#can't believe she offered Steve her sandwich | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ginnsbaker · 19 days ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (14 - The Twins)

Chapter Summary: Stark's Annual Charity Ball pulls the invisible string that finally nudges you and Wanda in the right direction.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 6.2k+ | Chapter Tags: Age of Ultron!Wanda, Mild angst, comfort, fluff

A/N: I haven't written anything new in more than 2 weeks, but I'll just keep posting the chapters I've finished *cries* Anyway, this particular update is a milestone in R and Wanda's relationship, and it involves an auction. Kinda obvious where that will lead us to, yea? Enjoy! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“I can't believe you're letting Tony pimp me out to some geriatric billionaire—” you stormed into Steve's office, tracking mud across the carpet.

It was pouring outside, and as soon as you arrived at the compound, Vision greeted you with a curious question. “What's a human auction? Is it like those slave sales back in the 1500s?” he had asked. You had brushed him off, heading straight for the one person you knew had to have given the final approval on this sort of thing.

“Whoa, hold on a second,” Steve cut in, his eyes going wide as he dropped his pen. He braced himself, clearly prepared for whatever wild accusation you were about to hurl his way. “No one is going to be ‘pimped out’ at Stark's Annual Charity Ball!”

Natasha, sprawled in a leather chair by the window, ankle cocked over knee, quirked an eyebrow at your entrance, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Someone’s fired up today,” she commented dryly.

You paced, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, fingers threading through your hair. “Then what do you call auctioning me off like some kind of prize to the highest bidder?” you demanded.

He leaned back, the chair groaning under his weight. “It’s not like that. You know it’s one of the biggest fundraising events of the year. We make an appearance every time to show our support.”

“Yes, make an appearance,” you jabbed the air with your finger. “Smile for the cameras, shake a few hands—that I can handle. But being part of an auction? That's crossing a line.”

Natasha shook her head, clearly amused by your distress. “You know, the bidders aren't all bad. Sure, some of them might be older, but age brings experience. You might end up meeting an attractive, mature woman. Isn't that your dream?”

You shot her a skeptical look. “Very funny, Nat.”

“Lighten up, darling.”

You squinted at her. “Are you one of the prizes to bid on?”

“Nope,” she replied without elaboration, her face giving away nothing.

Turning back to Steve, you threw your hands up in exasperation. “You said everybody was involved!”

He squirmed, eyes darting away. “Well, not everyone.”

“Great,” you muttered sarcastically. “So who’s actually on the block?”

Steve started counting off on his fingers. “There's me. Vision agreed to participate—some tech leaders are eager to meet him. Sam volunteered; he's offering a personalized flight experience. Bruce is giving a private lecture on gamma radiation. Even Don from accounting signed up.”

“Don from accounting?” you echoed incredulously. “The guy who brings tuna sandwiches for lunch every day?”

“He's offering financial planning sessions,” Natasha said. “Riveting stuff.”

It seemed everyone had a well-thought-out plan tailored to their expertise—everyone, that is, except you.

“So, what are you guys expecting me to offer?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

Steve swapped a look with Natasha, then cleared his throat. “Tony was thinking you could throw in something exclusive—like a dinner, maybe an entire evening out, for the highest bidder.”

“A date?” you scoffed.

“Think of it less as being ‘sold’ and more as donating your irresistible presence for a noble cause,” Natasha said.

“Me?” you said, pointing to yourself with a sardonic chuckle. “Irresistible?”

Natasha smirked. “Don't sell yourself short. Some people might find your brooding charm... appealing.”

“Careful, Romanoff,” you retorted, a sly grin on your face as you sauntered over with a mischievous sway in your step. “Keep talking like that, and I might think you're flirting with me.”

She barely spared you a glance. “Not in a million years.”

“So, there's a number?” you quipped, grinning wider.

“Alright, that's enough,” Steve barked, pushing himself off his chair, trying to look like the picture of authority. “The auction lineup is final; people have already shown interest. All I'm asking is for two hours of you on your best behavior. Can you do that?”

