#All of Your Pieces | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ginnsbaker · 3 months ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!”

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that?

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles.

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?” You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse.

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town.

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you.

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her.

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms.

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need.

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it.

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #oneshots #fic request #wandavision #monica rambeau #darcy lewis #jimmy woo #All Of Your Pieces #AOYP

622 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 17 days ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (13 - Mind If I...?)

Chapter Summary: You weren't the type of person to make easy assumptions, but you swore Wanda had been following you around ever since the mission in Turkey.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 4k+ | Chapter Tags: Age of Ultron!Wanda, Enemies to Lovers (sort of)

A/N: I've been soooo busy lately, but as promised, here's a new chapter... // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You weren't the type of person to make easy assumptions, but you swore Wanda had been following you around ever since the mission in Turkey.

At first, it was subtle—a coincidence here and there. The mission in Turkey had thawed the ice between you, shifting from open hostility (mostly from your end) to a cautious civility. Wanda had saved your life, and you'd extended a fragile olive branch in return. But becoming friendly with someone had never come naturally to you.

In the weeks that followed, you began to notice her presence more acutely. At first, you chalked it up to coincidence. After all, the Avengers Compound wasn't endless. It started with her appearing in the training room at the same time you usually had it to yourself. You thought the schedules you had set for yourselves would stay in place—Wanda working out in the evenings and you having the facility all to yourself at dawn. Even if it weren't Wanda encroaching on your space, you didn't appreciate company.

“Mind if I’d join?” she’d said, her thick Sokovian accent still clinging to every word. You couldn’t very well turn her away without seeming petty, so you'd just nod and stick to your routine, hyper-aware of her breathing a few feet off.

Then she'd start frequenting the common areas—lounges, kitchens, even that quiet nook in the library where you liked to lose yourself in a book. Always with a plausible reason, of course.

“Just grabbing a snack,” she’d say, foraging through the fridge as you nursed your coffee. Or “Looking for a new book. Do you have any recommendations?” her fingers trailing the spines on the shelf next to you. You’d nod mechanically, then busy yourself or wait a quarter hour before glancing at your watch and feigning a sudden memory of somewhere you needed to be.

One afternoon, as you were sifting through mission reports in the conference room, she walked in with a stack of files. “Steve asked me to go over these,” she explained, placing them on the table. “Do you mind if I work here?”

You glanced up briefly. “Plenty of room,” you answered, then turned back to your report. But your focus was shot. The shuffle of papers, the faint trace of her perfume—it was all too distracting. After a few strained minutes, you shut the folder.

“Something wrong?” she asked, picking up on your frustration.

“Just distracted,” you muttered, standing. “I’ll finish this later.”

Her face fell slightly. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It's fine,” you said curtly, already heading for the door.

That evening, you were in the gym again, pounding away at the heavy bag. As you replayed the day, you questioned whether you were being unreasonable towards her. Maybe it was all in your head.

“Mind if I join?” Her voice again. “I’m working on my form, maybe you could give me some tips?”

You turned to see Wanda at the doorway, gym bag in tow, looking hopeful. And pretty. Even though heavy eye makeup wasn't usually your style, you couldn't ignore that she was attractive, especially now that she was around so often.

Not that it mattered. Wanda wasn't your type, after all.

“Actually, I was just finishing up,” you said, reaching for your towel.

“Oh. Another time, then?”

“Sure,” you replied noncommittally, avoiding her eyes as you passed by.

Leaving the gym, you felt somewhat guilty for walking out like that. Was Wanda just trying to be friendly, or was there something more behind her constant nearness? Trust didn't come easily to you, and her persistent presence was suffocating you a little.

The next morning, you decided to test a theory. You altered your usual routine, heading to the training facilities an hour earlier than normal. To your surprise—and mild irritation—Wanda was already there, running through combat drills.

“Early start today?” you remarked coolly.

She glanced up, a small smile playing on her lips. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d use the time.”

You nodded slowly. “Right.”

Wanda stopped throwing punches in the air, clearly sensing something. “Is everything okay?”

“Just fine,” you said.

Her eyebrows drew together. “If I've done something to upset you—”

“Look,” you cut her off, sighing heavily. “Why are you always around?”

She blinked, taken aback. “I thought we were getting along better.”

“We are. But that doesn't mean we need to be joined at the hip,” you retorted.

