe Wanda does too, because she looks hesitant as she gazes at your uniformed friend, standing beside you behind the counter.

You blink, and so does Wanda, still standing in the doorway.

The atmosphere that sets in is palpable, and the two sisters, then aware of your unfortunate situation with your neighbor-ex-girlfriend-not-really-a-girlfriend, exchange looks that only two people with a connection like theirs can exchange.

And then, you turn your stiff shoulders toward the coffee machine, stepping away from the compact glass counter, “I–I'll make your espresso, Nat.”

The clatter of the machine seems to be deafening when the silence is thick and even the sound of a penny falling to the floor would echo through the entire store, and the sudden sour smell of coffee sends your stomach into a wave of nausea you don't quite know where it's coming from, but it's here to stay and, in such a way, you feel like you want to cry.

The acerbic regret of harming her still eats you into your muscles and your bones.

Fitting the lid on the tall clear plastic glass, you place the drink across the face of the counter, in front of Natasha, who gives you a complacent look, in a green so different from the green that stares at you from behind her.

“Here it is,” you say in a rather mechanical voice.

Natasha takes her wallet from the back pocket of her tight dark jeans and places a bill that exceeds the stipulated amount next to the glass, holding you back with her hand when you get her the change. Everything is very vague, and the cozy, playful aura that once enveloped the three of you left the store as soon as Wanda opened that door.

“See you later, sis,” Natasha says to Yelena, who stares at Wanda like an angry guard dog, before turning back to you, “And you… take care, honey.”

There's a deliberately deferred squeeze of the red-haired woman's hand by the delineation of your own fingers caged in rings, and even as Natasha turns onto her back, her single long red braid slipping between her shoulder blades hidden inside her leather jacket, pouring along her spine, you know she shoots a hard look at Wanda, who flinches as she passes close to her shoulder – even though the two of them have never touched, it’s as if Natasha has bumped her shoulder against Wanda’s.

The temperature seems to drop, and the Sokovian girl takes a step forward, toward the counter – her dark hair looks beautiful even in a messy bun on top of her head, and you really have to hold back before uttering that compliment out loud. She doesn't seem to be sleeping well, and even layers of dark makeup can't hide the bags under her tired eyes. You thought it would bring you some kind of comfort, but really you just want to hug her.

"Can I help you?" Yelena is the one who takes the initiative, even if her hard tone doesn't at all befit the implications of her rehearsed store clerk phrase.

"I..." Wanda starts, opens her mouth, closes it for a second and then opens it again, "I was going to order an iced tea, but now I... I... Y/N," she then looks at you, “Can I talk to you? Please."

No, you want to say, not at all. I'm ashamed that I said those things to you. But Wanda's gaze is as intense as Yelena's. And you let out a lame sigh, squinting in disbelief towards your own thoughtless actions, before turning to your coworker who is next to your left shoulder.

Fuck it.

“I'm gonna… I'm gonna take a break,” you announce, before returning your gaze to Wanda, who seems to hide gratification beneath the hesitation in her eyes.

Yelena, on the other hand, seems pretty discredited with your words.

“Dude, it's like eight-thirty in the morning,” she reminds you, “And you're going to spend your break time with… this?”

The tone is displeased as she looks at your ex high school sweetheart, who then just looks away. You just shake your head in embarrassment.

“Yelena, please, just… please,” you look nonsensically tired at the young blonde in uniform, “Not now.”

And Yelena looks like she wants to say something, but she stops before she does, because looking from you to Wanda, two restless spirits, two broken bodies, she understands. Something about her understands, even if she doesn't like what she understands. And she shakes her head, following your figure that goes around the counter after untying your apron and, shadowing Wanda closely, just leaves the store behind you.

The bell jingles up from the door.

ᗢ

Leaning against the brick wall of the alley beside the cafeteria, a cigarette smoldering in its blazing tip, breathing in puffs of smoke, Wanda stares silently at her own feet—her faux-leather boots dark, tall, and worn. You, leaning against the damp wall opposite the one she leans in, watch her and look away every time she tries to engage her eyes with yours. It's like a game where whoever speaks first loses, and you and Wanda are just too competitive to let go.

You know there's no need to wonder why Wanda's sudden arrival has upset you so much, still a little remorseful for your explosive outburst in the university restroom as you are; but even as displeased as you claim to be to yourself, you also feel, in a way, happy and exultant, a comfortable lull warming the inside of your chest that you kind of really try to fight against, but it's a losing battle and you know it.

And, as engrossed in your own head as you are, you don't even notice the red specter that, like the devil himself, looks your way as if she might rip your soul out of your chest, the strawberry scent wafting through the alley with cigarettes that only Wanda Maximoff can squander.

With your hands tucked into the back pockets of your dark jeans, you just say nothing towards her.

“Do you... want a cigarette?”

Her voice catches your attention, but for a few seconds, you find yourself bereft of words that are capable of responding to it. When you lift your chin to look at her, though, both of your dark gazes are linked together in a single train of thought, Wanda too hesitant, you too uncertain.

She, with dark makeup, has the nicotine stick between the pulps of her profuse lips, and you watch her through the whole process that unfolds through her smoking the cigarette; you notice when her mouth is parted to receive the smoke, revealing flashes of white, opalescent teeth, and you also notice how a thin bed of glossy gloss ends up smearing the yellow filter, like a midnight kiss exchanged before imminent death.

Wanda blinks playfully at you, still waiting for an answer, her lepidopteran eyelashes fluttering in mascara, before leaning her head toward your gaze. Her sudden proximity shooting lightning bolts to your stomach, because now the alley seems so tight and her soft skin feels so touchable.

You stare at her for a few seconds, pupils dilated in a vortex of darkness, before shaking your head as you move your neck from side to side.

The thick smoke leaves Wanda's peach lips not long after you do. And then you remember doing it with her, cigarette after cigarette, between kisses and touches, the moans engulfed by dawn in the dark corners of Westview, where no prying eye could have realized that you loved Wanda Maximoff.

