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messedupfan · 2 months

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Chapter 14

Summary: It's the new year! There's a new development in Reader and Wanda's friendship. Jean and Anna have a very important question for reader. And Rachel witnesses something special.

A/n: Hellllloooooo!! I hope y'all are having a good day. Anyone watch Love is Blind? Every season upsets me more than the last. Anyway, comment, like, reblog, and enjoy!

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By the time you stopped staying with Wanda, the pillow wall ceased to exist. The pair of you were comfortable enough to share the space together on the bed and not overthink it. At least that's what you told each other to be able to hold one another at night. On the Sunday that Vision was meant to come for the boys, he called Wanda early in the morning. You were confused and exhausted when you accidentally picked up the phone. Your eyes went wide when you realized that you answered the wrong phone. You quickly put it on mute and woke Wanda up. She had to put on a fake voice to try and match yours. It was a hilarious attempt and she had to hit you to get you to laugh quietly. You just climbed out of bed to use the restroom.

When you came back, Wanda had her face in her hands. You rejoined her on the bed and she leaned against you once you were settled in. “Vision extended his trip. He said he'll pick them up next Sunday. Which, I'm okay with having them longer. Of course. I love them and I mean, they love you and Rachel so I'm sure that a part of them will be okay with it. But,” she shut her eyes and shook her head as you put your arm around her. “They're going to be so disappointed. I don't even know what I can say? What do you say to a kid when their dad would rather spend the holidays with his new family?”

You frowned as you rubbed her arm. Even though you knew the question was rhetorical, you felt inclined to answer because you've been that kid before. “My mom wouldn't tell me. She wouldn't even make an excuse on his behalf. She would just distract me with so much fun that I wouldn't even know how long it was until I finally did see my dad.”

“Do you think that will work?” She rubbed her finger under her nose. You laughed lightly as you shook your head.

“No, definitely not. Those kids are too smart for that. But, I think I do know something that might work,” you began to remind her of the night before when the boys were bummed by the idea that they had to go with their father because they wanted to stay and have fun with Rachel. “Just say that you asked Vision to let you have the boys a little bit longer and he agreed to let them stay until school starts again.”

And she took your advice, while you were in the shower, she went to the boys room and told them exactly what you suggested. They were so happy and they hugged her so tight she almost felt guilty lying to them. One of the hardest lessons she learned about being a parent was accepting that she did in fact have to lie to her children on occasion. She already had to tell them that she asked to have Christmas with them and they accepted that because Rachel was still in the hospital at the time and they knew their dad wouldn't take them to visit her. They were confused when they spent time with their dad's side of the family and he wasn't there but they had so much fun with their uncle Tony that it didn't matter. He chased them around and wrestled with them when Vision would have yelled at them for running and he would have punished them for playing around so much.

The twins loved their dad but they didn't miss him.

Wanda hosted a New Year’s Eve party that included her mom, the Starks, her brother and his family, plus her friends. You got to invite your friends, Steve and his partner Peggy, the new guy on the job site Thor, and Darcy. A girl you met on a dating app one time and the two of you decided to be friends after. It was rare for her to be in town because she is a political science major who is interning for doctor Jane Foster while she worked on getting her own doctorate. The internship had her traveling a lot. She brought Jane with her because she claimed that the woman was a shut-in. But with the way she almost instantly gravitated to Thor, you couldn't tell.

You also invited Bucky, another work friend, and he brought a girl he'd started seeing a couple of months prior. A woman named Natasha. When she entered the house she appeared to be on edge. So did Wanda at first, you figured you'd have to ask her about it when you got the chance. After a bit, they both relaxed.

Of course, Anna and Jean were in attendance as well. They kept wanting to tease you about co-hosting but with so many of your co-workers and your boss being there, they let it slide. You acted as a guest and the kids knew not to mention the living arrangement.

“So, who are you kissing at midnight?” Darcy asks as she joins you outside on the patio. You needed a break from the party and it was a nice night despite the low temperature. “Me or the hostess?” She smirks then takes a sip from her blue disposable cup.

You shake your head as you drink from your cup. “I’m not kissing anyone at midnight.” The kids were all in the boys room and you’d hate for them to run down the stairs and confuse them because you and Wanda kissed. They were already confused because one of the nights, Billy came running in from having a nightmare and caught you in the bed. Up until then, you and Wanda were telling them that you were sleeping on the couch. You got away with telling Billy that you also had a nightmare and he seemed to have bought the excuse as he climbed in and created space between you and Wanda so that he could snuggle with his mom.

“Oh come on, that’s no fun,” Darcy nudges you. “Tell you what, I’ll kiss Agatha so you’ll have to kiss Wanda.”

You narrow your eyes, “You just want to kiss Agatha.”

She made a face as she laughed, “No, I just want you to kiss Wanda.”

“How much money is involved,” you ask, knowing the people that are inside. Darcy tries to deny that there’s a bet circulating around the party and eventually gives up. You look inside of the house through the windows on the doors and watch Wanda laugh as something her sister-in-law says. Things weren’t complicated with her but you were constantly afraid that they would become complicated. “I’m not kissing her so that you and whoever else is involved can win a bet.”

“Pietro was the one who started it so,” she takes another drink, “do you really want your boss to lose.” The look she gives you confirms your unspoken question of which side of the bet Pietro was on. You couldn’t believe that he bet that you would kiss his sister at midnight. You shake your head again and finish what’s left in your cup.

“I need another drink,” you say as you get up from your seat and walk inside. Instead of refilling your cup, you toss it into the trash. Your eyes keep finding Wanda in the small crowd as you move about the gathering talking with the different people there. You liked getting to know Tony Stark but her laugh kept grabbing your attention. One of the times she catches your gaze and mouths a hello with a cute smile. You smile back and mouth, “Hey.”

As it got closer to the countdown to midnight, you walked upstairs to check on the kids. All of them had made themselves comfortable either on a bed or on the floor. Luna and Rachel have taken the beds, the twins and Agatha’s son are on the floor. The tv was left playing a movie and you carefully turn it off since all of them are asleep. You put blankets over the three boys and tuck the girls into the beds a bit more. You don’t realize that Wanda is watching you until you look up to leave the room. You smile as you stand in the room of sleeping children and strategically step around them to avoid waking them up.

You leave the door open a crack once you step out into the hallway, “I can move the girls out of the room in a little bit.” You whisper as you step closer to her. “I’m buzzed right now and would hate to drop any of them,” the truth is, you’d hate to wake any of them right now.

Wanda looks at you with admiration as she continues to smile, “It’s okay. I think they’ll be fine for the night. I um, I actually wanted to warn you about something.”

“There’s a bet on whether or not we’ll kiss tonight?” Wanda nods to confirm that’s what she was going to talk to you about. “What do you think about it?”

She shrugs, “I think if we do, it wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like we haven’t before.” You nod.

“But?” You anticipate.

“But, I don’t want my brother to win,” she says mischievously. “Have you heard what side he’s on?” She asks and this might be the only time in your life that you don’t regret lying when you shake your head. The two of you walk down the stairs as you hear everyone counting down.

“How are the kiddos?” Pietro asks as the countdown continues.

“They’re all knocked out,” you inform him. He nods and is pulled in closer by his wife as they get to ten. You look around to find Jane and Thor gazing at one another, nine. Tony and his fiance, Pepper are holding each other close, eight. Agatha and Darcy each have an arm around each other's necks as they both face the television, seven. Mrs. Maximoff is sitting on the sofa with a big grin as she counts down, six. Howard is next to her with his head tilted back as he snores loudly and his wife Maria is next to him counting with a martini glass in her hand, five. Carol is kissing Val each second that is announced, four. Natasha is sitting on Bucky’s lap while he sits on the recliner with her arm around his neck and his around her waist, three. Jean and Anna pull each other closer as they prepare to end the count down, two. That leaves you standing close to Wanda, one.

“Happy New Year!” Everyone cheers as the countdown on the television concludes and they each exchange a kiss with their partners. You keep your hands yourself as you give Wanda an innocent chaste kiss on the lips. It’s quick, you’re not sure if anyone caught it. She smiles as she moves closer to her mom and kisses her on the cheek as she wishes her a happy new year.

“Awe boo!” Darcy says as she digs for cash out of her pockets. The others that bet on you and Wanda sharing a kiss toss their money in the decorative bowl at the center of the coffee table. You wink at Wanda as Pietro shakes his head and puts money in the bowl. Wanda’s eyes widen ever so slightly before she continues to play dumb about the bet. The both of you fake being upset and make it clear that whatever is between the two of you is purely platonic.

From the top of the stairs, Rachel hobbles back to Tommy and Billy’s room to hide the fact that she saw the whole thing.

When Sunday comes back around, you get up early to get packed. School starts again on Monday so that meant you and Rachel didn’t need to stay with Wanda anymore. It sucks because you wish that you could have an excuse to be here longer but seeing as none of the kids will be in the house in the upcoming week, there isn’t a reason for you to stay.

You hug the boys and thank them for being so helpful with Rachel as you say goodbye. They each give you a tight hug before running off to get ready for their dad to pick them up. Wanda called him early to confirm that he will be here for them in the afternoon. He sounded annoyed and convinced her to drop them off at his house since he was recovering from his trip.

Wanda pulls you into a warm embrace to say goodbye for the time being. You’ve had to resist kissing her the entire week. You wished that you hadn’t done it on New Year’s Eve. She didn’t make it easy either. Too many times the two of you ended up too close to each other. Wanda was getting frustrated that you weren’t getting the signals that she wanted something more from you.

When the pair of you pull back from this hug, you and Wanda hold eye contact for a moment. Both of you are considering leaning towards each other. That is, until Tommy and Billy start shouting at each other. Wanda sighs and steps out of your arms. “I’ll text you later,” you say as you grab your bag to take to the car. Rachel and her bags are already in your truck.

You help your daughter out of the truck when you arrive at her mom's house and you only take one of her bags inside since you need to keep the rest at your apartment. Jean and Anna give you weird looks when you're inside and you're curious as to why but you don't question it. “I'll see you guys next Sunday,” you say as you're about to leave.

“Hold on,” Anna says as she grabs your arm to stop you. “Can you um…” her words seem to fail her.

“Do you mind staying for tea,” Jean finishes for her. You look between the two of them and notice that something is up with them. You fear that they're about to tell you that their marriage is over so you nod and allow Jean to drag you over to the living room. “So, we wanted to thank you for giving us some extra time to ourselves.”

“Okay,” you drag out as you eye her carefully. “What's going on?”

Jean gives you a nervous smile, “Just wait for the tea. Okay?” You nod and sit quietly. There's an awkward tension looming in the atmosphere. You were worried about what they're going to tell you and they are nervous to ask you something very important to them.

Anna comes in with a tray of three steaming mugs a few minutes later. “You haven't asked them yet, right?” Jean shakes her head as she waits for her wife to get settled. You accept your cup of tea with a close mouth smile and nod.

“Okay,” Jean starts as she sets her mug down. “Anna and I were wondering if you'd consider making another baby,” you’re about to laugh considering you just went through a break up, “with me?” She concludes. You spit your tea out at the absurd question. “I should have waited for you to swallow,” Jean says as she gets up to grab a dish towel to clean up the mess but Anna pulls her back down.

“Are you crazy?” You ask as you set the tea back onto the tray. “You tell me that you can barely afford Rachel and you want to add a newborn to your expenses?” You shout in a whisper. You don't want Rachel to get curious and walk in and get excited about having another sibling.

“Listen, we talked about that. With the budgets the three of us have come up with-”

“And the GoFundMe!” Anna chimes in.

“Yes, and the GoFundMe that we set-up for the medical bills, I think we'll be able to get that covered. And it takes nine months to make the baby. Anna and I can get to a better place financially in nine months,” Jean explains.

“Can you?” You nearly shout out loud. “Look, it's not just nine months of you growing a person. It's doctors appointments, it's prenatal vitamins, it's baby clothes and toys and furniture. We got rid of all that stuff a long time ago. It's not like you have hand-me-downs.” With your pointer finger, you tap the fingers on your other hand as you list the reasons. “Not to mention how expensive IVF can be.”

Jean and Anna share a look, “We weren't thinking about doing this through IVF. It's safer and more cost efficient to go the more natural route.” Anna is the one to suggest this.

You stick your neck out and slowly blink as you widen your eyes. You cannot believe what you're hearing. “You really just suggested that I fuck your wife?”

“You don't have to be so crude about it,” Anna chides. “I plan on being present and it wouldn't be wrong for you to fornicate with my wife. It's purely for reproductive purposes.” You cringe at the medical terms she uses to describe the act she is asking of you. It makes you want to throw up. “I don't understand what is so difficult about it, you've done it with her before.”

You slowly close your hands into fists, not because you intend to use them but because air was the only thing you could grasp without hurting yourself. “I was in love, we were in love. Rachel was created from love.”

“And this baby would be too,” Jean argues. “We care deeply about each other, Y/n.” She tries to take one of your hands in hers but you recoil, disgusted by the touch you once found comforting.

You shake your head, “That's not the same and you know it.” You take a few breaths to calm down before you get too worked up and as your mind clears from the shock, you are able to come up with a reasonable argument. “You two might be ready to have another kid, but I'm not ready. I can't take that on financially or even emotionally right now. Besides, there is so much that happens during their first few developing years that I wouldn't want to miss when passing them back and forth.” They share another look and you already know they've thought about a crazy solution to that. You're starting to think you should just leave.

