#emo wanda

there’s nothing gentle about sex with wanda when you want to switch. you happily submitted to her more times than not, but when you did want your way, you had to fight for it. secretly, that was one of the things you loved most about her. her level of tenacity was truly unmatched.

your fingers have been roughly pumping into out her for several minutes. the sticky sounds of her arousal coupling with the sound of sloppy kisses and teeth clacking together. she has you pinned agaisnt the wall, one of her hands gripping the wrist of your hand that was pistoning in and out of her, and the other was wrapped firmly around your throat.

your teeth sink into her bottom lip, biting hard enough to almost draw blood. wanda moans, her fingers flexing around your neck. she pulls away, her eyes nearly black with need. her lips are red and swollen, her black eye makeup beginning to smudge from the heat of the room. you can see her resolve beginning to crack. no one else would be able to tell but you, but after a year or so of learning each other, you know when she’s starting to bend. she lifts her hand from your wrist, her palm connecting with your cheek. you don’t let it phase you. your hand that was holding her hip reaches up to grip her jaw harshly, her cheeks caving in with the pressure.

“i know that look.” you rasp, your fingers abandoning her wet hole for now. you use this opportunity to walk her backwards towards the bed. her feet shuffle reluctantly, your force doing most of the work.

“you want this.” you murmur, one hand grasping her hip until her legs hit the foot of the bed.

she laughs once without humor. “i don—“ she begins. you cut her off when your palm connects with her cheek. your hand finds a fist full of hair at the back of her head. you pull, forcing her neck to crane back.

“don’t fucking lie to me.” you seethe, releasing the hold on her hair before pushing her back onto the bed by her shoulders. she gasps breathlessly and before she can properly sit up to make some bratty remark, you’re climbing over her.

“‘m gonna ride that pretty face till you’re crying for me.” as your crawl over her body, wanda stops you, holding you in place before you can reach your destination.

“don’t forget your place, mala ptico.” her accent bleeds into her words. her fingers are digging into your waist hard enough that you’re sure it’ll leave marks.

“i know my place.” you bite back, trying to squirm out from her grasp.

“do you?” she slaps your ass, the sound it made just as harsh as the feeling. she’s still not giving in.

“yes.” you say firmly, your hands prying her fingers from where they dug into your skin. you push yourself up until you’re sitting up and then scoot until your knees are on either side of her head. “with you beneath me and your pathetic whining face between my legs.”

“stick out your tongue.” you command, hovering just above her face.

“you’re playing a dangerous game.” she warns. her eyes are dancing with something you can’t quite place. you want to wipe that smug look off her face.

you will.

“stick out your tongue. now.” you command, more firmly this time. she’s slow to obey, but eventually you see her tongue snake out, flat and ready for you to sit on.

your body has been buzzing with need for longer than you care to admit.. you’ve been dripping this whole time, so when you finally lower onto wanda’s tongue, you can’t help but sigh in relief, your eyes closing on their own accord.

her tongue slides firmly through your folds, hot and wet. it becomes hard to focus for a second. you look down at wanda, her eyes a sea of dark amusement. she can tell your focus is slipping. it makes you double down.

one of your hands finds her hair again, grabbing a handful at her scalp. you don’t pull yet, but your grasp is firm enough that she feels it regardless. you start to roll your hips, building a slow rhythm that doesn’t quite match the pace of her tongue.

“slower.” you tighten your hold on her hair. she doesn’t listen.

you exhale sharply, gritting your teeth as your other hand comes down to pinch her nose shut. you settle more firmly against her face, making sure you’re cutting off her air supply. her eyes widen slightly—surprised, maybe.

you count the seconds in your head, reaching 40 before her hands coming up to grasp onto your thighs. the look on her face is more desperate now, her eyebrows pulling together. you lift your hips for a few seconds, wanda gasping for air the moment she has the ability to.

“that’s it, baby. breathe. you’re gonna need it.” your fingernails scratch against her scalp before you’re sitting on her face again, resuming the slow rhythm you had built before. you don’t release your pinched finger from her nose.

this time, her tongue does glide slowly against you. it’s perfect. the hot muscle bumping against your clit each time you roll your hips forward. you remove your fingers from the bridge of her nose, allowing yourself to roll further forward so you can rub against that cute button nose of hers.

she grabs onto the fleshy parts of your thighs and ass, squeezing harshly when she needs air. you don’t ever sit up long enough to give her the proper amount of oxygen.

you moan, your hips rolling faster now. her tongue slips in and out of your cunt, her nose bumping agaisnt your clit each time you move forward. you can hear how wet you’ve become, the mixture of your arousal and wanda’s spit causing obscene slurping noises to echo off the walls.

“fuck, look at you.” your thumb carefully wipes away a tear that sits just below her lower lash line. her eyes are wide with that desperate, fucked out look that you love. her black eyeliner is thoroughly smudged now, making the green in her eyes stand out even more. she’s moaning into your pussy, the vibrations a pleasant addition to the way her tongue moved along your slit.

you move your hips in tandem with her movements. as you speed up, so does she. she begins whimpering and whining, more tears welling up in her eyes as you deprive her of oxygen, giving her just enough so she won’t pass out. not until you’re done with her.

“you’re okay, baby. you’re exactly where you need to be.” you pant, the words breathless as you begin to chase your high. she tries to speak, but it’s completely garbled since her mouth is muffled by your dripping cunt.

“fuck, wanda! i’m getting close.” you begin to drive your hips more firmly against her face. your hips roll at a different angle, making it harder for her to breath once more. her whines become higher in pitch. her tongue laps eagerly along your slit, her nose glistening with your arousal. you can’t look away from her face, now pink and tear stained.

your hand tightens in her hair and you reach forward with your free one to grab onto the headboard for support. you’re close. you can feel the pressure building, your body positively humming with pleasure.

“mhmmm, yeah. like that. such a good girl,” you praise, more moans bleeding into your words. her eyes roll back into her head, the sounds of slurping and muffled moans driving you to your peak. the coil snaps violently, your mouth falling open with a silent scream as your hips roll with each wave that passes over your body. wanda moans through it all, the vibrations almost making it overstimulating.

you rise onto your knees when it all becomes too much, but wanda is quick to pull you back down, making a small noise when she’s tasting you again. she exhales through her nose as she takes your clit into her mouth. you mean to scold her, but when you look down, her eyes are all desperate and pleading.

“wands—it’s too much. come on. i know, i know.” you try to soothe as you pry her hands from your hips, lifting yourself off her face again. she’s breathless, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

“i know, baby. you did so good. c’mere.” you maneuver your body so you’re laying next to her. you drape her leg over yours, your arm wrapping around her torso to pull her close. she’s quick to grab your face in her hand to kiss you, her lips moving urgently against yours. you can taste yourself on her tongue.

you kiss her back more gently, a little breathless yourself from the orgasm you just had. you pull away, pushing gently against her shoulder.

“hold on just a second.” you breath out, smoothing some hair behind her ear.

“we’re not done yet.” she captures your lips with hers again, kissing you more firmly than before. in your vulnerable state, you feel your resolve beginning to crack now.

“wanda.” you mumble against her lips.

she pulls away, her ring adorned fingers pressing harshly into your cheeks now as she holds your face.

“we’re. not. done yet.” her voice is more firm now, a different edge to her eyes now. it’s a look you’re very familiar with. you swallow, your pussy throbbing at the way she’s gazing at you.

“open your mouth now, shlyukha.” you hesitate for a few beats before obeying. she spits, a combination of you arousal and her saliva hitting your tongue. she pushes against the bottom of your jaw, closing your mouth. “now swallow.” she commands. you do it automatically.

“you’re mine. moya mala shlyukha.” she says, her thumb brushing across your lips.

The black rope was Wanda's work, and she was proud of it.

She ran her fingers along the knot at your wrists first. Pressed her thumb along the inside of each loop, checking the tension, making sure the rope held without cutting. It was good rope—thick and smooth, expensive, the kind that kept its shape. Several loops over your crossed wrists. A knot placed exactly where you couldn't reach it. You'd tested that twice. She'd watched you test it both times with the same expression: patient, faintly amused, entirely unsurprised.

She moved to your ankles.

You were on your knees on the bed with your face turned into the pillow. Your ankles were tied to your thighs—folded up and held there, the black rope looped several times over each ankle and up around each thigh. No way to extend your legs. No way to straighten. No way to do anything with your lower body except stay exactly as she'd arranged you.

She checked the ankle knots the same way she'd checked your wrists. Thumb along the inside. A small adjustment to the right one. Then she ran both palms up the backs of your thighs, feeling the tension of the rope, feeling the warmth of your skin under her hands. She took her time with this part. She always took her time with this part.

"Good," she said to herself, satisfied.

She moved up the bed. Her fingers found the rope at your wrists again and she checked it one more time—not because she doubted her work, but because she liked doing it. Liked the feel of it. Liked knowing it was right. Her rings grazed your forearms as she moved and the metal was cool against your skin. She pressed her thumb once more along the inside of the loop.

Perfect.

The gag came last. A clean fold of rope between your teeth, tied at the back of your head with careful hands. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to take your words away completely. You'd made a sound when she put it in place—something between protest and not-protest—and she'd smoothed your hair back from your face and looked at you for one long moment. Dark eyes. The smear of her lipstick already at the corner of her mouth from earlier.

She hadn't said anything. She'd just looked, and she’d been satisfied by what she saw.

Now all you had were sounds.

Wanda sat back on her heels and looked at what she'd made.

She was in her black bra and panties, her dark hair loose in waves around her face. The room was warm and she'd worked up a heat with the ropes—the patient effort of it—and some of her hair was sticking to her cheeks, pressed against her skin. Her eyeliner was sharp at the outer corners. Her dark lipstick was smeared at the corners of her mouth and transferred in dark streaks across your back and shoulders from every time she'd pressed her lips to your skin before the ropes went on. The marks ran from your shoulder blades down toward your spine. She'd made them deliberately. She hadn't been careful and she wasn't sorry.