Wanda’s cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away to hide the embarrassment and hurt on her face. “I didn’t realize I was that unwelcome.”

“You’re not,” you said, toweling off your sweaty hair. “I just need some space, okay?”

“Understood,” she said softly, gathering her things. “I'll leave you to it.”

Wanda was gone before you could take back all of it. You hadn’t meant to drive her from the training room. You just... you just wanted things to revert to how they were before—before she came in and upended your world—no matter how small your world may have been.

Over the next few days, Wanda gave you exactly what you asked.

—

Vision chose to knock on your door instead of walking through a wall to talk to you this time.

You had been engrossed in a technical report for the past hour when you glanced at the clock—it was just past nine in the evening. Visitors were uncommon at this late hour, and you were hardly in the mood for company. Sighing, you set aside the tablet and stood, crossing the room to open the door.

“Yes, Vision?”

“Good evening,” he replied with a polite nod. “I hope I'm not intruding.”

“You were, but…” You stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Come in.”

He entered with that effortless grace characteristic of him, his eyes briefly scanning your sparsely decorated room: a king-sized mattress at the center, a small wardrobe, and a sound box at the foot of the bed. You noticed he seemed more contemplative than usual.

“Is there something you need?” you asked, leaning against the door jamb.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I wished to seek your advice on a personal matter.”

“My advice? On what exactly?”

“Wanda,” he said simply.

Why did everything seem to be about Maximoff lately?

You folded your arms. “What about her?”

Vision hesitated, like he was carefully picking through his words. “I've noticed a... growing complexity in my interactions with her. Emotions that don’t compute.”

“Are you saying you have feelings for her?” you asked bluntly.

“In a way, yes,” he replied, almost clinical, like he was reciting lines from his programming. It was harsh, maybe, to still see him as just an AI, but you couldn’t shake it entirely. “I find myself wanting to understand her better, to be closer to her. But I'm uncertain how to proceed.”

You let out a short laugh. “And you think I'm the right person to help you with that?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Well, you and Wanda are friends. I thought you might offer some insight.”

You shook your head. “We're not friends, Vision. We just work together. Like you and I aren't friends—we're colleagues.”

He seemed to process this for a moment. “Ah, I see. My understanding was that you shared a closer relationship.”

“What gave you that idea?” you asked, unable to hide the slight edge in your voice.

“Because Wanda talks about you more than she does about anyone else,” he replied matter-of-factly.

That stopped you. “She does?”

“Yes,” he replied, as if it was obvious and you were too dense to have missed it. “It seemed logical to assume you two were friends.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Well, maybe we're... getting there. But that doesn't make me an expert on how you should approach her.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But any guidance you could offer would be appreciated.”

You considered his request. Despite your reservations, you could tell that he sincerely wanted to have a real connection with Wanda. If Wanda was looking for a friend, Vision might just be what she needed.

“Alright,” you relented. “First off, why are you interested in Wanda?”

He took a moment. “She has a depth I find… compelling. She’s new to the team, just like me. I think that shared ground could be a natural starting point for a bond.”

You weren't convinced by his answer. It struck you as a cop-out. You suspected he might have deliberately shielded his true motives behind a logical and boring reasoning.

“Is that all?”

Vision appeared regretful—an emotion you hadn't thought he could display. Seeing it for the first time, it gave you a feeling that whatever he felt for Wanda—it was as real as the human side of him.

“I believe she's... lonely,” he murmured.

The word drops between you like a stone, stirring ripples you'd rather ignore.

“Lonely?” you repeated.

“Yes,” Vision nodded. “Given the recent loss of her brother and being in a new country after her home was destroyed, it's understandable.”

There was no denying that the life of an Avenger wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, despite how the media painted it. Captain America and Iron Man costumes flooded stores, kids wore them for Halloween, and posters of the team adorned countless bedroom walls. Occasionally, you'd be stopped on the street for a photo or autograph. To them, you're living the dream.

But the reality was far different. It was more isolating than people realized. The relentless pressure, the heavy burden of responsibilities, the perpetual cycle of threats—it all took its toll. You suspected everyone on the team experienced this to some extent, but there was always another mission, another catastrophe, leaving scant time to confront personal demons.

Thinking about Wanda, you realized Vision had a point. She'd lost so much in such a short time. Her brother's death was still fresh, her homeland in ruins, and now she was in a new country with people who hadn't fully accepted her. If anyone was the loneliest among you, it was probably her.