“Well, we were thinking that you don't have any parental rights to this one. So that we can have a kid that's ours full time. We really want a baby that we can raise together that's just ours and we chose you to help us with that.” You scowl at this, they're actually asking you to not be present in the life of a child that you're supposed to help bring into this world. You couldn't believe it. “If you think about it, we can't have kids on our own and I really want Rachel to have a sibling that comes from both of us. You've said it yourself, half siblings aren't the sa-”

“Don’t even. I was a kid when I said that! I would never say that now. I love Kate,” you interrupt. “She is my sister.”

“Okay, fine, whatever. You still felt that way at one point,” Jean snaps, annoyed by your lack of support. “You can go off and have as many kids as you want with whoever you want. We only have so much time to do this and we used to talk about having another kid.” Jean tries hard to convince you that this is a good idea but it only sounds more and more bizarre.

“When we were together,” you remind her as if she was an idiot. At this point, you're starting to wonder. “Those plans disappeared the second we signed the divorce papers.” You look between the women that you have tried again and again to support and defend. When Jean introduced Anna to her parents, they weren't accepting of the relationship at all. It took you the better part of a year to get her parents to tolerate the relationship. They still held out hope that you and their daughter would reunite at some point. They knew a few couples that split up only to marry each other again a few years later. Then came the wedding last February, Jean's family didn't want to attend because they didn't want to believe it was happening. You made sure they came.

Now here they are, asking more out of you. With what return? What do you get out of this other than a few traumatic nights and a child you won't be allowed to raise but know is part of you? Then you think about Rachel and how when she would play with her baby dolls, they weren't ever her children. They were her siblings. You've had many talks with her in the past about why she doesn't have any siblings and she has expressed how she doesn't want to be an only child. You put your face in your hands as you realize that she's already ten and she'll be eleven soon enough. You had thought your eight year age gap between you and Kate was pretty big, and when you thought about having kids you always saw yourself having kids with small age gaps. That was until you had Rachel at seventeen.

“We're not expecting an answer now,” Jean finally says. “Just please, consider it before you say no.”

You sigh as you can't believe that you're actually going to think this over. “Okay,” you rise and walk out of the house. You drive to the nearest liquor store, the one you met Wanda at and buy a couple of bottles of the vodka she had suggested. As soon as you got home, you drank until you passed out to forget about the asinine request.

You overworked yourself all week, being the first one on site and the last one to leave. Someone needs to be focused on paying off those medical bills and not trying to rack up more of them. The work keeps you from thinking about what Jean and Anna asked. You couldn't believe that is a real idea they discussed and thought was okay to run by you. When you got home, you had a bottle of vodka with a side of instant noodles.

On Friday, your coworkers, Bucky and Thor, ask that you join them on a night out and you accept. You invite Steve as well because Bucky took a liking to him but wasn't sure if he could invite the guy himself. You thought it was funny that he was being weird about it but you didn't catch how flustered he was when you informed him that Steve accepted the invite. Then Thor requested that you invite Darcy and her friend. He tried to play coy but you know that he really liked Jane. He was just the idiot that forgot to call her the next day. He claimed that he waited too long and now he needed your help. You didn't mind extending it, he was a decent guy from what you've gathered.

A couple of hours later and you're drunk enough to start spilling your guts. Starting with how much you miss Daisy before getting into the real problem. Jean and Anna's request. Shocking everyone at the booth. The guys all agree that you shouldn't do it but Darcy plays devil's advocate and says that she knows someone that could help at no cost at all because they owed her a favor. “It's not just the sex that's the problem, Darcy,” you try to explain. “I can't just pretend it's not my kid. If I were someone that didn't mind that kind of thing, sure, I'd do it. But I'm not that person, I would want involvement.”

She puts her hand on your back and rubs soothing circles. It would be comforting if it wasn't her touch. You begin to yearn for Wanda’s touch again. You didn't realize how much you missed it. There is a loud group of people that are being disruptive and it puts you in a bad mood as you start to miss the Hub being your go to. You doubt Phil would let you step into that building ever again.

“Anyone want more? I'll get the next round,” you stand up even though you barely can and Darcy takes notice as she quickly joins you. Buck and Steve have engrossed themselves in a separate conversation. Jane and Thor were practically eating each other's faces. She gave him the cold shoulder when she arrived but he was able to crash through her walls pretty quickly.

While you wait at the bar for the drinks, someone falls against Darcy and she complains about her arm hurting. That triggers something protective in you and you grab the person to try and get them to apologize. They spit in your face and you shove them. Your friends are quick to escort you out of the bar before you get into something you'll regret.

“Give me your phone,” Darcy says as she digs through your pockets.

“Hey, that's my phone,” you try to grab it but you're really out of it. Bucky and Steve are both holding you up, they didn't realize that you had drank so much. They exchanged worried glances as they held onto you. Thor and Jane were busy trying to calm the person you pushed.

Wanda’s week was quite uneventful. She worked quietly on the project she was assigned. With the spare time she has in her day, she worked on her passion project. The dream house she one day hoped to build on a land she's trying to buy now. She doesn't want to continue to be limited by this house. The house that's so full of nightmares. There were good memories here, like the boys learning how to crawl and eventually walk, but it wasn't enough to erase the negative energy that has embedded itself within the walls like black mold.

She was planning on inviting her girls over on Friday but she really only wanted to be hanging out with you. Because of that feeling, she invited someone to sleep with instead. She needed to get you out of her head. You were starting to consume her every thought. Even when she worked on the plans for her dream house. Would Y/n like this much natural light if I add this wall of windows? Wouldn't they like a woodworking space, like my father had? Maybe Rachel needs a room… she dropped her pencil and scrapped the paper. She didn't need to be thinking about that.

Wanda was kicking the girl, Jessica, that she had over when her phone started ringing. Her heart jumped at the goofy picture of you with the caller ID that you had set, covering her screen. “Hey you,” she greets as she shuts the door. “What's up?”

“Wanda, keep it in your pants.” Wanda moves the phone from her face as she doesn't recognize the voice. It was still your contact information. “This is Darcy. We met last week,” she says with an urgency. This gets Wanda’s heart to race with worry.

“What's wrong with Y/n? Why are you calling me from their phone?” She asks as she searches for her keys. Ready to be driving to the hospital.

“They're fine for the most part. I think.” She goes quiet for a second. “Look, they're really wasted and I was wondering if you could pick them up?” Darcy asks nervously. “No stop! Hey! Y/n, don't do that! Steve, Bucky, get them!” Darcy shouts away from the phone but Wanda can hear everything she says. Wanda shakes her head. So far she hadn't known you to be the drunk type. She'd seen you have a few drinks and get a buzz but she hasn't seen you in such a state that your friends have had to parent you.

Wanda sighs, “Text me the location. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, thank you,” Darcy sounds distracted. “Damnit, Y/n, why do you have a flask! Stop drinking!” Is the last thing Wanda hears before the call drops. She sits in her car for a few minutes before she receives the text of the location. It was a bar close to her house and she was there in no time at all. She doesn't even have to get out of the car to help you inside because Steve and Bucky shove you into the front seat.

“Wanda!” You say happily as you realize whose car you've been dumped into. Your eyes are closed but you recognize the scent you had been wrapped up in for two weeks. “Where's Wanda? I want to say hi,” you mutter as you start to get sleepy.

“Here's their phone,” Darcy says as she stands at Wanda's side of the car. “Don't let them call or text anyone. They're going through something with the ex and you have to make sure that they don't say something they'll regret.”

Wanda is confused, “What happened between Y/n and Daisy?”

“Oh no, honey,” Darcy smiles, “Not that ex. This is baby momma drama. You'll have to ask Y/n about that one in the morning. It's not my place to go into the details.”

Wanda nods in acknowledgement. “Thank you for calling me. Does anyone else need a ride, I'd be happy to -”

“Nope, we're good. Just focus on Y/n. Maybe try to get some water in them.” Darcy taps the car. “Good luck,” she waves as she rejoins the group on the sidewalk. Wanda drives you back to her house and helps get you inside. She didn't realize how heavy you could be when you're not holding your weight yourself. But she manages.

“I’m sorry I drank too much, Wanda,” you mutter as you lean against her on the sofa. She was trying to get you to drink some water before she attempted to move you up the stairs.

“That's okay, just drink this now,” she says as she puts the plastic cup against your lips. You take a sip and nearly spit it out as you show your disgust.

“Poison,” you exclaim. “Gah, what is that? It's awful,” you say as you lean away from it.

“It's water,” she leans closer to you. “Drink it!” She demands.

You make a face and take the cup and chug the whole thing. “I think my body is rejecting it. I need to chase it down with something. Do you have any vodka?” You complain and Wanda shakes her head.

“What did Jean do to you?” Wanda asks herself and you laugh maniacally when you catch her name.

“She wants my baby,” you answer. And Wanda is concerned that there is going to be some sort of custody battle. She can't think of why there would be. Unless Jean has a better job opportunity somewhere else.

“She can't take Rachel from you,” Wanda says as she gets up to refill the cup.

“Not that baby!” You shout. “My other baby. Er. A new one. She wants a new one and she doesn't want me to have it.” Wanda relaxes a bit, still confused but at least it's not something that will necessarily disrupt Rachel’s life. She walks over and claims the cup of water is vodka. You drink it as if it was the first drink you’d ever had in your life. “That’s the good stuff right there, what’s that brand?”

She is standing in front of you as she waits for you to finish the beverage. “I’ll tell you in the morning so that you don’t forget.” When you’re don’t she reaches for the cup and instead of handing it over, you grab her by the wrist and pull her to land on top of you. She tries to push herself up but you catch her lips in a sloppy kiss. “What are you doing?” She whispers as she pulls away.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” you reply.

She shakes her head, “You’re drunk.”

“So?” You ask as you try to kiss her again. This time she is able to slip out of your grasp.

“So, this isn’t happening,” Wanda doesn’t go into how she’d be taking advantage of you since you’re so wasted and she hasn’t had a drop of alcohol all week. She doesn’t remind you of why you rejected her before or mention that she refuses to be a rebound for you. “Let's get you to bed,” she says as she lifts you up by your arm. You shake your head, disappointed by the rejection but comply.

You're a little wobbly as you walk up the stairs. Wanda is closely behind you to ensure your safe ascent. You stop in front of her open bedroom door. Uncertain if she wants you to stay with her. But you decide that it's not her decision to make. So you move to the guest room. Wanda doesn't argue as she collects a bottle of painkillers and fills the cup again. She leaves the items on the nightstand beside you. You fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow. You snored softly and Wanda was surprised because you never snored during the time you stayed with her.

“I'll see you in the morning,” she says while she flips the light switch off and shuts the bedroom door. Wanda grabs the pillow that smells like you out of her closet and sets it on her bed before she gets in her pajamas. She crawls into bed and clutches the pillow to her chest as she inhales your scent in order to fall asleep.

Chapter 15

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wmarximoff · 2 years

Note

Reader being Pietro’s bestfriend and Wanda having a crush on them but is too shy to say anything because she is popular and reader is apart of the unpopular dirtbags kind of group. The n reader confronts Wanda and it leads to Wanda’s first time. Pretty please with a cherry on top🥺🥺

freaks | w. maximoff

summary: high school isn't easy at all, especially for a kid as misfit as you. but just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a bomb is dropped in your lap; because Wanda Maximoff, the popular, perfect girl with the kindest heart of all, actually has a crush on you. and she just happens to be your best friend's twin sister.

warnings (18+): underage characters, smoking, secondary characters using illicit drugs (weed), cursing, first time, smut, oral sex (Wanda receiving), penetration (Wanda receiving).

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 12k

A/N: sorry for the delay anon but i'm lazy as heck kjsfkjfs

anyway, this was fun to write (and actually pretty cute too). it's practically a romcom, really. hope you enjoy it!

|masterlist|

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The cushions of the narrow couch you were sitting on felt cozy and comfortable under your thighs clad inside the material of a beat-up denim. But perhaps it wasn't for the furniture itself, which, although distinctly well maintained by a taste of carefully carved work, in no way appeared to be an expensive or even onerous piece in its cheap springs and foam.

It turns out that ever since your presence became something made frequent inside the Maximoff residence, you had found between those walls an air of coziness and reception that, like a warm maternal hug, dissipated the tense weight that was usual to fall on the muscles of your shoulders and your back.

The house of the family of four (just a mother and her three children, two teenagers and a child) was situated in one of the areas inhabited by the low-income citizens of the small town of Westview, beyond the gas station and the railroad tracks, a few blocks up from that trailer park that everyone knows from bad legends, but it's not like you need more than that to snuggle into the blandishments of that dark brown fabric sofa.

After all, it was enough to be accompanied by the presence of Pietro Maximoff, the eldest son (for twelve minutes, his sister occasionally reminded him of the fact in front of you), for you to know that the upheavals of the world would disappear inside your chest and, immersed in a bubble of comfort being with your best friend for about nine or ten months, there would be nothing that could hold you back for so long.

Pietro just had that effect on people; he was a good guy, a receptive young man of your age who used to be an esteemed figure by those who came in contact with the recurring good humor that guided him – but, like a typical misfit high school kid, there was nothing about him that pleased everyone at all. Not like his sister did so masterfully, at least.