“No, thanks,” you raise your right hand hesitantly, “I stopped a while ago. I was starting to run out of breath to just walk up the stairs.”

You think she knows that you only started, years ago, because of her, in order to impress her, to be able to approach her the night you visited her house because of Pietro and, not knowing how to properly initiate a conversation with a pretty girl, you asked for a cigarette because you once saw her smoking behind the bleachers; she knows you never liked the taste and that you coughed more than you held the noxious smoke into your lungs and lied that you liked it, prompting an avid wave of laughter from her.

Then she shrugs, resolving to herself that she won't press the point. For a few minutes, present is the silence erected between you like a massive wall. Wanda puff on her cigarette, and after that, you sigh.

“You wouldn't order iced tea,” you say in a neutralized voice, “You've seen me in uniform before, in the hallway. You know I work there.”

And she kind of laughs, unsurprised, through thick cigarette smoke.

"Well, I do. But I really want an iced tea, just so you know,” there's an air of good humor in her speech, even as her icy eyes gaze at the floor between her boots.

The silence descends again for half a second, until it's pierced once more by you.

“I'm sorry, by the way,” is a semi-whisper that crosses the alley, “For the things I said to you in the bathroom that day. Or the things people are saying around about you. It's been a while since all that shit happened and it's not… it's not fair that you're being held accountable for this teenage bullshit. Breakups... breakups happen, I guess. You weren't obligated to stay with me.”

She looks at you, her eyes glowing the color of guilt-ridden jade.

“But I didn't have to break up with you in such a shitty way, also,” and then, a sigh comes in a cage of smoke, “I… I think I deserve some of your treatment. I'm the one who should apologize. It was stupid of me, it wasn’t… it wasn't right what I did to you, Y/N.”

You compress your lips into a line because you know it's true, but you don't want to start a new intrigue right after finishing another one.

“Well, you could have done it any number of ways that would have been better, in fact,” you shrug, “But we were seventeen, Wanda. I was an idiot, you were an idiot. And I understand it was hard for you, you know… with Erik, and stuff.”

The mention of her father's name seems to make her shift uncomfortably in her clothes, the dark jacket that covers the short dress of reddish fabric seeming abruptly cramped and exposed as she seems to shrink in on herself, lifting the walls that have kept you away. And then she smokes, closing her eyes, like she used to when he made her cry.

You see the smoke coming in and out of her pearly mouth, and you feel kind of nostalgic to see her like this, so vulnerable and transparent, feeling everything but saying nothing.

“Yeah, it was really hard,” there's an eerie tone that creeps into her voice, the moss green of her gaze seeming to carry a baleful hue, “But it wasn't fair that I just threw all that shit at your back every time that I was sad. But… that's in the past, right? It's no longer a problem I have to deal with, let alone you."

And she doesn't seem to want to talk about it anymore, so you don't bring it up again. A car passes on the street and a dog barks at a bicycle rider. When the cigarette she smokes finally runs out, she stubs out the butt against the brick wall and lets a limp sigh escape her nose.

“I think I'll go home now… I don't want to take your break time anymore,” and she smiles, albeit minimally, “Your tired face on me is starting to make me feel guilty.”

“Does that mean you're going to stop listening to Deftones all night long? Because that’s kinda depressing,” the air of laughter doesn't escape you, and she shyly lets the smile grow on the contour of her lips.

“Well… at first it wasn't on purpose, but then I just kind of kept doing it to get your attention,” she scrunches with the skin of her nose, “On second thought, it wasn't my best idea. Sorry about that. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Fine,” you smile small, even if that still won't make your morning tiredness go away entirely, “I'll charge you more for your iced tea and then we'll call it even, Maximoff.”

“Are you still going to get me an iced tea?” Wanda looks in your direction and, a little awkwardly, you nod.

“You want one, don't you?” you look at her, “Still like black tea with lemonade?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “Yeah, I do.”

ᗢ

The taut muscular tension radiating from the top of your spine fades along with the heavy bags of skin under your eyes, and the days gone by become bearable, even pleasant, as the weeks that follow as a result of the conversation and the apologies exchanged between you and Wanda.

In part, of course, you suppose your light mood is related to the fact that there is no longer a sound of drums and guitars that seems to want to breach your bedroom wall, once sleep is invited back to inhabit your bedding, cradling you in a necessary embrace that is only undone again when Loki bites your foot because he's hungry in the middle of the night. As if the recurring spark igniting within your filled chest could even be overlooked, anyway.

You then have the luxury of unconcernedly greeting Wanda with an exchange of affable smiles for the expected times you bump into each other in the hallway of the apartment complex you live in or the campus of the university where you both study, and now and then she goes to the coffeeshop where you work during her free time in the afternoons, carrying with her some excuse to buy an iced black tea with lemonade to sip along a classic book you know she likes to read.

“Hey sucker, you're drooling. Stop looking before I report you for public nuisance.”

Yelena mutters beside you as you find yourself staring at the girl in the black miniskirt sitting so charmingly at the table in front of the cashier, who then looks at you in a splash of emerald-green irises over the top of the hardcover book, allowing herself to hide a slight smile behind the full pages.

The skin on your cheeks and the tips of your ears glows in deep pinks when you tell your co-worker to “shut the fuck up”, because you just know there's no way to look away from Wanda's pale, exposed thighs that are draped over each other down the table – her kneecaps slightly turned toward you, almost as if purposefully put in that position just for you to look at.

One night when you came in from yet another extra shift at work, Wanda was having a hard time getting the key in her door while she had bags slung all over her forearm extensions, and you immediately helped her carry the groceries into her house, being then rewarded with a can of cherry Coke (her preferred drink), and a small peck ghosted on your left cheek that felt like an electrical charge against your epidermis, stirring something up inside you.

You exchanged your phone numbers later when you asked her to feed Loki for another extra shift and gave her your spare apartment key to do so.