The pink wand vibrator was tied to your inner thigh.

She'd angled it up and held it in place with the black rope, the head pressed directly against your clit. Your thighs were bound apart by the configuration. No way to press them together, no way to shift the wand's angle or ease its contact. It was tied there. Running. And there was nothing inside your cunt—nothing at all—and Wanda had been watching the way you kept clenching around nothing with an attention that had not wavered once.

She looked at you for a long moment. Taking inventory of everything she'd made. The rope. The wand. The lipstick on your back. Your hands grasping at nothing behind you.

Then she pressed her lips to the center of your back.

Her dark lipstick dragged as she moved down—she wasn't being careful, she'd decided hours ago not to be careful—and she kissed slowly down your spine. Warm mouth against warm skin, deliberate pressure at each vertebra, leaving dark marks in her wake. You shivered. She felt it against her lips and kept going. She kissed to the small of your back and stayed there for a moment, her mouth resting against your skin, feeling the tension held in the muscles beneath.

She moved lower.

She kissed the top of your right asscheek—pale and unmarked, untouched yet—and she did it gently. Barely any pressure at all. The softest possible contact.

You jerked.

A full-body flinch, your hips driving forward with nowhere to go, a muffled cry through the gag that had real shock in it. She lifted her mouth and looked at the dark smear of lipstick she'd left. She looked at it for a moment.

She smiled.

"Oh," she said softly. "Interesting."

She did it again. Same spot. Same gentle press of her lips.

You jerked harder—your hands pulling at the ropes, your back arching off the pillow—and the muffled sound through the gag was higher this time, more desperate, the sound of someone whose body was making decisions without consulting them. The wand shifted fractionally with the movement and you made another sound entirely.

Wanda sat back and looked at you with dark, delighted eyes.

"You are very sensitive," she said pleasantly. "We have barely started and you are already—" She tilted her head, watching your hips make their small involuntary movements. "Like this."

She moved her lips to your other cheek. The same barely-there pressure.

You flinched hard. She felt it and she felt the clench of your cunt around nothing and she watched both happen with the focused attention of someone cataloguing something for future use.

"I am going to enjoy tonight very much," she said. To herself, mainly, as a simple statement of fact.

She sat back and brought her palm down on your left asscheek.

The crack of it filled the room. You cried out through the gag—the sound going up and up—and your hips snapped forward, the wand catching at the new angle, and you produced a second sound that was entirely different from the first. She pressed her palm flat over the heat she'd made. Held it there, feeling the warmth bloom under her hand.

"You clenched," she said. She sounded like she'd confirmed something she'd been wondering about. Her palm rubbed a slow circle. "Every time I do that. Did you know?" Her rings left cool impressions against the heat. "Probably not. You are a little occupied."

She pressed her lips to the spot she'd just struck. She was gentle, tender and loving, and she adored how she could feel you jerk violently at the contrast. The hum she let out was entirely satisfaction.

"Good," she said against your skin. Then she sat back up and brought her palm down on the right side.

Your back arched hard. The rope at your wrists pulled taut. Your fingers spread wide grasping at nothing behind your back and found nothing and kept grasping anyway. She rubbed slow circles over the right cheek, her palm warm and thorough, and then she kissed that spot too—her lips soft against the heat—and felt you try to pull away from the gentleness of it with the same desperation you'd tried to pull away from the impact.

She laughed.

A real laugh, brief and bright, surprised out of her. 

"You cannot decide," she said, delighted. "The hit or the kiss—you do not know which is worse." She ran her palm over both cheeks, feeling the warmth. "I find that very funny. And very useful."

She kept going.

She was methodical, returning to spots that made you make the sounds she liked best. She'd bring her palm down and then immediately follow it with her lips, soft against the heat, and watch you jerk and strain at the contrast. The crease where your thigh met your ass. The tenderest part of your left cheek. She catalogued everything. She was completely unhurried about all of it, stopping occasionally to run her palms over the heat she'd made, occasionally pressing her mouth to your spine above your ass where you were unmarked and feeling you shudder.

"You are turning such a pretty color," she observed at one point, looking at both cheeks with genuine appreciation. "Both sides." She ran her thumb lightly across the left one and felt you clench. "I like this very much. I want to remember this."

She brought her palm down harder—harder than any of the ones before, right at the tenderest spot—and you screamed through the gag, muffled and wrecked. She smoothed her palm over the heat immediately, pressing it in, and felt you tremble under her hand.

"There," she said, satisfied. "There it is."

She placed both hands at your hips.

Both palms, firm, fingers wrapping around the curves of your hipbones. She held you completely still.

You immediately tried to move.

She felt your whole body strain against her grip—your hips pushing forward and back, trying to find any angle with the wand, some relief or more or anything at all—and she held on without giving you any of it. Immovable, without mercy. Her thumbs pressed into the muscle of your hips and she felt every futile push your body made against her hands.

"Oh," she said, like she'd discovered something wonderful.

She could feel everything from here. Every tiny movement against her grip. The strain of your thighs against the ropes. The way your hips kept pushing and finding nothing and pushing again. Her thumbs moved slowly, pressing in, feeling the effort underneath them—the continuous, futile effort of a body that could not stop trying even when trying got it nowhere.

"You cannot stop," she said softly. "Even when you want to." Your hips drove against her grip and she held steady. "Your body has stopped listening to you." Her thumbs pressed in deeper. "It is just asking. Over and over." She watched you clench around nothing again. She felt it from outside your body through the tension of your thighs. "And there is nothing there." A pause. "There will not be anything there until I decide."

She held you there for a long time.

She held you against the wand and felt your body fight her grip, and she talked to you in that low warm voice. She told you what she was watching. She told you that she could feel the clench of you from outside your body and that she found it beautiful. She told you that you were being very good.

She meant all of it.

You started crying and didn’t even realize it.

Your eyes filled, spilling over and soaking into the pillow. A sob came through the gag that was completely real and completely unmanaged, and you didn't have anything left to stop it with.

Wanda felt the change move through you under her hands. The sob moving through your body. The shudder of it.

She released your hips, moving off the bed. You heard her cross the room. You heard her pause. Then she came back and the mattress shifted and she settled somewhere behind you at the foot of the bed.

You knew the sound of her bra coming off. You knew it well by now. The soft snap of the clasp. The shifting as it caught on her pierced nipples. You knew those sounds. And you knew the sound of her panties being pulled down her thighs slowly, teasing you even though you couldn’t even see.

You heard an exhale—long and slow—and the quality of it was different from anything she'd made all evening. Something turned inward. Something that was for herself.

"I want you to hear this," Wanda said. Her voice had dropped a register. Warm in a different way now—the warmth of something she'd stopped managing. "I want you to hear exactly what you have done to me tonight."

You sobbed into the pillow again, the relentless buzzing of the vibrator on your clit driving you close to orgasm but not letting you get it. You realized that the only thing you could do was listen, and that must’ve been her plan all along.

Her hands moved over her own skin. You heard the sound of her palms against herself, the quiet friction, and then the small catch in her breath when she found what she was looking for. Her breasts first. Her hands moving over them, her rings against her own warmth, and then the sharp small sound she made when she found her right nipple—the silver barbell—and rolled it between her fingers.

She made that sound twice. Let you hear it both times.

"So sensitive," she murmured. "They have been like this since before the ropes." Her breathing was already slightly unsteady. "I kept thinking about this while I was tying you. About exactly this." Her thumb moved over the piercing again and she moaned, biting her lip. "Having you here. Like this."

One hand moved lower.

The slick sound of it reached you. Unmistakable. A soft sound as her fingers found her clit and she inhaled sharply.

"Bože," she breathed. God. Low and unbidden.

She held there for a moment. Then her fingers began to move.

"I am so wet," she said. The words came out slightly uneven now—the effort of talking while her fingers worked. "I have been wet since I put the gag in. Since I heard the sound you made." Her fingers worked slow circles and the sound she made had you crying again, your body desperate for anything. "That sound."

She touched her piercing again with her free hand. The sharp inhale. A curse in Sokovian, soft and fervent.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, building her rhythm.

"I keep looking at your back," she said, between shorter breaths. "All my lipstick on you. I did that." Her fingers moved and she made another sound, less managed. "And your ass—" A breath. "Both sides. So red." The slick sound of her hand reaching you clearly from the foot of the bed. "You will feel it tomorrow. Every time you sit. And you will think of tonight. You will think of me. You will—fuck—”

She stopped talking because she didn't have breath for words anymore.

What came through was just sound. The sound of her fingers and her breathing losing their shape together. Small sounds that were entirely hers and entirely unperformed. The rhythm of her hand getting faster. A curse in Sokovian, followed by English, and then everything ragged.

"Ah—"

She shuddered through it quietly. You knew she had cum, could hear her start to settle. 

The room held her silence, just the sound of your cries and the vibrator. 

She came around the side of the bed, phone in hand, and she looked at you—at your face, still turned into the pillow, tear tracks drying on your cheeks, rope gag at your mouth, eyes red—and something warm and deeply satisfied moved across her face.

"I need to remember this," she said.

She crouched beside the bed and brought the phone to your face. She looked at you through the screen and then at you directly and then at the screen again.

"Look at me," she said.

Somehow, you managed to lift your head and look at her. How you did this despite the constant stimulation on your clit and the desperation your body was barely handling, you didn’t have the capacity to question.

The shutter clicked. Of course she had the sound turned up. Just another way for her to let you know she was in control.

She took several of your face—close, the tear tracks and the gag and the wrecked expression—then pulled back for a wider shot. She moved behind you and documented your back: the lipstick marks down your spine, the shape of them, how far they went. She took a close-up of your reddened ass that made her make a quiet sound of satisfaction when she looked at it on the screen. Then she crouched at the foot of the bed.

She took her time here.