“Maybe you're right,” you said, looking down at your feet. “She's been through a lot.”

Feeling uneasy about the direction the conversation had taken, you steered it back to Vision's original reason for showing up at your bedroom door at this late hour.

“So, what's the problem with getting to know Wanda?” you asked.

Vision cocked his head. “Wanda doesn't take well to unasked-for advice. When I try to offer solutions or comfort from what I've researched, she pulls away.”

“Research?” you repeated with a grimace. “Vision, people prefer advice that comes from personal experience.”

“I’ve only been recently “born” into the world, Y/N. I don’t exactly have many human experiences to share,” he said.

“Fair enough.”

Vision sighed. “I'm quite resourceful when it comes to finding answers. I've accessed millions of articles on how to make someone feel better—psychology journals, self-help guides, even personal blogs. Now I know why none of them worked.”

“Have you tried just... spending time with her? Without trying to fix anything?” you suggested. “Maybe invite her to do something together.”

“Such as?”

“I don't know—watch a movie, grab a coffee, something low-key.”

He shook his head. “I haven't attempted that approach.”

“Well, maybe you should. What does she like watching?”

“She has a particular fondness for sitcoms,” Vision recalled.

“There you go,” you said. “Pick a show she likes and suggest watching it together.”

He seemed to consider this. “Do you believe that would help her feel less isolated?”

“It couldn't hurt,” you shrugged. “Sometimes, all you need is someone sitting next to you.” Surprisingly, the words felt foreign on your tongue. You wondered if you even bought what you were selling, given your usual preference for solitude.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I will endeavor to apply this strategy.”

“Don't mention it,” you said, and then, off the cuff, you asked, “By the way, when I hinted that you had feelings for her and you said maybe, we’re talking just friendly feelings, right?”

Vision thought about it. He thought about it long enough that you almost retracted the question.

“She is objectively beautiful,” he finally said. “It’s something to explore once we've established a solid friendship.”

You hummed in response, neither confirming nor refuting his statement.

You walked him to the door. As he was about to leave, another thought occurred to you.

“Vision?”

He turned back. “Yes?”

“Why did you really come to me for advice?”

He met your gaze steadily. “Because, despite what you say, I believe you understand Wanda in ways others do not. And perhaps, you understand yourself a bit less than you think.”

You opened your mouth to respond but found no words. Before you could gather your thoughts, he gave a courteous nod.

“Goodnight,” he said, and with that, he departed down the corridor. Your eyes wandered off to the door next to you, wondering if Wanda was already lost to sleep.

—

That week, the compound was uncharacteristically quiet. Missions were sparse, and the world seemed to take a collective breath. The team was left grappling with an unexpected lull, each member handling the abundance of free time in their own distinct way. Some welcomed the break—Clint retreated to his family, Natasha disappeared out of town with only a mumble of vague details, and Tony barricaded himself in his workshop. Only Steve kept busy, visiting schools and hospitals as part of an initiative to keep the Avengers grounded and engaged with the community. You, however, struggled with the sudden downtime.

One afternoon, after pacing the length of your quarters for the umpteenth time, you flopped onto your bed and stared at the ceiling. The thought of another movie marathon or video game session made you bored out of your mind. With a sigh, you pulled out your personal phone from the nightstand drawer—the one with a public SIM, not the encrypted devices issued by the team.

You unlocked the phone and opened a dating app you hadn’t touched in months. Swiping through profiles had become a sporadic pastime, and Natasha often berated you for it, reminding you that some of these girls weren’t just looking for a one-night stand.

You began absentmindedly swiping left and right, the faces blurring into one another. Matches were infrequent. Most assumed your profile was a fake, a catfish impersonating a celebrity. On the occasions when you did match with someone, they often turned out to be the imposters, hoping to scam or exploit. It was a frustrating cycle that usually led you to abandon the app altogether.

But this evening took a surprising turn. Just as you were about to give up and close the app, a new profile appeared. A certain Olivia. Stunning, huge green eyes and a great smile, with a bio that suggested a keen intellect and an interest in adventure.

Your kind of girl.

It's a match! The notification popped, making you grin.

Surprised, you opened the chat. Olivia had already sent a message.

“Well, either you're incredibly good at Photoshop, or I've just matched with an Avenger.”

You chuckled, typing back, “Guess you'll have to meet me to find out.”