Yelena, of course, made fun of you for grinning so kindheartedly when the notification came in for a photo of Wanda holding Loki against her lap like a grumpy little baby, but you just didn't bother to care about your best friend's continuous teasing that went on until late of the night. The following afternoon, Wanda sat with her tray on the table with you, the Belova girl and Kate during your lunch period at the cafeteria.

“Oh yeah, Y/N was part of the debate club when we were in high school,” she says with her cheek resting on her open right palm, prompting a good-natured eye roll on your part, “It was cute.”

“I bet it was, indeed,” Yelena replies, in a voice filled with hints of mockery, her mouth full of chewed apple, “So cute, little Y/N!”

“Dude, just shut up,” you grumble awkwardly from behind your glass of orange juice.

“I bet you guys were a really cute couple though,” but when Kate says that, drinking from the straw of her grape juice box, the atmosphere around the table is a little weird.

You and Wanda look at each other, and it even amazes you when you see that she can't help but express a reserved smile that goes far back, back to her adolescence.

The succeeding weekend, when Pietro came to the big city to visit his sister, he didn't accept less than a drunken company in your presence, which, according to him, would bring back the flame of the good old days; and it was late into the night, when the young boy in the bluish blouse (the brown roots of his hair sampled in the strain of dyed gray locks, cut short) pointed an accusing drunken left finger that trekked from you to Wanda and from Wanda to you.

“You know, it's a shame you two never dated back in high school,” he grumbles, before tucking the neck of his beer bottle between his parched lips, “I always thought you guys were, like, super alike. And Wanda kept saying she thought you were super hot, Y/N, seriously, it was super annoying!”

There's an incredulous grunt on the part of the twin girl with the creased brow and gauchely twisted mouth, who's sitting opposite her brother's, as she spits the cigarette smoke out of her nostrils instead of down to her lungs, tapping the ashes into a hard ruby-color metal ashtray placed in the center of the coffee table in front of you, amidst a heap of several empty beer bottles and leftover bread, hamburger and fries, the junk food now all cold and withered.

“Shut up, Pietro!”

Her voice is loud as the shyness that rises red across her pale cheeks, making her look younger and more innocent behind the dark makeup and lank hair. And you, sitting like a physical barrier founded between the pair of siblings, just take a sip of your own cold beer, sinking your body a little deeper into the dark linen sofa that smells like Wanda.

“Come on, Wanda, you’re always nagging that you're gonna die alone or whatever that emo shit you keep saying, so date Y/N instead! She's a great catch!”

“Pietro, I swear to God that I actually will fucking murder you.”

She looks like she's going to explode. It's almost funny in a certain way, but you don't allow yourself to laugh, so you just drink more and more of your beer.

“Y/N,” he moves to you in a drawl and, in a silence that connects your mouth to the mouth of the bottle, your hooded gaze turns to the boy’s piercing blue eyes, “Date Wanda. C’mon, date her! I know your type, I know you have a taste for edgy girls–”

“Seriously, just shut the fuck up!” thunders the younger sister, who is promptly snubbed by the older brother.

“Don't act like it's not true, Wanda! Back home it was always “oh, but Y/N is so pretty”, “Y/N is so cool”, “Y/N's sneakers are stylish”, “Y/N eyes are so–”

But before Pietro can continue in a monologue about his sister and how much she always noticed you, his speech is interrupted by a pillow of reddish fabric that flies close to the tip of your nose only to then crash into his forehead, causing him to spill beer all over his shorts.

But it's a few days later, maybe another weekend or the start of another Monday, that Wanda's wide television, which flashed on her screen an old black-and-white American sitcom that you know is to her taste (who appreciates classic literature and old series, nostalgic for a time when she never lived, something she says came from her mother) is the only thing that clutters the apartment like some source of light or sound, which meet the two of you, both of you snuggled up on her dark beer-stained couch.

You don't have anything to say to each other, but even so, the atmosphere is comfortable and domestic because Wanda, with a sudden abundance of coziness surging into her bubbling core, has her head exhaling the scents of freshly washed hair reclining on your shoulder, your arm in outline of her body pulling her close to your right side, chuckling along with her in innocent humor when some goofy character trips over a piece of furniture or a banana peel.

On the coffee table are a couple of cans of Cherry Coke and an empty red ashtray. You don't know when you two ended up like this, but there's no complaint on your part, and certainly not hers either.

When an alacrity chuckle escapes through the parted crack of her lips, her scalp approaches the underside of your nose and you feel the sweet aroma of strawberry shampoo, which is enveloped in a full-bodied cigarette smell that causes a wave of nostalgic clamor disperses through your bloodstream.

And she knows you like it, because her fingers curl against the hem of the blouse you're wearing on your hunched body on the couch, nails tinted in a sober black nail polish deferring a continuous, circular caress against your lower belly, close to your belly button, dangerously close to the zip of your pants.

“Y/N,” she calls out to you, in a low voice that comes with a background of laughter from an old-time television audience, “Did you really love me back then?”

You look at Wanda, whose head has slipped to fall to your chest, in the warm embrace in which you have captured her. She looks up, now bare of her makeup, in a modest shade of green that shines in the black-and-white lighting that radiates from the television. And in that bonded midair, with the sting of her gaze burning into your irises, you move your chin up and down, never dissolving the bond that you've built.

“Yes,” is a sigh, “Yes, there was a time when… when I loved you. When I really loved you.”

You say, as if you still don't love her. As if you wouldn't be able to break your own bones only to have her there again, lying in the comfort of your arms that salute so much for the outline of the warmth of her body glistening the red color against your bristling chest.

Wanda, for her part, stops with the deferred caress against your lower stomach, shifting her watchful gaze toward the glowing television screen.

“I loved you too, you know,” her body moves closer to yours, “I really loved you back then.”

"Then… why?" your speech can't help but emulate the reactionary question, which comes like thunder, hitting the back of your throat, "If you loved me, then why...?"

Her muscles, even beneath the rock band shirt she wears and the black miniskirt that adorns her hips, strain against you. She knows it's about the prom night, about the abandonment. Your tone isn't furious, but rather, just infested with a genuine curiosity that turns out to have a background in faded hurt.

