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unholyhelbig · 3 months

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oversight part 6 ??

Title: The Oversight [Part 6/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 6237

Warnings: SMUT UNDER 18 DNI, oral (r recieving), Dom/sub dynamic, slight mommy kink if you squint, fingering (r recieving), and horrible grammar

[A/n: This took literally all day because I hadn't started it until this morning, and it's now 12am. Good thing it's -15 degrees outside and I physically cannot leave my home. I haven't written Nat smut... ever. Go easy on me.]

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Natasha Romanoff knew how to handle a gun. She tested its weight; the mix of metal and plastic was familiar to her as lungs were to breathe. As ocean was to water, as sky was to rolling thunder. Handling a gun, especially while loaded, was a delicate process. She’d stroke the trigger, ghost her fingers over the barrel and expertly tease the weapon into doing exactly what she wanted.

Natasha Romanoff was not one to do anything without calculation, not one to do something without complete control. But, the soft noises that escaped your throat as she nipped across your jawline and licked over the burning bites to soothe the smallest bit of pain made her stop thinking. Stop calculating. It threatened to take her control.

Your back was up against the cool mahogany of her bedroom door. You’d barely gotten a chance to close it before her hands were all over you, and that floral scent invaded your lungs. You were frantic to pull her as close as possible, to feel her body fully against yours. You needed Natasha Romanoff more than you needed life itself. You needed her inside of you.

She seemed just as beside herself. Her nails ran up and down your sides, brushing against the exposed skin that the slit in that beautiful emerald dress provided. You were enamored with it earlier in the night. Now you were grateful for all the exposed parts of you, the hot touches and breathless kisses.

“So needy, malyshka” Natasha whispered between kisses. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you?”

Yes. You wanted that more than you could vocalize. Instead, you let out a groan that was muffled by her lips against yours. You understood the irony, feeling so safe with a woman who was one of the most feared within the city.

She reminded you in a gentle growl “words, baby, use your words.”

“Please, I need you.”

Natasha didn’t need another green light. She hauled you into her arms in a feat of strength, backing you onto the bed. The sheets were cool against your bare legs. The last time you’d been in this bed, you were in much worse shape. You preferred this, coming undone with Natasha’s wandering hands and damp kisses.

You hungrily pushed her jacket from her shoulders, brushing the pads of your fingers over her defined muscles. She smiled against your lips, throwing the expensive garment to the floor. You made quick work of the buttons down the front of her waistcoat, barely exposing the curve of her chest before her fingers reached up and grabbed yours.

“You’re far too clothed, darling.”

The objection was soft, and you were quick to comply when she pulled the dress up to expose your thighs. You lifted your hips and she moved the dress the rest of the way over your head, tossing it to the side. Her eyes raked hungrily over your dips and curves, hands caressing your sides, watching as your pulled air in and let it out in excitement.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Natasha said with a wolfish smile as she took in the lacy bra and panties that you wore.

“Hoped, really.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Do I need one?”

Her smile widened as she expertly slid the buttons from their proper place and pulled her waistcoat off. You were met with tanned skin, with a toned stomach and breasts that you itched to palm. She started to kiss along your neckline, down your chest, and the very start of your stomach. Expertly, she unhooked your own bra, tossing it in the same direction as your dress.

Natasha bit and sucked in the right places and your back arched in eager response. It distracted you from her wandering hands. You shuddered as she pushed past the elastic of your underwear, she brushed her finger up the length of your slit, and a breath got stuck in your throat.

“So wet already, just from a little teasing.”

“Natasha,” You moaned her name.

You squirmed as her touch moved lower, she kissed along your waistline, moved your underwear down your legs until you were fully exposed to her. She let out a content breath that was hot against your center, you fought the urge to press against her.

“Zaychik, I have a few rules,”

“Anything, just… anything.”

She kissed against your thighs, ever so close to you. It was driving you nuts, and while you trusted Natasha with your life, with your sanity, it was you who was struggling with control. You craved her touch and then resented how much you relied on it. You had never wanted anything more in your life.

“You belong to me. And that means, you can only cum when I give you permission.” You whined under her soft ministrations, bucking your hips forward. She bit hard against the expanse of your skin, enough to bruise. “Am I clear?”

“Y-yes, yes. Clear. Crystal. Baby please.”

Natasha hummed against you. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks heated at the positive reinforcement and your fingers curled into the expensive sheets. A gasp escaped you when her tongue met your folds. She licked expertly across the length of your center and an entirely pornographic noise left your throat when she stopped at your clit, sucking softly.

You could feel your heartbeat in your chest, pounding against your ribs in a perfect rhythm. Natasha slid a singular finger into you. It was painfully slow, and far from enough to fill you up. You resisted the urge to grind further into her. Another finger, another soft noise.

A combination of her quick movements and attention mouth brought you close to the edge embarrassingly fast. You had thought of this moment for months, how skilled she was, how your naked body would be writhing under her touch exactly as it was now.

When Natasha added a third finger, your mind started to grow foggy. You had known for awhile that you would do anything for her. It wasn’t a feeling that you shied away from in the slightest. Excitement was building in your core, breath coming quicker, sweat slicking against every inch of your body.

“Remember your manners, baby girl.” Natasha’s words vibrated against your core, making your squirm. “Not until I say.”

Her fingers curled inside of you, your walls tightening expertly around her. It took everything in you not to give in to her. There was an impossible pressure building inside of you. You gasped in as much air as you could muster.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” the answer came without hesitation. “Only you,”

“That’s right. You’re all mine, my little toy.”

Her words only worked you up more. You wanted to take care of her, wanted to worship her. You’d do anything she commanded. The word slipped past your lips without a second thought. She was working so hard to undo you. “Natasha… mommy”

Natasha let out a moan at the title, her pace increasing. She returned her hot mouth to your clit, circled it with your tongue expertly. She mumbled against you, words vibrating. “You can cum, princess.”

She didn’t’ have to tell you twice. You tightened around her fingers, arching off the bed as pure extasy washed over you. You clenched every part of your body, groaning into the crook of your arm to muffle the noise. Pleasure rolled over you, through the pit of your stomach.

Her mouth continued to work throughout the lingering pressure of your orgasm, threatening to build to another one. Natasha pulled her fingers from you with a wet noise. She breathlessly moved herself next to you, kissing your neck, your jawline. Natasha pressed her fingers against your lips, and you were eager and ready to accept them.

You could taste yourself on her, sucking them as she nipped at your earlobe. She whispered, feeling hot against your skin. “Such a good whore, so willing and ready to suck anything. Take anything. I can’t wait to give you a strap.”

Your heart began to race at the thought, and she smiled against you, clear that she could feel the increase of the rhythm from your closeness. Natasha removed her fingers, she kissed you hard, and you kissed her back with just as much passion, pulling away slightly to stifle a yawn.

“Tired already, Zaychik?”

You chuckled “you wear me out. Though, I’m not too worn out to make you feel good.”

“Mm, you’ve already made me feel good. I think we should get some sleep.”

You wanted to fight her on it, body still trembling from the rolling orgasm she had given you. But exhaustion was fighting too and Natasha readjusted you both until you were settled gently into the crook of her neck, one arm lazily over her midsection. She was gentle and attentive with her movements. Brushing strands of your hair behind your ear. Who knew Natasha Romanoff was a cuddler?

