#And even if someone else had a competitive car he'd still be winning many races because he's talented

[multif1fan]

Yess! Tell them max!

[binkysteebnpewter]

Of Paper Planes & Teddy Bears

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Words: 2100+

Summary: Wanda has loved you since you trained her when she joined the avengers. However she’s too afraid to confess all because she’s sure you’re dating the Diner guy.

I used a divider a few times, they’re by: @writeyourmindaway 💗

Warnings: TW:Dissociation, TW: Anxiety Implications, explicit (?) detailing, conspiracy thoughts (just to add flavor 🤷🏻‍♀️).

Taglist: @softpeachbarnes @thejournalman

There was so much that I could say about her. So much good, so much praise, so many compliments that'd sound like Shakespeare had possessed my body to write an entire play solely about how her eyes stared into my soul with just a simple fleeting glance she'd give as we passed each other in the hall. There was so much I could say about her to show someone how much I love her and what I love about her, but that would take too long— even though I knew I could talk about her until my lungs failed to take in air and my heart failed to beat.

What I would utter out was that her attitude was what got me up in the morning, other than the fact she always made breakfast for everyone even though she didn't have to��� and her cooking is absolutely blissful if I'm honest. However her coffee is downright dreadful. She liked her coffee way too strong for me or anyone other than Tony and Bruce, who refused to drink theirs any other way now. I didn't see how she could drink it, especially not black with just ONE spoon of honey.

There were those days where sometimes she didn't want to cook and everyone would sometimes go to the nearby diner, and today was one of those days. She had dressed down pretty casual and comfy, but oh— she looked otherworldly in her comfort clothes, dressed to no ones expectations as she held her favorite teddy bear

Sam drove while everyone else talked, but her? She sat playing with a few small paper airplanes, making them fly with psychokinesis. Making one fly out of her course, she stops them all and looks to me. She smiles and one of them unfolds suddenly, refolding quickly. Smiling at the blossom flower, my eyes widen when I moved over and rested in my lap. She smiles to me once more and focuses on her airplanes again, leaving me a storm of emotions.

The time passes like it's racing as we all ordered, waited, receivers, and ate. Some of us were still eating, some were just talking and relaxing. It was peaceful and the diner was never busy enough to draw a crowd to us, thankfully.

"How you gonna be like 'she gotta blonde, she gotta be thick, she gotta be tan'?" She asks, standing up to a guy sitting near us as he dissed his own girlfriend.

"You ain't got the right to be picky. All you packing is a tic-tac.. what you gonna do breath mint?" She asks and he flusters.

"What you gon' do Listerine?" She asks, giving him a look full of utter sass and confidence.

Smiling as the guy flustered and began ignoring her, I nodded and gave her a thumbs up as she turned back around. She smiles to me and laughs a bit.

"Yo! You're here today!" I hear and she turns.

"Mattie! What's up?" She smiles, standing and giving the guy a hug.

Him.

The one I wish I was. The guy who gets to call her baby girl, the guy who gets to stay up and talk on the phone with her for hours, the guy who gets to hear her sleepy voice say those three words I so desperately want to hear and say back.

I love you.

Wanda had left my origami flower in the diner, right on the table with her plate. Did she not like it? Was it the wrong color? I purposefully kept my airplanes folded neatly in the colors black and red, the colors I knew she liked. Was I overthinking all the subtle things? Was I imagining them? It was possible, maybe I'm reading too far into things.

I walked silently across the street from the cemetery, a hat placed on my head and tipped low as I faced the ground. My fingers played with the fidget in my hand, the puzzle fidget I had solved too many times to count now. I was long overdue for a new one, there was no combination of moves someone could do to mess up the colors on my rainbow ball fidget toy to make sure I couldn't return each colored ball to its respective hole too quickly. Wind whipped around me and chilled my skin, my thin jacket doing nothing to keep me warm.

The pigeons, I swear, are staring at me as I walk. Following me, I know it, as I took turns and they stayed right nearby with me from the start of my journey. I was a long way from the compound, that I knew for sure. I'm convinced one day they'll begin recognizing individuals, or that maybe they're not even real— robots maybe. Do we ever see them sleep? Do the power lines charge them when they rest upon them? Do they video people and record conversations? Is this how the government truly finds wanted people?

A bus loops around and around, passing through the old streets. The neighborhoods of old tenement houses, public schools, coffee shops, and candy stores. Sidewalks lined with cart shops, their goods ranging from street food to newspapers and tourist spots. I haven't seen the bus stop once as it's passed by one time after another, yet there are always less and less people aboard it with each pass. Has it even stopped? Why come down this road so many times? Is it forever stuck in this route? Is it in limbo— wait, can objects be stuck in limbo?

dO UnITs hAVe a SoUL??

I pass a hot dog stand, the grilled hot dogs looked oddly like fingers to my eyes and I suppress a gag. Do they bleed when you bite into them? Is the juice metallic tasting? Is the texture— Let's stop there, yeah let's stop there.