The boy, dressed in khaki shorts and a long blue blouse as thin as a sapphire stone that showed off his similarly colored irises, was thus sitting half sprawled with his legs spread as if he had fallen there and not gotten up for a long time, parallel to you, in a small dark armchair that was only distanced from the sofa by a scrawny coffee table set there, of cheap pale wood that he used to prop his heels put into a pair of worn out running shoes.

To your right and to his left, perched in a chair pulled out from under the dining table, Darcy Lewis was the girl with long brown hair who had her upper back leaning against the back of her chair. Her clear, intent eyes so solemnly bound to the phone screen she kept blinking close to the tip of her nose, behind the thin glass lenses of a pair of dark plastic-framed prescription glasses.

Pietro and Darcy, then friends almost out of convenience because no one else was close to them (she being a weird amalgamation of a know-it-all geek and a half-inconvenient sarcastic little shit, he just an immigrant kid with a weird accent who slipped up at times and a sense of humor doubtful), they took you in because the others didn't seem all that interested in keeping you close – not when you were the only new kid around with a tattoo hidden somewhere on your body and a few more pairs of piercings than was acceptable for your neighbors dangling stylishly from your ears.

The boy dressed in the blue shirt, then seated opposite you, was expertly rolling a thin weed cigarette with his fingertips curled towards his athletic pecs in an intent gaze at the action exerted on his digits.

He then stuck his tongue out, sliding it down through the crack in his parted lips, using his saliva to glue the loose end of the rolling paper against the skinny little body of the cigarette which, when it was finally ready to be smoked, he tried to tuck it into the corner where his lips ended as if he wanted to perform a mobster from the height of the twentieth century.

But he was only sixteen-almost-seventeen, as young as he could be, and that was why Pietro only appeared to be what he was at that moment; a disheveled kid with poorly homemade bleached hair done with the help of his grumpy sister (the brown roots were showing in the crook of his head, giving him an air of sloppiness) with a long joint lying in the corner of his mouth.

He then leaned with his spine forward so his right hand went for the small pale blue plastic lighter set on the coffee table, before pouring his thumb across the stone so that the spark ignited the flame that lighted the end of the weed cigarette, from which he drew a long, lingering drag to spread the thick smoke through his nostrils in a state of mind imbued with a zealous tranquility, leaning his back against the armchair.

Behind your own red-filtered cigarette dangling between your lips, you raised an amused brow at your friend's slouched figure.

“Fucking stoner, man,” you mussed, albeit in airs of morose jocularity that inferred a little chuckle on Darcy's part, “That shit gonna fry all your brain cells someday, you know that? Make you dumber than you already are.”

He took another swig of the joint before fixing you with a pair of droopy blue eyes, since this was the second or third of the day he'd smoked – around his firm chin, the tiniest fuzz of an occasional dark beard was already threatening to arise with the emergence of age, each day closer to adulthood. One day, he would be a handsome man, because for now he was just a boy who promised to be a good-looking adult.

“And that shit gonna kill you someday,” with a little finger movement, waving his limp left hand, he pointed to the nicotine cigarette that was blistered between the index and middle fingers of yours, raised right at your face.

You smiled and so did he, half on his side, still lying on the armchair cushions like a misplaced decoration.

“At least I won't die stupid like you.”

“Just kiss him already man, for Christ's sake,” Darcy grumbled in a tone of shared humor, before reaching for the joint from Pietro's hand and bringing the small cylindrical body to her to draw a swig of weed for herself.

“Nah,” you expressed a small smile flanked by smoke, “As much as I know Piet wants it so much, he's not really my type, sorry.”

“What do you mean he's not your type, huh?” Darcy gave you a funny look from behind the glasses placed in front of her sharp blue eyes, as if she wanted to poke a small lump hidden inside you.

“I thought his last name was Maximoff. That sure is your type, sister.”

There was a second puff of smoke until the boy, then already in a somewhat lethargic action when clouded by the cognitive effect of the cannabis he was smoking, lifted the back of his head from the backrest and lowered his chin, squeezing with his eyelids that wandered from Darcy's smile to your brow furrowed in a bewildered slant, only to redo the act once again a little more confused, cinching a flash of fur from his forehead with the thick, dark-haired brows above the blue eyes sort of gleaming with a curious blaze.

“Y/n, what’s she talking about…?”

“Your mom, duh,” was your immediate response, a mock-masked deliverance dripping from your throat, a smirk taut in the unnaturally twitching muscles on your face, “Ms. Maximoff's got it going on, right? I mean, gosh, she really looks hot in her waitress uniform.”

“Dude, I always knew MILFs were your type, you totally look like you would do a MILF.”

Darcy looked back at you with an air of laughter as her chin tipped in your direction, the lack of sobriety evident in her airy actions, which in no way complied with the implications of the first comment bestowed on you.

“Well, and who doesn’t like MILFs?” you smiled burlesquely, to which Darcy readily acquiesced with a sharp nod.

“But yeah Pietro, your mom is like, hot. The hottest MILF among all MILFs. So hot.”

“So hot,” you repeated in a profuse drag of a cigarette, pointing to the girl sitting next to your right knee that showed a beam of skin through a long slit in the fabric of your pants.

“Very, very hot.”

“Like, super hot.”

The platinum-haired boy, meanwhile, only let out a loathsome grunt as his drunken face contorted in repulsive distaste for the idea you and Darcy offered him about his own mother, shaking his head firmly as if he wanted to shake off these thoughts as if they were really mosquitoes pestering him to sleep at night—something that brought on you, of a good-natured nature, and on Darcy, just too stoned for her own good, a long round of loud, juicy laughter that caused the muscles in you abdomen to ache in hot cramping.

“Dude, gross! That's disgusting, she's my mom! What the fuck!"

Though a little unsteadily, his left fingers hooked against the fabric of a red pillow that was brought up and then hurled toward him with just a flick of the tendons of the young man's strong shoulder, which depended on minor physical labor to add a little more on the household income.

It was a quick if somewhat lingering half second, when your gaze only caught a glittering blur pouring air to shatter against your face.

The fluffy object then collided with a soft thud against the top of your left cheekbone, pushing the muscle of your neck back against the back of the sofa, as your senseless fingers detached from the still-lit half-smoked cigarette, whose butt fell against the pillow that soon had its fabric sprinkled in a small hole with burnt and blackened edges.

“Shit, Pietro–!”

Darcy, with cheeks as rosy as a pair of ripe tomatoes against her usually pale, lifeless alabaster countenance, seemed a second away from writhing into a convulsive laugh that would soon take the form of a fit of choking vomit, and you soon treated catching the remains of the cigarette between your right index finger and thumb, before pressing the tip against the pale porcelain pot that was the makeshift ashtray to then stand on your knees, scrutinizing the damage done to the mobile.

“Shit,” you repeated, albeit in a slightly lowered tone, the palms of your hands resting on your bent and exposed knees, “Shit, see what you did, dickhead? You ripped a goddamn hole in the pillow, you jerk!”

“What–?!” the boy then scrambled to his feet in exasperation, suddenly slipping into a layer of momentary sobriety, rounding the coffee table to walk over to your side in rather worried steps, “What the– oh my God, oh my God, my mom’s going to kill me—”

The sound of the front door being opened so close and then being closed as it was before, was what spread throughout the house of close rooms, succinct and with a small and short square footage composition.

The walls of your stomach collapsed in on you as Pietro shot you an alarmed look that flickered a troubled blue, turning pale as if the blood was suddenly draining from his cheeks. For a second he looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car on the road.

“We're fucked.”

“I know.”

But desperation didn't rage among the three of you for as long as it would have; like a bucket of water dispersed in a still-igniting spark, putting out a coming fire, who came into the living room was not the figure of Ms. Maximoff dressed in her signature red and white ketchup-stained waitress uniform, but only a young Wanda Maximoff, Pietro's younger twin sister, who had a pair of headphones screwed into both her ears, under the profuse bundles of her dark-brown hair.

“Pietro…?” the low voice came from far away, as footsteps approached the room with heavy combat boots high-laced on her ankles, “What are you…?”

Wanda's irises wandered from Pietro to then you and Darcy, as her index and middle fingers, with extensions adorned in a series of silver rings, hooked onto the long wires of her headphones to pull them down from inside her ears.

“Wanda!” you muttered under your breath, because your unconscious was taken over by the image of her standing there, and there was nothing else to say but call her to you, “Wanda. H-hey, Wanda. Hi.”

“…Hi, Y/n.”

You gasped for a bit as you opened and closed with your lips, saliva hardening in the back of your throat at the pretty figure of the girl dressed in dark clothes and chains dangling from the belt that threaded around the waistband of her black skirt and around her milk-white neck, with pointy pendants that alluded to the mysticism she held dear.

And she just brought out something inside you. After all, Wanda Maximoff was affable, soft, beautiful and gentle as a bouquet of red roses, the prettiest of them all.

At Westview High, everyone knew who she was when she walked through the halls, the only girl who could walk shoulder to shoulder with the cool kids clique even if she hadn't gotten out of her Evanescence listening phase – even if her wealth was not as capital as theirs. Everyone wanted a little bit of her, from the kind, generous, gorgeous girl, essential member of the academic decathlon team and debate group.

A keen library goer, consumer of thick, hard-to-read books, who kept high grades as well as the good will of the people like it was second nature to her. A school prodigy. A popular necessity.

And Wanda went out of her way to be extremely considerate of her requirements. It just so happens that she was never quite able to share that said kindheartedness with you, something that has always given you doses of discontent inside your chest – after all, even after almost a whole year of seasons all past since your permanent installation in the small-town blandices, Wanda never bothered to look you straight in the eye for more than three or so seconds.

“This–this isn’t what it looks like, Wanda,” cried Pietro, who raised a hand to his sister across the room.

“We’re just,” you tried, “Well, we were—”

“Of course we sure as hell weren't smoking pot in your living room,” Darcy muttered to the ceiling, still sitting in her chair, “I mean minus Y/n, because she's such a boring bitch,” there was a snort on the part of the bespectacled girl.

“Darcy, shut up!”

“C’mon, what a fucking surprise Piet, everybody knows you smoke pot!”

And then when Wanda's gaze woven in a curious green latched onto yours, an air-tied knot whose ends met between you and her, you pressed your lips together in a single line, because a thin layer of blush turned pink on her high cheeks, which flushed like a little porcelain doll.

You straightened your posture, but the girl with the long, silky dark hair only looked away, aiming for the dirty porcelain bowl set on the cheap wooden table.

“I,” she whispered, like a shy little mouse with rosy cheeks, “I won't… I won’t say anything to mom, don't worry about it. Just… just clean this mess up before she gets home.”

There was a flash of green gaze that flashed into your eyes like a beacon on the horizon, but then it faded in less than a second because Wanda seemed to relinquish eye contact with you, again lowering her gaze away from your face, hiding her pretty pale eyes behind a thick curtain of dark hair.

She suppressed her lips in a thin, rosy line, seeming to shrink into her blackish-brown, long-sleeved blouse. Wanda opened her mouth as if to say something, but then clasped her lips together again in a sign of resignation.

“I–I'm going to my room.”

And the girl barely waited for an answer from any of the three parties before she left for the house, leaving like a deserting spirit. You blinked once, and then turned your nose towards Darcy.

“Dude, did I do something wrong…?”

“She’s probably just scared of you,” teased the girl with the glasses, “You know, she dresses all edgy and stuff but she's just so sweet and kind like this little black bunny and you... well, man, you spilled cigarette ash all over her mother's couch, what the heck.”

When she laughed at her own joke, something in you faltered for half a second.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you mussed awkwardly, screwing the palm of your right hand against the skin of the back of your neck, “I… I guess.”

“Whatever, Wanda’s a weirdo,” Pietro's voice came from your side, even if half muttering to himself, “Just–just please help me clean this up, dammit. My mom’s going to kill me, I swear...”

ᗢ

A gust of annoyed air had left the gap between your lips open for what was perhaps the tenth time in a row allotted to that meager period of time that spanned a lengthy fifteen minutes of a rather dull morning – at least that's what you was, when your weary gaze sagged across the raised square screen of your phone, towards the upper right corner, and there you were faced with the digital clock marking the scorching hour of nine thirty-seven on a hot morning in Wednesday.

You sighed slowly, warm air draining from your lungs and your chest deflating into your unbuttoned flannel shirt, through the straps of your thin tank top, because there was nothing to do other than that.

You might as well proclaim your notes in your notebook as Miss Harkness, who was standing right in front of long rows of other bustling teenagers who, like you, huffed bored air out of their mouths into their faces, dictated to her history class to all the school kids in their seats.

However, as much as you were interested in the class (as, in fact, you were), it turns out that Miss Harkness just had a habit of getting quite carried away in her classical prose, and even though the middle-aged woman in the lilac waistcoat was one of your favorite teachers, nothing there was enough to capture your diverted attention.

Because you, moreover, barely had any thoughts floating around in your head that weren't entirely focused on Wanda Maximoff and the esoteric wonder that came along with her, as if it were her own shadow.

And, given the situation similar to yours in which Wanda found herself in that same class, it was she who was sitting there next to you, taking note of everything the teacher said about that historical event that honed the details of the modern country founding; Wanda was just a pretty smart type of student, it's true. The girl urged you on in a superhuman way.