A spring storm had taken full effect by the time you had crossed back into the city, but it seemed that nothing could dampen your mood. The clouds that formed in dark clusters and released sheets of rain were something of beauty, not despair. The day was still warm, the breeze cold to cut through the sweat that formed on your brow. You’d cracked the window, allowing stray drops to cool your skin.

You stopped by the mailbox on the bottom floor, wiggling the smallest key on your ring into the lock until it opened. You barely checked the mail and it was stuffed full of coupons, advertisements, and the occasional statement from Veronica’s after-school daycare.

You tucked the papers under your arm and started the long ascent to your floor. You avoided the nails that stuck up through cheap wood. The spots in the carpet that had been soaked through with water damage. None of it seemed to bother you.

“Good morning, Miss Baxter.” You mumbled to the older woman who always perched in front of her door in a busted lawn chair. She had a perfect view of her neighbor across the hall. Her little, crusty white dog barked in morse code at you.

“What’s so good about it? Raining buckets and everything in this godforsaken place leaks.”

“Well, I suppose that’s where the buckets would come in handy.”

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat but you were already a good portion of the way up the final flight of stairs. You pressed your shoulder tactfully against your apartment door pushing it open before you threw the mail on the table and flicked on the kitchen light. The air conditioning chilled you to the bone, drying the damp spots on your clothes.

There was a click in the far side of the room, one that was unfamiliar from the ticking of the air unit, or the settling of an old building. You were used to those noises. This was entirely too human for your liking, so you drew your gun in a fluid movement, much like the other night.

Without hesitation, flicking off the safety and aiming.

Darcy was sitting in the beaten recliner in the corner. There was an upturned book on the side of the chair. You weren’t sure how long she had been sitting there, but from the bags under her eyes, the way her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, you knew it had been awhile.

You instantly lowered the weapon, hands suddenly shaking. “Darcy, what are you-?”

“I… I knew that something was up these last few months. I thought you had started seeing someone, a regular at the diner, or, or God forbid the dude who works behind the grill. But when I went to the diner you weren’t even there. They said you hadn’t been there for months. And can you please put that thing away?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” your words were pinched as you rebolstered your weapon. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” She stood, closing the distance between you both now that there wasn’t a loaded gun in the middle. You straightened up, heart pounding haplessly in your chest. “Because Monica Rambeau came up to me at work the other day and told me that you were lying. She… she wouldn’t tell me what, just that you weren’t being truthful, and I defended you, y/n.

“I defended you because you’re my best friend. You have been for years. I’ve stood by you through everything. Through meeting Ronnie’s father, and getting pregnant and comforting you when he left you- because he did leave both of you!”

“Darcy,”

“No. Let me finish. Let me finish. I’ve been here for you every step of the way. Every single step and the only thing that I’ve ever expected from you is honesty. Don’t you think I deserve that? Don’t you think Ronnie deserves that?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching her carefully as she caught her breath, and her bearings. You had only seen Darcy this angry once, and it had been years ago. Sophomore year of high school when her parents decided to split, and her father tried to get her to move to Washington state with him.

She fought and fought because they waited until the last minute to tell her. They weren’t truthful, and you hadn’t been truthful either. More importantly, in both situations, she had been right.

“The y/n I know, can’t draw a gun like that, and doesn’t come home covered in bruises, and doesn’t flinch into action at every little noise. The y/n I know wouldn’t have lied to me in the first place. So, what is going on?”

“Can we… sit?”

You didn’t entirely trust the strength of your legs right now. Parts of you were sore, you had realized that as you climbed the stairs. You could feel them trembling now and fought the urge to curl up on the carpet that was right under your feet.

“I’m fine standing.”

“A drink, then? It’s uh, it’s five somewhere, right?”

“y/n.”

“Right, yes. I know.”

And you did know, but only to a certain extent. If Monica hadn’t gone to Darcy, would you have? It was a single night of drunken lovemaking followed by a less-than-graceful exit into the cold of autumn. There was a tightness to seeing her again, and the underlying fear that this would happen. But so many things were happening.

“I am sorry that I haven’t been truthful with you, but you have to believe me, it was for your own safety. For Ronnie’s safety. I would never lie without a good reason.”

“Well, that’s subjective, isn’t it?” Darcy’s breathed “You always think you know what’s best for me, what’s best to hide from me. But you don’t know what I can handle.”

Okay, you absolutely needed that drink. Darcy wasn’t going to leave now, not without answers she was pushing so hard for. Ronnie was getting too tall for her own good, so you hid the good liquor in the cabinet above the fridge.

Bourbon, warm or not, was your choice and right now you couldn’t bother with ice, just a mug that you had gotten from a thrift store. It was from Cabo and had a little white sand beach and a flamingo wearing sunglasses on the front. You’d never been to Cabo.

The first sip went down burning, and the second soothed the first. “I took a loan.”

“Like, from a bank?”

“From a shark. Technically. They don’t call them that, but that’s what they are. I didn’t realize it at the time, or else I wouldn’t have, but I was already two months behind on rent and I refused to ask you to cover me again. That’s not your responsibility. You already do so much for me and Ronnie.”

She opened her mouth to object, to rush in and say that she would have given you anything and you knew she would. But that didn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t have asked her in the first place.

“I didn’t pay them back in time and they weren’t very lenient. They took me under their custody to persuade me into coming up with the money.”

“Persuade? Their custody?”

“Kidnapped… beat within an inch of death. Whatever way you look at it, I was on their bad side.”

With horrible judgement you filled up another two fingers of whisky, only swallowing half but making eye contact with Darcy as you had done so. Simmering behind her deep blue stare was a mix of pity you were desperate to avoid. It soon dwindled back into discontent and that made you want to continue.

“I was spared on account that I wasn’t their usual clientele. Natasha, she called me… shit, what was it? An oversight? I was a blip in the system. I wasn’t supposed to happen and for that reason, and that reason alone, she offered me an ultimatum.”

Darcy sidled up to the counter that rested like a drawn line between you both. Her fingers tapped nervously on the surface but some of the tension had drained from her shoulders. “Natasha? That.. woman from the fair? The one with Clint?”

“Oh, Clint, you remember?” You smiled.

“He’s strong. Rugged.” She shrugged, frowning “That’s not the point. You’re telling me he’s a part of this sharking business? You’re telling me you let a known criminal that close to your daughter? To me?”

“I get how that sounds bad, Dee, but he’s really not a horrible guy. He’s a father himself and you’re right. You’re right. It’s not the point.” You swallowed the second half of your drink and placed the novelty mug in the sink to stop yourself from polishing off more of the bottle. “They gave me an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum?”

“I could kill myself working at the diner everyday for the rest of my life. Twelve-hour shifts with most of the funds feeding right back into their palms. It would take decades to give back the money I took from them. Or, I could work for Natasha and pay off my debts in a quarter of the time.”

Silence filled the room. The only type of silence that you knew, that was filled with the sounds of the city. Your neighbors to the left were having a fight that seemed bigger than the one you and Darcy had now. A boombox blasted reggae music across the street and certain beats bled through the thin glass windows.

