#ifiss 2

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships - Epilogue

Summary: A glimpse into the rest of your life with Wanda Maximoff.

Word count: 2.3k+ | Warnings: None; Just Fluff | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: We officially come to a close! I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and everyone of you who read, liked, commented, and reblogged this story. This is my first time completing a multi-chapter fic and I couldn't have done it without you. You guys will always have a special place in my heart. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I'll keep writing--my request box is open :)

Series Masterlist

-

Epilogue

Ten Months Later

Montauk, especially in winter, looks as if it's straight out of a postcard. 

For as long as you can remember, Montauk is the only place that's felt like home. And you've shared it with the woman who's known you even before you took your first breath in this world. But now, there are days when she doesn't recognize you, days when she cries out in fear thinking you're an intruder, when she tearfully calls for her own mother or searches anxiously for her late husband.

The merciless grip of Alzheimer's is steadily robbing her from you, and time seems to draw out the process in a cruel, agonizing manner.

Wanda is there for you though, through every difficult moment. She is your rock when you feel like crumbling, your light in the darkest moments. You are both staying in Montauk for some time now, taking care of your mother. Your mother sometimes recognizes her, and she’s remarkably warmer to your ex-wife more than you can remember. You think, perhaps, it has something to do with her memories that are slowly wilting away, and all that is left is the love she’s always held back for the other woman in your life.

One evening, as snowflakes start to gently fall from the sky, Wanda gets the sudden urge to take a walk. After some persuasion, you find yourself pulled out from the inviting warmth of the bed you've been sharing, grumbling while putting your layers of clothing back on to indulge Wanda in her whimsical idea.

Hand-in-hand, you set off just as the sun begins its descent, painting the horizon with streaks of indigo and pink. Snowflakes settle on Wanda's hair, turning her fiery locks into a winter wonderland. She smiles, her green eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dimming twilight. 

You soak in the sight of her, the love of your life, aglow in the beauty of the snowy evening, committing it to memory. 

An old park lies ahead, its swings and benches blanketed by the fresh snowfall. Wanda leads you to the swing set, her laughter carrying through the chilly air as she plops down on one of them. You take the swing beside her, the frosty metal biting through your clothing, but you don’t mind. The sight of Wanda, her face flushed with cold yet bright with joy, is worth braving the winter chill.

As the swing set gently comes to a halt, Wanda nudges you, pointing towards a row of trees in the distance. “Look over there,” she says, “Do you see that?”

You squint at the snow-laden branches, trying to decipher what she's referring to. While you're absorbed in your futile search, Wanda quietly slips off the swing, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. As you turn back to her with a puzzled look, ready to ask what you were supposed to see, you find her on her knees in the fresh snow, looking up at you with an earnest gaze.

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. With a quick flick of her wrist, she pops it open to reveal a simple yet stunning ring nestled within. 

“Will you marry me?”

Your heart stutters at the sight of Wanda's hopeful gaze. For a moment, everything seems to stand still. Snowflakes suspend their descent, the air holds its breath. With a lump in your throat, you utter a word you never thought you'd say in this moment. 

“No.”

Shock registers on Wanda's face, her eyes wide and vulnerable. The world seems to crash around her, the word echoing ominously in her ears. But then, before she has a chance to fully comprehend what's happening, you're sinking to your knees in the snow beside her.

“Because,” you begin, laughter choking your words even as tears track down your cheeks. You fumble in your pocket, pulling out your own small box. You pry it open, revealing a gleaming ring nestled within. “Because I want you to marry me.”

The world, previously paused, starts up again in a rush of sound and color.

Laughter bubbles up from within you, filling the silence, mingling with the tears streaming down your face. Wanda stares at you, stunned into silence, her tears mirroring your own.

“Yes,” she breathes out finally, her voice choked with emotion. “Yes, yes, yes.”

In the stillness that follows, you gently take her hand, slipping the ring onto her trembling finger. 

You look up at her, your heart in your eyes. “Yes, Wanda, I'll marry you,” you whisper.

Wanda's fingers are ice-cold, trembling with adrenaline, when she reaches for your hand, your ring. Her focus is so intense as she slips it onto your finger that it feels as if everything else has fallen away.

Without wasting a moment, Wanda lurches forward, lips finding yours in a kiss, full of passion and relief. The chill of the snow around you seems to dissipate as your mouths move in a rhythm perfected by time and familiarity. Every small shift, every pressure, the way she tugs at your lower lip, the way you reciprocate by pulling her closer by the waist, it all stokes a warmth that radiates from your core, spreading outwards, rendering the winter air irrelevant.