“Those people,” she mutters between ragged breaths, “The rumors… he would have known. Erik, he… he would have known.”

“We were going to get out of that town, Wanda,” your voice is low against the top of her ear, “I had nothing else to worry about. I didn't care if any of those bastards were going to judge us—”

“It's not about the judgment, Y/N,” she interrupts you, her voice a whisper, after an empty, unfunny chuckle, “Fuck, I couldn't care less if someone was going to judge us. It's not like no one ever judged me for the trouble I got myself into or the shit I did back then, anyways."

And yes, she has a point. If there was anyone at Westview High who would be regarded as the black sheep, a hopeless cause, it would indeed be a young Wanda Maximoff. And then, your frown creases across your forehead. You don't know where she's going with this information that is nothing short of new to you, but you are willing to listen.

“It's just… I told Erik about you. Well, about you and me. On prom day,” your stomach drops as your grip increases the deferred pressure on her left bicep, through the cotton of her shirt, “And then that idiot hit me.”

Her laughter is not matched by yours. A sudden fury that takes over your bones makes you want to punch Erike Lehnsherr in his damn jaw. Wanda has always been the keeper of a sour humor, drinking from sources of cynicism, but this time you weren't able to escort her into a bittersweet joke.

“And I found out that stupid Pietro opened his big mouth and talked about your acceptance letter from NYU,” your gaze falls to the top of her dark-haired head, “And it turns out he had an influential acquaintance inside there. Do you know Professor Charles Xavier?”

“The bald guy who’s always wearing that ugly suit?” you ask, and Wanda nods, between another chuckle. The barely perceptible flicker falling over it indicates an onset of suppressed crying you've seen before.

“Erik, he,” she sniffles, “He said he was going to end your life. And I always knew, I– you wanted so badly to get out of that town, Y/N. You spent that last year studying so hard, you worked so hard for that damn letter… I couldn't let him get away with it, with everything you've worked so hard to achieve. It was your dream, I couldn't, I—”

She gasps against your shirt, in a greedy wave of painful sobs that feel like they want to shatter the bones in her shoulders. And you hold her when she cries, when she breaks down into tears that seem incessant, just like you did before, in your bed at night or in the cold of dawn inside your archaic old car given to you by your father. Even if you also wanted to burst into a painful cry. Even if you want to apologize for all the harm you've caused her in retaliation produced by the bastard who fathered her.

And you see her as you saw her before; just a broken girl in the world, the daughter of someone who didn't deserve to have her in his life.

“I–I just miss my mom so much,” she cries against your chest, sounding so young, so innocent, and so shattered.

You hold her until she sheds all her tears, when the crying subsides, and she begins to wheeze loudly in weary sleep against your chest. It's only then that you allow yourself to cry silently against her hair which, even after so many cigarettes smoked, still manages to smell so good. And you cry for what you did and what you didn't do either.

The bright sun of the pale of the next dawn comes to shine in the middle of the celestial field, somewhat immodic during that particular warm day, in the middle of a sultry and sunny climate.

The wide-open window causes golden slivers of sunlight to warm the top of your cheek, and when your brain finally wakes up, blinking the sleep out of your eyelashes, you feel along with the morning a look burning on your face. And when your eyelids open, it's to reveal Wanda's slightly puffy face in front of you; her eyes half red and puffy from the crying that had put her to sleep, her chin balanced on your chest.

She's lying on top of you, her legs tucked between yours.

“You woke up,” she whispers, like a little child. You smile, still lethargic from the recent sleep in your system.

“I woke up, indeed.”

“Are you okay?” Her tone is curious, full of meaning. A gust of warm air blows between your nostrils, close to her nose that almost touches yours.

"I am. Yes, I am. Are you? What time is it?”

“Early. And yes, I am,” and then, her gaze drops to the line of your lips, “I'm sorry, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Something burns inside you.

“I really want to kiss you now too, Wanda.”

 And then Wanda dives toward you, grabbing the sides of your face between her warm hands. And you then reach forward and take her, pressing the commission of your lips against the contoured sleepy-cherry-flavored mouth that could belong to none other than the girl who always had your heart, who moved her body hers against yours. You just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, comfortable in your grip.

A slow kiss, half snooty and sloppy, dissolves, but you hold the air inside your lungs and search for more of her, the red inside her mouth, armed with a soft red nostalgic familiarity contouring your bodies through your lips, being eagerly reciprocated by an affectionate Wanda. Your lips were moved carefully, following an invisible line that dictated you not so reckless actions like a rehearsed act.

The fervent kiss becomes a pacified kiss, and the pacified kiss becomes little kisses that soon fade into serene peace. You feel a forehead press against yours.

Soon, a sly pink tongue slips back into your mouth in search of what is hers, expert and needy. And then, a robust and powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the curve of your jaw, asks you to open your eyes – and Wanda stands before you like a creature out of a dream, Wanda usurps your senses, Wanda pulses inside your veins and on your tongue.

“You're perfect, Wanda,” you whisper hot against the pulp of her swollen lips, “You're just perfect.”

“I love you,” she says in return, and hot tears again adorn her eyeballs, “I fucking love you, Y/N.”

You want to explode, explode in love. Your forehead presses against hers, and she caresses the cheek of her thumb against the top of her cheekbone.

“I love you too Wanda,” you smile, “I love you too.”

She is no longer your noisy neighbor after this.

#wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x you #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #yelena belova #yelena black widow #agnes wandavision #agatha harkness #natasha romanoff #black widow

[statement-price-half]

https://penny-601.mxtkh.fun/a/WOB6InR

#soobin #mcyt #emily agnes #mchanzo #stardew #catwalk #horse #ts3 #persona 4 #sam and dean #michael myers x reader #cycling

[zafirosreverie]

A virgin’s pray (Agatha x Fem!Reader)

Next

__________________

“I am sure there are a lot of virgins who would love to marry you, Miss Wren” you said and gave the woman in front of you a fake smile. 