—

It had taken two nights of texting for you to convince Olivia to meet with you in person.

You stood in front of the mirror, deliberating over what to wear. Settling on a casual yet stylish outfit—a well-fitted white shirt and faded jeans—you gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Satisfied, you grabbed your jacket and headed out.

Descending the hallway toward the exit, you passed by the communal lounge. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a familiar figure sitting alone on one of the couches—a brunette with her back to you. Wanda. She was hunched over a book, and you recognized the cover—The Book Thief by Markus Zusak—the same book you had been reading a few weeks ago when she caught you in the library.

Come to think of it, you hadn't seen much of her since you'd told her off in the training room. For a moment, you considered approaching her, perhaps to say a quick hello or even to apologize.

But as you made a move, Vision came into the room, rattling off about some nearby restaurants Wanda might like. Wanda glanced up and mouthed a ‘thanks’ to him.

It sure had the makings of a date. Not keen on intruding, you quietly veered off, slipping out of the compound without announcing your exit.

—

You left the compound unusually early, intent on scouting the area to ensure it was secure and free of threats. Knowing the exits was crucial—in case things went sideways, you needed a clear escape route. Complacency wasn't an option. After all, the semblance of normalcy was just that—a façade. In truth, anyone linked to someone like you was never truly safe.

It was also a good antidote for nerves. It had been ages since your last date, and chatting with Olivia over the past few nights had been a genuine pleasure. Her humor matched yours beat for beat, and she steered clear of the usual job interrogation. Instead, you both dove into discussions about literature and swapped stories of your favorite place you’ve been to.

It was Olivia who chose the restaurant. She knew enough not to bring you to a popular spot in the city, and picked a small establishment tucked in the quietest neighborhood of the city.

You arrived five minutes early, only to find that Olivia had still managed to beat you there. She stood from a table near the window, greeting you with a warm smile. In person, she was even more captivating—confident, with that effortless, girl-next-door charm.

“Glad you made it,” Olivia said as you approached.

“Well, I did ask you out, so…” you joked, pulling out a chair.

You both slipped effortlessly into conversation. She did most of the talking, which suited you just fine—it meant you didn’t have to share much about yourself, something you were never quite comfortable with anyway.

“I've heard the beef stroganoff is supposed to be excellent,” Olivia said.

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, looking over the menu. “Let's share a few dishes.”

You were about to signal a server when movement by the entrance caught your eye. Turning slightly, you spotted Wanda stepping into the restaurant. She glanced around as if searching for someone, then made her way to a small table near the back.

A wave of irritation washed over you. What were the odds? First at the compound, now here.

Olivia noticed your distraction. “Is everything okay?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah, sorry. I thought I recognized someone.”

“Friend or foe?” Olivia joked.

“Neither,” you found yourself saying more honestly than intended.

Olivia chuckled, oblivious to the depth of your remark. “Well, whoever it is, they can wait. Tonight is about us.”

“You're right,” you agreed, pushing thoughts of Wanda aside. “So, tell me more about your trip to Prague.”

Olivia immediately launched into a story about a strange encounter she had in one of its historic streets but your attention wavered. Instead, you watched Wanda as she placed her order and then casually scrolled through her phone, resembling anyone else dining alone in a restaurant, passing the time while waiting for their meal. She seemed unusually pensive, and part of you felt a semblance of empathy, but you reminded yourself that it wasn't your job to worry about her.

Still, the coincidence was too glaring to ignore. Had she followed you? Was this another one of her attempts to get close to you, or was it something more vindictive—a way to retaliate for being so standoffish with her?

“Excuse me for a moment,” you told Olivia, rising from your seat.

“Sure,” Olivia replied, looking mildly puzzled.

Weaving through the tables, you approached Wanda's. She looked up, her face registering surprise as you stood there in front of her.

“Y/N—”

“What are you doing here?” you murmured, keeping your voice low.

She blinked, taken aback. “Having dinner.”

“Here? Tonight?”

She set her jaw at your tone. “Is there a problem?”

“It seems like you're following me,” you stated, the accusation slipping out despite your intentions. You weren’t entirely sure why you confronted her; it wasn’t to drive her out of the restaurant. It was just that not knowing her intentions was getting under your skin.

“I'm not. This is the only place around that serves Sokovian food. I come here when I miss home,” she said.

“You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?”