You shrugged, already backing toward the door. “No promises,” you muttered, turning to leave.

As you rushed out of Steve's office, you collided abruptly with what felt like a solid wall—only it turned out to be someone.

More specifically, Wanda. You caught a wisp of her red before it vanished completely, suggesting she'd instinctively used her powers to cushion her own impact. Good for her. For you? Not so much.

“Sorry, didn't see you there,” you said, rubbing a tender spot on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Wanda's eyes widened when she saw you, like a deer caught in headlights. She nodded too eagerly before excusing herself as if she was in a hurry. You shrugged and turned back to the direction you were heading.

It had been over a week since you'd inadvertently caused a scene at a restaurant Wanda often visited, leading you to awkwardly apologize later with takeout. After Wanda stormed out that night, you lost interest in your date and ended up cutting the evening short just as Alex was suggesting drinks. Your relationship with Wanda hadn’t really improved or worsened since then, which was probably for the best, all things considered. You had noticed, however, that Vision seemed to stick by her side even more than before. You’re happy for them. Ever since he told you that Wanda was lonely, you thought she needed someone like him—a truly devoted friend or more.

“Two hours,” you muttered to yourself as you entered your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. “How hard can it be?”

—

It was a spectacle—exactly what you'd expect from a Stark event.

Hosted at New York's iconic Metropolitan Museum of Art, the fundraiser didn't just rival the Met Gala—it eclipsed it. The guest list was a who's who of the world's elite, pulling not only A-list celebrities from fashion and entertainment but also power brokers from technology, real estate, automotive, food, and pharmaceuticals.

Your teammates were dispersed throughout the venue. Having arrived half an hour earlier, you hadn't spotted any of them yet, but you suspected they were probably doing the same thing you were—stalling, avoiding the spotlight until the last possible moment when they would have to step forward and be seen. You found yourself lingering near the entrance, fidgeting with the straps of your elegant black dress. It was a daring choice, selected by a fashion guru Tony had brought in specifically for this event. You had resisted this outfit until the final moment, relenting only when Tony threatened to schedule you for more public appearances—gigs he usually delegated to Rhodes or Sam on ordinary days.

“Looking sharp,” Clint remarked, coming up beside you. He was adjusting his bow tie, a slight grin on his face as he took in your outfit.

Finally—someone to stick with for the rest of the evening.

“Flattery won't get you out of babysitting duty tonight,” you teased, trying to ignore the anxious butterflies in your stomach.

He chuckled, his eyes scanning the patrons. “Wouldn't dream of it. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“Uh-huh,” you replied, scanning the room yourself.

You tried to distract yourself by diving into shop talk with Clint, who indulged you but seemed more focused on his martini, sipping and nodding with the occasional terse response. It was fine by you; at least it was a way to pass the time until the event wrapped up.

Soon, Natasha joined you, wearing a glittery gold dress that was both classy and seductive, covering most but highlighting just enough. You made an effort not to stare too much at your mentor. Back in your rookie year with the team, you'd harbored a bit of a crush on her, but that had faded as she took a more active role in your training. Over time, you came to see her as a sister, finding in her and Clint the semblance of the family you never had.

She complimented Clint on his suit before turning to you. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Trying to,” you replied truthfully.

“Here,” Natasha said, offering you her glass of champagne. “Two more of these and you’ll be fine.”

You accepted the glass, taking a tentative sip. It did little to settle your nerves, but you appreciated the gesture. “Thanks.”

“Look who decided to grace us with their presence,” Clint announced, nodding toward the entrance.

Vision had just arrived, dressed to impress. He resembled a polished gentleman, a look so fitting it was almost comical—like he belonged in a museum exhibit. You stifled a laugh at the thought, chiding yourself for even entertaining such a cheeky idea. Notably absent was Wanda, who you had expected to see at his side.

“Vision actually looks... dapper,” you observed.