Yet, at that morning and like every other morning before, the two of you hadn't even exchanged enough sentences for you to actually engage in a conversation with the other girl. In fact, you hadn't even spoken to her at all.

You knew she was deep enough in her notes to having someone to piss her off. With the chin supported by the hand supplanted by the left elbow raised to the face of your table, your gaze headed towards Wanda, who was seated to your right and attracted you like a damn lodestone, in an inevitable magnetic dazzle; in the same room in the company of several people, Wanda was always the one who caught your attention under her fingertips to keep.

Just the appeal, the idea, the unknown, they were enough to find you rambling about your classmate – Wanda interspersing her diligent attention between Agatha and her own dark-covered notebook where the digits of her fingers, lined with rings, wrote so cunningly in a black ink pen, one opalescent knee crossed by the other under the table, the miniskirt exposing her pale, firm thighs that were suddenly engulfed by high dark stockings that rose above the confines of her knees.

And it admired you, how her brown hair seemed to modulate accentuated shades of honey color when laid out by the rays of sunlight that entered the room through the thick glass windows that adorned the walls adjacent to the tables you occupied respectively. How her irises looked like two sparkling emerald stones when highlighted by a profuse smoky dark eyeliner liner around her waterline – her naturally thick, long lashes adorning her stylish, heavy makeup.

There was the leaf-shaped pendant in dark silver dangling from a thin chain that flowed across her attractive bosom, between the sharp collarbones that poked out of her thin black blouse, adorned with strands of long, silky light brown hair; the necklace between her breasts, the exposed skin there looking so soft, a tiny mole situated high on her right breast that you just wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss and feel through your tongue.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

The teacher's voice called out of your thoughts between the heads of young people, which caused a sea of eyes to all turn to you, like creatures from another world, a pack of animals in the forest looking to a flashlight.

Even Wanda's gaze got caught, which for half a broken second turned to you only for when, upon catching your face already turned towards her, she only turned to the filled pages of the notebook placed between her forearms, like if you really were just an eminent pest. She doesn't know who I am and yet she doesn't give a damn about me, huh.

“Can you answer the question, Miss Y/l/n?”

Miss Harkness's tight, dark curls swayed in your direction when you look at her, standing there on the other side of the classroom and in front of the blackboard cluttered with notes made all in powdered white chalk.

“Eh,” you mussed, somewhat unimpressed by the teasing smirks that were beginning to form on unfriendly faces, containing in your grunt a sudden roll of disinterested eyes.

“What's the question again, please?”

“Pff, sucker.”

A voice pierced the veil of silence that had fallen over the other youngsters, the voice of that smug boy Tony Stark, which soon erupted into group giggles that spilled back and forth into the classroom like a flock of flustered parrots.

“Alright, alright, cut it off for Christ's sake!” Miss Agatha Harkness cried out somewhat aggravated, waving both her hands in front of her body in a rather weary way.

“None of you here is in position to laugh and you all know it very well! Would any of you like to answer the question for Miss Y/l/n instead, huh? Somebody? Nobody? Well, that’s what I thought.”

The teacher's simple, elaborate tone sounded an octave higher than usual, drawing your attention towards the woman in question. You looked at her, but Wanda's gaze burned to the flesh of your right cheek, before glancing at Miss Harkness another time.

And then, a hand with nails tinted in dark polish rose above the others' heads, not at all hesitant in her actions as she did so. Wanda, of course, was willing to speak up when no one else did. You looked at her with an air of interest, straightening your posture against your hard, clear plastic chair.

“Yes, Miss Maximoff?” Agatha nodded, to which the young girl immediately lowered her right arm.

“The Church created the Court of the Holy Office in the thirteenth century, and it was supposed to prevent people who had deviated from Christianity from leaving. They used various mechanisms of persecution and punishment for that,” narrated Wanda with exquisite mastery.

“That's what led to the Inquisition and, after some time, the Salem witch hunt, which actually started in France in the fifteenth century.”

You focused your eyes on her for a couple of seconds longer than what would be considered healthy for the habit to do. It was because of looking at her so intently, however, that you found the other girl giving you a single, chaste glance out of the corner of her eye, which then retreated away, as if in an internal game with both parts of her brain; one wanted to look at you, and the other didn't.

“Finally, great,” Agatha brandished.

“At least someone here is paying attention in class. You are correct indeed, Miss Maximoff. See, Miss Y/l/n, this is what happens when you actually listen to your teacher and not just daydream looking at your classmates all morning.”

"I– what?! I didn't—!” A heat spread from the tips of your ears, all the way down to your cheekbones, your neck, and your shoulders inside your unbuttoned shirt.

Someone stifled a laugh on a cough from behind your seat. Fuck.

Wanda remained silent, and you wouldn't even dare look to the side, at her, who so relentlessly strayed her curious gaze in your direction, her chin slightly tilted at a broken angle to the side of her left shoulder. Mortification in bright crimson still burned the flushed skin of your cheeks at the pretty girl's gaze.

“That's what you heard, heartbreaker,” the teacher waved her witch-like hand, “Now, please, everyone pay attention here for another fifteen minutes until class is over, will you? I swear I want to be here as much as you kids do.”

And then there was another bout of chatter from Miss Harkness in a waistcoat buttoned over a white shirt printed with corny light blue flowers. Perhaps, if you hadn't covered your eyes with the open palms of both your hands, you would have caught the tiny fond smile that tugged at the corner of Wanda's peachy lips.

ᗢ

It didn't take long, with some minutes passed right after lunch time, for you to sneak into the four closed walls of a second-floor women's bathroom stall so that, in such a way, you could give yourself the courtesy of blowing smoke from your cigarette, scorching in peace. With your back resting peacefully against the laminated plastic of the scrawny cabin wall, you leaned your back, staring sluggishly at the pale plaster ceiling. It’s not like the time and space around your miserable existence matters all that much.

The cigarette that appeared between your parted lips had a flickering tip like a firefly in the night flickering in the dark night, and the smoke that just sailed up to the ceiling was thin and wavering, fading from reality like a utopian idea.

Near the flush valve, painted onto the white tile, an elaborate graffiti in black marker pen penned two names joined by a mathematical plus sign – something like “KATE + YELENA” etched near your right elbow, a promise perpetuated in the inerasable act of a young heart lacerated by a still budding idea of what warm love would be pulsing inside someone’s chest.

Behind an opaque veil of cigarette smoke, you considered doing the same with your own name and Wanda Maximoff's, until you suddenly gave up on the idea as it was supposed to be an impulsive lapse in need.

So you just sighed, shaking your head from side to side, getting rid of those silly thoughts as if you had quaked them out of your brain. The only sound that erupted through the silence encrusted in the cabins was that of the avid drip of a poorly closed sink. Dripping. And dripping. And stopping. Until a trio of female voices burst through the front door.

“Shit–!”

In an act of open desperation, you just dropped your still lit, half-smoked cigarette down into the open toilet, into the still water.

“I swear, that's what she said,” the evident tone of voice that reached your ear was distinctly that of Pepper Potts, the girl a year older than you who was the head of the cheerleading squad.

“Rogers dumped her because he's dating Barnes!”

“That's weird, I thought it was Wilson this time.”

Just behind her, the second voice couldn't be anyone other than Monica, the only child of principal Rambeau and that, like her friend, everyone knew who she was; a genuinely nice girl from the lacrosse team who turned out to be Pietro's crush for as long as you knew him.

“No, Wilson used to date Barnes who now dates Rogers. It’s hard to keep up, I know.”

Pepper clarified it to her friend, and for a second it sounded like she was planning to start a new sentence about the ups and downs of her peers' social-love life when, after a broken half lapse of silence within those with walls, the strawberry-blonde girl’s voice was then charged with a queasy tone, which indicated a nose twisted in repugnance that you couldn’t see behind the cabin’s closed red door.

“Ugh, what is that smell…?”

“Cigarette smoke, I guess.”

Your heart slammed and disarmed inside the middle of your chest, because the answer was based on Wanda Maximoff's delightfully low voice. She was there, in the company of her friends who reapplied makeup to their faces. Well, fuck. You gulped like a criminal in trial.

You scarcely dared to breathe accurately between your nostrils, but it's not like your lungs, at the sound of her melodic voice, know how to do anything but just inflate and deflate sparingly like a pair of flat tires.

“That’s disgusting,” Pepper clicked with her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

“It must have been Y/l/n, everyone knows she comes here to smoke after lunch,” said Monica, who seemed to have a crooked joyful smile in her voice.

“I swear, Wanda, she was practically drooling on you earlier today. Heart eyes and all, totally head over heels. It was actually kinda cute to watch.”

“She… she was?” it was small, almost inaudible from your listening hiding position, away from the eyes of those who spoke.

There was something shy that could be pointed out in Wanda's voice, but there was something also glistening with the tiniest glimmer of hope that you couldn't help but notice. Something that lulled your senses and made you ponder about the direction of this conversation so intimate that, for a second, you felt like you were crossing an invisible line of common sense. Maybe it was wrong. A mistake. Or perhaps it was just a weird type of unconventional luck, even.

It was like you couldn’t be there at all. Because you, in the wrong place at the wrong time, were just invading Wanda’s privacy; that’s how it felt, at least. It was as if the walls of the cabin were going to swallow you and squash you to death like the stomach of a dark creature.

“I really don't understand what you see in that girl, Wands,” it's Pepper's turn to say, “You should just give Jarvis a chance. He asked you out to eat Indian food, didn't he? You love Indian food.”

“I hate Indian food,” Wanda reiterated to the other girl, “And he doesn’t give a damn about me, anyways. He just likes hanging out with people who have high grades. And you just want me to date him because he's Tony's brother, and if I do date him you'll have someone to go on a stupid double date with.”

“It's not that, geez,” was the head cheerleader's reply, “It's just that he's on the decathlon team like you and he's graduating this year, so you can date a college boy in your senior year. Damn, I'd like to date a college boy my senior year."

“You're already in your senior year,” Monica reminds her, “And you’re dating Tony.”

“Yes, for that very reason.”

Something about that suggestion didn't appeal to your taste at all, still tucked inside the cabin as you were. Just the thought of Wanda dangling from Jarvis Stark's arm, a known prick among the students other than those who made up his intimate circle of handpicked relationships, was enough to ignite an acrimonious revulsion in you, which even seemed to want to devour your muscle cells from the inside out.

That bitter feeling running down the side of your tongue, pouring out between your teeth, was nothing to do with your half-smoked cigarette which then floated down the toilet like a sunken ship. And you just didn’t want to think so hard about why the slightest mention of the idea of Wanda dating Jarvis fueled such a revolting feeling within your ribcage.

“Besides,” the Potts girl continues her own line, oblivious to your deep displeasure.

“Unlike that Y/l/n girl, Jarvis has a guaranteed future in his father's company for when he finishes his graduation. And look, don't get me wrong, but that girl is either going to end up in jail or dead or both, and that's probably before she even turns thirty. Ugh, c’mon Wanda, she's just another freak. You can do way better than that. I mean, you even have a shot to be prom queen this year if you start dating Jarvis.”

“I don't wanna be prom queen, Pepper. Everyone already knows it's going to be you and Tony, anyways,” said Wanda, in a tone that emulated lapses of discomfort towards the other young woman, “And don't say that about Y/n, that's not true.”

And it surprised you, in fact, because you had never heard Wanda be so incisive with her words before. Or even someone using such a tone of voice when addressing Pepper Potts.

“She's not… a freak, she’s funny. And smart. And she’s actually pretty sweet when you really get to know her. I... I never talk to her much when she comes over to my house because she's always hanging with Pietro and Darcy, but... she just... she just seems nice to have around, you know? Something about her is… soft. She once made me laugh until juice almost came out of my nose.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your memory traveled back to that day, at a dinner night guided by the traditional house stroganoff, were Ms. Maximoff made sure that your presence was there, at the dinning table with her and her children. The tips of your ears and the skin of your shoulder burned to embers that carried the ashes of that night, but it was as if that heat itself soothed the anxious twinges in your bristling veins.

It was the first time your eyes were ever pleased to witness a sincere laugh burst from within Wanda’s lungs.

And no one had ever looked as stunning in front of you as she did back in that day so many weeks ago, with her head thrown back and her eyes squinted, cheeks flushed in such a lovely rosy layer of flesh, shoulders swaying inside an ancient rock band shirt, peach mouth open only to reveal the two front teeth partially larger than the rest, like a scrunched nose bunny.

So genuine and so pure that your heart turned on itself – and if you dared to do so, you would say it was that day she usurped the rights of your feelings.

“And, uh...” Wanda's voice was small this time, in a timid, measured edge, “She's... she... she's pretty. Like, really… really pretty.”

It was like an electric current that ran from your ribs to the flesh of your cheek, heating the tops of your cheekbones. The saliva in your mouth, still vicious like a full-bodied drink, only evaporated and disappeared, making the wetness pooling in the palms of both of your sweaty hands even more evident. It was as if fireworks erupted in a hot red roar inside the walls of your stomach.

“She’s hot! I once heard that she had a hidden tattoo somewhere,” it was Monica's turn to cry out in an air of laughter.

“She’s a freak,” growled the Potts girl again, in an eye roll, “And you two are just too squeamish for your own good. She’s not the only person with earrings out there, Jesus.”