The soft moan that escapes Wanda against your lips fills you with a satisfaction, an overwhelming sense of rightness that even the best of days prior to this moment had not quite achieved.

Like all beautiful things, the kiss comes to an end. She pulls away, her breath ghosting over your lips as she whispers, “Yes,” echoing your sentiment. “Yes, you will.”

Year 2

A year later, the smell of antiseptic and the sterile white walls of a hospital room are your surroundings. You lay exhausted on the hospital bed, swaddled in a light hospital gown, holding the newest addition to your family. 

A baby girl. 

Yours and Wanda’s. 

She is swathed in soft pink blankets, her tiny face peering curiously at the world she's just entered.

Overwhelmed, overjoyed, and slightly terrified, Wanda is darting around the room, fretting over everything and anything. Her brows are furrowed as she questions the nurses on the baby’s feeding, changing, swaddling. She's always been meticulous, but her anxiety seems to be on a whole new level today.

Meanwhile, she's constantly checking up on you too. A wet cloth to dab your sweaty forehead, a soft kiss to reassure you, a gentle squeeze of your hand. Each time she asks if you're okay, if you need anything, if you're feeling too tired or too overwhelmed.

Her voice is a touch higher than usual, her movements slightly rushed. It's all too adorable, you think. The endearing sight of Wanda fussing over you and the baby brings a soft smile to your tired face.

Wanda’s gaze alternates between you and the tiny bundle in your arms, as if she’s afraid that this is all some dream that she would wake from.

“You're doing great, love,” you reassure her in a voice hoarse with exhaustion, but filled with so much love and admiration for this woman. Your woman. You wouldn’t trade her frantic behavior for anything else.

“Do you want to hold her?” you ask Wanda, lifting the baby slightly from your chest.

Wanda freezes at your question, her eyes flickering from the tiny face peeking out from the swaddles and back to you. She seems to be calculating the risk of her holding something so precious and delicate. She bites her lip nervously, her hand absently wringing together.

“I'm... I'm afraid I might hurt her. She's so small,” Wanda murmurs, almost too softly to hear.

A soft laugh bubbles up from you, finding her concern endearing. With your free hand, you tenderly take hers, squeezing reassuringly.

“Wands, love, she's our daughter. She already knows you and she wants her mom. Come on,” you encourage her, your voice soft but confident.

With a deep breath, Wanda nods. She gingerly slips onto the bed beside you, her arm tentatively reaching out. Her hand hovers over the baby's tiny form, her fingers trembling slightly.

Seeing her hesitate, you gently place the baby into Wanda's waiting arms. The moment your daughter is cradled in her arms, Wanda's eyes fill with unshed tears. Her gaze is locked on the little face looking up at her.

She's silent for a moment, just looking down at the tiny, squirming bundle in her arms. You watch as she traces her finger lightly over your daughter's chubby cheek, her touch feather-light as though she's handling a priceless piece of art.

“She's... She's beautiful,” Wanda finally whispers, her voice choked with emotion. You watch as a single tear escapes, trailing down her cheek.

“She has your eyes,” you say softly, leaning against Wanda's shoulder.

Her response is a watery laugh, and she turns to press a kiss on your forehead. “And your nose,” she retorts, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I didn’t know it was possible to be even more in love with you,” she adds, looking into your heavy-lidded eyes.

As you look at Wanda holding your daughter, overwhelmed with love and emotion, you think that there can't be anything equally perfect as this moment. 

Year 4

Something equally as perfect comes two years later.

You and Wanda return to your new apartment in Manhattan, this time with a little more noise, a lot more love, and two new family members in tow. 

The eighteen arduous hours of Wanda's labor are still fresh in your mind. The anxiety and fear you felt, the helplessness, as you watched her endure the pain, fighting for every breath, are experiences you would never forget. For a moment, you feared for her life, but Wanda, as always, proved to be a force of nature. She battled through, delivering the twins normally. Your two-year-old daughter has just been promoted to big sister status, with the arrival of her twin brothers, William and Thomas.

Wanda, holding Billy, looks at you over the top of his little head. Her eyes are bright, tired but excited. You carry Tommy, his tiny hand gripping your finger, and his weight in your arms feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Despite being outnumbered by your kids, you and Wanda are no novices now. With one child already, you've learned the ropes of parenthood, even if juggling the needs of three young children is still quite the adventure. 