She photographed the wand tied against your thigh, the head of it against your clit, the way your thighs were bound apart by the black rope. She photographed the slick that had gathered on your inner thighs. She photographed the way your cunt kept clenching around nothing while the wand ran.

"Beautiful," she said quietly, looking at the screen. "Absolutely beautiful."

She stood and came back to your face.

"Smile," she said, her voice lilted like a song.

A sound came through the gag that was not a smile.

"I know," she said, conversationally. "You are very busy.” She patted your cheek affectionately. “Smile anyway."

She took the picture, looking at it for a long moment. Then she set the phone aside and reached up and untied the gag, drawing the rope carefully from your mouth. She worked the knots at your ankles next, easing your legs flat, running her palms up and down your calves with steady pressure. Your wrists last, the knot releasing, and she brought your arms slowly around to your front and rubbed warmth back into them.

She turned you over.

One hand at your shoulder, one at your hip, and you were on your back looking up at her. She was kneeling over you—fully bare now, her dark hair falling around her face, rings on every finger, the smeared lipstick—and she looked down at your face with an expression that was open in a way she didn't often allow herself to be open.

She reached out and touched your cheek.

Her thumb moved under your eye, along the track a tear had made. She looked at what was on her thumb. Then she leaned down and put her tongue to your cheek and licked—slow, the flat of her tongue dragging from your jaw to the corner of your eye—and when she pulled back the sound she made was low and quiet.

She looked at your face. At what she'd reduced you to.

"Perfect," she breathed.

She sat with that for a moment. Then her hand moved to your inner thigh, adjusting the vibrator.

Your whole body went rigid.

"Wanda—" Your voice was barely a sound. Raw. "Please—I'm done—I can't—"

She looked at you, tilting her head.

"Are you?" She asked softly. She made a cooing noise, something sympathetic, but she pressed her palm flat against your cunt without any care for how you cried again.

The full warm weight of her hand. You were soaked and swollen, impossibly sensitive. She held her palm there and felt you against it—felt the heat of you, felt how wet you were, felt you clench against nothing under her hand.

She leaned down, her lips finding your ear. Her hair fell cool against your jaw. Her voice, when she spoke, was a whisper.

"We are just getting started, darling."

After the fallout of New York, Loki’s scepter vanished off the map, and HYDRA settlements started cropping up everywhere. Eventually, Thor had tracked the scepter to a fortress situated in Eastern Europe, smack dab in the middle of Sokovia. It was an operation so simple it was practically textbook. Get in, locate the scepter, neutralize all targets, and get out. Banner, Nat, Clint and Steve took out the first wave outside the stronghold, while you and Stark slipped inside. From there, it was almost too easy. Floor by floor, none of them ever stood a chance. You cleared them out with the shocking precision you’d trained for.

“I’m going for Strucker, check the east wing for any strays,” Steve’s voice rang out over the comms. You fired off a couple bullets at an incoming HYDRA agent.

“Copy,” You replied, grunting as you took down a couple of agents who attempted to attack you from behind.

You turned the corner of another hallway, before you heard a resounding thud come from the next set of stairs down. You peered down the dark corridor, searching for the source of the noise. Instead, you spotted a girl. She couldn’t have been a year older than you. The first thing you noticed was her eyes. They had a subtle crimson glow that shone through the dark shadows of the corridor. Smudged black eyeliner sat around her eyes; and the glow was now gone and replaced with a piercing shade of green. Then, she spoke.

“Get out of my way,” she said, her hands coming up in front of her. Around them swirled red spirals of energy, glowing from within. It matched the glow in her eyes.

“Absolutely not,” It went without questioning, there’s no way you’d ever let a potential threat out of your sight. You stepped forward, staring her down.

“Hm. Well that’s a shame, you seem nice,” She replied, almost tauntingly. Her hands flicked upwards, shooting tendrils of red energy towards you. The next thing you felt was the cold stone of the wall, as the air was forced from your lungs. You fell to the ground, letting out a wince as you tried to get back up. She looked at you with a mocking sort of pity, before fleeing out of the doors. You let your head fall back against the wall, groaning in what was a mixture of frustration and pain. She got away, and you let her. That never happened. You could only wallow in your disappointment for so long, before Steve’s voice shot through your earpiece.

“Hey, you still with us?”

“I’m fine, but there’s a second Enhanced in the building. Female. Watch out,” The least you could do was warn your fellow Avengers about this girl. Who was she?

“You’ve met her too?” Steve asked, chuckling a little bit, “Yeah, she got to me first. Shoved me down a set of stairs and everything. Never seen anything like it.

You both could agree on that. She truly was like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

On the ride back to Avengers Tower, you couldn’t shake the mental image of the girl. The sound of her voice echoed in your head. She had a heavy accent, Sokovian most likely. It suited her quite nicely. You remembered the shape of her hands, the ones wrapped in glowing red light. They were clad with multiple silver rings. It was laughable actually, how you could remember all of that, but you remained clueless as to how you managed to slip up so bad. It wasn’t like you, you hardly ever made mistakes. Especially not ones as big as that.

“Hey, what happened back there?” Natasha’s question shook you out of your thoughts. She knew you better than anyone on that team. Which means she knew it was strange of you to make such a large blunder.

“I don’t know. She got the jump on me I guess,” You replied flatly. The truth was, you didn’t know why you were so thrown off your game by her. She was Enhanced, sure, but it was almost too easy for her to knock you down.

“I wouldn’t sweat it,” Nat reassured you, a wry smile playing at her lips, “Clint got his ass kicked by the other one.” You heard Clint protest somewhere at the front of the jet.

“Wow, I feel so much better now,” The sarcasm in your voice was evident, earning yet another scoff from Clint.

“Happy to help,” Nat said, patting you on the shoulder before heading over to talk to Banner. Once again, you were left alone with your thoughts, currently occupied by a certain brunette Enhanced that you just couldn’t get rid of.

The days following the encounter, you made it your personal mission to find out who exactly your mystery girl was. Fairly quickly, a pretty clear picture started to form. Her name was Wanda Maximoff. She was orphaned by a bomb that struck her building, leaving her and her twin brother to fend for themselves. Despite your disdain for her, you felt for Wanda. Her and her brother probably joined those trials looking for a way out. Maybe they thought it was their only option? Whatever the case, some part of you wanted to help her. Without fail, Wanda Maximoff stubbornly refused to leave your head. She haunted you, like an annoying, albeit pretty, ghost. You found yourself sketching her face into the blank margins of notebooks, which you quickly buried under your bed, like a shameful secret for your eyes only. You told yourself your fascination with the Maximoff girl was only because she got the better of you when no one else could. Maybe if you told that lie enough you’d convince yourself to believe it. It was a far better fate than any alternative imaginable.

Post the disaster that was Stark’s party, and the now emerging threat of Ultron on the rise, you were (thankfully) forced to set aside all thoughts and daydreams of your horrible, horrible distraction. Ultron had killed Strucker, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the slightest hint of satisfaction that he was dead. The team had traced Ultron’s next target back to a South African arms dealer, who dealt with Wakandan exports. A couple of the Avengers chattered about their next moves, and suited up for the possible fight to come

“I can deal with the speedster, but what about the nutcase in red?” Stark said, reloading some of the weaponry on his suit.

“There’s really no good way to neutralize her, she’s-” Bruce started, before you interjected.

“Neutralize? She’s a person Bruce, not some weapon of mass destruction or a ticking bomb for you to diffuse,” You felt weirdly defensive over Wanda. Sure, you weren’t on the same side here, but why didn’t she deserve a chance too. She’s a good person, you were sure of it. You also knew that good people were sometimes put into bad situations. You hoped that was her case.

“Yeah…sorry,” Bruce trailed off, going back to tinkering with whatever he was doing on the computer. An awkward silence fell over the room, as some of the Avengers shared looks with each other, like they knew something you didn’t.

After tracking down Ultron to a grounded cargo ship, the Avengers came face-to-face with a shiny new Ultron. And you were once again faced with your tormentor. She stared at you with what you can only assume was hatred in her eyes. Even in light of that, you still couldn’t help but notice certain things about her. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. It looks nice like that. Her necklaces somehow laid so perfectly on her neck. What a weird thing to notice about someone. You were so engrossed with her that when all hell breaks loose against Ultron, it takes you a second to snap back into reality. Something is seriously wrong with you. You dodge a couple of Ultron’s murder bots, as you notice Wanda slipping away. You weren’t going to let her get away again. You trail Wanda back into a small walkway. The rusted metal creaks under your footsteps, and she turns around. Her gaze hardens at the sight of you. 

For a second, you both stare at each other. For that second, you almost forget that you two aren’t on the same side. You snap out of it soon enough. This time, you were sure you were going to change her mind.

“Wanda, please listen. Ultron is lying to you and your brother. Don’t listen to him-” You began, trying to reason with her.

“And then what, we join your side? Because Stark is such an honest man, right?” Wanda retorted, her eyes flashing that familiar shade of red. Unfortunately, she did have a point. It was his lies that started all of this in the first place.

“Whatever Ultron is promising you, it’s not true. He’s playing you. All he’s done is hurt people, how does any of this save the world?” You take a step closer to her. You’re practically begging her to hear you out here, but all she does is scoff.

“Why would I ever listen to you?”

“You just have to trust me,” You understood better than everyone that trust is something not easily given, but for her sake, you had to try.

“Trust is a luxury I cannot afford.” She replies coldly, as she once again raises her hands. The red glow returns, but in a split second, a flash of blue zips by, sweeping you off your feet. Your head collides onto the floor, and your vision immediately starts to blur at the edges. Distant rings echo in your ears, as you lie limply on the ground. Wanda stares at you for a second, before turning her back and running away. She doesn’t make it very far before she runs into Clint. You crane your neck up in an attempt to see what’s happening. Clint slams one of his stun arrows onto Wanda’s forehead, and you watch her crumple to the floor. Momentarily, you feel a pang in your chest. But, in another flash of blue, she’s gone again. You let your head fall back onto the floor of the corridor, as you groan to yourself. You failed her. Again. Your thoughts trail off, as your eyes shut, and everything fades to black.