“Seriously, Pep, look at Wanda, her type is obviously not those preppy boys like that Stark douche. Girl, her type is delinquents. Bad girls. You know, just girls as a whole. Someone to listen to, I don’t know, Iron Maiden with her or whatever emo shit she listens to.”

“Yeah, got it, geez,” muttered the older girl in a bad way, “It's just what I think.”

“Well, you thought wrong then.”

“Really, Monica, just shut up–”

A few more frivolous conversations drifted over the trio of girls, who took off out of the bathroom minutes later, striding farther and farther away when the subject in question strayed into something that was of no interest to you at all. You blinked once, and then twice. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean and coming back to the surface abruptly.

You breathed. You just breathed. Soundlessly, your right hand slipped to the latch of the laminated plastic door, which opened out in a continuous squeak.

You gulped down the saliva sitting on the back of your tongue. Meeting your eyes in the quadrangular mirror placed in front of the cabin from which you exited, the air still reeking of the remnants of your cigarette mixed with Wanda's perfume, it did not surprise you at all that your cheeks reflected in the glass were like two reddish cherries burning over your boiling flesh.

“…Fuck.”

ᗢ

A few succinct days were passed one after another in front of your secret incident in the girl's bathroom stall (there was no more dignified labeling for such an occurrence than an incident as pleasant as it was also uncomfortable, it's true).

The entire seventy-two hours that followed were then grounded in several thoughtful cigarettes burning between your aching lips, the lighter's flame flickering in the ashes of broken reasonings, considerations and daydreams taking puffs of smoke, all which circled in your brain as if it were the moon that gravitates around the planet, as if space itself had usurped the oxygen from your bloodstream and changed it to Wanda’s name.

Wanda. Your cigarette smoke burned Wanda's name in your lungs. Your eyelids blinked Wanda's emerald gaze out of your sleepy eyes. Just Wanda. Only Wanda. Wanda Maximoff, red, green and black, a dream and a doom.

Your everyday contemplations then became the shelter of the other girl's tender jadish irises blooming in shades of a cordial green, like the green of spring pastures, and only the Maximoff girl could have been able to capture your attention even when you were within the walls of your own room, away from her piercing vision.

You couldn’t help but glance so assiduously at her when she was wearing nothing but partially buttoned black shirts on her chest and increasingly revealing miniskirts, whose fabric didn't even bother to cover the hollow of her soft, pale thighs worn down in tall, dark stockings.

Like a delightful reverie, she came in a spectral crimson form at night, only to disappear early in the morning sun. Four days were enough for you to bury your face in the middle of your pillow and let out a cavernous and frustrated yell vanish there, in vain trying to engage in a battle already lost since its beginnings against something that.

Like the addictive nicotine contained in the extensions of your countless smoked cigarettes, every cell in your body clamored for more of her. It was as if your lips would bleed if you lacked the taste of her kiss for even one more day.

If Wanda were a witch endowed with mystical gifts, you would sure be bewitched by her addictive charms with an intangible scarlet grip around the outline of your neck – for the length of the halls between class periods, the cafeteria packed with students heads at lunchtime (campaigns for prom royalty were starting to brew little by little) or even on the bleachers smeared out of the faculty buildings by the warm sun, you searched with intent eyes for the slightest trace of her stunning presence, like a hungry dog hunting something down to satisfy its starvation.

And you could barely be sure in your own limping functions of what it was that led you there when it was that your feet, in untied shoes, marched under a stifling blanket of the scorching spring sun, even if the excuse paramount was that you just wanted her brother's company by your side to smoke a cigarette – even if Pietro wasn't into smoking conventional cigarettes at all, just like you also weren’t into smoking what he had to offer either.

Stepping hard on the concrete of the sidewalk without a definite purpose at the heart of your rash actions, like a maze with only one exit, your feet instinctively led you up the two entry steps of the Maximoff residence – the newly painted one storey house that contained within its structures two bedrooms and only one bathroom.

That's where your right index finger, so accurate, searched for the bell to press with the tip of your digit and, after the miserable seconds that followed the act, who came to meet you was that same brunette girl who stole the gift of sleep during the nighttime.

Wanda looked a little different on that scorching Sunday afternoon of sunny skies and wispy clouds sprinkled around the cerulean sky dome, without any hint of dark makeup to adorn the moss-colored puddles that flanked her sharp pupils to be found in her natural beauty, albeit the long coffee-colored strands that were tucked behind the contours of her ears, in the usual casual way she liked to stylish them.

“Y/n?” it was a stunned tone at your offered smile as her chin tilted toward her left collarbone, one corner of a dark brow cocked in an expression nothing short of stupefied, her eyes enlarged in size.

“Hey, hi Wanda. How’re you doing?"

“I–I,” she huffed for a bit, “I'm fine... I'm fine, thank you. You?”

“Oh,” you smiled, “I’m great, thanks.”

Wanda's rosy mouth tightened into a line at your sight, and you couldn't help but notice the fact that the way she shifted her weight from one bare leg to the other beneath the dark material of her front-buttoned skirt, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do there at the door of her own home – surely you weren't a face she expected to find there.

Seconds passed in a slow swoop when a bird hummed in a nearby tree. Wanda just played fidget with the handfuls of rings that adorned the pale extensions of her right fingers, twisting, pulling and touching them with her left fingernails carpeted in dark nail polish chipped at the tips. There was a cigarette leaning behind your right ear.

“So,” you then began rather casually, and your voice drew her attention from her own clean shoes, as the other girl saw herself as being imbued with a somewhat restless silence, “Is Pietro at home? I sent him some texts, but he hasn't replied for a while.”

“No, he… he left a while ago,” she hissed a little too quickly, like a hamster's squeak, “He's grounded. You know, from burning a hole in the pillow that day.”

You cinched a flash of fur between your brows in a funny way, breaking a curious little smirk at the corner of your lips.

“He's grounded,” it was echoed slowly, as if to get your bearings, “But he left...?”

“Yeah,” Wanda shrugged into her plain blouse, “My mom took the afternoon shift at the diner and Lorna went out to play at her friend's house, and he's been bugging me for ages about setting up a date with Monica... and she agreed to go out with him today, so… he went out with her.”

“Huh,” you mumbled thoughtfully, “That's cool, I guess. I mean, he talks about her all the damn time… it’s kinda annoying actually. Even if it’s cute.”

“Yeah,” she half-chuckled, not moving her lips that much, “I know.”

There was a silence that bordered the two of you for a few more seconds as in an intangible fence made of mutual discomposure, a view a bit awkward to witness from afar, almost like a lighthearted conversation taken disinterestedly between two strangers inside a crowded bus or in a long bank line just to pass the time.

Wanda was still fidgeting with her own fingers, soundless in a dull quietness as if a lump stuck in her throat forbade her to speak words to you, and you just unpretentiously shoved the palms of both your hands into the back pockets of your baggy jeans, your side teeth nibbling the flesh on the inside of your cheeks as you did.

“I,” you muttered under your breath, nodding your head at an unasked question, filling the gap of silence between you and Wanda, “I think I'm gonna go home then—”

“You–you can wait for him here if you want!”

You blinked for a second, lifting your eyebrows to the middle of your forehead, almost touching your hairline. Wanda's pink lower lip was pressed between a wall of her upper teeth, and her cheeks flushed with a remarkable heat. Cute, you thought with yourself. So goddamn cute, oh my God... you wanted to hold her in your arms just to place a warm kiss in the middle of her forehead skin.

“Fine,” was a casual agreement, “I'd like to stay, then. If that doesn't bother you, of course.”

She then shrugged, “No, being alone at home is kinda boring sometimes. And, well,” her right fingertips swept behind her ear a strand of hair that had come loose from its previous spot there, “You… you're cool, Y/n.”

Your lips tightened when, even with her head aiming halfway down the floor, Wanda looked at you in a flash of moss green that flowered between her dark, thick, heavy doll-like lashes. Into the crop top you wore over your shoulders, your chest heaved and deflated severely against your ribs.

“Right. You're cool too, Wanda.”

She smiled in a singularly kind way because you did too, before closing the door behind you as you entered your newfound hostess's house together. As you passed close to her shoulder, there was the scent of strawberry shampoo and a cheap, lightly woody perfume like cinnamon that intoxicated your bloodstream as the scent wafted through your nostrils.

There was at you core the stimulating temptation of your perceptions to stick the tip of your nose through her long locks, only to further indulge your senses with her scent, but you held back your actions before skidding into a lapse of daring to definitely do it.

“You... You want something to eat?” Wanda spoke a little tenderly, half-cumbersomely even, not sneaking a glance at your face as you followed her into the walls of the small house, “I baked a cake.”

“Wait, wait, you cook?” you turned your gaze to the girl next to your left shoulder, who let a chaste smile crack between her lips.

“Well,” she muttered, “Sometimes, yeah. Not as often as I would like to, though. It's usually only when Lorna asks me to do it.”

“Cool,” you reciprocated her small grin, “I'd like a slice, if it's not too much trouble.”

When you went to sit on the springs of the dark sofa, out of the way of Wanda, who in turn headed for the nearby kitchen, your eyes proceeded to a small square television set in the corner of the room, above a somewhat rustic wooden furniture with silver handles, which on its monochromatic screen flashed a reprised episode of some old sitcom in shades of an artificially colored image like in one of those advertising flyers from sixty years ago.

Wanda came over to you a few minutes later all filled with a corny, fun-to-watch script between a blonde actress and a tall actor wearing a suit, in rather quick strides in her converse sneakers, carrying with her, in her right hand, a glass plate that contained a generous slice of white cake that looked like a feather-flavored pastry.

“Here,” she then handed you the utensil that was gladly accepted by your hands along with a grateful smile on your face, before sitting in the sofa to your right, with her bare knees joined together like a pair of magnets.

“Thanks, really. But hey, Bewitched, huh?” With a jerk of your chin, you pointed at the television in the corner of the room, under the open glass window that let aureate glimmers of a cozy sunlight take over the room.

Wanda acquiesced with a nod that shuddered her soft, dark locks, her lips twisted into a shy little smile. The rehearsed laughter of an unseen audience cluttered the four walls of the living room.

“Yeah, my mom always liked all that old American stuff when I was a kid, so I guess it got passed on to me somehow,” she finally looked at you, sounding even a little more undisturbed when engaged in narration about her most intimate tastes.

“I mean, Pietro doesn't like it very much… he says it's boring. And Lorna is just too small to pay attention to anything that lasts longer than five minutes, so… someone had to keep my mom company when she got home late from work. But it never bothered me, really. I... I like sitcoms.”

When a chuckle escaped between your parted lips at her own revelation, Wanda soon tried to justify herself in a quick, slurred speech, like a sinner validating her confessions in the eyes of the Lord.

“I–I mean, I, I know it's silly, but–”

“Hey, who said it's silly?” you offer her a succinct, complacent look that has her reaching for a sip of oxygen, “That's actually pretty sweet of you, Wanda.”

“You… You really think so…?” she looked at you, waiting for a hesitant answer.

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “My mom used to watch these old sitcoms all the time too when I was younger. So I think it's cool. It's really nice of you, Wanda.”

“Right,” there was a blistering twinge that brushed her pale cheeks, as her lips echoed a “Cool,” rather pleased with herself.

The tines of the tip of the aluminum fork in your possession, then pressed between the face of your right index finger and thumb, made to dip and break the loose dough of the plump cake placed right on top of the small plate that was supported by your left hand, before taking a significant amount of the sweet dessert so that it could be taken all the way up to your half-open mouth.

You hummed fortunately against the softly sweet taste on the face of your tongue. It was delicious on the palate, in fact, still warm as if fresh from the oven, with a comforting touch of nostalgia for something you had never experienced before – it was as if Wanda was sharing a tiny fraction of her Sokovian childhood with you. It tasted of sunny country afternoons and homemade desserts dotted with a coat of maternal affability. Tasted like pure, simple happiness of old infantile days to the sharpest feeling of the sentence.

Realizing that you were indeed eating something she had so selflessly prepared just a few minutes earlier, an emerald spotlight with an expectant green gaze engaged your facial expressions, as in an analysis project by Wanda, whose subject matter of study was none other than yourself.

“Man, this is really, really good!” it was a cry bordered by a half-child affinity, before you went back to reaching for more of the cake with the tines of your fork.

“You liked it?” Wanda's face glowed with exultant euphoria, shimmering a veil of pale green on her pretty irises, “It’s ptichye moloko, my mom used to bake it all the time when Pietro and I were kids back in Novi Grad.”

“Right, don't tell her I said that but I'm sure yours is better.”

“What?!” Wanda smiled a little dumbfounded, as her left shoulder bumped against your right bicep in a light-hearted way, witty in her comfortable good-humor that was slowly unfolding in front of you, “You haven't even tasted hers, Y/n!”

“Yeah, sorry, but as much as I’d be willing to literally die for your mom's cooking, you baked it, so I'm automatically sure yours is better.”

The high flesh of her cheeks burned in deep shades of rosy-crimson at your utterly sincere statement.

After a few episodes of the old television series (no less than five, but certainly more than two and a half), with the walls of your stomach already satisfied in your abdomen with that generous piece of cake made with a strictly followed recipe in the traditional Sokovian style, Wanda's gaze, who was then chuckling softly at some harmless silly joke made by the main character, dropped to your right profile, burning the bone in your jaw in scheming thoughts.

“When did you start smoking?”