You swallowed the acrid flavor on your tongue. “For the last four months instead of the diner, I have been with Natasha. With Clint. They’ve been teaching me, and at first, I hated every single second of it. I was scared for… for weeks. But, Darcy, I’m starting to enjoy it and that scares me more than anything.”

“I need to sit down,” She mumbled.

“I offered,”

“I know.”

She flopped down onto the sofa that folded out into a bed. You’d slept there for a month when Darcy’s apartment was being fumigated and you refused to make her take the couch. It was hell on your back, but Ronnie had never been happier to wake up to the both of you each morning.

It carried a familiar clean scent. Darcy pulled a blanket into her lap and ran her fingers over the bumps in stitching. You cautiously lowered yourself down next to her, starting to feel the effects of an empty stomach and too much liquor for the afternoon. You were suddenly nauseous and starving all at once.

“There’s more,” Darcy said, “What you just told me was a lot, but there’s more. I know you, y/n, and I’m giving you an opportunity here to tell me everything.”

You sighed, slumping on the couch. You could feel the bar in the center of the couch push against your spine. There was a crack in the ceiling next to a gray and brown water stain that looked like a Rorschach test.

“Natasha. I think I’m in love with her.” You could hear Darcy turn her head with a dizzying quickness. “I’m not supposed to be, it’s the last thing I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to be protecting her and that’s incredibly hard to do when I’m distracted by her eyes.”

Darcy was laughing and it lightened the mood in the room. The tension was still thick enough to slice with a knife, but it was enough to get you to look at her. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“The worst.”

“You really think this is what’s best, huh? Putting yourself into the line of fire like this? Handling a gun?”

“I do. I really, really do.” You picked up her hand, relieved that she didn’t pull away so you squeezed it, just to make sure that it was real. That she hadn’t run at the first sign of trouble. “I always tell Ronnie that I’d get us out of here one day. All of us. And I never knew how to do that on $2.00 an hour.”

Darcy sighed heavily; she leaned her head on your shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know. But some risks you just have to take.”

The sun had broken through the clouds for the first time in days. It streamed through the windows of Natasha’s private office, nestled at the back of the large house. In the past week, you had been here twice and each time your heart thudded impossibly fast.

This time, she had summoned you before you were through the doors for your normal shift. There were no extra caveats. You weren’t meant to head down to the docks, or to one of the many storefronts that were rented from the Romanoff family. Instead, you were simply meant to be here.

The home was empty, you knew from the lack of cars that were outside. Natasha’s was the only one in the lot besides yours. There was a certain quiet to the day and the French doors that led to her private office were ajar to strengthen the airflow.

She was focused on the work in front of her, hair in a messy bun and two strands falling from her haphazard job. There were black frame glasses on her face. Her face was scrunched up in a frankly adorable expression. It softened when she glanced up and saw you, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Much to your dismay, she removed her glasses “Come in, close the doors behind you.”

You did as you were told, letting them fall with the subtle shake of the blinds. They’d been closed but a small stream of golden light was splayed across Natasha’s desk. It caught the intensity of her eyes, the sharp green color that only came out when she was surrounded by these walls.

“Sit,”

Obediently, you moved to do so, pulling one of the leather chairs out from its spot on the other side of the desk. You felt shame, despite last night. She was still your boss, still the person you were meant to protect. That’s what you were being altered for.

“Not there.”

You lifted your eyebrows, halting in your spot. Natasha pushed back in her rolling chair, ever so slightly. She gestured vaguely to her lap. She can’t be serious? This had to be some type of test? It didn’t seem like one. You certainly wouldn’t mind having her arms wrapped around you, her scent enveloping, intoxicating.

Cautiously, you did as you were told, lowering yourself onto Natasha’s lap. There was an overwhelming warmth, a destined comfort to being in her arms, so much safety in the simple gesture of her pulling you close.

She guided your chin until your lips were close to hers, not quite touching. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” You responded before closing the distance. She hummed into the kiss, her tongue running over her lips, against the roof of your mouth. You could taste her morning coffee and a hint of mint.

“I missed you.”

“It’s been two days,”

She hummed, pressing her cold nose against your throat. The weekends were reserved for relaxation, and as much as you wanted to stay with Natasha in this giant house, you had a life within the city; a daughter, friends, responsibility.

“I don’t want you work for me anymore.”

You frowned and pulled slightly away from her, your arms still circling her neck. This certainly had to be a test but there was no indication to such on her face. She had nothing but a tender expression, a quiet one that left no room for argument, but you weren’t built like that.

“What?”

“I,” Natasha dipped her gaze, pressing her forehead against your cheek. Her words were a whisper. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You can’t get hurt if I don’t put you in the line of fire.”

There were a few moments of silence aside from the large clock on one of the bookshelves that clicked with each passing second. Natasha had never been vulnerable with you like this. There had been moments of soft expressions, but never this.

Gently, you lifted her chin, forcing her to look at you. “Natasha, I can’t do that. I can’t just stop protecting you. It’s all I’ve been training for these last months.”

“I want to offer you something more, y/n. You and Ronnie both. I want you to have a home here… with me.”

You breathed her in, your forehead against hers. Your eyes were closed, but you could feel her watching you for any kind of reaction, anything that would give your feelings away. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture making your shudder against her.

“I want that too. But more than anything, I want to keep you safe. I still want this. I still want to be there for you like I have been. Behind you every step of the way.” You chuckled sadly, “While being a trophy girlfriend sounds amazing, I want to earn my keep.”

Natasha smiled at you, “Girlfriend? That’s quite the title.”

“I mean it,” you played with her necklace, an equally as small gold chain. “I want to keep training. Girlfriend or not. If you’re going to keep me around.”

She moved forward, kissed against the small expanse of skin behind your ear, down the side of your neck. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mmhm, but I was serious about you and Ronnie.” She pulled back, brushing her thumb over your flushed cheek. “I like you, y/n. You make me happy.”

Before you could respond, her lips were against yours again, her hands tracing up your sides. You were well aware of how close the two of you were, of how easy it was to get heated in this position, of Natasha’s cold fingertips as they ghosted under the hem of your shirt.

“I brought pizza from that place on the corner that you like,” You balanced the large and greasy box on your hip. It wasn’t your favorite place, the man behind the counter was always rude and the line was out the door. But it was for good reason, you had to admit, because the food was always delicious and made you forget about all the complications.

Darcy ate pineapple on her half the pizza like a criminal. You and Veronica were content with pepperoni, but you’d have to sprinkle extra parmesan cheese on her slices, cutting them into small pieces and providing her with a fork.

There was quiet to Darcy’s apartment. One that reminded you of the many times you had pulled your weapon in preparation. Your hands were full with the box, with a plastic bag filled with off-brand soda and two-dollar movies that were on the shelf at the corner store.

You struggle to swallow your own fear at the sight that lies in front of you. The television is muted, but a cartoon continues to cast the living room in a pale, blue light. Darcy is sprawled on the couch, her chest rising and falling in what seems to be a heavy sleep.

The light above the oven is on and the kitchen table is far from unoccupied. Ronnie looks up at your entrance, content with the array of markers, colored pencils, and crayons that are scattered in front of her.

Carol Danvers sits in an adjacent chair, working on staying in the lines of her own picture. You weren’t close enough to see what she had drawn, but based on her track-record you were sure it was something ghastly.