You didn’t listen to her answer as you took the small rock in her hand and closed the door behind you, pinching the bridge of your nose. When will they learn?! You already rejected this woman three times and she wasn’t even one of the worst people who wanted to court you.

“I’m going to need a bigger chest” you rolled your eyes as you threw the stone into your heart’s chest. 

You loved living in the coven and the path you chose, but sometimes, you wished it could be an easier one. It’s not that virgins were treated like garbage or like an object or something like that, that was human’s gross nature. In witchcraft, virgins were the most precious thing they could find. 

They were the most valuable wives any warlock or witch could ask for, because virgins had the power of innocence and it meant that their blood and souls were powerful and clean of all terrenal bounds.

So, to have a virgin offer you her "gift" meant the purification of your magic and life.

Something that most magic users seeked for. You see, maybe some dreaming soul could imagine that being able to use magic was something amazing, incredible, useful and totally the very best. And it was...most of the time. But there was always a price in magic. 

And it was that, the more you used magic, the more it became contaminated. It seems simple, but that was only the first of the problems. Because you needed to use it in order to gain control of it, which meant that, inevitably, magic will always end contaminated with terrenal bounds, which also meant that it became weaker with time. 

It was something that most warlocks and witches feared. And that was what made virgins so special, because by receiving this gift, they were allowed to unleash the magic at its purest but with all the control they already learned.

It sounds wonderful, right?

Well, not for you. For you, it was a pain in your ass. 

As a virgin by choice, you had to deal with witches and some warlocks trying to court you, wanting you for the power you held. Yeah, maybe your magic was technically weaker than theirs, but yours couldn’t be contaminated. It was a choice that everyone in a coven made when they turned 18. You could choose the power of witches or the purity of virgins. And when the time came for you, some years ago, you chose the second one. 

At first, it seemed like the best decision ever! Yes, it was hard to give up a part of your power, but it was worth it in your opinion. You had freedom, you didn’t need to train as much as witches and it meant that you had the right to reject anyone who tried to marry you.

Against what the world might think, consensual marriage was an important thing for every coven, because if a virgin was forced into marriage and she didn't want to give her gift to her spouse, then they’d be cursed and their magic would be corrupted beyond all help. Useless, uncontrollable, dangerous. No warlock or witch would want to take the risk. 

That's why most of them would spend a lot of time courting you and the other virgins.

Which led to many, many people to your door.  

You couldn’t really blame them, it was totally your fault. You would never take marriage lightly, especially not after seeing how your father treated your mother, or the way your sister, another virgin, had been burned at the stake because of her wife. You had tried to help her, but there was little you could do, and from that moment on, you swore that you would not marry the first one who asked you, like she did, you’d rather wait for someone truly worthy.

Your mother had made fun of that, a few days before she ended up in the hands of mortals. She had told you that true love was just a fairy tale and that you should be realistic. It wasn't that you were a hopeless romantic, you just knew a different kind of magic that she didn't. And you trusted that at some point, your soul would choose someone worthy. You just had to wait.

Too bad the magical beings were so impatient. Especially when it came to power.

Every time a virgin rejected someone, that person had to give her a rock that contained a piece of their magic. It was a kind of trophy for the virgin. You called them "hearts" simply because it was fun to see their expressions when you’d tell them that you would add theirs to your chest of hearts.

Maybe it had been a bad idea, looking at it objectively, since that little joke of yours had helped your reputation grow and your name was known not only in your coven, but in other close ones as well.

You had rejected many, many people, so you still had the gift of purity, which could only be given once, and your collection of "hearts" was getting bigger and bigger. You knew that, although for you they were mere ornaments because your magic could not grow any more, for anyone else they would be a strong temptation, because by marrying you, they could access them.

"At this rate, whoever I choose is waiting for a great buffet of magic" you joked to yourself.

You cursed internally when you noticed the sun beginning to set. Hell, that woman was seriously wasting your time! You were supposed to be ready for the ceremony in less than an hour!

That was another thing you hated, the fact that when a virgin married, the entire coven had to go. As long as the bride was not you, why would you care if someone married or not? But rules were rules, you guessed.

You prepared the water for a quick bath and took the first dress you found. You had no intention of dressing up more than you should just because it was a wedding. You just prayed it would end quickly.

_____________________

Agatha sighed as her mother yelled at her to hurry up. She didn't even want to go to a stupid wedding! But it wasn't about what she wanted, it never was. It was about absurd and ridiculous traditions.

But she knew better than to anger her mother when it came to ceremonies. It seemed that they were the only occasions in which she remembered that she had a daughter, that she was the heir to the position of matriarch and she demanded that the brunette behave as such.

Honestly, the whole virgin thing and stuff seemed absurd to her. Why would anyone want to give up some of their magic just to help others have more power? It was useless, degrading, and foolish.

"Agatha, for the last time-"

"I heard you" she interrupted the older witch and took her cloak

"You will not go dressed like that" Evanora crossed her arms

"why not?" Agatha asked "I'm not the bride" she smiled and walked out the door, ignoring her mother's sigh.

It was better for the universe that this ended soon and she could go back to her books.

______________________________

You rolled your eyes when Evanora finished giving her speech about power and trust and bonding and whatever other shit she said. Honestly, you had stopped paying attention in the middle of the speech.

All weddings in the coven were always the same. Evanora would give her approval after hearing false oaths from the couple, where they lied when saying that they loved each other and that they would always be faithful to each other. You well knew that your mother and sister had endured various infidelities.

There was no one who had a bond as strong as the one everyone swore.

"Ten crystals that he promises to treat her like a queen" someone said behind you.

You jumped a bit and turned to find an incredibly blue pair of eyes staring straight at you, and a mischievous smile that was just too contagious. You knew this woman. She was Evanora's daughter, Agatha.

It was a surprise to see her here. You were sure that the brunette would have no problem sneaking out of the ceremony, after all, she was well known throughout the coven for being irreverent, rebellious and a free spirit.

"Ten more than she blushes and giggles" you said with a smile.