Behind Vision, Sam and Rhodey entered, each with a stunning woman on their arm. Sam's date wore a sleek silver gown that shimmered under the lights, while Rhodey's companion was radiant in royal blue.

“Where's Bruce?” Natasha asked, glancing around the room. “He was supposed to be here by now.”

Clint emptied his glass of drink just in time for the waiter to arrive with a new one. “Haven't seen him. Steve's getting nervous he's a no-show.”

You frowned. “Wait, we can do that? Just... not show up?”

“If you're the Hulk, yeah, probably.”

“And Tony?” you asked.

“You know he doesn’t attend his own parties these days,” Clint said.

“Anyone seen Wanda?” Natasha asked suddenly.

For a moment, you'd forgotten about her. You hadn't heard anything about her participating in the auction, and you didn't want to ask why. She was still relatively new to the team, and the events of Sokovia were still fresh in everyone's minds. Maybe Tony didn’t want to stir the pot by introducing the newest member so soon.

“Haven’t seen her,” Clint replied. “Maybe she's skipping it.”

“Or maybe she's just running late,” Natasha suggested.

You shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “Either way.”

Just then, the grand hall’s light dimmed, and the spotlight found its way to the center of the stage where Steve stood, clad in a classic tuxedo, his hair slicked back, the blue of his eyes catching the light and gleaming under the gaze of hundreds who adored him.

“Good evening, everyone,” he started, racking up cheers from the crowd, mostly from the women up front. “On behalf of the Avengers and Stark Industries, thank you for joining us tonight. Your generosity makes a profound difference.”

For a guy who was frozen for half a century, he sure had a knack for working a room and blending into this new era. You shifted your weight, trying to quell the restless energy inside you. Who would make a bid for you? Or worse, what if no one did? Each thought was as mortifying as the other. You reached for your third glass of champagne, trying to drown the embarrassment that had started with Natasha's first toast.

Steve went on, “We're starting tonight's auction with some exclusive items straight from Tony's personal garage—a collection of rare prototypes and unique gadgets.”

The first item was wheeled out—a sleek, custom-built motorcycle with cutting-edge tech enhancements. The crowd murmured appreciatively. Bidding was enthusiastic, and the motorcycle sold for an impressive sum. Next came a high-tech smartwatch with capabilities far beyond anything on the market, followed by a limited-edition arc reactor, encased in glass as a piece of art.

As the last of Tony's treasures was auctioned off, Steve returned to the microphone. “And now, we have something very special. For the first time tonight, we're offering you the opportunity to spend time with two of our own heroes.”

The cheer was resounding. You wanted to throw up at the sound of it.

“First up,” Steve announced, “we have Vision.”

A spotlight found Vision as he made his way to the stage. He nodded politely to the audience and they cheered even louder.

“The winning bidder will enjoy a personalized afternoon with Vision,” Steve continued. “A chance to discuss philosophy, technology, or any subject of your choosing.”

The bidding began immediately.

“Fifty thousand,” someone called out.

“Seventy-five,” another voice said.

“One hundred thousand!”

A collective gasp filled the ballroom. From there, the bids shot up even more quickly.

“One hundred fifty thousand!”

“Two hundred thousand!”

“Two hundred fifty thousand!” a woman declared from the back, her paddle held high.

It was the highest bid of the night so far.

“Going once, going twice... sold to bidder number 112 for two hundred fifty thousand dollars!” Steve announced, leading a round of applause.

Vision gave a gracious nod before exiting the stage.

You took a deep breath, realizing your turn was next. And there was no way you could go higher than Vision.

“And now,” Steve continued, “we have another incredible opportunity. An exclusive experience with one of our most skilled team members, Y/N.”

The spotlight swung in your direction. With a gentle nudge from Clint, you made your way to the stage, your heart pounding. Standing beside Steve, you tried to focus on the faces in the crowd, but the bright lights made it difficult.