Sweeping your eyes away from the colorful figures on the television, you glanced at the girl sitting next to you, finding a pretty face brightening before your gaze, “Sorry, what?”

“Your cigarette,” her index finger pointed at the small cylindrical object blistered behind your ear, skimming against your silver earrings, “When did you start smoking? If... if you don't mind talking about it, of course. Sorry if I'm being invasive."

“Oh, that,” you recalled suddenly from the presence of your addiction, bringing your right fingers to pick it up between your digits.

“It’s okay, I don't mind talking about it. But... I think it's been a while, actually. When my mom left my dad started smoking again and, well... I wanted to sneak some from him to see what it was like. About two years ago or so, I guess. Something like that."

You shrugged it off, because the matter had been over for longer than you cared to remember, and there wasn't much you could do if your mom just didn't want to stay anymore. But a warm grip slid across your skin as Wanda's right hand settled over the bare skin of your forearm, and there the tip of her thumb gave a cordial caress in affectionate circular motions, when her eyelids flicker so courteously into your face.

She was just a sweet girl after all, albeit under dark, torn clothes and dangling chains. Such a virtuous soul in the face of the oppressions of such an overwhelming world. When your eyes locked in midair, one trying to understand the glimmering behind the other, even the rehearsed lines coming from the television in the corner weren't enough to loosen the knot that was tied between you and Wanda.

“I… I get it, Y/n,” she mussed, leaning a little closer to your body, “I mean… it was hard when my dad left as soon as we arrived in the country. Quite hard, actually. My mom, she... she bought wine, for a while. Lots of wine bottles. I mean, she's better now, but I think that's when Pietro started doing... those things he does.”

The girl nibbled on her lower lip, and you, up close, just followed her with your eyes as she did.

“I didn't mean to bring you bad memories, it's just that...” her voice trailed off, getting smaller and smaller, as the tips of her ears reddened like two ripe peppers, “You... you look pretty when... when you smoke.”

Your heart missed a beat, and the oxygen just became unpalatable there inside that scrawny room filled with some disembodied laughter chuckled by the television set long forgotten in its sunny corner.

Setting the unsmoked cigarette aside, your right hand then dared to reach up on your forearm to search for what you've been searching for in the last few months, just snuggling your open palm against Wanda's soft cheek where, like the caresses bestowed by her finger, your own thumb tried to stroke a tiny freckle high up on her sharp cheekbone.

“Hey, look at me,” you asked in a tone bathed in tenderness, which she matched in a trace of pale green in her flickering irises, “It's okay Wanda, you didn't do anything wrong, don't worry about it. And on top of that," you half-giggled, “I think you're pretty too, you know.”

The thick dark lashes flickered out of her eyes, a half-formed mantilla of limping anguish, setting the stage for a color imbued with traces of what would be dizzying hope, flushing bright red on the pale alabaster skin of her accentuated face.

“You think I'm pretty...?”

“Of course I think so,” you nodded, your pupils dilated in close juncture with hers.

“You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, Wanda. I wish I could make you laugh every day of my life just to see you smiling. Your... your smile is beautiful. And the way you sit and fiddle with your hair, or the way you care so much about everyone… everything about you is beautiful. Not a single day goes by that I don't notice how beautiful you are.”

She swallowed when you did too; an abyssal gaze that slanted magnetically down your face, to the outline of your lips as close to hers as they were.

“Can I…” she breathed beneath her ruffled voice, “Can I kiss you, Y/n? I really want to kiss you...”

What happened next, on the initiative of a Wanda who didn't even wait for half a second when you nodded in restraint, was a needy kiss that tasted like cake, cinnamon, cigarettes and, at the end, a hint of crystalline need not contained. Your upper teeth kind of clashed with each other at first, though that didn't stop you or Wanda, who just hooked her gentle fingers into the outline of the skin on your neck. Your brain needed oxygen, but your chest just needed her; her touch, her tongue, her red.

“Please,” Wanda mussed with her swollen lip against your, her eyes heavy, warm air caressing the pulp of the commission in your mouth, “Please tell me this is as important to you as it is to me.”

“It is,” you muttered, going back to more of the taste of her tongue, “God, Wanda, you don't know how long I've been wanting to do this…”

The girl kissed you again with excruciating need, as if she really wanted to keep your soul tied to hers between the flicks of your tongues, as you felt the commission of her lips against yours twitch in a goofy smile, both hands roaming in search of the strands of your hair to hold them between her fingers, as if she wanted to breathe in from them the scent of cigarettes that so soothed her heart.

Wanda ran her hands down the length of your back, the roll of frigid rings feeling icy against your warm, bristly skin, hugging you around the waist as you wrapped your arms around her waist, your noses touching, mirrored smiles on your lips broken by kisses that were increasingly equipped with a mutual meaning that pointed to a need pulsing in your veins.

“Can I...?” she understood the meaning behind your little question when your left palm brushed lightly against her enclosed breast, covered by the thin material of her dark blouse.

“Yes...” was a breathy sigh, “P–please, yes...”

There was consent in a tiny nod of the head, and a tiny groan breathed out from the back of her throat that reverberated through your bones as you pressed your palm lightly against her mound, one erect nipple protruding behind the fabric for, there, you've found her lacking the material of a bra to slip between your skin and hers, massaging the warm, soft flesh between the lengths of your cunning fingers.

“Fuck Wanda,” you groaned because she did too, “You're so beautiful…”

You just can't help but do it when your teeth came into contact with the pale sensitive skin of Wanda's throat, where you captured between your lips a pinkish lump of flesh glistening with a thin layer of sweat and buffed it with the tip of your tongue as if it were just a sweet dessert, feeling the burning saccharinity of the girl's naked skin as the caresses aimed at her breast became somewhat more continuous and erratic in the movements of your left forearm.

But you caught yourself surprised, when you felt a gentle grip on both your shoulders and saw that Wanda, with care as if handling the most fragile of flowers, was pulling you to fit over her, guiding you to the top.

She laid the length of her spine against the inconvenient length of the sofa, causing your wandering eyes to land on the piece of alabaster skin that had become exposed as the hem of her blouse rose, revealing, there, a band of abs marked by tiny dots sprinkled here and there, like a particular galaxy.

“You're so fucking beautiful, Wanda” was said between kisses and strokes of tongue over Wanda's abdomen, when you writhed inside the clothes that seemed too stuffy for her there, laying under your body.

“Y/n...” she moaned, but there was no word that could complement your own name whispered through her peachy lips.

Blood burned hot on the sharp red cheeks of Wanda's ivory face, her lids closed as if to hold back the tears of arousal that threatened to slip down her doll face. The rosebud mouth with the brief traces of your lustrous saliva was, every now and then, moaning in the form of a shy, smothered request.

Her lips were apparently forming delusional words, but your conscience no longer registered them, because you were too busy just watching her. Wanda was rosy, dusted with droplets of sweat, covered by the veil of ardor without realizing she was surrounded by a red haze of lust. Perfect, really. Your fingers hooked on the hem of her dark blouse, and in a slow flick of your wrist you pulled it over as you tucked the garment under Wanda's bared collarbones, revealing a pair of bare breasts there.

Watching with delight the flushed girl's unrestricted enjoyment of her satisfying freedom from the pieces of cloth that covered her silhouette, you propped yourself up on your elbows for a voluptuous view of full breasts partially covered by cascades of dark hair, blushing breasts in its perfect contours, of clear and erect nipples which you found yourself seized by a desire to squeeze between your lips and encircle it between your tongue.

However, as you threatened to resume the posture so that he could have those desirable breasts between your teeth, Wanda put a hand on your collarbone, preventing you before you even completed the act. You blinked at her face, lifting your head.

“Are you okay…?" you whispered, to which Wanda only looked away with her dark green gaze to the side, “Wanda, what is it…?”

“It's just that I've never,” she stifled, but at your encouraging gaze, something in her compelled to continue her speech, “I've never done… you know, that… with anyone… before.”

You bit your bottom lip. Well, fuck.

“It… It's all right. I've only done it once or twice, too, and I don't think one of them even counted properly,” and then, a hesitant half second passed, as you looked at her again, “You… do you want me to stop here? I don't mind stopping if you want me to. I want this to be pleasurable for you, not that you feel pressured to do it.”

“No, it's just that,” Wanda looked at you with two dark pools outlined in earnest green, pink eyelids and puffy lips, “Could this… not be a one time thing? I… I don't want to do it if it's just a one time thing.”

Your heart rose high in your chest as the idea dawned on you that Wanda wanted more than you did because you were willing to do what she wanted.

You just smiled small as you brought your face close to hers; you studied her carefully in a brief sunny moment (your crush, half-naked and fragile, had a lock of dark hair falling over her forehead and her brows furrowed, but her eyes were simple and sincere), drinking in her radiant red beauty like a drug addict – the feminine silhouette splashed with sun and, in a way, even with a synoptic veil of purity that accompanied your muse in the utopian world of dreams, like a poor helpless girl.

Gently, you kissed the corner of her rosy mouth.

“It was never intended for this to be a one time thing, Wanda,” you kissed her again, and then again and again, “I… I really like you, you know? I... I care about you. Much more than you can imagine, I promise.”

“I like you too, Y/n,” she mussed in a low voice, her forehead pressed against yours, “Really like you.”

But then, your touch approached the hollow of her groin.

“Y/n...” Wanda's tone softened, as if she was slightly embarrassed, “Y/n, please...”

“You touched yourself before, Wanda?”

The middle of her legs fluttered as it was that, even if in a partially measured way, Wanda just nodded shyly, her warm forehead still touching yours.

“Damn, you're so hot… so hot, pretty girl…”

Mouth wide and swollen, you let out a knowing smile, and gently lowered your head in a languid, lingering action, a withdrawn ecstasy making you feel compelled to bring your full lips to Wanda's soft mouth, who returned you in a wavering and sloppy kiss.

Making yourself helpful, you dipped your fingers towards the legs not completely closed under the hem of the other girl's skirt, locating between them, shrouded by the thin silk of an underwear, the fragile and swollen aroused clit, inciting a delicious moan that popped out of the girl's mouth to crash into your parted lips.

Your mouth throbbed at the sight of her like this, the gloomy, empty pupils doubling in size at the work of art that was born out of Wanda's orgasmic experience – her dark hair swept back in a purely sensual gesture, the tight mouth swallowing desperately sucking in a hiss of air, the length of her pale neck completely exposed. Her round, perfect breasts with erect nipples of a strong rosy hue, her eyelids closed and her dark brows furrowed. So desirable. So intoxicating.

You wanted to have her right there, on that little couch that would be the witness of your willingness to give her everything you had in you. You increased the pressure on Wanda's little bundle of nerves through the rising damp garment, almost even torturing her at your whim, only to see her writhe beneath your own body and groan indecently and disconnected.

A yelp was raised as your mouth closed around her right nipple, which you pampered for a while, still lingering in your low caresses, until you migrated to the other to lick and suck it into the hollow of flesh inside your cheeks. But something in you wanted more; you wanted to taste her, feel her run down your throat. And she shivered in anticipation as your mouth sailed south of her body, fitting your nose beneath her dark skirt.

“Red, huh,” you thought aloud, at the tiny wet wedge of clothing that was the only barrier erected between you and Wanda's source of pleasure; a thin lacy panty of crimson fabric, whose middle gained wet tones that made it darker at that specific point, “It suits you.”

Fingers tightened in a firm grip on the ridge of your scalp as you placed a chaste kiss on Wanda's clit, albeit over the fabric of her panties, who choked on a sudden loud yelp.

“Y/n, fuck–!”

“I don't think I've ever heard you curse like this before,” you mussed, licking the skin of your own lips, “This is new. I'll take them off, okay? Wanna taste you.”

You threaded your fingers around the inside of Wanda's black skirt, and bringing the straps of the red underwear to you, you had the girl completely naked, exposed, desirable, as soon as you moved your elbows and made your way towards what you were looking for.

From that intimate region flowed a honey of pleasure, exhaling a bittersweet odor, pink as the inside of a strawberry, bringing water to your predatory mouth. Wanda's fidgety pale legs were spread apart, and her partially shaved pussy was on display. You took your index and middle fingers to the sensitive area, and dragging the tip against the entire pink and wet extension of the inside of Wanda's labias, you collected the viscous liquid with strong flavor, drawing a strangled moan from the other girl.

You brought your smeared middle finger to your lips, fervently sucking Wanda's nectar, tasting just as you supposed it would be on the tip of your tongue; as addictive as the nicotine in your cigarette. You took them out of your mouth with a violent pop, only to then unroll your tongue to slide it into the other girl's untouched hole, which pulsed and throbbed, rubbing against the purest nothingness.

Wanda moaned, dripping against your chin. Your pace was slow at first, but you searched for more of her, and Wanda gave you what you wanted. She squirmed and grunted and squeezed your hair between her fisted hands, tangling them in the circulation of her silver rings. And your tongue wasn't very experienced indeed, but you knew what to do. The tip of your right index finger pressed against the rosy entrance as your head came out from under her skirt.

“Can I put in…?”

You felt her cunt pulse against your digit.

“Y-yes,” she yelped, “Please–!”

You kissed the inside of her thigh before carefully dipping your finger into that warm grip. And there was some resistance at first, her furrowed brow glistening in a layer of sweat, and you kept your wrist steady when it was when you again got on top of Wanda, who buried her head in your chest as you did.