Monica Rambeau sat in the recliner, a mug of something steaming in her hand. Her eyes were trained on the television despite the lack of sound. They didn’t flick to you when you entered. She was confident that you weren’t going to make a move. Cocky.

“Is that from Ginos?” Carol asked, capping the marker that she was using. “God, they have the best pizza.”

“Yeah, it is.” You whispered.

Cautiously, you let the door close behind you. With an almost domestic way about you, you set the box and the bags down on the counter before wiping the sweat on your jeans. You made quick eye contact with Monica. She nodded at you, regarded you quietly.

“Sit, I was just telling Veronica that she’s very good at coloring. You’ve got a real artist on your hands, Y/n.”

“So, I’ve been told.” You sat down, keeping both of your hands on the table. Kate told you that it was a sign of trust. That if you were quick enough, and she was sure that you were, it wouldn’t matter how far away your weapon was. “What did you do to Darcy?”

“Oh, she’s just so exhausted. Sometimes working a nine-to-five will just take it right out of you. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning after some much needed rest.”

You nodded; mouth incredibly dry. Carol was watching you carefully. She had scribbled something that looked like a mass of color but the more you stared, just like the stain on the ceiling in your own apartment, the more it looked like something more.

She laughed, shaking her head “I’m afraid I’m not as good of an artist as your daughter.”

Ronnie looked at you, her eyes searching your face. It was easy to read her. You had for years. There was curiosity there, but no fear. Carol had probably led with something along the lines of I’m friends with your mother.

Or maybe it had been Monica who forced her way in first. She’d wandered into the kitchen and opened the box of food. Her nose scrunched up at the prospect of fruit on pizza, but she made quick work of picking off the offensive items.

Carol pushed the sheet of paper close to you. “Tell me, y/n, what do you see?”

“I… I don’t know. It looks like a duck.” She lifted her eyebrows, looking or more, and you confidently pointed to each element. “The beak is right here, and the eye is here.”

“Right.” Carol made a swift movement and flipped the photo. “What does it look like now?”

For someone that claimed not to have a good eye for art, Carol sure had a high opinion of a diagram she’d created with a few waxy crayons. It wasn’t the best drawn creature, but you got the general idea.

“A rabbit.”

Carol beamed at you and it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Clever one, aren’t you? Do you see how the world can be viewed in more than one way? To you, this could be a duck, or a rabbit, or just a poorly drawn abstract painting.”

“It’s very well done.”

“Don’t flatter me. I know what I’m capable of. I know what I’m up against. More importantly, I need you to know that sometimes, perspective can change everything.” She leaned back in her chair, rolling a crayon under her fingertips. “The Romanoff family is on the wrong side of an ongoing war, and by association, so are you.”

Veronica got out of her chair then, finally losing interest in the activity that was given to her. Monica and Carol tensed, as did you. But your daughter gave you a look that indicated television. Something else to occupy her mind. You let out a shaky breath.

“Sure, baby. Keep it low, okay?”

She nodded at you and scrambled over to the living room. There were soft noises from the cartoons afterwards. She sat patiently close to the screen to she could hear. She minded you well, hugging a throw-pillow close to her chest.

“It was very easy to track you down. Did you know that? Almost as easy to get in here, to have full access to your life. The life you had before you met Natasha Romanoff.” Carol reached into her coat pocket, she pulled out a business card. “You need to choose a side. If you’re going to stick around in this town, you need to choose a side, or get better locks.”

She left it on the table along with the smattering of art supplies and her crudely drawn photo that was supposed to teach you about perspective. Though, you were certain you knew all you needed to. There wasn’t even a question.

Carol stood and gestured for Monica to follow. She clapped you on the shoulder before she left, her words just the quietest of whispers. “I understand her allure, y/n. But there’s more than one force to deal with in this city.”

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wmarximoff · 2 years

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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|

༺ᱬ༻

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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lowkeyerror · 1 year

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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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denwritesandcries · 4 months

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ugh, the urge to write for a certain character but their fandom/tags are practically dead

#jessica jones x reader #darcy lewis x reader #maria hill x reader #sidney prescott x reader #monica rambeau x reader #valkyrie x reader

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sycamorelibrary754 · 2 months

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Guardian Angel

Chapter 9: When in Rome

Summary: I have no idea how to summarize this chapter besides saying buckle up. 🫣

Warnings: Danger, angst, claustrophobia.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: My apologies for how long it took to get this chapter posted. I wanted to take my time on it because it’s essential to the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy it!

Guardian Angel Masterlist

You walked into your room, anxiously shutting the door behind you. Your mind races as you pace back and forth. Running your fingers through your hair, you struggle to comprehend why Onyx Petroleum would be interested in Sokovian land. Your mental spiral is interrupted by a knock on your door, followed by Tony's voice asking if you're okay. You open the door, and the billionaire walks in, quickly shutting the door behind him.

"I can't believe I didn't clock it before," Tony said, holding up the newspaper. "Those con artists from Onyx Petroleum are your parents - sorry."

You force a smile and respond, "It's okay. They deserve the title, trust me."

"I know firsthand," Tony muttered.

“You know my parents?”

“Your father was a regular visitor of the Stark Expo in the old days.” You're taken aback, wondering how you never knew that. “Dear old dad rarely spoke to me growing up, but I remember he once said that Y/F/N Y/L/N was the only person who made him believe that humanity was doomed to extinction.”

“Sounds about right,” you said.

“Oh, and then," he recounted, "A few years ago at a September Foundation grant presentation at Cal Tech. Your mother, as usual, was doing her thing - schmoozing with everyone. She cornered Pepper and started rambling about how a partnership between Onyx Petroleum and Stark Industries could transform the global oil exploration and production industry. Pepper kindly reminded her that Stark Industries no longer partners with companies or individuals that harm the environment or the population. So your mother called Pepper a fraud and threw her drink in her face! Can you believe that?"

You sigh as you sit down on the edge of the bed, “Unfortunately, yes.”

"Any idea what this is about?" Tony asked, holding up the paper again.

You shake your head, saying, "No clue. They've never shown any interest in foreign oil.”

"Do you have access to anything that would give us insights into their business dealings?" Tony inquired.

You shake your head again, feeling helpless. "Not anymore. My parents removed me from all of their bank accounts and company mainframes when they kicked me out," you say with a huff, throwing yourself back onto the bed. “I don’t get it. Sokovia was destroyed. What’s left for them to find.”

“Vibranium.”

“What?” You said as you sat up. “That doesn't make sense. Sokovia was a war zone.”

“What do you think they were fighting over?” the billionaire asked rhetorically.

“How do you know this, Tony?”

“After Ultron's attack on Sokovia and the subsequent sinking of Navi Grad, FRIDAY performed an extensive deep-sea mapping of the ocean—every square centimeter. Seven hundred thousand images were captured at a depth of almost 4,000 meters,” Tony explained, tapping the screen on his watch. “The mapping exercise was aimed at locating the submerged remnants of the destroyed city and ensuring the safety of any underwater vehicles or divers exploring the area. Doing so would provide insights into the underwater topography of the region and assist in the reconstruction efforts.”

You rise to your feet as a hologram of the 3D map materializes before your eyes.