You were expecting Steve to mention what you had to offer, but you were pleasantly surprised that he went right ahead to the bidding.

“Do I hear twenty thousand?” the auctioneer prompted.

An initial silence stretched on longer than you'd hoped.

“Twenty thousand,” a woman called out softly.

“Thirty thousand,” added a man seated toward the middle.

The bidding was slow compared to Vision's, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks. You wanted to kill Steve and Tony after this. You swore to yourself you would.

“Forty thousand,” the woman countered.

“Forty-five,” came another bid.

Just as you began to resign yourself to a modest outcome, a new bidder declared his interest.

“Sixty thousand,” declared a man standing near the side of the room.

You squinted, trying to make out his features. He was well-dressed, with dark hair and a pleasant disposition. Something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn't quite place where you'd seen him before.

“Seventy thousand,” the previous bidder upped the ante.

“Eighty thousand,” the newcomer responded.

The crowd began to take more interest.

“Do I hear ninety?” the auctioneer asked.

Your face was hurting from smiling the entire time, and you could feel sweat starting to roll down from the base of your exposed neck.

“Ninety thousand,” called out the woman from before.

The bids climbed steadily until the man finally offered a hundred-twenty.

Everybody held their breaths, waiting to see if this bid would top Vision’s, despite the auction's sluggish beginning.

“Going once, going twice... sold to bidder number 214 for one hundred twenty thousand dollars!”

The applause swelled around you as you stood there. You weren't hung up on how well you performed; you were just relieved it was finally over.

“Congratulations,” Steve said, pulling you into a hug. You kept your smile in place, leaned in close, and whispered, “This isn't over.”

The man who had won the bid was being escorted by one of the event staff to meet you.

As you approached him, recognition clicked into place. His name was Daniel—a member of the support staff at the Avengers compound. You'd seen him around, handling logistics and occasionally assisting with training setups.

He had that much amount of money to spend on you?

“Daniel?” you said, extending a hand. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. “Good to see you, Y/N. Actually, I'm here on behalf of someone else."

Before you could ask, he gestured toward a quiet hallway. “The person who actually bid on you and won is waiting for you down that hall.”

You entered a quaint gallery displaying an array of quirky artifacts that seemed centuries old—though your limited attention in history classes made it impossible to pinpoint their exact origins or era. What made you stop and stare was how it was peaceful and kind of personal, with no crowds to elbow through. You could see why some folks find it therapeutic to hang out in museums and galleries like this.

Standing near a large window was a figure. That unmistakable posture was all too familiar.

“Wanda?” you called out, startled.

She turned to face you, and her nervousness was impossible to miss. It clashed with how stunning she looked in her gown—a deep red that draped perfectly, with a daring neckline that plunged but somehow still looked elegant. The sleeves fluttered around her arms, and her brunette hair cascaded in wild waves, shortened by the curls to just past her shoulders. She was breathtaking.

Looking between Wanda and the closed door, you tried to piece it together. “So... you hired Daniel to bid for you?”

Wanda nodded. “I didn't want to draw attention by bidding myself. I hope that's okay.”

Warmth spread through you. Why would Wanda bid such a substantial amount of money for time with you, especially when you saw each other every day? It was odd, a little unsettling, but at least you weren’t paired with a complete stranger whose intentions might be unclear.

Though… what were Wanda’s intentions?

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked softly, her eyes searching yours. It hit you then—you hadn’t said a word in a while.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, snapping out of your thoughts. “I’m just… surprised.”

Wanda took a few steps, not toward you, but toward the exit. “I didn't mean to—I just... If this makes you uncomfortable, we can just forget the whole thing.”

You could have simply taken her up on the offer, paid her back, and moved on. But instead, something compelled you to reach out and grasp her arm before she could leave. Wanda glanced over her shoulder, her expression a mix of wariness and curiosity.

You searched for the right words, your heart pounding. Then, a small smile formed on your lips as you shrugged lightly. “Do you want to get out of here?”