“It hurts?” you asked against her ear, and she just shook her head in a hesitant move.

“N–no, but it's... it's weird,” she sighed, “I never... when–when I did, I never...”

“It's okay, pretty girl” you kissed her hair, “Gonna move now, okay? Let me know if it hurts or if you want me to stop.”

A cunning finger reached across Wanda's intimate region, reaching for what you begged to be reached, making its way towards what it sought, and, as an inevitable consequence, penetrated her through her point of entry.

In the face of the action, Wanda arched her entire spine, splitting a visceral groan from her vocal cords – for she had barely become familiar with the finger when the movement began, giving her something new to feel.

You skimmed her, filled her and understood her as nothing more than a girl with needs (needs that only yours could supply). Then Wanda squeaked; the hungry hands for something to keep within themselves searched for your shoulder blades tucked inside your crop top, and there, over your back muscles, the nails dyed in black dug breaking into the skin. Your foreheads supported each other, because during the carnal act, each other was just what you both had and what you both were.

Your forearm pumped down Wanda's skirt towards a hot, dripping grip, and as you hooked your single finger inside her tight walls, there was a moan from the other girl as you kissed it back down the inside of her throat. You kissed her sweaty forehead, then the prominent cheekbone of her flushed cheek, and a sliver of skin down the tip of her jawbone.

“Here?” touching her on a specific spot that caused a dizzying reaction, that's what you asked.

“Y–yes, please don't stop Y/n, please don't stop, please... I–I, I'll–”

“Fuck, come for me, pretty girl.”

“Y/n!”

Her velvety walls squeezed your finger before Wanda came in a loud weeping moan against your ear, pressing you against her body as if this were the last day on Earth, and she would never see you again. Silently, you just held her back, inhaling her scent from the shirt balled up over her exposed chest. You just stayed there, drinking from the moment, because you belonged to her.

The serenity that came from the unspoken heartbeats coming from Wanda's breastplate was enough to establish, at your core, the most complete and genuine feeling of latent rest that you could bear.

With your eyes closed, the room immersed in a pool of accentuated silence, you were able to hear her breathing for much longer than you could count, as she brought you unparalleled peace and immeasurable calm as nothing else had done before. She was there, and she was yours.

With your head resting on the girl's chest, lying on top of Wanda was like basking in a ray of sunlight – tender and cordial like coming home after a long journey.

The unclothed skin superimposed over the open palms of both your hands was warm and sunny, as smooth as the finest silk, and your hips were hitched in a precise, if not perfect fit—the remnants of the apex ascended in a moment of pleasure smeared the inner sides of her thighs, like a ghost of what had once been the height of the carnal act in which you were so vividly engaged minutes before.

The austere digits of your fingers amused themselves with ruffling the ends of her dark hair, cradling them around your index and middle fingers, until finally Wanda descended from her apex, her chest heavy beneath your face.

“Y/n,” she called out to you, as the seconds ticked by and the minutes settled in, “I think I wanna date you.”

Because you couldn't help but smile at such a modest return, bordering the ethereal innocence of a legitimate child, you brought your mouths together so that you could press, to the pearly lips of Wanda, a long, tongueless kiss. You ended it only to laugh, the tip of your own nose brushing the other girl's.

“You think?”

“I-I’m sure of it,” she blushed.

“I wanna date you too, Wanda,” you confessed, even though it wasn't a secret, “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah...” she smiled – weakly and languorously when in a wave of post-orgasm fatigue, but still a genuine and sincere smile, “Yeah, it is. You’re cute.”

“Nah, pretty girl,” you shrugged, “You’re cute. I’m… something else. I’m a freak.”

“No, no, don’t say that. You’re the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever seen, Y/n,” she whispered, “And I wanna kiss you again.”

“Well, then,” you smiled towards her jadish irises, “Let me do the honors, pretty girl.”

In such a way, you approached Wanda so that you could kiss her jaw, while your hands, clasped between the sofa and the shoulder blades of your beloved, held her in a soft and pleasant embrace. Then you kissed Wanda on the patch of skin that joined her neck to her shoulder, her collarbone and her throat. And on her lips, over and over again.

And neither of you, in that newly found little bubble of love in each other's arms, even heard the front door open.

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wheredafandomat · 10 months

Text

Shrink | P4 - The heart wants what it wants

Avenger! Loki x Therapist! Reader

18+ | same warnings. Please don’t take this too seriously, it’s just a little fun 😁

Previous Next

The following day, Loki was beyond excited for his date with Darcy considering that she was down to fun. He had a couple of small errands to run first including chasing up the forensic team who still hadn’t found any matches with the bullet. After speaking with Jane who was picking up Thor, she confirmed that Darcy would be meeting Loki at the compound and that she was excited. This excitement made Loki excited, barely able to contain his grin as he left the compound to pick up a bouquet of flowers for Darcy but not before asking if you wanted to go with him for the walk.

“Loki I-I don’t think that’d be appropriate.” You answered, almost frowning at him from your door.

“Of course not,” he tried to laugh, “my apologies.”

“No, don’t be sorry” you quickly spoke, not wanting him to feel guilty over the fact that his boyish charm and musky cologne were driving you insane and you were definitely not ovulating “the sooner I’m gone, the sooner we can return to our usual routine.” You smiled, knowing that things would return to normal once you weren’t practically living with him. This was just a temporary glitch, the chemicals in your body reacting positively to the man that saved your life.

“Yes.” He agreed, turning to leave.

“Loki wait” you called him back “enjoy your date.”

Loki replied with a curt nod and a small smile before continuing on his way to the florist where he picked up some flowers before heading back to the compound to wait for Darcy. Surprisingly, she was early.

“Loki.” She greeted sultrily, practically pushing him into his room.

“Hello Darcy” he replied, handing her the flowers “for you.”

“Thanks.” She answered, narrowing her gaze suspiciously at them for a moment before placing them on his dressing table and stepping towards him, a primal look in her eye as Loki stepped backwards, his demeanor nervous.

“There’s something I need you to know” he stopped, pausing her movements too “I’m down to fun as well.” He grinned, her brows knitting.

“What?”

“Message received, I’m down to fun too. I like fun.” He spoke gleefully.

“Loki, what do you mean? What message about fun?” She queried.

“You told Jane who told Thor you were DTF.” Loki explained.

“Thanks Jane, making me look like a damn whore” she spoke to herself, rolling her eyes “down to fuck Loki, yeah, I was, but only because Thor told Jane who told me you were too.”

“Oh.” Loki gulped, he wasn’t expecting this to be so straightforward. He was nearing the end of the road to recovery.

“Well, are you?” She asked, her sultry voice returning. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights, Loki nodded before Darcy pounced, pushing him down onto the bed as she straddled him. She pressed her lips to his, claiming them in a messy kiss that Loki returned. Grabbing his hands, she placed them against her hips as they continued to kiss before she lifted her top off. Pushing him further down so that he was laying now, she stood up, pulling her skirt down causing Loki to swallow thickly as she walked towards the door, ensuring it was locked. He watched her as she walked, it felt wrong. She was sexy, he couldn’t deny that but there was something missing. He found himself realising that he didn’t feel the same now, watching her walk as he felt before, before when he watched—you?

Almost choking at the realisation, Loki sat up as Darcy approached him again.

“What’s the matter baby?” She spoke against his lips.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think I” he cleared his throat, searching for the words to say “I don’t want this with you.”

“What?” She gasped, covering her chest.

“I’m sorry Darcy” he apologised, grabbing her top and handing it to her “it’s not you it’s me, you’re perfect” he rambled causing Darcy to scoff, same old excuses “I just—I’m going through something right now.” He finished causing realisation to flood Darcy as she turned to Loki.

“Loki” she began, placing her hand against his cheek “it’s okay.” She smiled.

“I’m so glad you understand—” he began happily before he was cut off.

“Want me to set you up with some hot guy friends?” She offered.

“Would they be interested in fun?”

“Ye—”

“Preferably poker or pranks.”

“GOODBYE LOKI!” Darcy yelled before storming out of Loki’s bedroom and bumping into you as you made your way to Natasha’s room after hearing she was back.

“Oh my god hunny, I heard what happened to you.” Natasha exclaimed, wrapping her arms around you as soon as you stepped into her room.

“Natasha” you spoke into the crook of her neck as she continued to squeeze you “there’s something strange happening to me.”

“What do you mean?” She asked worriedly, letting you go.

“Loki, he—he removed a spider from my office.” You answered anxiously.

“What do you mean?” Natasha snorted, confused before her eyes rounded, remembering the conversation you both previously had “OMG!”

“I knowww” you exasperated “I can’t stop thinking about him, I’m driving myself insane and I’m the one who told him he needs to get laid to try and relieve some of that tension he’s got and I’ve just seen a beautiful half naked woman leaving his room and I’m not sure howI feel. Half of me is proud, the professional side of me but the other side, the other fifty percent is burning Nat.” You sighed.

“When did this start?” She asked, sitting on her bed.

“I thought it was that day he saved me. He took out the spider and it instantly reminded me of our conversation and then he was on top of me and—”

“Spare me the details.” She interrupted.

“I think I’ve liked him for a while Nat” you exhaled hopelessly “which is awful because he’s my patient and I’m supposed to be helping him and—” you began to rant.

“Y/n, you can’t beat yourself up, the heart wants what it wants.” Natasha assured.

“Why does it have to want himmm?” You complained.

“Maybe it doesn’t want him, maybe it just wants a man and he’s the closest you’ve got to—”

“Do not therapize me, I’m the therapist.” You cut in playfully.

“Yeah, not a very good one.” She giggled.

“Nattt.”

“I’m telling you y/n, you can’t beat yourself up. You’re both two adults, maybe you should just tell him.” She suggested.

“WHAT?” You almost wheezed “casually tell my client that I want to sleep with him? Yeah Nat, not happening.”

“Then what are you going to do?” She sighed.

“I’m going to have to end this” you decided “but first, let me patch up that gash on your forehead.”

Who even knows what’s going on at this point 😂 at least this mess is drawing to a close

Tags:

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#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki fanfiction #tom hiddelston loki #loki smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x avengers #loki imagine #darcy lewis #loki au fics #loki au

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lowkeyerror · 1 year

Text

Drunk

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Notes: Underaged drinking, college Au, funny at times

Summary: Wanda goes to her first college party with a few friends. You're the one they call when something goes wrong.

Masterlist

You were nervous. It was apparent by the bouncing of your leg. Truly, it was more like your whole body was vibrating. Everything felt like it was in high definition. The walls were a pale green, the threads of the furniture stood out, the ticking of the clock was loud.

It was funny how thinking about her made you nervous. It was as if she had been in the room with you. Her hair shines brilliantly to match her smile. You'd listen as she spoke animatedly about whatever it was that she liked. You tried your best to focus on her words and not her lips, but it was a challenge to you.

Loving Wanda made you nervous because you weren't supposed to love her. Not to this extent, at least.

She was your best friend's younger sister. You had known Wanda and Pietro just about your entire life. The three of you were a good group of friends. Being two years younger than you and Pietro mean that Wanda didn't always mesh well with your other friends. She eventually found her own group and started spending more time with them.

The three of you still hung out regularly, but not as much as you did when you were younger. You think that you always had a crush on Wanda, though you may not have been aware at the moment.

" So, ya, I'm just really excited. My first college party."

You frowned as you tuned back into what the red head was saying," Who's going with you?"

She wasn't privy to your dismay," You know the usual girls."

You nodded your head hesitantly, trying to remember their names," Ok, just be careful. Your first time can be pretty overwhelming."

Wanda rolled her eyes," Whatever, you and Piet literally party all the time."

" Yes, but our first time was a mess."

" You're just trying to scare me," Wanda ignored your words.

" She's not. Our first party, I came home with my hand fractured. And by the end of night, Y/n had traded all her clothes for duct tape armor."

" It was way less fun to take off than it was to put on," you chimed in.

Pietro gave his sister a stern look," Just be careful, sestra, and call Y/n if anything happens."

" Why me?"

" Because unlike you, my dating life is flourishing. Monica and I have reservations at some fancy restaurant she wanted to go to. I'm planning on making it official tonight," he smiles brightly as he speaks.

" My dating life is fine, but I'm happy for you."

" Whatever you say Y/n," he turned his attention to Wanda," Be safe. If anything happens, call Y/n. If it's an emergency, you know you can always call me. Have fun, but not too much."

Pietro kissed both of you on the forehead before walking straight out of the door.

" You're having girl trouble," Wanda sounds like she's trying to hold back her surprise.

" Try not to sound so surprised, Wands."

A blush spreads across her face," Sorry, I just- Piet didn't have any issues. If he could find someone as good as Monica, I was thinking that-"

You stop her mid-ramble," I'm just teasing, Wanda. The truth is, I've had a few girls and boys interested in taking me out. I just usually say no."

" Are you not looking for someone?"

You look into her eyes, maybe for a second too long. A shaky breath spills out of your lips," Let's just say that I know what I want and none of them are it. Now, don't you have a party to get ready for?"

She looks at the time on her phone and basically bolts up the stairs. She pokes her head back down the stairwell for a second," We're finishing this conversation later!"

Then she's gone in a flash, leaving you with your thoughts. You weren't lying. There were plenty of people who had hit on you, but you just weren't into them.

The last date you had was months ago with Darcy. Everything had gone well. The two of you actually went steady for about two months, but you just saw each other as friends.