The brunette smiled back at you and you both turned when the groom started with the list of promises that he would surely break in a year. As Agatha said, he swore to his bride to treat her like a queen and she blushed, looked down and laughed with what she surely thought was a cute laugh, but that to your ears it seemed the most false they have ever listened.

You looked at the woman next to you and you both shared knowing smiles. It was strange being so close to her, because you had never been someone who easily joked around with strangers, but Agatha had something about her, something that made you want to get closer.

The brunette couldn't take her eyes off you. She knew perfectly well who you were, as did everyone here. Your physical beauty had drawn her gaze from the moment she and her mother had arrived at the ceremony and after watching you roll your eyes at her mother's practiced speech, she decided that she had to get closer to you.

She had been sure that you would either ignore her or politely apologize and then walk away from her, but you seemed to enjoy her sarcastic comments and before she knew it, the two of you were exchanging comments and teasing about the entire wedding. Agatha had never met someone like you.

_________________________

Evanora glanced at you as the couple in front of her completed the ritual that would unite them in magic and soul. She had noticed the moment when Agatha had disappeared, of course she did, but she had assumed that her daughter had escaped to the lake, perhaps to loot the kitchen while everyone was busy, anywhere far from here.

That was why it had taken her by surprise when she reappeared at your side. And her stomach churned when she noticed the ease with which the brunette struck up a seemingly friendly conversation with you.

As the matriarch of the coven, Evanora had an obligation to know each and every person in her charge. And she knew perfectly well the power you had and how dangerous it could be in the wrong hands.

More specifically, in the hands of Agatha.

Her daughter and her hunger for power were a burden enough, she didn't need her to gain more power than she could control. She trusted you to have good judgment and to walk away from her, but the more she saw you tease and get closer to each other, the more nervous she grew.

She knew you had just met, and she begged all powers that this was just a one time thing. That you were just being nice and that's it. But she wasn't stupid either, and she knew there was a magic beyond her control, one that acted on its own whim and that nothing could be done when it trapped two souls.

_______________________

You laughed at Agatha's last comment as you watched the newly married couple disappear, probably to end their "duty" at home.

"That was shorter than I expected" you said

"Do you think they lacked lies to tell?" the brunette smiled at you

You laughed easily and playfully punched her on the arm. In the last hour, she had proven to be better company than expected and you would be lying if you said you didn't find her beautiful. But there was something that terrified you.

You could feel a part of you calling out to her.

Agatha was about to say something else, when she felt her mother's eyes on her back. She didn't even need to turn to know that she was viewing her with disapproval and fury. Nothing new. But for some reason, the idea that her mother might do something in front of you, embarrassed her.

The brunette had never cared what people said about her, but for some reason, she respected you enough.

"I think you'd better go home" she told you "so much love and lies must be tiring"

You laughed and blushed slightly "And I'm sure you miss your books" you said "Well it was an honor to meet you, Miss Harkness"

"The pleasure was mine"

"Have a good night"

You both smiled one last time before bowing respectfully to the other and going separate ways, but with a feeling of closeness.

Evanora sighed in relief when she saw you walk away from her daughter at last. You were a good girl and she would hate for Agatha to corrupt you. Or so she told herself, but deep down, she knew it was fear that she was feeling. Fear that her daughter would find an enormous source of power, one that she definitely didn’t deserve.

____________________________

When you went to sleep later that night, there was a voice in your chest, a tender one that invited you to follow her. It scared you, and you told yourself it was your imagination, because you didn't want to accept that maybe, just maybe...

Your soul was choosing.

- - - - - - - - - - -

KH tag: @mochiadria

#x reader #reader insert #imagine #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x y/n #agnes x reader #agatha harkness x you #avp #a virgin's pray #giveagnesagirlfriendchallenge #giveagathaagirlfriendchallenge #gay for kathryn hahn #not my gifs

[fakeagatha]

a headcanon about harkximoff having a stablished relationship in westview? 🥺

hex or after hex, whatever you want :))

A/N: I'm still not 100% on what an established relationship is but I hope I got it right :)

I have 1 more request that's been in my inbox for months, I promise I'm getting to it, I can only use my laptop because I have no storage on my phone! (I use Wattpad for oneshots)

Please reblog/like to show support!

Wandagatha in an Established Relationship Headcanons

_________________________________________

🔮Agatha entered Westview with the goal to defeat Wanda and steal her powers, so she wasn't expecting to instead fall in love with her.

❤️‍🔥In the beggining, Agatha was extremely jealous of Vision, but at the same time didn't want to hurt Wanda.

🔮When Vision "died", Agatha was somewhat relieved.

❤️‍🔥To Agatha's own surprise, she had mercy. Her plans on stealing Wanda's powers couldn't go through the way she had planned because God, she loved this woman.

🔮So instead, she pretended to loose the battle.

❤️‍🔥Long story short, something inside Wanda went off, and she let Agatha free.

🔮Wanda rebuilt the houses and buildings in Westview, so it could function like a neighborhood once again, even though many people avoided stepping foot in the borders.

❤️‍🔥It was awkward for Wanda and Agatha to be neighbors again, but they managed to rebuild their relationship in a different way.

🔮In a few words, Wanda realized that she was also into women, and Agatha was proud of herself for that.

❤️‍🔥Fast forward a few months, Wanda used her powers to turn their houses into one, as they decided to move in together.

🔮It was great for both of them, waking up next to each other, or Wanda complaining to Agatha about not flushing the toilet.

❤️‍🔥Agatha normally lied in, which gave Wanda the opportunity to attempt to make her breakfast in bed.

🔮Most of the time, it went perfectly, and Agatha fell more and more in love with her.

❤️‍🔥But neither of them will ever forget the time that Agatha spilled baked beans all over the bedsheets when Wanda attempted to make an English breakfast.

🔮One day, Wanda had decided to surprise Agatha by making an entire room for Señor Scratchy, which included a large cage, beds, toys, his food and water stations, basically a paradise for him.

❤️‍🔥Agatha was so delighted that she then surprised Wanda with a cat, named Ebony.