You wake back up on the floor of the Quinjet, a thin blanket draped over you. You try to blink away the persisting headache, and glance around. Scattered around you, the Avengers look wholly defeated. You get up off the ground, and make your way to the front of the cockpit. Clint was the only one up there, and you sat in the seat next to him.

“What happened…?” You asked tentatively.

“That girl, Wanda, she got into our heads. Messed us up. Hulk ripped apart half of the city,” Clint said solemnly, flipping a couple switches on the dashboard. He turned towards you.

“You got knocked out by her brother. I hit Wanda with the stun arrow, and then the twins vanished,” He continued, “And now we’re heading to a safe house to lay low, at least until Ultron pops back up on the map,”

You nodded, staring out the window of the cockpit.

“I’m curious though. I saw you up there, with the girl. You could have taken her out, why didn’t you?” Clint asked. The memories of the encounter flashed through your head. You pleaded with her, for what? To get knocked on your ass? She simply didn’t want to listen. Another horrible mistake, all because of one girl.

“I wanted to make her see that Ultron wasn’t the good guy. I thought she might listen,” You started, before trailing off, “Maybe it was a mistake.”

“No. You wanted to help. She’s probably scared. People like that sometimes just need a little push,” Clint replied, his eyes flicking back to Nat. She sat in the back, staring blankly at the floor. You knew their history. It gave you hope that if Nat could be saved, maybe Wanda could too.

The next morning, you landed at the “safe house” Clint was talking about. It was a humble little homestead ranch. Soon enough however, you figured out this was Clint’s actual home. He had two young kids, and his very kind wife. You peered around the home curiously. Crayon drawings were hung up on the walls, toys were scattered around the floor. It was so perfectly domestic. It was the kind of life you would have liked, in the event you weren’t an Avenger. Maybe in another life. Then again, maybe in another life you would have fallen for a girl that wasn’t the enemy.

Speaking of the enemy, Wanda Maximoff was quickly starting to take up an uncomfortable amount of space in your mind, more than she already did. You were plagued by visions of her in your dreams, with those ethereal green eyes. In those dreams, she stared at you with her green eyes full of love, not hate. You often woke up in a cold sweat, the harsh reality hitting you in an instant. You truly hated how much you thought about her. It was hardly conducive to Avenging when your opposition was that distracting. When Fury stopped by the Barton house to fill in the Avengers, you sat at the table. Fury’s words flowed in one ear and out the other. Instead, you doodled little cartoonish drawings of Wanda onto a pad of sticky notes. You swiftly crumpled them up and chucked them into the trash. Because nobody could ever know that you were infatuated with Wanda Maximoff. It was painful enough coming to terms with that yourself, so what would the team think? 

That night, Nat cornered you in the kitchen. You had offered to wash the dishes, just to do something to keep yourself busy. She slid over to the counter, drying a couple damp plates.

“I saw your little sketches. Of the Maximoff girl,” Nat said, casting a knowing glance your way. You froze, and the only sound in the room was the noise of the running faucet.

“It’s not what it looks like-” You immediately began, before Nat shushed you.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure it’s not,” she said sarcastically, “Look, I don’t care about any of that. But I need to know, if it comes down to it, can you do your job?” Nat looked at you seriously, her hands drumming on the counter.

“Yes. Absolutely,” You said quickly, nodding vigorously, “You can trust me.”

“I know I can.”

You dried your hands off and bolted to the bathroom. The door shut behind you, and you set your hands on the counter. Your heart pounded in your ears, as you fought back the moisture in your eyes that you’d never dare let become tears. You told Nat that you could be trusted to do your job, and up until recently, you were positive you could. You’d screwed up twice already because of Wanda, how could you ever promise her that you wouldn’t do it again? Honestly, you couldn’t. All you ever wanted to do was help Wanda, who could blame you for that? Whether it was for your own selfish reasons, or truly honorable reasons, it didn’t matter. God, you hated loving Wanda. She was every reason why you swore to never let anyone worm their way into your heart like that. She hated you anyways, so why couldn’t you do the same? You came to the conclusion you were simply pathetic. A pathetic fool who couldn’t be trusted to grow up and do the job she signed up for. What was wrong with you?

The days flew by after that. Nat never brought up the conversation you and her had that night. Before you knew it though, you were once again suiting up to face off against Ultron. And the twins. You made a point to suppress the slight spark of hope at the prospect of seeing Wanda again.

The next time you saw her, you weren’t throwing punches at her, or firing bullets in her direction. Finally, you were working with her. She had discovered the truth about Ultron’s goal for the world, and wasted no time in abandoning his cause, along with her brother. It was humiliating how overjoyed you felt, to say the least. Your excitement was fleeting however, seeing as Ultron had successfully derailed a passenger train in the struggle. Steve directed Wanda to stop the train, while it was up to you and Pietro to usher civilians out of the way. Once people were clear, you glanced back at Wanda, who was absorbed in her efforts to stop the train. She was so, so beautiful. Her ability to distract you was probably the most magical thing about her.

Her efforts were successful, and the train skidded to a halt. You, Wanda, and Pietro all met Steve, where he was coordinating what to do with Ultron’s latest project. From what it sounded like, Ultron made an attempt to create a physical body, harnessing the power of some foreign stone found in Loki’s scepter.

“Stark’s taking care of the Cradle now,” Steve told you three. Wanda raised an eyebrow, interjecting.

“No, he won’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Stark’s not crazy,” Steve replied, almost incredulously. You stepped forward, opening your mouth to say something, before Wanda spoke again.

“He will do anything to make things right,” Wanda said, casting a glance over to you, “Ultron can't tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it. Where do you think he gets that?”

Steve looked at you three blankly, before sighing. You heard Clint’s voice over your earpiece, and paused. He sounded stressed.

“Anything on Nat?” Clint asked. When you looked over at Steve, he explained that Ultron had taken Nat with him. You felt sick.

“We’re on the way back to the Tower now, we’re bringing along the twins,” Steve said grimly, beckoning the three of you to follow him. 

Exhausted, the three of you return to the Tower, where you find Stark and Banner fiddling around with the Cradle.

“Shut it down Stark,” Steve said sternly, staring down Stark, “You don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“And you do? Are you sure she’s not in your head?” Bruce remarked, his tone accusatory as he stared down Wanda.

“Cut it out Banner,” You retorted sharply, glaring at him.

“I know you’re angry,” Wanda began calmly, before Banner cut her off again.

“We’re way past that, I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade-”

“I said cut it out Bruce!” You snapped, as Bruce scoffed and turned his attention back to his computer.

Everyone’s voices grew louder as they bickered amongst each other. In the fray, Pietro had run around the lab, unplugging all of the equipment.

“Go on, you were saying?” Pietro asked innocently, smirking. A loud pop resounded through the lab, as the glass shattered underneath Pietro and he fell through the floor. Wanda screamed and ran towards Pietro, as a full on brawl broke out among the Avengers. Bruce grabbed Wanda, locking her in a chokehold.

“Go ahead, piss me off,” He hissed, before you pried him off of her.

“What the fuck are you doing Bruce?” You yelled, stepped in front of Wanda, “I mean seriously what were you thinking-” You never got to finish your sentence, before Thor burst through the window. He landed on top of the Cradle, before slamming his hammer down onto the lid. As electricity ran through the case, the lid blew off. A purple-ish man burst from the Cradle, slamming down Thor and flying through the air. He seemed to come to his senses, as he returned to the ground. Thor explained that the gem from Loki’s scepter was some sort of power source, called an Infinity Stone. And now the purple man had the capacity to end the world with his power. Clearly, there were some questions. He, or apparently the Vision, asserted that he was very much not on the side of Ultron (thankfully) and agreed that he should be stopped.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, you all were preparing for the fight to come. You stayed with Pietro and Wanda. Despite the previous animosity towards them, all of that was in the past. Besides, it wasn’t often you met very many people that were like you your age. Even on the Quinjet, on the way to Sokovia, you sat by Wanda. You racked your brain for a way to approach conversation with the girl you previously had fought (and also just so happened to be borderline obsessed with). Of course, you settled for the smoothest option.

“Hi…” you said, breaching the awkward silence between you two,

“Hello?” Wanda replied, almost suspiciously as she eyed you. You felt strangely exposed. Your heart felt like it was in your throat as you wrung your hands nervously.

“I don’t think we’ve actually talked, at least not without-”

“Without me kicking your ass?” Wanda offered up helpfully, smirking. You laughed, a feeling of success blooming in your chest. She wasn’t entirely opposed to friendly conversation with you, that was better than nothing, right?

“I wouldn’t say you kicked my ass necessarily…” You said. Even you sounded unconvinced, “I think we’re a pretty equal match actually.”

“Hm, whatever you say лепа,” She shrugged, smiling at you slyly. You weren’t quite sure what she said, seeing as your Sokovian was fairly rusty, but her slight smile and glint in her eyes was enough for you to not worry too much about what she said.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

The fight against Ultron was exhausting. He was gone, at long last. The battle was not without its losses though, as Sokovia was long gone. At the end of it all, you found Wanda leaning against the wall of one of the SHIELD carriers, covered in dirt and grime. Still, she had never looked more beautiful to you. You sat down next to her, sighing.

“You ok?” You asked Wanda, nudging her shoulder slightly. She turned her head to look at you, giving you a small smile.

“Yes, I’m fine. Very tired,” She remarked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. You could agree, your bones physically ached from exhaustion at this point. You were itching to ask Wanda something though, despite the pit of anxiety crawling around in your stomach.

“Hey, Wanda? Y’know, maybe when we get back, do you want to grab coffee sometime? In the event we’re not faced with a world-ending crisis?” You asked, bracing yourself for the answer.