—

For a hundred and twenty thousand dollars, Wanda Maximoff didn’t just secure a free hotdog sandwich—she also claimed what might be the best view in the city. Better than the one from the Empire State Building, even—an exaggeration, perhaps, but isn’t any view more breathtaking when shared with the right person?

It was hardly the deal of a lifetime, but there you were, actually trying to make it worth her while.

Sitting together on a quiet rooftop terrace, the city's lights stretched out before you like a shimmering sea. You took a bite of your hotdog, moaning at the comfort of a simple snack.

Wanda glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. “This is nice,” she said.

You swallowed your bite and turned to face her. "Can I ask you something?"

“Of course.”

“Why did you bid on me?” you asked. “I mean, you could've bid on Vision.”

Wanda looked fairly confused. “Why would I bid on Vision?”

You shrugged, biting your tongue to keep yourself from insinuating to Wanda that he’s her boyfriend. Well, wasn’t he?

Wanda laughed softly, causing a smile to form on your own lips.

“Vision is always there,” she began thoughtfully. “Even when I don't ask for him, he shows up. Some days, it felt like there was too much of him.”

That was… unexpected. “I thought you two were close,” you said.

“We are, in a sense,” she said. “He's got a good heart, smart, well-meaning. But there are times I just need to be left alone. With Vision, it's as if he's always trying to figure me out, not just exist alongside me.”

You took a slow bite, chewing over her words. “Well, Vision does seem like an honorable person. I think he really cares about you.”

She smiled faintly. “I know he does. And I care about him too. But it's complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Wanda sighed, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. You gave her space, watching silently until she turned to face you. When she did, you were struck by her eyes—a vivid green that outshone the moon itself.

“He's still figuring out what it means to be... human,” she explained. “Emotions, relationships—they're concepts he's learning, and sometimes I feel like a subject in an experiment.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” you whispered. Believing Vision would simply cure Wanda's loneliness was naive. You regretted the times you thought it was so simple, pushing her towards someone else just to keep her at arm's length. Now, sitting side by side on the terrace of your apartment—a detail you hadn't mentioned to Wanda—you realized her company wasn't so bad. Removed from the context of her powers and past faults, she seemed almost ordinary. And it didn't hurt that she was undeniably beautiful—a fact that admittedly played a part in why you had kept your distance. Her appearance made it too easy to become distracted.

“I could do a lot worse,” Wanda said lightly.

“Yeah,” you replied, before pointing to yourself. “You’re looking at her.”

Her laughter erupted, full and unrestrained. You realized you enjoyed hearing it—and even more, being the reason for it.

After a moment, you took a deep breath. “You know, you didn’t have to bid on me just to hang out. I’m sorry if it seemed like I was cold to you. It's just, initially, we were on opposite sides, and I'm kind of a loner by nature.”

“I didn’t bid on you for the company,” she said. “I heard you were upset about being auctioned off. I thought I’d help out.”

“Oh,” you managed, heat creeping into your cheeks in surprise and a bit of shame. “You really didn’t have to do that. Honestly, you could be anywhere else, doing something better with your time.”

She gave a light shrug, dismissing the thought. “I wanted to be here. And you're under no obligation—it’s your time.”

“That was a lot of money, Wanda.”

She flashed a small, knowing smile. “We get paid pretty well, and we live rent-free in a state-of-the-art facility with more food than we know what to do with. Honestly, I don’t know where to put all that money.”

You couldn't help but whistle at her extravagant dilemma about where to spend her money.

“Some of mine went here,” you mentioned, beginning to tidy up. You picked up Wanda’s hotdog box, then yours, and slipped them back into the paper bag they came in.

“Here?”

“This is, uh, my apartment in the city,” you admitted, feeling a bit sheepish about the modest surroundings. It wasn't much to look at—barely furnished since you hardly spent a night here. But it was nice to have a fallback, a place where you could imagine being just another average citizen, cooking dinner and passing out on the sofa to late-night TV. Not that you've actually done that here, but, you know, the possibility's always there.