🔮They changed up the room and added a cat tower as well, and they were both so proud of their children.

❤️‍🔥Agatha has the habit of not closing the toilet seat after using it, and it drives Wanda crazy, so it's normal to hear her yelling "Agatha, the toilet!!" At random times throughout the day.

🔮Wanda has a habit of forgetting where she's left things, which is the reason the two are often late to their duties.

❤️‍🔥Agatha is purely what you would call a "Facebook Mom", possible because of her age, but it makes Wanda's day when she's at work sees a marvelous, blurry selfie of Agatha, the lense way too close or too far away from her face, and a very awkward angle.

#agatha harkness #wandavision #kathryn hahn #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agnes wandavision #wandavision x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x agatha #wanda x reader #wanda maximilf #wanda maximommy #harkximoff #wandagatha

[that-tmr-girl]

TMR characters favorite small parts of sex

Aris

He likes holding you close

Holding your hands, intertwining your fingers, grabbing your waist, gripping your thighs

He just likes being able to touch you in some way

Brenda

She likes the way you act when you're horny and needy

Something about seeing you squirming while thinking about her, being clingy, and quietly begging to just leave so she can fuck you, makes her want you just as badly

Knowing that she makes your body and mind react like that to her, just sparks something inside of her that she can't explain

Gally

He likes looking at all the marks after

He'll count and kiss every single one with pride

He hates it when you try to cover them and will just give you more if he catches you

Harriet

She likes the way you two undress each other

Fingertips on skin, shirts slowly being slid over shoulders, pants slowly being pulled down as hands caress thighs, and even touching each other through your underwear, are all things she doesn't take for granted

No matter how long it takes, it's all worth it

Minho

He likes the fact that you want him and only him

It's just that he's the only one allowed to do the things he does to you, and you're the only one he wants to touch him

It's this feeling of knowing that you two belong to each other that makes sex important to him

Newt

He likes getting to just keep kissing you

Knowing he has access to press his lips to every part of your body makes him feel so lucky

He barely lifts his lips from your skin as he takes in the way you feel

Sonya

She likes the build up to it

The tension, the craving, the yearning, the long looks across the room

Finally getting to undress you and that wait being over always makes life feel so carefree to her

Teresa

She likes knowing that only she'll know what your body looks like at that moment

If she spots anything new, from a mark she hadn't noticed to a cut, she'll feel so proud that you trust her enough to let her see it

It's not so much possession, as it is pride to call you hers

Thomas

He likes the feelings after

The way you're both worn out, tired yet happy, and content makes his heart melt

Knowing that you just did something so intimate and energetic with such a calming aftermath is all he wants

#aris jones #aris x reader #brenda tmr #brenda x reader #gally tmr #gally x reader #harriet tmr #harriet x reader #minho tmr #minho x reader #newt tmr #newt x reader #sonya tmr #sonya x reader #teresa agnes #teresa x reader #thomas tmr #thomas x reader #smut #tmr #tmr smut #smut related #fluff and smut #tmr preferences

[step-on-me-khun]

Hello, I saw that your request are always open! So can I request a scenario with Khun A.A x reader, where he has a crush on the reader and they are always about to kiss but somehow they get interrupet every SINGLE time. And after a looong time they get to kiss? Please!

Have a nice day! <3

Hello ❤️❤️

my drafts are full of white requests and i need to focus on something other than him

warning(s): none words: 1016 taglist: @unexceptional-h @rizonacigaravenue @koi-chairowo @aoi-turtle @bangchanbin - ask or message to be included

Everyone had gotten on Khun's nerves at one point. Even Bam, when he first met him, that is. Shibisu, Hatz, Endorsi - they were tolerable and convenient. Still, they were annoying to Khun. It would take a lot to make Khun truly mad, to annoy him altogether. Very little had made Khun this way. 

Khun's breath tickles your face as both your eyes linger from the other's eyes to their lips. 

"Khun, we need your advice," Bam's voice rang, keeping you as you were. 

The last thing you wanted was this. All feelings should just be straight to the point. It disappointed you. Khun sighs before leaving. 

At first, the interruptions were for urgent situations. 

The second interruption was something else, but it left you feeling depressed and tense for a while. It was after an enormous battle. Khun had been looking for you, rushing through every corridor and room. He wanted you in his arms, to feel your warmth and to have you safe. The brain in his head was telling him the worst, but his heart knew better. Khun could never lose someone like you. 

Khun's footsteps quicken, and he bumps into you. The fear on your faces was there as you stood staring at each other for a second before realization kicked in. Khun pulls you into his arms, gripping you. Tips of your fingers brushing against the back of Khun's shirting. 

"It scared me. I thought you were dead," you cry into Khun's shirt. 

"I'm here right now. You don't need to worry," Khun whispers, his hand brushing calmly through your hair. 

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it was going to explode. 

As the rapid beating of your heart slowed, you moved away from Khun's chest. Your eyes immediately locked onto his blue ones. The atmosphere around the two of you calmed considerably. 

"Never leave my side," Khun quietly requests, his hand sliding down your head to your cheek, keeping his eyes fixed on yours. As his forehead touches yours, both your mouths inch closer. 

"There you are!" Endorsi shouts, stopping you from doing anything at all. You both sigh, feeling defeated. 

"It's fine." You whisper, "You're needed." 

The constant embarrassment you felt after every one of these situations left you saddened. Like an invisible force was forcing the two of you apart, it was unfair. 

Things were awkward. You could avoid each other all you wanted, but the amount of tension inside you both would come up and erupt. The uncertainty of when that would happen was what worried you. 

Being close to someone was nice, but you wanted to be closer to Khun. Just thinking about it made your insides flutter. All you wanted to do was cry because of your emotions. 

Khun was never clingy, but the way he pulled you close to him. It was so unexpected. You wanted more of that feeling, to stay by him. 

This madness would have to end. You would become desperate if something didn't happen. Well, Khun was pretty blunt and straightforward when he needed to be, and hopefully, he would be calm and patient with you. 