“Instead, FRIDAY found something else,” Tony explained, shifting pieces back and forth through the air. “Outside of Wakanda, Sokovia has the largest natural vein of Vibranium anywhere in the world, but no one has been able to mine it yet because…,” zooming in on the composite. “It’s underwater.”

You studied the 3D image carefully, trying to comprehend how Onyx Petroleum would go about mining the most potent substance on Earth.

“This much Vibranium in anyone’s hands is frightening,” Tony said. “In the hands of a company notorious for unethical business practices, it’s perilous.”

“Does Wanda know?” Your mind was racing with concern for your girlfriend.

“No, and I don’t think we should tell her,” closing the hologram.

“What? Why not? She has a right to know! It was her home. We can’t just—“

"Easy, Willy Wonka," Tony said. "I know she needs to know, but we need more information before we can act. I need to do some more research and figure out the next steps. In the meantime, tell the rest of the team what we know. Wanda is running point on a full-team, large-scale mission the day after tomorrow, and it benefits no one for her to be distracted, right?"

You nod hesitantly in agreement, still processing everything. "Trust me, Y/N. If we take our eyes off the ball, bad things happen. We need to be strategic and focused if we're going to keep everyone safe."

After a moment of silence, you let out a heavy sigh. "Okay, you're right," you concede, looking down at your hands. "I just don't feel good about keeping this from Wanda. We've always been honest with each other, and I don't want to ruin that."

Tony places a reassuring hand on your back. "You're not lying to her. You're just postponing the truth to protect her," he explains calmly.

You slowly nod, taking in his words. It made sense, in a way. But the guilt still lingered in your mind, gnawing at you. You knew that, eventually, you'd have to come clean.

*^~^*

You stirred from your sleep two days later, but the uneasy feeling in your stomach lingered. Your conversation with Tony was still vivid in your mind. You peered outside and saw SHIELD agents hustling and bustling around the grounds. You felt lost, unsure of what to do or where to be, so you did your best to keep a low profile and stay out of everyone's way. This was your first time seeing a mission play out before you. Sure, team members had come and gone before in the three months you had been living at the Avengers Compound, but being so focused on your recovery, you hadn’t paid that close attention.

FRIDAY interrupted your train of thought as you stood by the window. “Ms. Y/L/N,” she said, “Ms. Maximoff requests your presence in The Overwatch.”

You were confused. “The Overwatch? Where’s that, FRIDAY?”

“I’ll escort you there, Ms. Y/L/N,” FRIDAY said, opening the elevator doors.

As you stepped into the elevator, you noticed it was going down. The compartment sprang to life, and you counted at least three floors before it finally stopped. The door opened, revealing a futuristic virtual command center. Wanda stood with her back to you, looking up at a wall of monitors.

You couldn't help but exclaim, "Wow!"

Wanda turned at the sound of your voice, and her smile was enough to melt you into a puddle. "Impressive, isn't it?" she said.

You nodded, still in awe of the sight. "What is this place?"

"This is The Overwatch," Wanda explained. "It's a command center that allows Fury or other Avengers who aren't on a mission to provide support in real-time."

You walked over to where Wanda was standing. "It's only used when everyone gets called away or on big-scale operations," she added.

You looked up at the bank of monitors, each displaying a name in the corner. Your eyes quickly found Natasha's, labeled N. Romanoff. Next to her, you spotted T. Stark, S. Rogers, B. Banner, T. Odinson, C. Barton, B. Barnes, S. Wilson, K. Bishop, Y. Belova, P. Parker, and C. Danvers.

"Am I even allowed to be in here?” You asked.

"Technically, no," Wanda replied with a smirk, "but this is my first time running point on a mission, and I could use the company."

Curiosity getting the better of you, you asked, "Who are they after?"

"Unfortunately, that information is classified," Wanda replied, typing away on the keyboard and pulling up a map, "but I can tell you they are in Europe."

"Well, that narrows it down," you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Wanda sighed and sat before the command module, motioning for you to join her. "I wish I could tell you more," she said, "it's so much more stressful sitting in here than being out in the field with the team."

You tried encouraging her, saying, "Hey, at least you're safe here."

“Yes, but I feel so helpless," Wanda admitted while monitoring the team's vital signs. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to Fury for agreeing to let me ease back into the swing of things, but the loss of control scares me.”

The tense atmosphere was palpable in the comms as Steve's voice cut through, "Wanda, we're on our final approach. ETA, 30 seconds."

Natasha's raspy voice chimed in, "How are we looking?"

"The approach is clear—five guards in the courtyard outside the building.

"I got it," Tony interjected. You heard muffled groans on the other end of the comms as Tony dismantled the threat in a matter of seconds. "We're clear outside."

Everyone, turn on your body cameras," Wanda commanded as the monitors rose to life, giving you a first-person point of view of what everyone on the team was seeing.

"Nat, the security office is two doors down on your left," Wanda directed.

"Noted, I'm on my way," Natasha confirmed.

"When do I go in?" Peter's voice sounded eager on the comms.

"Hold your position, Spider-Boy," Yelena said. "Patience is key."

"Yeah, Peter. You're too eager. Just slow your roll and wait for the signal," Kate Bishop said.

"So is being quiet, Kate Bishop." Yelena cut in again.

I can't believe this is happening," you said involuntarily.

"Shh," Wanda whispers.

"Who is that?" Thor asks as he catches his hammer flying towards his monitor screen.

"Is that Y/N?" Carol asked between shots.

"No, it's not," Wanda lied to protect you.

"It is Y/N! What are you doing in The Overwatch, Willy Wonka?" Tony asked.

“Aww, they’re having a date night,” Clint joked sarcastically as you watched an arrow fly away from his camera and out of sight.

"Everyone, please be quiet. You're clogging the comms," Bucky demands irritably.

"Let's all be civil," Sam adds.

“I concur,” Bruce agreed.

"How are we doing, Nat?" Steve asked as he knocked out another security guard.

"I'm bypassing the firewall, Natahsa replied, typing away on the keyboard. “There. The Iris Detectors are down.”

"On my signal," Wanda spoke calmly. "Disabling the dome cameras in 3, 2, 1. Go.”

Sitting in front of the bank of monitors, you found yourself momentarily bewildered. You weren't sure which of the screens to focus on as the team moved in unison. Each one displayed a different angle of the action, and you didn't want to miss a single moment of what was unfolding before you. You watched with bated breath as they efficiently made their way through the building, their movements purposeful and precise. It was a sight to behold - you had never seen such determination and skill in your entire life.

Despite seeing footage of the Avengers on the news over the years, watching them firsthand was an entirely different experience. You felt incredibly fortunate to be able to call them your friends. As they worked towards the second level, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe wash over you. These were some of the most powerful beings on the planet, and yet they were risking their lives to protect others. It was a humbling and inspiring sight to behold.

As the team entered the building, you watched Bucky effortlessly kick in a door. "I'm in the lab," he announced, his voice calm and collected.

Tony's voice crackled through the comms, "Do you see the mainframe?"

"There's two, which one is it?" Bucky replied, scanning the room.

"Open the silver panel," Tony instructed.

With a few hard pulls, Bucky managed to pry off the front of the mainframe. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass filled the air as Carol crashed through a nearby window with a guard's arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Without hesitation, Bucky turned to assist her. "Keep going! I got this," Carol shouted, her voice slightly strained.