“Oh,” Wanda breathed, her eyes going wide—and you hadn’t thought it was possible for them to be more disarming than they already were. “I—I didn’t realize. Sorry for intruding—”

“I invited you,” you pointed out, your grin turning amused at her reaction. It was nice to see her a little off-balance. Her gaze met yours, and there was something in her eyes that made you a bit nervous. Usually, you weren't easily thrown off by pretty women, but Wanda was different. She wasn't like anyone you'd ever met.

“It's getting a bit chilly,” she noted after a while, rubbing her arms lightly.

“Would you like to come inside?” you offered. “I can lend you something warmer.”

It didn’t take Wanda another second to accept. “Yes, please.”

“Come on,” you said, leading her to your bedroom. Opening a drawer, you pulled out a pair of soft pajama pants and a cozy sweater. “These should fit well enough. The bathroom is just through that door.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking the clothes. She headed into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

You grabbed a t-shirt and some comfortable boxers for yourself, beginning to change in your bedroom. As you pulled your shirt over your head, your eyes accidentally darted towards the bathroom. Through the partially open door, you inadvertently glimpsed Wanda from behind as she changed. Her back was turned, revealing a black lace bra as she slipped out of her dress.

You swallowed hard and quickly turned your eyes away, focusing on getting dressed as quickly as you could. You yanked your shirt down and shimmied into your shorts, trying to shake the image from your mind.

Moments later, Wanda stepped out dressed in your clothes, the sleeves of the sweater hanging slightly past her wrists. The outfit was a bit oversized but looked comfortable on her.

“These are perfect,” she said with a grateful smile. Noticing your flustered expression, she tilted her head. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” you stammered.

She gave you a curious look but didn't press the matter. Glancing at your attire, she commented, “Won't you be cold dressed like that?”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh, I'll be fine. I tend to get hot,” you replied, then realized the double meaning of your words. Your face grew warmer. “I mean, I warm up easily.”

Wanda smirked and didn’t bother to be subtle about it. “Good to know.”

You grabbed a pillow from your bed and tucked it under your arm. “Well, I guess I'll let you get some rest,” you said, heading toward the door.

“Wait,” Wanda called after you. “You're not sleeping on the sofa, are you?”

You looked up, surprised. “I was actually planning to catch up on some reading.”

She sighed, giving in. “Fine, if you're sure.”

“I'm sure,” you said, fluffing the pillow.

She smiled softly. “Goodnight, then.”

“Night, Wanda,” you replied. After a moment's pause, you added, “And... thanks again for tonight.”

She lingered in the doorway of the bedroom and nodded at you with a smile.

Before she could slip away, you called out, “Hey, wanna train together tomorrow?”

Her face lit up. “Looking forward to it.”

—

It wasn’t that your bed was uncomfortable. Far from it, actually. The mattress was firm but not too firm, the pillows soft enough to cradle her head. By all accounts, Wanda should’ve been fast asleep. But she wasn’t. Everything about the bed—about the room—was a distraction.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how the sheets had probably wrapped around your skin countless times, how your scent lingered faintly in the fabric no matter how often they’d been washed. She wondered what position you usually slept in. Did you curl up on your side, clutching a pillow? Did you sprawl across the bed, limbs outstretched in different directions? The thoughts were small, trivial, and maddeningly persistent.

No matter how many times she turned over, pulled the blanket tighter, or closed her eyes, her mind wouldn’t shut off. So, when she tossed and turned for what felt like the hundredth time, Wanda decided she wasn’t going to just lie there, restless and alone, while you were only a few feet away.

Wanda eased the door open, careful to make as little noise as possible, though the faint creak still gave her away. You were there, of course, exactly where she thought you’d be, sitting on the sofa with a book in your lap. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated your face, and Wanda’s breath hitched when she noticed the glasses perched on your nose.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, glancing up from the page but keeping your finger tucked between the chapters as a placeholder.