Looking back, you can't help but wonder. If things had been smoother, easier, would you still end up here? 

Sure, life has thrown you a few curveballs. But those curveballs brought you to this moment, to this feeling of complete and utter happiness. 

You wouldn't change a thing.

Because this is it. This is your perfect. This is the beautiful chaos of a big family you and Wanda have created together. And you wouldn't trade it for the world. 

This moment is everything you ever wanted.

Year 35

You both retire to a charming little town on the east coast, away from the relentless hum of city life. The house is a modest one, its size perfect for two people entering the golden years of their life.

It's a quiet evening when you find yourself sitting in the bathtub, the warm water soothing against your aging muscles. The bathroom door creaks open and in walks Wanda, unadorned and as beautiful as the day you met her. You watch as she undresses, each wrinkle and mark a testament to the years you've spent together. The sight of her, the raw display of strength, beauty, and age, leaves you breathless.

She eases herself into the tub, the water rising as she settles across from you. Your legs brush against each other, a touch that still sends warmth spreading through your veins. Her eyes, the same captivating pair you lost yourself in more than four decades ago, meet yours and your heart does a familiar dance.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a teasing smile. “You have that look again.”

“What look?” you feign innocence, though a mischievous glint gives you away.

“That look as if you're seeing a young woman, and not the one who's been trying to get a senior discount for the past few years,” she quips.

You chuckle, leaning closer, the water ripples between you two as you do. “Honestly, after all this time,” you whisper, fingers tracing the back of her hand submerged in the water, “I can't help myself.”

She playfully rolls her eyes, her cheeks tinted with a hint of a blush that reminds you of her younger self. “Ever the charmer,” she murmurs, her voice betraying the flutter of excitement she still feels from your compliments, even after all these years.

“You may have a few more lines here and there,” you whisper, your eyes taking in every beautiful detail of her face, “But to me, you're as breathtaking as the day we met. Time can't change the way I see you, Wanda.”

With deliberate slowness, you lean in, pressing a delicate kiss to her lips. As you pull back, you see the warmth in her eyes, the soft smile playing on her lips, and you feel an old, familiar urge.

Your next kiss is deeper, more insistent, and your hand finds its way to her waist, pressing her closer. Her laughter bubbles up, breaking the kiss momentarily as she playfully swats your wandering hand away.

“You really still find this,” she gestures to herself, “Desirable?”

You lean back slightly, taking in her form with a deliberate, exaggerated slowness, your gaze wandering from her face to her feet and back up again. “Every inch.”

She gives you a mock exasperated look, but the smile that's trying to break through belies her true feelings. “You and your words,” she mutters, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck, her fingers tangling in your damp hair. “Do they ever run out?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you reply earnestly, your lips hovering just above hers. “Never when it comes to you.”

Making love isn't as easy as it once was, with bodies grown old and not as supple. 

But your love for Wanda—if anything, is stuck in time.

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[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (23/23)

Chapter summary: One year later, Wanda returns to the place where you promise to meet each other again

Chapter word count: 5.5k+ | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: And here we are! Will post the Epilogue tomorrow night :)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next part: Epilogue

-

Twenty-Three

One year later

It’s the most important flight of her life.

Wanda Maximoff is finally going home after a year in Barcelona. 

And it's only a matter of days before the date circled on her calendar arrives, the day she's set to see you again.

Before she boarded the plane, Pietro gave her a call, extending his well wishes and backing for her reunion. Shannon is expecting their second child, a baby girl. Pietro would have loved to be there for Wanda, to welcome her back after such an extended absence. However, Shannon's pregnancy has been more delicate this time around, requiring his undivided attention and care.

In the remaining moments before take-off, and after having secured Sparky on her lap, Wanda finds herself gazing at a picture of you on her phone. It’s an image that Valkyrie captured during the Cup-off, a picture of you and her side by side, your awkward yet endearing smile juxtaposed with her exuberant, wide grin.

As the plane ascends, distancing itself from the ground, her mind becomes filled with thoughts of you. She pushes the tray table up and leans her head against the window, watching the shrinking world below.

Have you changed? Have you grown out your hair or cut it shorter? Did your laugh still come out in those adorable bursts, or had life worn it down to a chuckle?

But beyond these surface changes, she wonders about your feelings. A year can transform emotions as much as it can alter appearances. But her heart aches for you, hoping that this part, this important part of you, remains constant.

The questions dance around in her mind as the miles fly by beneath her. 