Tony's voice cut through the chaos, "You should see the mainframe HiperSockets that provide high-speed TCP/IP connectivity within the central processor complex."

"For fuck's sake, in English, Tony!" Bucky shouted, his frustration palpable.

"Language,” Steve reprimanded.

An alarm began to blare as red lights flashed, signaling the imminent arrival of more guards.

"Bucky and Carol, eight more guards are heading your way," Wanda's voice sounded over the comms. "Thor, you're the closest."

"I'll be right there," Thor answered.

You watched as The God of Thunder bounded down the stairs and into the lab. In a thunderous flash, he took out all eight guards, leaving the room eerily silent.

"Cut the blue cable!" Tony finally shouted.

Bucky pulled out a pocket knife and quickly sliced through the blue cable.

The rest of the team arrived on the scene, and the lights inside the mainframe went out, plunging the room into darkness.

"How do we know for sure it's down?" Kate asked, her voice laced with concern.

Natasha fired three gunshots into the mainframe, causing the container to smoke.

"That ought to do it," she said, lowering her gun.

"Well done, everyone," Wanda praised. "I'm no longer seeing a heat signature from your location, which means the building is offline."

"Thanks, Wanda. Nice job on the point," Steve said. "We'll reconvene at 1800 hours to go over Phase Two."

Wanda looked exhausted as she removed her earpiece. The monitors had gone dark again; she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to calm herself down. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and looked at you.

"Wow, sweetheart. That was amazing! I've never seen anything like that in my life. You were great,” you said, touching her shoulder.

Wanda smiled weakly, feeling a sense of satisfaction mixed with exhaustion. "Thanks," she said, "it was touch and go. But I'm glad they were able to get the job done."

You nodded in agreement. "Are all the missions that intense?"

Wanda thought for a moment before answering. "Not all of them," she said, "but this is one of the most challenging ones we've had in a while. But that's what we're trained for, right?"

“Do you miss it? Being out there, I mean,” you asked hesitantly.

Wanda’s expression was pensive as she spoke, her gaze fixed on the ground. "It's a complicated situation," she began slowly. "On the one hand, I don't want to leave my boys. After we lost their father, I made a promise to Billy and Tommy that I would always be there for them, no matter what." She paused for a moment as if lost in thought. "But on the other hand," she continued, her voice growing softer, "sometimes I feel like I'm denying who I am. Like my magic knows, I’m turning away from that part of myself.”

As you sat beside Wanda, you suddenly realized something that had never occurred to you before – you had never seen her use her powers. You searched your memory for any instance where you had witnessed her abilities in action, but you drew a blank. The only thing you could recall was being in her arms after the accident before you passed out, but even then, you couldn't remember if she had used her magic to keep you safe.

You took a deep breath and reached out to hold her hand. "I know we've never talked about this, but is there a reason you've never used your magic in front of me?" you asked, your voice gentle and curious. You hoped she wouldn't take offense to your question, but you couldn't help feeling a little curious about this aspect of her life that she had kept hidden from you.

"I was wondering when you would finally ask me about this,” Wanda sighed softly. “Since Westview, I have had difficulty trusting myself to use my powers safely. I lost control in a way that I never have before, Y/N, and the thought of putting anyone through that again is unbearable." Her voice was tinged with remorse and sadness as she continued, "I don't want to be a danger to those around me or myself. I’m afraid to use my magic again, and I don't know how to overcome that fear."

As you stroked her hand, you spoke reassuringly to Wanda. "I know you're feeling guilty about what happened in Westview, but that was only one aspect of your powers. You've done so much more good in the world than bad, and the magic that courses through you is a testament to that. Remember all the times you used your abilities to save lives, protect innocent people, and bring hope to those in need. That is the true measure of who you are, Wanda. Don't let a single mistake define you or your legacy."

Wanda nodded as she looked at you. “Thank you, Y/N,” wiping the tears away that threatened to fall. “I know I can’t avoid using them forever,” she looked around the room, “I also know I can’t hide down here for the rest of my life.”

“Why don’t you show me?”

“What?”

“Show me your powers. Come on, let’s see what you got, sweetheart. It’s just us, and we’re three floors underground. Nothing can go wrong, I promise.”

She looked at you hesitantly before she finally agreed, “Okay.”

Wanda rose from her seat and walked to the middle of the room. She took a deep, cleansing breath, held out her left palm, and began slowly circling it with her right hand. You watched as an orb of red energy materialized in her palm. Pointing her hand in your direction, you felt the chair you were sitting in move underneath you as you quickly rolled across the room and stopped on a dime in front of the redhead.

“Woah,” you said in amazement.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she smirked.

Slowly but surely, she rose above you, her body glowing with a vibrant, otherworldly red magic that seemed to envelop you completely. Despite your shock, you felt a sense of calm wash over you as you basked in the warmth and comfort of the magic surrounding you. It was as if Wanda had wrapped you in a cocoon of pure energy, and you felt safe and protected in her presence. Her eyes were fixed on you, glowing like twin stars in the night sky. For the first time, you knew without a doubt that you were in the presence of a powerful being beyond your understanding. Yet, despite her immense power, she was your Wanda—gentle and kind.

The redhead reached down and gently touched your cheek. For a moment, you closed your eyes and basked in the warmth of her touch. You couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same sense of warmth and safety with you that you felt with her.

I do, Y/N," Wanda said with nothing but adoration in her eyes.

You were confused and asked, "Do what?"

"Feel the same warmth and safety you feel with me," she replied.

You wondered, "I, did I - I don't think I said that out loud, did I?"

"I heard your thoughts, love," she answered.

You repeated, "You heard me - you can hear my thoughts? Oh, God."

Wanda reassured you, "Oh no, no, Y/N. It's okay. This was the first time I've ever listened to your thoughts. Outside of work, I never invade anyone's privacy that way and never would with you without your permission or unless it was an emergency."

The redhead reached for you as she floated down. The red magic swirling around your joined hands.

"That was incredible, sweetheart. I know it will take some time, but don't hide this part of yourself away. It's wonderful.”

The sudden sound of the elevator whirring through the walls startled Wanda, breaking her concentration and causing her to dismiss her red magic hastily. "Shit! Quick, hide in that storage cabinet," she urgently whispered, pushing you towards the stainless steel structure.

"What?! Why?" You asked, confused and alarmed.

"I told you, you're not technically supposed to be here. The security clearance is off the charts," Wanda explained as she urged you towards the cabinet.

You sprinted towards the cabinet and quickly shut the door just as Maria exited the elevator. "Hey, Wanda. Great job on Phase One. Everything looks good on our end," she said, scrolling through her tablet.

“Thanks,” Wanda said, nervously tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear as Maria continued.

"I'm going to go brief Fury, but I'll be back for the check-in call at 6 pm to discuss Phase Two."

"Okay, see you in a bit," Wanda replied, relieved she hadn't noticed you.

As Maria stepped back into the elevator, she teasingly called, "Oh, and Wanda? If Y/N is going to be down here with you, at least give her a key card."

Wanda blushed at being caught. "I don't know what you're talking about," she fibbed.