There was something about you at this hour, something Wanda couldn’t quite put her finger on. It wasn’t just the glasses or the book or the way the light softened the sharp lines of your face. You seemed different. More laid-back. Almost mellow. Wanda decided this was one of her favorite versions of you.

“Can’t sleep,” she murmured, fiddling with the rings on her fingers—a nervous habit she couldn’t quite kick.

Wanda bit her lip as you slid your glasses off and set them on the side table. It was endearing to think it was because you were giving her your full attention. You tapped the cushion next to you.

She obliged. The sofa dipped slightly under her weight, and she sat close enough for your shoulders to almost touch but left just enough distance to not assume too much. Wanda’s fingers stopped fidgeting, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced at the book you’d set aside.

“What were you reading?” she asked.

You smiled slightly, reaching for the book and turning it so she could see the cover. It wasn’t anything grand—just a worn paperback with creased pages and a faded title. That’s when Wanda’s gaze wandered to the shelves behind you, packed tight with books, some even spilling over into piles on the floor. Hardcovers, paperbacks, thick, ancient volumes that looked like they belonged in a library—

You weren’t just an ordinary reader.

“Didn’t take you for a… what’s that phrase you Americans use for someone who’s obsessed with reading?” Wanda asked, a light laugh escaping her lips.

“Bookworm,” you replied, grinning.

“Yeah—that.”

You chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Maximoff.”

The way you said her name sent a small shiver down her spine, but she hid it well, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked away for a moment. You weren’t sure if it was because it was late and your defenses were worn thin, or because the edges of exhaustion blurred your better judgment after spending the entire night nose-deep in your book. But something compelled you to speak to her.

Not small talk. Not another shallow exchange to fill the silence. No, you wanted to talk to her, really talk to her. About things that mattered, like how she was actually doing—not just the perfunctory “I’m fine” you’d heard her mutter too many times before. About how she was settling in at the compound, surrounded by strangers who were supposed to be her teammates but often felt like little more than colleagues. About what it felt like to start over in a new country, surrounded by a language and culture that weren’t hers.

About how she was coping without Pietro.

You wondered if anyone had asked her these things before—apart from Vision, maybe. And even then, you could imagine what those conversations might have been like. Vision was earnest, but earnestness only went so far. He probably asked like a child would, curious but detached.

“So, uhm,” you cleared your throat, pulling up your knees to hug them in front of your chest. “How—How have you been holding up?”

It took her a moment to respond, and for a second, you wondered if you’d overstepped, if she didn’t like being asked in the first place. But instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying you like she wasn’t sure if you were serious.

“Why do you ask?” she said finally, her accent curling softly around the words.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of how vulnerable the question made you feel. You weren’t used to this—to reaching out, to asking someone else to open up. But it was too late to backtrack now, so you shrugged, feigning casualness you didn’t feel. “Just thought… it’s been a lot. For you, I mean. New country, new team, new life.” You paused, glancing away. “It can’t be easy.”

Wanda let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s putting it lightly.”

You didn’t reply immediately, giving her the opportunity to say more if she wanted to. When the silence stretched on, you pressed gently. “So? How are you holding up?”

She exhaled, a long, tired sound. “I’m... fine,” she said.

“That’s not an answer,” you said. “And you don’t have to give me one if you don’t want to. I just thought... maybe you’d want to talk.”

Wanda looked at you again as if trying to gauge whether you meant it. Whether you really meant that you cared.

“You’re asking me this now?” she said.

“Seemed like as good a time as any.”

Her lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite—and she looked away again. “I don’t think anyone’s really asked me that,” she whispered after a moment. “Not like you just did.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“It’s... hard,” she said, slow and careful. “Being here. With all of you. Everyone’s been... kind. But I can tell most of them don’t trust me.”