“You do know I can read minds right?” Wanda asked you, craning her neck to look at you. The smirk on her face could only be described as devilish. You could feel your face heat up at her answer (and it’s unfortunate implications).

“So is that a yes or no?” You replied, laughing awkwardly.

Wanda loved her bookstore the same way most people loved their pets: a living thing with a beating heart and feelings that Wanda would protect with her life and maybe even die for. Maybe that sounded dramatic, but she didn’t care.

Wanda loved everything about her bookstore, from the uneven wood floors that creaked in the same places everyday, to the one leaky window that always seemed to drip when it rained no matter how often she got the roof repaired. She loved how the smell of espresso always drifted in from the tiny cafè corner that she’d fought tooth and nail to include when she bought the place two years ago.

Most of all, Wanda loved the people her bookstore attracted.

Her bookstore sat tucked between a vintage record shop and a plant store, and the plaza was just off a college campus. Which meant that Wanda spent most days surrounded by artsy college students with obscure majors and even more obscure fashion choices. Wanda’s seen it all: patchwork sweaters in the middle of July, chunky boots with tiny silver charms tied to the laces, and rings. They all loved oodles and oodles of rings. Wanda always felt like an outlier with her basic outfits, which typically consisted plain long sleeves and a skirt with tights every day.

And yet somehow, everyone was always so painfully polite. Everyone always cleaned up after themselves, they’d tell Wanda “thank you so much” at the end of their transactions. And the tip jar at the cafè counter was always flooded with $1 and $5 dollar bills.

The bookstore has become a strange little haven for people who lingered. Students typing away at essays in the corner, couples sharing headphones in the poetry aisle, someone inevitably curled into the armchair near the window pretending to read whilst actually sneaking a nap in. (Wanda totally got it. Though she’d never enrolled, she could imagine college was exhausting)

But there was one returning customer who was the biggest question mark to Wanda. And when the bell above the door chimes, yanking Wanda from her thoughts, her eyes lift from the register to see that very question mark walking through the door. You.

Something in Wanda’s chest betrayed her instantly, a familiar little flutter she absolutely refused to examine too closely. You stood in the doorway wearing a dark bomber jacket over a white tank top, rings glittering beneath the afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. Your hair looked a little messy, purposefully wind-tossed, and a pair of sunglasses the same color as your jacket are tucked into the collar of your tank top.

You glance up the moment you step inside, smiling the second your eyes lock onto Wanda. It wasn’t even a big smile. Just a small tug at the corner of your mouth, but it was debilitating enough that Wanda immediately looked back down at the open book in front of her like she hadn’t noticed it, or you, at all.

Of course Wanda made it a point to greet every customer who walked through the doors, a rehearsed chirp of, “Hi, welcome in!” ready on her lips. But it’s like you were the one anomaly. Every time she tried to greet you, she’d get tongue-tied, those three stupid words suddenly impossible to say.

Wanda follows you with her eyes as you step into the cafè, and she also notes how the barista Sammy blushes immediately the second you’re at the counter. Wanda supposed you just had that effect on people.

“You know,” Pietro, Wanda’s twin brother who actually was enrolled at the university down the street and, much like the other college kids, also came into Wanda’s bookstore to loiter, suddenly appears to Wanda’s right. “One of these days, you’ll have to swallow your pride and just ask for her number,”

Wanda slammed the book shut in front of her. “I don’t want her number.”

“Right. And I don’t come in here just to eat all the chocolate chip cookies in the cafè,” her brother teases with a roll of his eyes.

Wanda’s brows furrow. “Yes you do, Pietro. You’ve said before that there’s crack in those cookies—“

“I know, Wanda. I was being sarcastic. Thank you for proving my point,” Pietro barks a laugh.

Wanda’s cheeks flare even hotter, making her curse her nervous system. “She’s just another customer,” she argues.

“Just another customer who comes in here five days a week at minimum,” Pietro counters. “Just another customer who buys exactly one coffee and then spends three hours wandering around and pretending not to stare at you,”

Wanda frowns down at the register. “She does not stare at me,” she mumbles. Though what she doesn’t say is that she can’t even count on her two hands just how many times she’s caught you staring. And she definitely can’t count how many times those stares had given her butterflies.

Before Pietro could tell Wanda she was full of shit, your cologne reached the checkout counter before you did, your boots sounding on the hardwood a moment later.

“Afternoon, Maximoff,” you greet Wanda warmly, then nod in Pietro’s direction. “What’s up, Pietro? That sub professor in German 2 today was weird, right?”

“Total weirdo,” Pietro agrees with a shake of his head. Wanda glares daggers at her twin, a look that says ‘you never told me you had a class with her!’ And Pietro smiles back with a shit-eating grin that replies, ‘You never asked’. Wanda continues to glare at Pietro’s retreating back as he walks away.

Wanda turns back to face you to find you already grinning at her. She ignores the way that her stomach flips in response. “It’s 2:30,” are the first brilliant words out of her mouth.

“That it is,” you say before bringing your coffee cup to your lips for a sip. “Aren’t you observant,”

Wanda huffs. “My point is that you typically come around noon,” she says. “What, find a better bookstore than mine?”

Your eyebrows lifted, followed by a slow grin that spreads across your face. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on me, Maximoff,”

Heat crawled up Wanda’s next instantly. “I am not keeping tabs on you!” she defended quickly. “I just happen to have memorized the comings and goings of my customers. Plus, I know how much you like to loiter, so you coming in at two-thirty only gives you six hours of loitering instead of eight…” she trails off, wincing. What the hell was she even talking about? Pietro snickers from somewhere inside the stockroom, definitely having heard his sister’s rambling, and Wanda makes a mental note to kill him with her bare hands later.

When Wanda risks a glance back in your direction, your small smirk has transformed into a full-blown grin. “So, you’re saying you missed me?” you ask, leaning your elbows on the counter.

“I am saying no such thing.”

“Mm,” you nodded thoughtfully, clearly not absorbing what Wanda just said. “Interesting.”

Wanda points an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you chuckle.

“That thing where you decide what I mean instead of listening to the words I’m actually saying.”

“Well, in my literature class, the professor is always going on and on about how we should pay attention to hidden meanings, so that’s what I’m doing here,”

Wanda folds her arms across her chest. “Fine, so what exactly is the hidden meaning here?” She challenges.

You don’t answer at first, but your smile goes a little soft, and Wanda’s heart starts to sound like a drum-line in her chest. The atmosphere dissipates completely when Pietro calls from the other room, telling Wanda that a customer on the phone wants to speak to her. When Wanda returns from the phone call however, you’re gone, and she’s completely blindsided by the visceral feeling of disappointment she feels. She also can’t shake the image of that soft smile she’d seen on your face.

***

The next day, you didn’t show up right around noon like you always did. Wanda told herself she’d only noticed your absence because the bookstore was unusually quiet; much less foot traffic than there usually was on a weekday afternoon. But then, you didn’t come in the next day either. Or the day after that.

Every tiny bell chime tugged Wanda’s attention upward before she could stop herself. But it was always just another cool-dressed college kid. Every laugh from outside made something hopeful spark in Wanda’s chest. But it was never you.

Wanda didn’t care. She couldn’t. So what if you stopped coming in? People drifted in and out of the bookstore all the time. College kids graduated. They got new routines, new cafès, new favorite haunts. Wanda had seen it happen before. It didn’t matter. That’s what she told herself anyway.

She threw herself into work instead. She reorganized the fantasy section that was constantly in a state of disarray, brought order back to the Funko Pop display, even vacuumed the stockroom, which was the only part of the bookstore that still had carpet for some reason. She did anything she could to avoid thinking about the fact that a certain girl with windswept hair and an affinity for clunky statement jewelry hadn’t shown her face in the past few days.

By the fifth consecutive day, Wanda almost asked Pietro if he’d seen you around campus. Which was humiliating, because that would require admitting she cared at all. And Pietro would never let her live it down. But Pietro had a way of knowing that Wanda was thinking about asking it anyway.

“If you’re worried about your girlfriend—“ Pietro starts.

“She is not my girlfriend,” Wanda interjected.

“Well, if you’re worried about the girl who’s not your girlfriend, but whom I know you’re attracted to,” Pietro amends his statement. “She’s not dead or anything. She’s been in German 2 every day this week. She just hasn’t been coming here,”

Wanda ignores the sting she feels. So you were safe, you just…what? Found a new bookstore? Didn’t want to see Wanda anymore?

Not that you were seeing her at all. Not that Wanda cared if she ever saw you again. Wanda fights to stay aloof, managing a cool nod in response to Pietro’s news. “Okay. Great,” she says. “I’m glad she is safe.”

Pietro looks at Wanda, an annoyingly sympathetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Wands. I don’t know why she’s stopped coming here. I guess I could ask her the next time I see her in class—“

“No.” Wanda snaps. “You will do no such thing, Pietro. But what you can do is stay out of my business, alright?”

Wanda doesn’t wait for Pietro to answer. Turning away from him, she grabs the stack of books off the register, and storms off to put them back on the shelf.

Wanda finds herself in the romance section, because of course she does. Her brain is on autopilot as she puts each book back where it goes. The last book in her hands catches her attention. It’s a sapphic romance, an art design of two girls holding hands on the cover. Wanda stares for a long time at the dark-haired girl with tattoos depicted on the left side, and suddenly she’s thinking of an attractive smile and a bomber jacket. Wanda clears her throat and shoves the book back on the shelf.

This was ridiculous. Wanda didn’t get crushes. She didn’t get weird and gooey about people. She was better off alone. Her stomach was wrong. Her heart was even more wrong. Wanda can’t flee the romance aisle fast enough.