Even after catching him late at night, there was no privacy from anyone, and even when it looked like something was going to happen between you and Khun, the sound of a door shutting stopped you yet again. 

Before anything else happened, you walked back to your room. It was as if all of your emotions surfaced, and as you reached your room, tears spilt from your eyes. 

Khun was brilliant, but he couldn't figure out how to make things easier for the two of you. Reaching the top of the tower was his goal. Distractions were likely to occur, and he was glad you were one of them. 

In terms of feelings, Khun had an inkling that you had some feelings for him and how you acted gave it away. Endorsi teased you now and again about your feelings for Khun. So, it was only a matter of time before something happened. Unfortunately, those times got taken away from you by the surrounding people, unknown to them - if they didn't know. 

You made it a point to avoid Khun if a lot was happening around you. But that was rare. Bam was a person of interest. You never complained. 

With how many families were keen to get their hands on Bam, everyone was constantly around him, and with Khun being his good friend, he stayed by his side. 

There was hardly any time for yourselves, so if one of you had to make your feelings known, it would be when danger was present. You would look for each other again. 

As you headed to safety, you saw Khun beside Bam and let them be. 

You find yourself in the ship's corridor, and suddenly, Khun grabs your wrist, spinning you around to face him.

"You should be with the others," you mumble. 

"They can wait for a moment," Khun says before cupping your jaw and aligning your faces, your lips merely inches apart. 

"Blue turtle! Where did you wander off to?" Rak's voice booms. 

"See? Rak's already-"

His thumb traces along your lower lip, brushing it slowly before doing the same with your upper lip. Khun wanted to take his time. His patience was wearing thin, but he was calm. 

Just as his lips were about to touch yours, Khun whispered teasingly, "I'm not letting you get away from me again."

Before you can smile at his response, your lips connect. You close your eyes and relax. At that moment, it felt like everything stood still. The nervousness you felt before melted away as your hands grabbed Khun's upper arms. 

As the two of pull apart from each other, your hands remain clinging to Khun. Your eyes find each other again. A soft smile lights up your face. 

"Are you okay with me finding you when I'm stressed?" Khun asks. 

"That's fine with me, as long as I can come to you when I'm stressed."

Khun chuckles. "I'm fine with that,"

please don't steal or translate

#tower of god #khun aguero agnis #khun aguero agnes #khun aa #khun aa x reader #khun aguero agnes x reader #tower of god fluff #kami no tou

[ynscrazylife]

Me and the Devil, Walking Side by Side

Summary: Agatha wasn’t always like this. One day, in Westview, you realize that the woman you’re walking beside just may be the devil.

Inspiration: The song “Me and the Devil”

A/N: Dedicated to @nyx-aira because Agatha 💜

You always had this feeling, in the back of your mind, that something like this could happen.

You and Agatha had been friends before she was exiled by the coven. You, unwilling to let them kill her, stood up against them. Agatha ended up saving your life as well as her own and the two of you fled together, creating a life of your own.

Agatha had been straightforward with her intent to use the Darkhold. While you were opposed to it, you still loved her, and as long as it didn’t overwhelm her completely, you were fine with it. Agatha agreed to that but still, there was something itching in the back of your head, telling you — maybe even warning you — to be careful.

For centuries, things were fine. Wonderful, even. Agatha was the love of your life. You wouldn’t want things to be any different.

Then, one day, you came across Westview. As the more reserved one in the relationship, you were inclined to leave it be and carry on. But Agatha was fascinated, captivated even. She was so enthusiastic, how were you supposed to say no? Especially when Agatha pointed out that there may be people in need of saving.

So you joined her in this odd, magical, sitcom world. While you enjoyed the silliness of it, you failed to realize how obsessive Agatha had become until it was too late. You failed to realize that she wanted more. More power. More control. It became like a drug. Agatha had first said that she wanted to stop Wanda, which you could get behind, but what she failed to mention was that she wanted to steal Wanda’s power. Agatha started hiding things from you, too. Like the fact that she used the Darkhold more.

While you picked up on the signs that things were shifting, they were so small that you didn’t think much of it. Plus, you had no reason to suspect that Agatha was keeping you oblivious . . .

Until, one day, you saw her holding Wanda’s sons, Billy and Tommy, stop this.

“Agatha?” You asked, confused as you stepped out of your house and walked over to her, in the middle of the street. You could practically feel the fear radiating from Billy and Tommy.

Agatha’s head snapped to meet your gaze and you held back a gasp at the look in her eyes. “Y/N! What are you doing out here? Go back inside,” she said quickly.

You blinked, confused and shaking your head. “What? No, I’m not going to do that. What are you doing to these boys?” You asked, a little frightened. You couldn’t understand this.

Then, it began to dawn on you, you couldn’t understand her. That made you tremble.

“I’m teaching their mother a lesson!” Agatha hissed. “Now, come on, be good and go back inside, darling.”

Your heart was racing as you glanced at Wanda, then at the boys, and finally back at your wife. “No,” you said, forcing yourself to be loud.

Agatha was completely taken aback. “Stop being silly! Go back inside,” she insisted.

“Or else what? You’ll make me?” You asked in disbelief.

Unfortunately — that only gave her an idea. “Yes,” Agatha said, her eyes ablaze with something you had never ever seen. You couldn’t even process what she said before her magic washed over you and you found yourself marching right back into your house, the door locking behind you.

Immediately, you turned around, rushing to the door but unable to open it. You tried the windows next and saw Wanda advancing on Agatha, whose hold on the boys weakened after she used her magic on you.

She used her magic on you . . . A deep set of betrayal set in, which was nauseating. How could she do that?

You were shaking, almost crying, as you watched Wanda and Agatha fight. You were scared. Not only of what would happen to Agatha, but of Agatha herself now.

It all started to fall into place, though. Her weird behavior . . . The possessiveness . . . The obsession.

Agatha had changed, morphed into some other woman you hardly knew. It was like she was corrupted . . . Like the Devil or something.

And you had been walking beside her, with not a clue, the entire damn time.

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