I head to subway station to realize I had been in the Brooklyn-Queens area, my numb fingers aching as I swiped my subway card. I stand as far from people as I could, the suffocating feeling of the subway closing in. The scent of the train car was musty and pungent, like old sneakers in a gym locker and rotten food found in the home of a hoarder who'd dropped their food and never found it to pick up and throw away. My fingers pause in the motion of scrambling my fidget as I realize the conductor was making an announcement, I caught on too late. Asking the man nearby if he'd heard the announcement, I shuddered when he gave me a simple rat-like smile and said nothing with a shrug.

I guess I'll never know.

I feel as though someone is watching me and Natasha's words play through my head. 'If you feel like someone's watching you, it's because someone is.' Do I look for them? Do I make eye contact and sass them? No, don't. Really don't, never trust a man or even a women on the train this late at night— I have no clue why they're up, or why I'm up even. I had woke with a feeling of dread and left without a single thought about it, the compound had felt too stuffy and small— despite its size.

The compound was... a mystery to me. It was large and spacious yet at times it felt like it closed in on me, suffocating like a 5x5 room. It made me feel like SCP 096 in his airtight steel cube room, watched yet not seen.

I step off the train at a random stop, heading out back into the chilly night air to continue an aimless walk through a concrete jungle shaped like a maze of looming buildings that wait— wait for the perfect moment to swallow me whole like a fly in the air, gone like I had never even buzzed in someone's ear.

Walking off the sidewalk and into a parking lot, I glance around. The parking lot may seem empty but I don't trust it, there are cars here— I know there are. They just don't want me to see them yet. They like to hide, spook me when I'm not paying attention once more. The building seems to expend as I enter with my membership card in hand, I'm sure I'll never understand how everything fits inside this place— just like I'll never understand where all the shoppers in here come from, even so late.

Are they even people?

I don't know how long I've been in here before I begin to become hungry, taking notice of the samples being handed out. Don't trust it, never trust it— you don't know if that person is sick or has done something to the food. Buy something and make it yourself, or buy a packaged snack— some fruit even. I cannot find check out, and the lady I had passed only gave me an eerie smile when I asked how to get to check out.

What is up with people and not knowing the answers to questions tonight?

I sit motionless, vaguely aware i was on the floor in the kitchen. I was also vaguely aware it was some time past 4am, when I returned from my late name wander. However something is wrong, something is staring. I do not know what nor do I think I want to know, yeah... I don’t want to know— I never will want to know.

It feels as if I’m staring at the back of my own head, watching as blurs vibrate and buzz off me and disappear into the air. I was staring, but staring where? At what? What color is it? What shape does it take? Is it smooth or textured? Is it decorative or a utensil?

I want to reach and touch myself, reassure myself that I am, in fact, here— that I am tangible and existing. So I reach up to touch my forehead, but everything blues— freezes. It was like something had stopped me from proving I was tangible, but I didn’t know what stopped me. I can’t figure it out, I’m sure at this point I don’t want to figure it out.

Do not touch my own face, that is asking for trouble. Something has warned me not to do it, and blindly I will take the unseen things advice.

My mind feels cloudy? No, it feels foggy. Not quite... It feels as if someone has steamed it, the moisture leaking out my eyes— I am crying with a dull expression as I sit on the kitchen floor, barely aware I even exist. This skin isn’t even my own, who’s is it? Did I steal it? Did I win it? Did we swap? How do I give it back? It is uncomfortable and suffocating, irritating like a sunburn.

Who am I? Am I a spectator? Am I a player? Am I winning? What am I playing? What am I spectating? Are others here? Is this a competition? Where are the controls?

I’d like to take the controls now.

It was a very faint and ghostly feeling of a hand touching mine that made me obscurely aware my hand had never dropped from moving to touch my own face. How long ago was that? The world was a blur, scratchy and set in black and white like a very old VHS tape. I didn’t know how long it was of those ghostly hands rubbing my upper arms and occasionally wiping my face and eyes, but the feeling of those motions became more prominent— heavier and more tangible.

Eventually, my world came into color and the first thing I could see was red. Brown hair that was lazily held in a messy ponytail, skin adorned with a pair of red pajamas, green eyes that seemed so soft and worried as they met mine.

“You’re with me, miere?” She asks softly and I touch her hand that was cupping my cheek.

She is real.

She’s here, tangible, existing.

So I am real, tangling, existing— because she is talking to ME.

“Miere?”

“Please don’t leave me alone...”

“I am not going to leave, Miere. I am right here, don’t worry.. I am always right here.”

“I love you..”

“Miere?”

Meeting her green eyes, they seemed so bright but so cautious. Why? Squeezing her hand that had been holding mine, the corners of my lips tugged up a bit.

“I love you Wanda..”

“I... I love you too, Miere. I, I thought you were dating... Mattie?”

“Mattie..?” I mumble, confused.

Who is Mattie? Do I know a Mattie? Surely I do, she wouldn’t have mentioned a Mattie if I didn’t and— Oh, the diner Mattie.

“No, I’m not dating Mattie.. He was my friend from school.” I admit, his face now fresh in my head.

“Besides, I don’t like guys.”

“Are you... are you gay?”

“Of course I’m gay.”