“They’ll come around,” you said, though you knew it wasn’t a guarantee. You knew better than anyone how slow trust could be, how much it took to earn it in a place like this. After all, it had taken you ages to come around yourself—ages of Wanda wearing you down in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first, of her saving your life and an embarrassing predicament.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice distant. She twisted the hem of her sweater between her fingers, her eyes focused on the floor.

“And Pietro?” you asked softly, almost afraid of the question.

“I think about him every day,” she said quietly. “About what he’d say if he were here. What he’d do. Sometimes, I swear I can still hear him in my head—his voice, the things he used to tell me. But then I catch myself trying to shush it, like I’m afraid I’ll get stuck there. In that space. I know it sounds crazy—”

“It’s not,” you cut in too quickly, but you meant them. Whatever grief looked like for her, it wasn’t something you had the right to call crazy.

She turned to you then, a small, rueful smile that felt like hope when her eyes couldn’t pretend she was grieving hard. It was the kind of smile that said she appreciated your words, even though you both knew they weren’t entirely true. You weren’t sure if she believed you or if she just wanted to believe you, but either way, she nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Sometimes,” she continued after a long pause, “I wonder if it would’ve been easier to go with him.”

You swallowed, the ache in her voice pulling something loose in you. You didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to make it about you—but that feeling hit too close to home.

“I used to think that way, too,” you said quietly.

Wanda turned to look at you, surprised. She didn’t interrupt, though. She waited.

You rubbed a hand over your face, buying yourself a second to organize the thoughts you’d buried for so long. “I’m not saying it to compare,” you added, voice tight. “I just... I know what it’s like.”

“My dad died when I was a kid,” you said, keeping your voice light, like saying it matter-of-factly would dull the edges of it. “I barely remember him. Just flashes—his laugh, his cologne, stuff like that. But my mom... she hated me long before he was gone. She blamed me for everything. Especially for my twin not making it.”

Wanda stiffened beside you, but still, she said nothing.

“She blamed me,” you continued, the memories clawing their way back to the surface. “Said I killed him before he ever had a chance. And she never let me forget it. Never let me forget that it should’ve been me who didn’t make it.”

Wanda finally looked up, her eyes glistening, red-rimmed with tears she refused to let fall. You didn’t have the same strength. A single tear slipped down your cheek, hot and heavy.

“And for the longest time, I believed her. I thought she was right. I thought it would’ve been better if I hadn’t made it,” you said.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

You shook your head. “Don’t be. And it’s not like… it’s not like I think that way all the time anymore. But I get it. That feeling like maybe you weren’t supposed to be here, like someone else deserved it more. I know what it feels like.”

Wanda's gaze dropped to your hands that were still gripping your knee like a lifeline. She looked like she wanted to reach out and grasp them, but you weren’t ready for that kind of intimacy. You were barely keeping yourself together, and the thought of her touch, however comforting, might be the thing to break you.

“I didn’t know,” she said softly. “About your twin. About your mom. If this... if this was the nightmare I gave you in—”

“No reason you would,” you interrupted, cutting her off before she could finish, before she could drag Johannesburg, and the bitter, consuming hatred you’d felt for her then, into the room. You’ve forgiven her for that, and it was best that it stayed forgotten too. “It’s not exactly a conversation starter.”

She huffed a quiet, almost bitter laugh, but it faded quickly. “Still,” she said, hesitating, “I think… I think you were meant to be here. I don’t know why, but I do. I think there’s a reason.”

You swallowed dryly. “Maybe there’s a reason for you, too.”

Wanda looked hopeful. “Maybe,” she echoed.

Wanda’s shoulder pressed into yours, solid and warm, like she was holding you in place without even realizing it. Neither of you spoke, the silence stretching out just long enough for it to feel safe. Safe to sit here with the mess between you, around you, part of you.

The words she’d said—I think you were meant to be here—kept looping in your head, circling around all the things you’d told yourself for years. All the things you still believed. Maybe you didn’t deserve to be here, but in that moment, you weren’t sure it mattered.

Because she was here. And maybe that was enough.

170 notes · View notes