***

It has now been two weeks since Wanda had last seen you in her bookstore. You would think that after fourteen full days, her body would stop reacting. That eventually she’d stop glancing up every time the bell above the door chimed. That the tiny spark of hope in her chest would finally die out instead of reigniting over and over and over again. But it never did. Every single time the door opened, Wanda’s stupid heart still leapt before her brain could catch up. And every time it wasn’t you, the feeling fizzled out just as quickly, leaving behind something hollow and embarrassing.

It was pathetic. Especially because Wanda still didn’t even know why you’d stopped coming. Maybe you found another cafè. Maybe you got bored of flirting with the awkward bookstore owner who could barely string a sentence together around you.

It had been a slow day from start to finish, and by the time closing rolled around, Wanda had already sent everyone else home. Now it was just Wanda alone behind the register, counting the tills and organizing receipts. The silence is broken by the bell chime of the door.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” Wanda called automatically without looking up.

“That’s okay,” a familiar voice said warmly. “I only need one thing.”

Wanda’s heart did something fizzy in her chest. Her head snapped up so fast, she nearly gave herself whiplash. And there you were.

Rain droplets dappled the shoulders of your dark jacket and the ends of your hair were damp too like you narrowly escaped the downpour. You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, and gave Wanda a cheeky smile. And just like that, two miserable weeks of pretending she didn’t care evaporated.

Something must’ve shown on Wanda’s face because your expression softened almost immediately. “There she is,” you murmur quietly.

Wanda realized, distantly, that she was staring. “You just disappeared,” she blurts before she can stop herself. Your eyebrows lifted, and Wanda wanted to throw herself directly into traffic. “I mean…” she backpedals. “You-you haven’t come in and Pietro said classes were still in session, so I thought maybe—“

Your expression melted into something so unbearably fond that it made Wanda’s stomach flip. “You noticed I was gone, huh?” you ask.

Wanda crosses her arms defensively even as heat rushes to her cheeks. “Well, you loiter in my store for eight hours a day. It would’ve been difficult not to notice your absence,”

You chuckle, stepping closer to the counter. “I missed you too, Maximoff,”

Up close, Wanda notices two things about you: that you have the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen…and that you look exhausted. Something tugs in her chest.

“So where were you?” she asks before she can stop herself. She’s hoping more than anything that you’re not about to mention a longtime girlfriend that you’ve been spending all your time with.

“My mom was in the hospital,” you admit softly, scratching at the back of your neck. “She’s okay now. It was just…a rough couple weeks.”

Oh. Instant guilt crashes into Wanda so hard it nearly makes her dizzy. All this time she’d been spiraling, thinking you’d just gotten bored of her when you’d been dealing with something so real. Was she really that much of drama queen?

Your smile suddenly turns sheepish. “I kept meaning to come by, but things got kinda crazy, both with my mom and with classes,”

Wanda suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself or her nervous energy. You hadn’t been avoiding her. You’d wanted to see her all this time, you were just busy dealing with a sick mother and ruthless college classes. Wanda steps out from behind the counter to talk to you, and is struck immediately by the height difference. You were a good four inches taller, to the effect that Wanda had to tilt her head a bit to meet your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, that all sounds really stressful,” Wanda says. “But I’m glad your mom is okay now,”

“Yeah,” you smile. “Me too. Now, I can spend more time here figuring out a puzzle,”

Wanda frowns. “I don’t sell puzzles here,”

You chuckle. “I know, Maximoff. I meant you,”

Wanda’s heart jolts in her chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you reply, shameless. “I know you’re a little prickly, but I think you’re cute. And I hope you know I’m not gonna stop flirting unless you tell me to back off,”

Wanda swallows hard. “I’m not…good at that, though,” she stammers. “At-at flirting back. I’m not good at it.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that,” you laugh. “But don’t worry. I think that’s cute too, and I can definitely work with that,”

“You can?” Wanda asks.

“Yeah,” you say. And then you reach for Wanda’s hand. Your skin is warm against hers, and the touch sends a spark up her entire arm. Wanda relaxes into it, letting her fingers lace with yours.

“Are you hungry at all?” you ask next.

“Starving, actually,” Wanda replies. And she was. All she’d had for sustenance today was a fruit smoothie around six a.m in the morning. And she could finally admit to herself that she’d been thinking of you all day, and that’s why her stomach had been in knots.

“Wanna get out of here? Grab a bite? Actually have a conversation now that you’ve admitted to digging me?” you tease.

Wanda tilts her head. “Did I admit that?” she asks coyly.

You smile down at her. “Well, you haven’t dropped my hand yet, so I think that counts for something,”

Wanda’s smile widens. “Hmm. Well, just let me lock up and I’m yours,”

“Hello.” You awkwardly reach out to shake the younger Wanda’s hand while you introduce yourself. She studies you, gaze intense. The way she looks at you…yeah, definitely Wanda.

“So…” you don’t know what to do with your hands, “What’s happening?”

The younger Wanda turns to your Wanda.

“I was looking for something in her universe. She slipped through instead,” your Wanda says. 

You have to figure out another way to think about them. Emo Wanda? Alternative Wanda? Or maybe a nickname for your Wanda. She’d recently earned the title Scarlet Witch. Scarlet is a pretty name. There’s no protest from your Wanda, mentally or verbally, so decision made. You watch curiously as they return to the conversation you interrupted. Wanda’s eyes flick to you every few moments like she’s trying to take you in, or study you, surreptitiously. She’s failing horribly but you appreciate the effort.

And then you’re suddenly realising there’s two Wanda’s in the same room as you. That this is a quiet fantasy you’ve shared with your wife in the late hours of the night, when Scarlet had your brain so fuzzy you were willing to tell her anything. The memory turns from a hazy impression to a sharp image and you know Scarlet is in your mind, encouraging the thought to continue. 

You swallow and try to shift subtly on your feet, resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. Wanda sends you a curious look but continues talking to Scarlet. Another memory comes forward of a different night, one where Scarlet held you down and whispered every dirty thing two of her could do to you. How you’d be so helpless against them, how you’d beg for more. 

Scarlet makes the memory so vivid you whimper, loud enough for Wanda to hear. Her head snaps towards you and you can feel her concern as her mind enters yours. It’s rude but it’s Wanda so you can’t find it within yourself to truly mind, even if embarrassment rises. Wanda pokes the memory curiously and heat floods you as you gasp. She makes it a bit too real and you no longer feel the floor under you. You’re lying back on the bed, Scarlet hovering over you as she buries her fingers inside your cunt and tells you how pretty you’d look filled by two of her.

“That’s enough,” Scarlet says.

Wanda turns to her with a raised eyebrow. It looks like they’re communicating telepathically but you’re too busy trying not to hump the air to care. To go from being fucked to having to stand calmly is too much and you’re quickly losing your shame. You have just enough time to notice a smile curl around Scarlet’s lips before you’re all in the bedroom. A gentle caress against your mind from Scarlet tells you they haven’t transported you back into your memories. 

You’d landed on the edge of the bed but Scarlet curls her fingers and you’re dragged to the middle, gentle magic pushing you to lay down. Your clothes disappear and you gasp as cool air rushes to meet your skin. You lift your head when no one immediately joins you on the bed and the heat builds when you see both of them already naked. Scarlet is gently caressing Wanda’s cheek and you realise Wanda is nervous. You go to reassure her, or try to with your already fuzzy brain, but an impression from Scarlet’s mind tells you she wants you to be quiet. Wanda is only slightly nervous because of how fast things are moving.

“She wants it,” Scarlet murmurs, “Desperately.”

You can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. Your want is obvious. Moments later Wanda is climbing onto the bed, a strap-on slowly materialising from a swirl of red around her hips. You open your legs wider, your mouth dry. Scarlet follows behind her and curls her hands around Wanda’s waist.

“You want this?” Wanda asks and you relish the way her voice rasps.

You nod eagerly, hands reaching out to tug her closer. Red immediately wraps around your wrists and pushes them back into the bed. You pout at Scarlet but she only smiles back at you. Wanda doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes run down your body. You squirm at the inspection. Her hands hesitantly land on your stomach before gliding lower.

“So pretty,” she murmurs and you try not to preen. You mustn’t be too successful since Scarlet sends a pulse of amusement to you. One of Wanda’s hands dips towards your heat but Scarlet clicks her tongue and tugs on the harness around Wanda’s waist. Wanda stills and she looks hesitant. “I don’t know how…”

“I’ll help you,” Scarlet says.

You don’t risk pointing out how badly she wants this. Wanda nods and allows Scarlet to guide her until her hands are beside your head and she’s hovering over you.

“Gentle,” Scarlet murmurs as she guides Wanda’s hips. Her strap finally enters you and you lift your hips to try and her deeper inside of you. You’re not sure what Scarlet is playing at. She hasn’t been gentle with you in a long time and having a strap slowly open you up instead of filling you in one thrust is torture. Scarlet clicks her tongue in disapproval and red slams your hips back against the bed.

“Be good for our guest,” she says and you nod hurriedly. The last thing you want is for this to stop while she punishes you.

“She is so desperate,” Wanda says wonderingly. Scarlet hums her agreement. Wanda stops her movements, ignoring Scarlet’s hands. You whine and tug at the magic ropes. You don’t dare move your hips.  Wanda looks like she’s drinking you in, the dark eyeshadow making her eyes glow. You’d squirm if she wasn’t already half inside you.

“Don’t tease,” Scarlet says and uses her grip on Wanda’s hips to force her the rest of the way inside of you. You cry out and instinctively try to arch away. Wanda moans lowly in your ear and you almost melt. The stretch fades away as you realise you’re having your first time with Wanda again. The desperate look on her face, the complete lack of control of the situation. For a second you almost wish Scarlet wasn’t here. It’s been a long time since you’ve had control of Wanda in the bedroom. Scarlet pinches your thigh and you twitch. Not fair, you think to her. She doesn’t deign to respond.

Wanda continues to show her complete lack of control by barely moving her hips before pushing back inside of you. She does it again and again and soon she’s rutting inside of you. Her eyes have shut and she’s moaning freely. It’s a relief and a disappointment not to have her intense gaze on you. She’s entirely lost in the feel of you. 