“What are you talking about?” Wanda demanded, standing up as well.

“I saw you with Vision at the lounge earlier tonight. He mentioned he'd found a few new spots for both of you to try,” you revealed, smirking. You wagered Wanda didn’t know you were there when she was busy planning evenings with her boyfriend—or so you assumed.

“Well, if you'd eavesdropped longer, you'd have heard me tell Vision I'd just go to my usual restaurant,” Wanda retorted calmly.

“Really?” You scoffed. “Then why are you here alone, at the same restaurant where I'm on a date?”

“You’re on a date?” Wanda’s eyes darted past you, landing briefly on Olivia, who threw a curious glance back. Her gaze took in Olivia’s features—a pair of green eyes, the shade more hazel than her own. A fleeting expression crossed her face before she turned back to you.

She sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. “Vision doesn't eat food. Why would he come with me?”

“Because he's your... he's…” You stumbled over your words, realizing you weren't quite sure what to label their relationship. The assumption that Vision was her boyfriend felt suddenly unfounded.

“Vision’s my friend,” Wanda said. “He was making suggestions because he knows I miss home.”

Before you could respond, she flagged down the waiter.

“Excuse me, has the chicken paprikash been started yet?”

The waiter checked his notepad. “It's still queued, ma'am.”

“Please cancel it,” she said, much to your surprise.

“Certainly,” the waiter said, and hurried off.

“Wait, where are you going?” you asked as she began gathering her things.

“I'm getting dinner somewhere else. Happy now?”

“Wanda, that’s not what I—”

She breezed past you but stopped a few paces away, turning to face you. “Not everything is about you,” she said softly, then exited the restaurant without another word.

You stood there for a while, heart beating fast, hands trembling slightly.

When you got back to your table, Olivia looked up, her brows knitted together in concern. It was hard to tell if she was worried about the scene with you and Wanda or if she thought you might bail on her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

You managed a weak smile. “Yeah, just a little misunderstanding.”

Olivia studied you for a moment. “Do you need to go?”

“No, no,” you assured, though your mind was elsewhere. “I'm here.”

—

It was around an hour before Wanda heard a soft knock on her door. She was sitting by the window, absentmindedly strumming her guitar, playing an old Sokovian folk song from memory—the same tune her mother used to sing while doing housework. She couldn’t remember the lyrics to the song, but she could recall how it made her feel. It never quite brought her to tears, but the melody stirred a deep sense of nostalgia. She remembered being happy and content sharing a cramped apartment with her family. Wanda's voice trembled as she tried to hum along. For all she knew, the song might have been about mundane chores like dusting or laundry, and she might never find out.

The knock didn't come again, so she continued playing. When she finished her song moments later, she set the guitar aside and walked to the door, wondering if she had imagined the sound. Opening it, she found the corridor dim and deserted. She peered up and down the hallway but saw no one.

“Hello?” she called out quietly, but there was no response. Just as she was about to retreat back into her room, she noticed a small package resting at her feet.

Picking it up, she felt the warmth seeping through the container. Attached to it was a folded note.

Thought you might still want that chicken paprikash. I'm sorry. —Y/N

Wanda stared at your hastily written note, allowing a small smile to creep onto her lips. Her stomach growled softly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten much earlier. Her stomach gave a gentle rumble, a reminder that the quick American cheeseburger she'd grabbed from a food truck, after leaving the restaurant earlier in a huff, hadn't really filled her. Nothing quite hit the spot like the flavors of home.

It really did upset her when you confronted her about being at the restaurant, and it felt like a miracle that the day ended on a different note. If you were back this early, it probably meant you hadn't gone home with that girl, and Wanda couldn’t quite understand why she felt relieved by that.

Your note remained by her side as she ate the paprikash to her heart’s content. Maybe someday, Wanda would gather the courage to tell you the rest of the truth:

That she had stopped trying to read your mind, but she could still sense your presence when you were near or in the room. That earlier tonight, she felt you in the commons and her curiosity led her to follow you, only to be pleasantly surprised when you entered her favorite restaurant. That her heart sank a little when she realized you weren’t alone as she walked into the restaurant. That she couldn’t explain why she felt drawn to you, more than anyone else on the team. That Vision had become a friend, but she found herself still wanting your friendship too.

Maybe one day she’d confess all of this to you.

Or maybe she wouldn’t.

226 notes · View notes