After that, you didn't try with anyone else. You wanted Wanda, and there was no denying it. Your conscience was stopping more than Pietro was. If anything, you knew that he'd approve of you two being together.

The doorbell rang, causing you to get off of the couch. When you opened the door, the girls that you assumed were Wanda's friends were standing there.

You analyzed the group as you felt them do the same with you.

" You're Wanda's friends?"

" You have got to be Y/n," the one with dark brown hairs speaks first, earning a nudge from the blonde standing beside her.

A smirk took over your features," In the flesh, what are your names?"

You step aside to let them in the house. They file one by one.

" I'm Kate," the brunette speaks.

" Yelena," the blonde says shortly.

The redhead doesn't give you an answer. You don't mind pressing her for it.

" And you, sweetheart?"

Her eyes scan over you, and it makes you a little nervous.

" Natasha... sweetheart," she sends a wink your way.

There's a tension between the two. It stays until Wanda appears in the stairwell. She looks amazing. You gulp as your eyes rake her outfit. There's no doubt in your mind that she's going to have eyes on her. The thought makes you clench your jaw.

Her friends whistle as she makes her way down the stairs.

" You look... good, Wands." Your tongue grazes your bottom lip as you speak.

She blushes and that makes you smile," Thanks, Y/n. Are you girls ready to go?"

" Not so fast, let me see your phones," you stop the girls.

Kate is the first to pull out her phone and eagerly hand it to you, it makes you chuckle to yourself. You put your number in her phone, then Yelena's, and lastly Natasha's.

" If anything happens, call me. I don't care what time it is, I don't care how minor it is. If you're too drunk to drive, if you just want to leave, or if some guy is being a weirdo. Anything, and that goes for all of you, not just Wanda."

The girls nod in understanding before heading towards the front door. Natasha, Kate, and Yelena walk out, but Wanda lingers for a moment. She turns back to give you a quick hug, you kiss her temple, similarly to how Pietro did earlier in the night.

" Be safe, I'll hold down the fort."

While she's walking out of the door, you can't help yourself," DON'T FORGET TO CALL, IF YOU NEED ANYTHING."

In the hours that passed, you found yourself switching between watching tv and being on your phone. Nothing too interesting. You had dozed off at some point, at least that what you assumed when you were jolted to reality by the sound of your phone ringing.

" Hello?"

Your eyes shot open as the phone speaker was filled with loud music.

" Hey... hottie, we- we're a little. Whoops, sorry. We- could you just come. Please, hot Y/n. Really, really hot Y/n," Kate's words were barely coming out of her mouth.

" Katie, share your location with me. Can you do that, while we're on the phone, lovely?"

" Mmmm. Ya- ok, I- did I do it," she chuckled as her location appeared on your phone.

" Just sit tight for me, ok, Katie?"

Katie let a vulgar moan slip through her lips," You- you're so hot Y/n. The nicer you are, the mo-more I want you t-to taste my- I think I'm going to puke."

" I'll be there as quick as I can," you repeated into the phone before hanging up.

You shook your head before laughing a bit at the brunette's words. You were quick to hop in the car and drive to the location Kate sent you.

From the outside, you could tell that the party was definitely a level 5 on the chaos scale. The amount of people in the front yard alone, sent a little more urgency in your movements.

4 girls amongst hundreds. How hard could it be? You pulled out your phone and made 3 phone calls. Within 15 minutes, you had assembled a team to help you search for the girls.

" Thanks for these guys. Carol, we're going to have you grab Natasha, Valkyrie you're going to get Yelena, Darcy you'll handle Kate. Everyone clear?"

They nodded.

" Just bring them to the car once you find them. BREAK."

The four of you quickly dispersed. The only thing on your mind is finding Wanda.

You checked outside first. Not really wanting to go inside of the house unless you had. As far as you could tell, she wasn't in the front or the back.

Going into the house almost made you want to give up immediately. There were people from corner to corner. You had to push through bodies just to move. The floor took about 20 minutes for you to search properly. You didn't see Wanda anywhere.

When you got to the kitchen, the population of people was a little less dense. You saw Val struggling to get Yelena off of a table. The blonde kept kicking out her foot every time Valkyrie tried to grab her.

You got close enough to where they could both hear you," Yelena, would you just go with my friend please!"

The blonde turned to you," Oh, this is your friend. I thought she was a kidnapper. Obviously, I did not want to be kidnapped. Ok, strong warrior woman, let us leave."

" I've been telling you I was a friend of Y/n for 10 minutes," Val huffed as she yanked the blonde off of the table.

" Wait! Do you know where I can find Wanda?"

Yelena's eyes squinted and she pointed behind you. Following her gaze, you saw Wanda trying her best to get up the stairs. You took off in that direction, scared that you'd lose sight of her.

Going upstairs at a party like this only led to trouble. You'd stopped it from happening too many times not to have a pit of fear in your stomach. After shoving your way through the crowd, you ran up the stairs.

You didn't bother knocking and started just opening doors. To your surprise, a lot of the rooms were actually empty. The last door you opened is where you found Wanda.

She was sprawled out like a starfish on the bathroom floor. Her head turned in your direction and a wide grin spread across her face.

" Hi."

The way she was looking at you made your heart stop. There was something in her eyes that you couldn't quite decipher.

" Come on, Kate called, so I came to get you guys."

She laughs, eyes not moving from yours," I- I don't think I can stand up."

You shake your head, but nonetheless pick the girl up off of the ground. Her arms lock around your neck, while her legs do the same to your waist. Her head is buried in your shoulder. You can feel her warm breath tickle your neck.

Carrying her out of the party was a trying task, but you were able to manage. When you got to the car, your friends stood, waiting with the other drunk girls.

" Where'd you find her?" Carol asked.

" Bathroom floor. Let's get them in the car."

Natasha was the most coherent, so she sat up front with you, while Kate, Yelena, and Wanda took the back seat.

" Thank you guys for helping me. Lord knows, doing it on my own would have been a pain in the ass."

" You're definitely going to need help with them," Darcy says.

" We'll follow you," Valkyrie chimes in.

You try to stop them," You guys don't have to. I know you probably have better things to do with your night."

Carol snorts," And leave you alone with 4 drunk 20-year-olds, absolutely not. We're coming whether you like it or not."

You smile at your friends," I love you guys. We're headed to the Maximoff's."

They all mutter 'love you' back before getting in their cars. The backseat of your car was loud and vibrant due to Yelena and Kate.

" Y/n," the woman in your passenger's seat said.

You glanced at her briefly before turning your attention back to the road," Natasha."

" Thank you for picking us up."

" It was nothing, you guys can call me anytime. Your safety is important to me."

You hear the girl sniffle beside you," But... you don't even know us. The fact that- that you came is so," she starts sobbing in the middle of her sentence.

" Hey, hey, you're ok. You're Wanda's friends, and by the transitive property you're my friends too. I'll always be there when my friends need me."

" You're- You're so kind," she cried even harder.

" HEY! STOP MAKING MY SISTER CRY," Yelena yelled from the backseat.

" They're prob-bably happy tears, Leny. I know if I was in the fr-ront seat with really, really hot Y/n, I'd be crying too," Kate said dreamily.

You did your best to hold in your laughter. With a quick glance in the rearview mirror, you caught Wanda's eyes. She was already looking directly at you. Her expression was something you recognized, but not on her. Her gaze seemed lustful.

When you pulled up to the house, you waited for your back-up to get there before trying to unload the girls from the car.

Wanda was still convinced that she couldn't walk and wanted to latch on to you. You let her as the other girls were helped by your friends. As much the drunk girls wanted to just crash on the couch, you made them shower and change first.

If Wanda had been on a stranger's bathroom floor, who knows where the others had been.

After the showers, the girls seemed to be ready for bed. The Maximoff's were well off, so the house was pretty big. Wanda's friends slept in her room. While your friends took one of the guest bedrooms close by. They wanted to be able to check on the girls.

You and Wanda were the only ones who hadn't retired for the night. The two of you sat in the living room watching tv as you had done hours ago.

Wanda was close to you. She left no empty space between the two of you. Her skin was touching yours.

" Y/n," her voice was deep when she said your name. You were scared to look at her.

" Ya Wands," you tried to focus on the tv to ignore your heartbeat.

" What do you want?" She said it like it was an obvious question.

" Earlier, you said you knew what you wanted and none of them were it. So what do you want?"

" Wanda," there was a warning edge to your voice.

It didn't deter the woman. She carefully slung her leg over yours to straddle your waist. The ends of her hair tickled your face as she looked down at you.

" I think I know what you want."

Your body feels stiff under hers. Every muscle is tensing, and you don't know what to do.

" You're drunk," you tell her, avoiding eye contact.

" Tell me I'm wrong." Her finger starts in the middle of your chest and trails all the way up until she's lightly gripping your chin. She's forcing you to meet her eyes.

" Wanda, you are going to regret this in the morning. We can't have this talk right now. You're drunk and I'm not. It's wr-"

She leans down so that her lips are close to yours. It stops your sentence in its tracks. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to connect your lips.

" I'm not that drunk, Y/n. I know what I'm doing," her lips brush against yours as she speaks.

It takes all of the strength that you have, but you lift the red off of you and get to your feet.

" I'm going to bed. If you want to talk in the morning, we can do that." Your feet carry you up the stairs, but you stop when you hear Wanda call your name.

You lock eyes with her. A sly smile lies on her lips. " You didn't tell me I was wrong."

You hold eye contact with her for another minute and make your way to the second guest bedroom, which is basically your room. The first thing you do is lock the door behind you. Then you face plant on the bed. Your body is hot from all of Wanda's advancements.

Eventually, your breathing evens out as you fall asleep with the redhead running through your mind.

The next morning, you are woken up by the sound of banging on the door. In your groggy state you open the door, still wiping the sleep from your eyes.

The silence makes you stop wiping your eyes to see who disrupted your sleep. Wanda is standing at the door with her eyes glued on you. That's when you realized you are only wearing a bra and some boy shorts.

You clear your throat, expecting a blush to spread across her face. It doesn't. Instead, her eyes snap to yours, seemingly darker than usual.

" You just gonna stare at me or did you want something sweetheart?"

She takes her time answering you," Can I come in?"

Reluctantly, you let her in the room. She closes the door behind her, and you swore you heard the lock click.

" So..."

" It's the morning," she says, and you know exactly what she's referring to.

You take a seat on the bed and motion for her to sit next to you. She does and waits for you to speak.

" You're wrong," you say simply. You can see her confident demeanor leave as she tries to leave the room. Your hand reaches out to grab her wrist and pull her back to the bed.

" Listen. You're wrong because I think that you think that I'm just attracted to you. I am attracted to you, I mean, you have always been drop-dead gorgeous."

You pause to make sure she's listening to you.

" So you like me?"

" No."

She tries to leave again, but this time you get up to block her path. " You've got to let me finish, Wands. I know you too well to like you. I'm light-years past liking you."

Her eyebrows furrow," Then what are you saying?"

" SHE'S SAYING THAT SHE LOVES YOU!" A voice that sounds suspiciously like Kate's yells from the other side of the door.

Her outburst is followed by loud whispers and shuffling feet. You laugh at the invasion of privacy.

" Is- is that what you're saying?"

You give her a genuine smile," Wanda, I've been in love with you for a while now. I just didn't know what to do. We've known each other so long, and Pietro's like a brother to me. You guys are the most important people in my life, and I was scared to fuck that up."

Wanda's hand caresses the side of your face," I love you too."

Your eyes shine as they peer down into hers. It felt like you had more to say, but then Wanda's lips were on yours. The words were now irrelevant.

Her lips were the softest you had ever encountered. She was certain in her movements. She was certain about you. The sensual pattern in which she kissed you made you feel like you were floating.

You had never known such peace. You had never felt something so right. In this moment with Wanda, you felt like you were complete.

" I want to do that forever," your eyes shot open to look at the beautiful woman in front of you.

" Me too."

There was a knock on the door," I'm glad you two finally sorted things about, but I spent a lot of money on this breakfast."

Pietro's voice sounded from the other side of the door. You could feel the heat rushing to your face.

Wanda giggled at your state and told Pietro you'd be right down. She kissed you one more time.

" Put some clothes on, I don't know if I want everyone seeing what's mine."

" Yours?"

She nods, her hand plants it on your bare stomach. It rubs the area up and down," Mine."

You smile," I don't mind that at all."

You slip on a shirt and some sweatpants. Then the two of you head downstairs. All eyes are on you, when you make it to the kitchen.

" Took the two of you long enough. I mean both to get together and come to breakfast," Pietro smiles teasing at the two of you.

" Don't tease them hard. I mean, it took you entirely too long to ask me to be your girlfriend," Monica shoots back at him.

He pouts," Why must you tease me so, my love."

" Enough sickly romantic couple behavior. Let's eat."

Together you all sat at the table and ate. The smile wouldn't slide off of your face for anything. Here you were surrounded by people that you loved. The woman that held your heart was right beside you. Her hand intertwined with yours under the table. The light chatter made the atmosphere even more warm. This was the happiest day of your life. You'd be having a lot of those now. With this group of people as your friends, and Wanda as your other half, you could see many happy days ahead of you.

#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #kate bishop #yelena belova #valkyrie #carol danvers #darcy lewis #monica rambeau #pietro maximoff

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