Red wraps around you both and your heart pounds. Scarlet does not like to lose control. Nor does she like to be ignored. Wanda has now done both and you’ve done nothing to stop her.

“You need to be gentle,” Scarlet’s voice is hard. Wanda’s chest heaves above you and it’s a struggle to focus on anything else. Scarlet’s voice turns smooth and warm. “We don’t want to hurt her.”

You try to protest but find yourself unable to open your mouth.

Wanda, you whine in your head.

You know what your mouth is for, her voice curls around the fog in your mind. Then a memory is shoved to the forefront and something heavy and smooth sits on your tongue. You moan and try to take it deeper. Wanda makes a confused noise and you’re pulled from the memory. Your mouth is still firmly shut. You whine again since Scarlet won’t let you beg.

Behave and you’ll get exactly what you always want, the taste of her fills your mouth and your eyes roll back.

“What are you— “ Wanda cuts herself off with a moan. “How do you keep control when she is like this? Her mind…” her hips jut mindlessly. Scarlet hums.

“You’ll get used to how desperate she is, and how powerful that makes you feel. She turns all dumb. It’s quite easy,” she says and you shouldn’t love how she talks like you aren’t there. 

Scarlet takes control of Wanda’s hips again but this time she uses her magic. Her hands settle on your lower legs. It’s not a particularly sensitive spot but you missed the connection.

Scarlet pulls Wanda back, the tip of the strap is barely inside of you, before shoving her hips forward. You and Wanda moan in unison. Scarlet keeps the a steady, tortuous pace. Wanda’s breath is hot against your ear. You aren’t used to the lack of her lips against you but her smell surrounding you is enough to increase the haze. 

A second after you have the thought her lips skim your cheek, and then down to suck at that sensitive spot on your neck. A moan turns into a whine and you wish Scarlet would let you beg.

“I’m not stopping you, dearest,” Scarlet says, not bothering to speak into your mind since Wanda has entered it too. But she is stopping you. She won’t let anything other than desperate sounds escape your lips. You resort to begging in your mind.

Please, please, please, please, I’ll be so good I’ll make your favourite sounds. Please, please-

It’s hard to think of anything properly, to promise anything tantalising, while Wanda’s strap is hitting that spot deep inside of you over and over again.

“What do you think?” Scarlet asks Wanda. “Should our girl be allowed to cum?”

“Yes,” is Wanda’s instant response. Scarlet huffs a laugh. “I want to see her as she comes.”

“She’s quite pretty when she does. It makes me want to…” her nails press harshly into your skin. Her cute aggression became apparent to you early on in your relationship.

Please, please, please, please-

“She liked that,” Wanda says curiously.

Scarlet chuckles lowly, “She likes much more than that.”

Memories fill your mind of your pleasure and pain mixing together to give you extreme highs. They cut off abruptly.

“Ah, ah,” Scarlet says, “She’s close. You need to focus on her, especially if you want to watch her come. You can look later.”

Wanda’s intense gaze returns to you and Scarlet speeds up, no longer taking the whole strap out as you get closer and closer to your peak.

“What a good girl we have,” Scarlet says and your toes curl. “So obedient for us, so desperate. I bet I could stop holding you down and you’d be just as still.”

You nod hurriedly. It’s a game you’ve played before, and lost many times, but Scarlet loves the complete control she has over you and how desperately you try to stay obedient. It always ends in pleasure.

“See, Wanda? We don’t need our powers to control someone,” Scarlet says. 

You doubt Wanda is truly paying attention. The face she’s making is a familiar one. She’s about to come. The idea that fucking you is turning her on so much that she’s reaching the edge so fast pushes you over too. White hot pleasure flashes through you and Scarlet allows Wanda to rut inside of you. Wanda comes down first, laying on top of you as you continue to twitch around her length. She nuzzles at your neck while you come down.

“What a pretty image my girls make,” Scarlet says. Her hands skim from Wanda’s back to your sides and you shiver. She uses a hand to leverage herself over Wanda to be able to cup your face. “I want you to take her down your throat next, okay baby?”

You nod obediently. Her thumb finds your mouth and your lips open without thought. She gently run her thumb over your tongue and whatever few thoughts you had managed to gather slip away.

“Such a good girl,” she says and you can feel Wanda shiver.

“Her mind is so empty,” Wanda says, her accent strong. Scarlet moves to lay on her side next to you both so Wanda can kneel over you again.

“Like yours was, a few moments ago. Poor baby just can’t recover as fast,” Scarlet says like she isn’t pressing down on your tongue and making your eyes rolls back. “And maybe a few hypnotic suggestions,” she adds with a small smirk.

“And she is ours,” Wanda’s voice has gone from wondering to possessive. Her hand creeps towards your neck but Scarlet grabs her wrist.

“Not yet, we don’t want her too dumb when taking your strap. She’ll choke,” Scarlet says.

“She won’t now?” Wanda says doubtfully. 

Scarlet hums and removes her thumb. You whine at the loss.

“Don’t doubt our girl. She has quite the fixation on things in her mouth. It proves very…motivating,” her hands don’t leave your skin. “One more moment, darling,” she says to you. “Then I want you on your knees.” You manage to make an agreeing sound. You can’t wait to have Wanda in your mouth again. 

Scarlet encourages Wanda to stand. You don’t take the extra time she’s trying to give you to recover. You practically scramble off the bed in your eagerness. Scarlet huffs a laugh behind you but Wanda looks at you with something wary and fragile. It’s rare for someone to approach her with such eagerness. You stop in front of her and brush a gentle kiss against her lips. Wanda deepens it immediately, her hand fisting in your shirt. Your resulting smile ruins the kiss.

“Let me make you feel good,” you murmur and she nods, pupils blown.

You slowly lower yourself to your knees. Wanda’s eyes don’t leave yours. Your wrap your hand around the base of her wet strap and guide it to your waiting month. You taste yourself and moan as you take it deeper. Wanda gasps and her hips twitch. You begin to move your hand up and down and Wanda’s hips push forward again. Red surrounds Wanda’s hips with an accompanying careful from Scarlet. Her voice is too thick with lust to sound angry, let alone particularly warning. You suck and Wanda moans.

“How does that feel?” Scarlet asks. A faint, wet noise tells you she’s started to play with herself.

“Feels good,” Wanda mumbles, eyes half-lidded as she watches you.

“Yeah? You like how our girl sucks you off?”

Wanda moans again and her hand gently grabs the back of your head. 

“I don’t need to ask how our pretty girl likes it. She always enjoys having our cock in her mouth. Isn’t that right?”

You try to make an agreeing sound around the strap. Wanda moans and tries to push deeper. You need to pull back for air a few moments later. Wanda’s eyes stay fixed to the string of spit connecting your lips to her strap. It snaps and red fills your vision. A moment later you’re splayed back on the bed, Wanda hovering over you with red eyes. Her strap nudges your entrance and you’re arching to welcome her back in. A deeper red flares and Wanda is forced still.

“Why?” her voices comes out as a whine.

“All of that and you think I don’t deserve a turn?” Scarlet asks.

“You’ve been enjoying it plenty,” Wanda snaps.

You turn curious eyes to Scarlet. You can always feel each other’s presence in a room, and you have no doubt she’s always within your mind, but you only feel the emotions she sends you. She hasn’t been broadcasting how much this is affecting her but it seems Wanda is feeling it all the same. Is this purposeful to keep trust or do their magics recognise them as one being?

If Scarlet hears the thought, she doesn’t answer you. Wanda is tugged off of you with a surprised yelp and left to hang in the air. She struggles for a few moments before turning a glare on Scarlet. One that hovers dangerously close to a pout. Scarlet ignores it, a skill you do not have. You reach for Wanda without really thinking about it. It’s Wanda. If she doesn’t want to be up there then you’ll help her. You don’t get far. Scarlet reminds you what situation you’re in by clearing her throat. 

Turning, your brain reorients itself upon finding her. She’s moved to lean against the headboard and she pats the side of her thigh twice. You immediately move to rest your chin against it, looking up at her. Her hand tangles in your hair and she drags you to her centre. You move so you’re between her legs and eagerly nose at her soaked curls. She lessens her tight hold and you can feel her relax back further with the shift in her thighs. You barely resist indulging yourself early.

“Enjoy your reward,” Scarlet tells you, “And if the young one behaves herself she can have one too.”

You’re too excited to try and guess what she means. Your tongue immediately presses into her wet heat and you drink from her eagerly. Scarlet moans lowly above you and Wanda makes a choked sound. You don’t realise what’s happening, too focused on your task, until Scarlet shows you an image of Wanda in your mind. She’s squirming mid-air, face scrunched in pleasure. You lightly suck Scarlet’s clit and Wanda arches. You groan as you realise you’re pleasing them both at the same time. It only makes you more eager. 

You’re soon surrounded by the sound of pleasure. Breathy noises from Scarlet and continuous moans from Wanda. It’s a struggle to stay focused, to not let your brain slip away in a haze. A part of the connection between Wanda and Scarlet breaks away and Wanda makes a desperate noise. She can’t feel the way you’re eating Scarlet out anymore.

“You could have felt everything if you had contained yourself,” Scarlet tells her. Her tone is noticeably weaker with how close she’s getting. A hypocritical thing to do but that seems to be her theme tonight. 

You don’t direct the stray thought at her but she must still catch it because nails are suddenly digging into your scalp. Thankfully, your transgression isn’t bad enough for her to pull you away. Losing her taste when she’s so close to coming would be truly devastating. You lightly scrape your teeth across her clit before she can use that thought against you. Scarlet’s thighs tense around you and her grip tightens in your hair again as she comes with a long, low moan. You watch her face, warm pleasure filling you, as you lap up the mess you made. A gentle, mental nudge has you pulling back slightly, Scarlet clearly needing a moment of respite. You blink slowly up at her, pleased. She runs a gentle hand through your hair.