"Of course, you don't," The Deputy Director chuckled. "Ask her to bring some Candy Bar chocolate for us later when she comes out from the storage cabinet," she added with a giggle as the doors closed.

You cautiously opened the door to the cabinet and stepped out, your cheeks reddening as you met Wanda's embarrassed gaze. She fished a blank white key card out of her pocket and handed it to you. "Here, now you can legally be down here with me."

You took the card and turned it over in your hands.

"Thanks," you said softly. “Tell Maria I'll bring some chocolate truffles later," you winked.

"Hmm, sounds good," Wanda smiled, leaning in to give you a gentle peck on the lips.

*^~^*

You arrived back at The Overwatch a few hours later, your white key card and a bag of truffles in hand. Maria was sitting next to Wanda in front of the wall of monitors. You sat down next to the redhead, passing the bag of chocolates to Maria.

"Aww, Y/N. How did you know? This is exactly what I wanted."

"Shut up,” you smirked. “So, what's happening here?" As you pointed toward the dark screens.

"We had the check-in call about forty-five minutes ago, and Steve should be reporting in any minute to confirm they've reached the target,” Wanda explained.

As if on cue, Steve's camera turned on, followed by the rest of the team. "Speak of the devil!” Maria exclaimed.

You could tell immediately that the team was in an underground passage, evidenced by the rough stone masonry surrounding them. Their footsteps echoed through the tunnel, adding an eerie quality to the tense atmosphere.

"Hey, Cap, you ready to go?" Maria asked, glancing up at the screen.

"Affirmative," Steve replied. “Although some of us are feeling a bit claustrophobic."

"Speak for yourself,” Clint chimed in.

"Tony, you want to take that one?" Wanda asked, typing away on her keyboard.

"Sure thing, Red," Tony replied. "Everyone, reach inside your suit pockets. You should find an object the size of one of Morgan's Legos."

Yelena, ever the skeptic, held up the miniature object Tony had referred to. "What the fuck is this?" she asked, her voice laced with annoyance.

"Language," Steve admonished.

"Oh, tell it to someone who cares," Yelena retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Sestra," Nat scolded, her voice echoing through the tunnels.

"It's a bit of technology I borrowed from our friendly neighborhood ant, and subsequently made even better,” Tony smirked. "Press the button on the top."

As one, the team pressed the button, and a small oxygen mask grew to fit in their hands.

"And we couldn't have worn these on the walk down here because?" Sam asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Because they only have a 24-hour oxygen supply," Tony explained. "We need to conserve as much as possible."

"Do I have to wear this?" Carol asked. "I can breathe in space. I'm pretty sure I'm fine down here."

"The vacuum of space is very different from underground," Maria said. "We don't want to take any chances. Put it on, please, Danvers."

“Why doesn’t the billionaire genius have to wear an oxygen mask?” She asked.

“There’s an oxygen supply built into the suit,” Tony smirked.

With a resigned sigh, Carol donned the mask, and the rest of the team followed suit. Wanda went over the topography of the catacomb, identifying key landmarks and intricacies that could help them navigate the maze-like structure safely.

In a hushed tone, you turned to Maria and asked, "Have they ever had an underground mission before?"

Maria shook her head and replied, "No, not like this. This is completely uncharted territory for them.”

"Okay, as we discussed," Steve said, pointing to the left. "Group one with me down the left tunnel; group two with Tony down the right tunnel."

As you observed intently, you saw each group setting off towards their designated directions, down the ancient corridors. The walls were adorned with intricate archways, illuminated by sporadic pockets of light that added to the mystique of the surroundings.

“Mr. Stark, this is amazing! Have you looked at these carvings and art? Easily third century—” Peter started.

“This isn’t a history field trip,” Natasha interrupted. “Pay attention to your surroundings.”

The group had been walking through a tunnel for some time when, without warning, felt the ground beneath their feet shake. A low and ominous grumbling noise echoed through the air, and everyone was thrown into the tunnel walls.

"FRIDAY, what's happening?" Tony asked urgently.

"Accessing the wave radar and enhancing the thermogenic signature," FRIDAY responded.

“Do you feel that too, Steve?” Wanda asked

Steve grunted as he struggled to regain his balance. "Yeah, is it an earthquake?" he asked.

"It's an energy surge, Boss," FRIDAY replied to Tony. "A core reactor holds together the primary stabilization of the tunnel structure."

"That's not first-century tech," Peter mumbled, face down on the ground.

Kate helped him up. "Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock."

Just as the group was getting back on their feet, Sam's voice cut through the tense silence.

"Hey! Hold it!" he shouted.

"What is it, Wilson?" Tony asked.

"Someone is watching us at the end of this tunnel," Sam exclaimed as he ran ahead of the group.

"Sam, wait!” Steve shouted.

"Lock onto Wilson," Maria said, standing up.

Wanda quickly shifted to Sam's primary camera and enlarged the visual. The mystery figure took two quick turns to the left as if they knew exactly where they were going. A third turn to the right, and Sam lost sight of the man for a split second. Looking around quickly, but to no avail, he said, "I lost them."

"How will he get back to the rest of the group?" You asked.

"Good question, Y/N," Sam replied.

Maria glared over at you. "Sorry, I keep forgetting they can hear me too."

"Sam, you're closer to Tony than Steve," Wanda said. "I'm pinging his tracker right now. Two lefts and a right should do it. And Steve and company, follow your tunnel about a half a mile down and then take a right, and you should meet up with everyone else."

The team wandered through the catacomb tunnel in silence, only the sound of their breathing and the stone under their feet breaking the stillness. When they were finally reunited, Tony broke the silence, "Okay, new plan. We're staying together."

Peter quickly agreed, "I'm with Tony on this one."

Yelena, standing nearby, murmured to Kate, "Color me surprised."

“Oxygen masks stay on, Nat,” Maria said pointedly.

"Yes, detka,” Natasha replied.

Yelena couldn't resist mocking her sister, "Yes, detka," she repeated sarcastically. But before she could carry on, Natasha pinched her arm, causing her to yelp in pain.

Thor shouted, "Knock it off, Lady Widows!"

Wanda added, "Thor is right. The catacomb can be disorienting, but you need to keep moving. Tony, I'm reviewing the National Geophysical Data Center records to assess your declination value and sending them to FRIDAY. Keep true north."

You turned to Maria, puzzled, "What did she say?" Having no clue what your girlfriend was talking about.

"They should turn right," Maria whispered.

You watched as everyone walked in a single-file line to the right, trying their best to keep their footing on the uneven stone. Suddenly, a second energy surge echoed loudly through the comms, causing everyone to turn their cameras downwards. Your heart raced as you gasped at the sight of cracks quickly forming between everyone's legs. Before anyone could react, the ground gave way beneath them, accompanied by screams and the sound of broken gravel.

Maria gasped, and Wanda put her hands over her mouth in shock.

"Oh my God!" You exclaimed. "What the hell just happened?"

Wanda asked urgently, "Steve? Tony? Can you hear me?"

Maria followed with a shaky voice, "Natasha? Come in! Anyone?"

"Shit," she said anxiously, picking up the phone in front of her. "All SHIELD agents, Romeo, Echo, Delta."

"FRIDAY, Code Red. Initiate Emergency Protocol 3000," Wanda ordered, running back towards the elevator and flipping a red switch under a glass cover.