“Wanda deserves a treat for taking her punishment so well, hmm?” Scarlet purrs to you.

Wanda’s quiet grumbling and a pulse of her power tells you she doesn’t appreciate it being called a punishment, but it seems she doesn’t want to risk whatever reward is on the table since she doesn’t say or do anything else. Hands grip your ankles and you squeak in surprise when you’re pulled down the bed. Wanda’s weight settling behind you stops you from crawling back to Scarlet but you still pout. You’re much too far to nose into her soaked curls. Scarlet sends a flicker of amusement towards you which only makes your pout stronger. It quickly disappears when the tip of Wanda’s strap starts nudging your entrance. She hesitates and you whine quietly.

Scarlet flicks her wrist, “Fuck her however you like.” She once more lounges against the headboard, her heavy gaze on you. Wanda starts like Scarlet had shown her, with long and slow strokes. It doesn’t last long. Her self-control snaps and her nails sink in as she grips your hips tight, holding you still as she ruts into you. You’re soon gasping under her. Sensitive and needy, already so close after so much attention. Wanda’s quick orgasm might have been embarrassing if it weren’t so hot. Her grunts and moans as she fucks into you spurring you on. You’re a squirming mess as you feel her hips stutter, her orgasm taking over. It’s not quite enough. A few more seconds and you would’ve been right there with her. 

The familiar feeling of Scarlet’s magic curls around your clit and the pressure inside of you bursts. You look up to Scarlet as you cry out, Wanda moaning against your neck as your cunt squeezes her. Scarlet’s eyes are half-lidded as she works two fingers in and out of herself. You buck helplessly under Wanda as your orgasm continues to wash over you. Scarlet comes with a quiet noise, the sight of both you and Wanda too much to resist. 

You come down slowly. Wanda nuzzles the back of your neck and mumbles what sounds like reassurances in Sokovian. She settles against your back. You luxuriate in the weight of her even as you reach for Scarlet. She gently lifts you both with her magic and pulls you both forward to lie between her legs. She’s shift a bit further down the bed so you can comfortably rest your head on her stomach. Her hand gently pushes back some hair from Wanda’s face before moving to gently run through your own.

The compound at night always feels different. During the day it is loud in that chaotic, comfortable way that comes with too many strong personalities sharing the same building. Someone is always sparring in the training room, someone is always arguing in the kitchen, and Tony’s lab is always humming like the walls themselves are alive. But when the night settles in, the noise disappears until the place feels cavernous and hollow, long corridors lit only by dim strips of light along the floor and the quiet ventilation system whispering through the walls.

At the end of one of those corridors, a thin line of light slips beneath a bedroom door that should have been dark hours ago. Inside the room, Wanda sits curled slightly forward on the edge of her bed, her laptop balanced on her thighs and casting a pale glow over her face. Her hair is messy, falling around her shoulders in dark waves, and she hasn’t noticed how long she’s been sitting there. The video on the screen reflects in her eyes while she watches with a stillness that borders on unnatural focus, the kind of attention someone gives when they are afraid to blink and miss something.

On the screen, it’s you.

The footage is clearly recorded from a distance, the frame slightly shaky like the phone had been held carefully but not perfectly steady. You’re in the training room, standing in front of the heavy punching bag with your hair pulled back and your shirt damp with sweat from a long session. Every strike you throw makes the chain above the bag creak softly, and the force of your hits sends the bag swinging away before snapping back toward you again. Your breathing is heavy but controlled, shoulders tense with effort as you reset your stance and throw another punch.

Wanda doesn’t move.

Her eyes track every movement you make, every shift of your body, every small habit you probably don’t even realize you have. The way you roll your shoulders when your muscles tighten. The way you wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist instead of stopping to grab a towel. The way your jaw tightens slightly when you get frustrated with yourself.

She has watched this exact video so many times she could probably recreate every frame from memory.

Still, she drags the cursor back to the beginning and presses play again.

Your first punch lands again with the same dull thud, and Wanda leans slightly closer to the screen without even noticing she’s doing it. Her fingers rest lightly against the laptop near the edge of the frame, almost close enough to touch the image of you frozen in motion when she pauses it for a moment. Her lips part just slightly while she studies your face on the screen, her eyes moving slowly across the shape of it like she’s committing it to memory again even though she already knows it better than she should.

“You look even better angry,” she murmurs quietly to herself, her voice soft and almost breathless in the empty room. The words aren’t ashamed or hesitant, just thoughtful in the way someone might admire a painting they’ve seen a hundred times but still can’t stop looking at. Her fingers tap lightly against the trackpad before the video begins moving again, and her gaze sharpens with the same intensity it always does whenever you’re on the screen.

Her laptop is full of these videos.

Not just one or two.

Dozens.

Clips she recorded without you ever noticing. Moments she caught when no one else was paying attention. Little fragments of your life inside the compound that she collected slowly over weeks until the folder filled itself without her even realizing how much she had gathered.

There’s one of you asleep on the couch in the common room during movie night, your head tipped back slightly and your arm hanging lazily over the edge while everyone else argued about what film to watch next. There’s another where you’re sitting at the kitchen island early in the morning, half-awake while you drink coffee and stare blankly at nothing like your brain hasn’t fully started working yet. There’s a clip from a mission where you’re shouting instructions over the chaos while civilians run behind you, your voice calm and steady in the middle of absolute disaster.

Wanda opens that one next.

The street in the video is loud and messy with dust and smoke curling through the air, distant sirens wailing somewhere behind the buildings. The camera angle is high up from a rooftop where she had been standing earlier that day, far enough away that no one noticed she had pulled her phone out for a moment. She watches the footage with the same quiet intensity while your figure runs into frame below, your boots splashing through a shallow puddle as you move toward the fight with your weapon in hand.

“You didn’t even hesitate,” she says softly, almost admiringly, as the video continues playing in front of her. Her thumb traces lightly along the edge of the screen while she watches you crouch behind a car and shout something toward Steve across the street. Your expression is sharp and focused, your attention completely locked on the mission like the chaos around you barely even registers.

That was the moment she started recording you more often.

Because she realized something then.

She realized she could watch you whenever she wanted.

All she had to do was keep the moments.

Her laptop shifts slightly when she moves it closer, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark room while she scrolls through the folder again. Each file name is meaningless and random, but she knows exactly what each one contains without needing to check. Her memory for anything related to you is perfect in a way that almost surprises her sometimes.

She clicks another video.

The common room appears this time, warm lighting filling the space while the team relaxes after a long day. Sam is sprawled across the floor with snacks scattered around him, Clint is half-asleep in an armchair, and someone is talking loudly near the kitchen entrance about something that clearly isn’t important.

But Wanda barely notices any of them.

Because you’re sitting on the couch.

And next to you is Natasha.

Wanda’s gaze sharpens immediately, her attention locking onto the screen with an intensity that makes her shoulders tense slightly. The video had been recorded casually like the others, her phone angled from the hallway where she had been standing unnoticed while everyone relaxed inside the room.

You’re laughing at something Natasha says, leaning back against the couch cushions while you shove her shoulder lightly in playful protest. Natasha smiles in that small knowing way she has, her body turning slightly toward you as the conversation continues.

Wanda’s fingers tighten against the laptop.

She watches carefully.

Every second.

Every small shift of your posture.

Natasha leans closer to say something quieter.

And then you kiss her.

It’s quick. Soft. Casual in a way that makes it clear it wasn’t the first time.

But it’s enough.

The moment it happens, Wanda goes completely still.

Her breathing stops.

Her eyes lock onto the screen like the image might change if she stares hard enough.

The video keeps playing, but she isn’t hearing the voices anymore. The only thing she can see is the way Natasha smiles against your lips before you pull away, the two of you continuing to talk like the kiss meant nothing at all.

Wanda’s chest tightens in a sharp, sudden way that makes something inside her snap.

The laptop slams shut.

The sound echoes sharply through the room.

For a single second the silence hangs heavy in the air.

Then the room erupts.

Scarlet energy bursts from Wanda in a violent wave that rattles the walls, the desk across the room lifting into the air before smashing sideways into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood. Papers scatter everywhere as the lamp shatters against the floor, glass exploding across the carpet in glittering shards.

Her breathing becomes uneven as another pulse of power ripples through the room, sending a chair flying into the door with a

heavy metallic bang that dents the surface.

“She doesn’t get to touch you,” Wanda says under her breath, her voice low and shaking with something darker than anger. The red glow around her hands flickers violently while the mirror above her dresser cracks straight down the center, splintering outward into jagged lines.

“You don’t even look at me,” she mutters, almost like she’s thinking the words out loud rather than saying them intentionally. Her gaze drifts toward the fallen laptop on the floor across the room, her chest rising and falling sharply while the faint scarlet glow around her fingers continues pulsing with restless energy.

Another surge of power rattles the walls again before finally beginning to fade, the red light slowly dimming until the room falls back into silence. The destruction left behind is scattered everywhere, broken furniture and glass littering the floor while Wanda kneels in the middle of the wreckage with her hands resting loosely against her thighs.

Her eyes stay fixed on the laptop.

Because it still has the video on it.

The moment with you.

The moment that should have been hers.

And then—

There’s a knock on the door.

The sound freezes her instantly.

“…Wanda?” your voice calls gently from the other side, muffled through the metal but unmistakable.

Her heart slams violently against her ribs.

“I heard something crash,” you continue, concern threading through your voice as your hand touches the handle. “Are you okay in there?”

Wanda doesn’t move.

Her gaze drifts slowly toward the door.

Because you’re standing right outside it.

And suddenly the distance that had always existed between you—the safety of watching from hallways, from rooftops, from the glow of a laptop screen—is gone.

Now you’re here.

Only a door between you.

And Wanda has been watching you for far too long to pretend she doesn’t want it opened.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

Masterlist