"Compound shutdown initiated. Director Fury and Mrs. Stark have been notified and are en route to The Overwatch," FRIDAY responded.

You stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do with yourself. The shock of what you had just witnessed was so intense that your vision started to blur, and you felt as though you were about to pass out. Suddenly, you felt someone's arms on your shoulders, and you jumped slightly.

"Y/N? Y/N, love, stay with me, okay?" Wanda said, her voice soothing.

You looked up at her and then back at the monitors, pointing at them with a shaking hand. "They... it..." you stammered, struggling to form coherent sentences.

Wanda nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I know," she said, rubbing her hands up and down your arms in a gesture of comfort.

She slowly led you back to your seat, still holding onto your shoulders, and conjured a glass of water out of thin air. Taking it in your hand, you felt the coolness of the glass against your skin, which helped ground you and bring you back to the present moment.

*^~^*

Fury furrowed his brows and asked Maria, "When was your last point of contact?"

"Five minutes ago."

"Maximoff was running point?"

You didn't appreciate the way Director Fury was speaking about Wanda as if she wasn't in the room, but as an outsider, you chose to hold your tongue.

Wanda stepped forward before Maria could respond, "Yes, sir."

"What happened?"

“Two energy surges of unknown origin, but we didn’t have time to assess the cause before-." Wanda’s voice trailed off as she struggled to continue.

“Before you lost them,” Fury finished the sentence for her. Wanda nodded silently, unable to look the Director in the eyes.

“She didn’t lose them! It was an accident,” You suddenly heard yourself shout.

Pepper placed a hand on your shoulder as Fury’s gaze shifted over to you.

“Who is this?” Fury asked, pointing at you.

“I'm Y/N Y/L/N, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you,” you said, slowly reaching out your hand to shake his, but the gesture went unreciprocated.

"The car accident victim," looking you up and down. "She looks fine, why is she still here?"

You wondered why you were still here yourself, but Maria jumped in before you could respond, "She’s still recovering, Sir."

"Do you have clearance to be down here?"

You fumbled in your pocket for the white card Wanda had given you earlier. Fury looked at the card but gave you no response before turning back to Wanda.

“Are we still picking up pings from their trackers?”

“Yes, faintly,” Wanda said.

"Do we know how deep the catacomb goes?" He continued.

“Roughly 65 feet, but the fall could have taken them another 50 feet at least," Wanda stated.

“They were wearing oxygen masks?” Fury asked.

“Yes, but they only have a 24-hour oxygen supply if they haven’t been damaged,” Wanda explained.

Fury turned back to Maria, “How fast can we have a team of agents on the ground in Rome?”

Your ears perked up at finally knowing where everyone was.

“Four hours,” Maria responded.

“Make it three,” The Director said.

“Yes, sir,” Maria replied as she started to walk away.

Wanda interrupted calmly, "No. I’m going."

“Out of the question, Maximoff. You haven’t been back in the field since your return, save for her accident," Fury pointed at you. "I’m not sending you out there by yourself in the most dire moment in the history of SHIELD. You don’t know what you’ll find down there, and you’re still too unreliable."

“Unreliable,” Wanda repeated. “With all due respect, Director Fury, no one is more reliable than me. There is no one more powerful than me, and you and I both know that it will take someone who can move heaven and Earth, literally, to bring everyone home!”

Fury looked over at Pepper, who had yet to say a word—doing her best to keep her calm.

"Wanda can do it," Pepper declared, fidgeting with her wedding ring. "I have faith in her."

"You leave in 20 minutes,” Fury said, turning to Wanda. “But you're not going alone.”

“I’ll get changed right away, sir,” Maria assumed.

“No, you’re staying here, Hill. You’re too close to the situation with Romanoff.”

“Nick, I-“

“No, you’ll run co-point from here. That is final."

“Co-point? Who is-“

“I need to make a couple of phone calls. In the meantime, Maximoff, you get suited up. We’ll meet you in the hangar,” Fury ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Wanda acknowledged.

You followed Wanda out of the elevator and into the locker room, feeling nervous and determined. Wanda suited up with a look of solemn determination on her face. You didn't want to show your nervousness; Wanda had enough on her plate. She took out her phone, frowned at the screen, and then turned to you with a serious look.

“I need you to do something for me,” the redhead said.

“Of course, anything,” you replied, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

“I need you to pick up Billy and Tommy and stay with them at my house. I know you have only met them once, but they liked you,” she started to ramble, her voice tinged with anxiety. “Pepper offered to take them, but I just can’t let her do that while Tony is…” she paused, her voice breaking with sadness.

You nodded understandingly, realizing the gravity of the situation. “I’ll do it,” you said, grabbing both sides of her face. “The boys will be okay, I promise. You bring everyone home.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I I already called the school to let them know you’ll be picking them up. I know I can trust you,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. Your lips met in a kiss—one of comfort and reassurance.

The word trust was all it took for Onyx Petroleum and Sokovia to rush back to the front of your mind. But then you remembered Tony’s words. “If we take our eyes off the ball, bad things happen.” Wanda needed to focus. But God, it was killing you to keep this from her, even under the most dire circumstances.

You walked with Wanda to the hangar, an area of the compound you had yet to visit. The mood was a stark contrast from this morning. SHIELD Agents moved about the space with the same purpose and direction, but the energy differed. It was anxious.

You caught sight of Director Fury standing next to one of the Quinjets with two women you didn’t recognize, but it was clear Wanda knew both of them. She ran a few steps ahead of you and wrapped her arms around both of them in an emotional embrace.

“Y/N, this is Dr. Darcy Lewis and Captain Monica Rambeau,” Wanda said, motioning to each woman. “This Y/N Y/L/N, she said, touching your back.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you both,” you said as you shook their hands, trying to keep your composure.

“Hi, nice to meet you too, Y/N,” Darcy replied warmly.

“It’s a pleasure,” Monica said, giving you a small smile.

"Captain Rambeau will be accompanying Ms. Maximoff to Rome, and Dr. Lewis will be running point with Deputy Director Hill from The Overwatch," Fury explained before glancing at his watch. "It's time to go."

Wanda looked at you with a mixture of anxiety and determination in her eyes. You tried to hide your nervousness, not wanting to add to her stress.

After a deep breath, Wanda spoke, "Billy and Tommy will be off from school in a couple of hours," she said, handing you her house keys. "Let them know that I'm working with the rest of the team, but don't give them any details. I’ll try to check in if I can.”

"Okay, sweetheart," you replied, taking the keys and putting them in your pocket. "Just make sure everyone comes home safe."

"I will," Wanda said with a nod, her eyes shining with determination.

As you leaned in to kiss the beautiful redhead, you felt a rush of emotion wash over you. Her soft lips met yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. When you pulled away, you wrapped her in a tight embrace, holding her close to your chest. You watched as she walked towards the Quinjet, accompanied by Monica. Darcy and Fury were waiting by the side of the hangar, their faces solemn. You couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as the jet's engines came to life and slowly lifted off the ground. You stood there, watching as it climbed higher and higher into the sky until it was nothing more than a speck in the distance. As it disappeared from view, you felt a pang in your chest, as if a piece of your heart was flying away with it.

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