Soon, she thinks, soon she'll see you again. Soon, she'll have her answers.

The moment her feet touch the ground at JFK airport, Wanda heads straight to the cafe. 

Although she's still got three days until she sees you, she has missed everyone else. When the opportunity arose to further her studies in culinary arts overseas, she felt compelled to take it. It was a prestigious scholarship in hospitality, coupled with advanced pastry and chocolate crafting, offered to her by one of the judges from last year's Cup-off competition.

Before leaving, Wanda had finalized a business partnership with Agatha, entrusting her with the cafe's operations during her absence. It was a decision made out of trust and necessity, knowing the cafe would be in capable hands.

At first, Wanda was ambivalent, reluctant to leave the comfort of all she knew. But when you told her about your decision, about needing a year to yourself, she took it as a sign. She took the opportunity to explore, grow, and learn more, just like you were doing. But now she's back, eager to catch up with everyone and curious about how the cafe has thrived under Agatha's care.

What immediately strikes Wanda about her cafe is the additional space it now occupies. When the shop next door had shut down eight months earlier, Agatha had promptly rung her up to grab the opportunity to expand their business. The cafe had been drawing an increasing number of customers since their victory in the Cup-off, and Wanda had immediately agreed to the expansion, recognizing that they were quickly outgrowing the existing space.

“Don’t pour anywhere but the coffee bed, Daisy, okay?” 

Peter's voice is the first thing that reaches her ears as she steps inside. He's guiding a young woman, likely a new employee, through the ins and outs of the pour-over brewing method, just like how Wanda taught him before. Their heads turn as the door chimes and an almost instant smile lights up Peter's face.

Wanda's own lips twitch upwards into a grin, returning the warm greetings silently before gently unhooking Sparky's leash. He doesn’t waste any time sniffing every inch of the room in a frenzy of enthusiasm.

“Wanda!” Peter exclaims, leaving the confines of the open kitchen to wrap her in a warm embrace. Just as he lets her go, Agatha appears from the backroom.

“Maximoff!” Agatha shrieks, drawing the attention of several heads in the room. She strides over quickly and practically shoves Peter out of the way so she can enfold Wanda in an even more suffocating hug.

“Welcome back!” Agatha exclaims, stepping back to look at her; her business partner is positively glowing. “How was Spain?”

Wanda smiles, “It was an incredible experience. I learned so much and met so many great people. And Barcelona... It’s a beautiful city.”

“And the food?” Peter interjects, looking curious.

“Out of this world,” Wanda replies with a laugh. Then she turns to Agatha and says, “So, tell me about your new hot date?”

As they chat and catch up, Wanda finds herself glancing at the clock every now and then, her heart beating a little faster with each passing minute. Three days. Just three more days until she sees you again.

Wanda wonders if these three days would feel longer than the year she spent without you.

***

Three days later, the large clock on the wall reads half-past eight. The cafe is usually buzzing with activity around this time, but today it’s quieter, as if everyone else is holding their breath too. 

Thirty minutes till closing, and you’re still a no-show.

Wanda is seated at the bar stool near the entrance, her elbows resting on the counter as she gazes blankly out of the window. Every now and then, her eyes flit towards the door, hoping to see your familiar figure. But each time, she’s met with disappointment.

She can't help but wonder if you've forgotten about the arrangement, or perhaps decided not to show up intentionally. Maybe you've decided to move on, to continue living your life without her. But the thought that terrifies her most is the possibility that something might have happened to you.

She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of these pessimistic thoughts. “They're late, not absent,” she mutters under her breath, clinging to the hope that you'll show up before the clock strikes nine.

Just as the last of her hope seems to be dwindling, the sudden presence of a new arrival snaps her back to the present.

She pivots slowly, heart thundering, and her eyes lock onto a face she had least expected to encounter today.

It's Natasha striding into the cafe with an inscrutable expression.

Seeing her, Wanda feels a strange mix of relief and anxiety. She hasn't seen Natasha since she confronted Wanda about her feelings for you, hasn’t heard from her since she helped locate you in Montauk. If Natasha is here, does that mean you're not coming? Or is she here to deliver a message from you?

Natasha catches sight of Wanda a second later and offers a small smile, a knowing look in her eyes. Wanda's breath catches, her vision momentarily blurring, while her pulse quickens, thundering in her ears.

“Good, you’re still here,” Natasha mutters, claiming the bar stool next to her. A snide remark about how she actually owns the place flits across Wanda's mind, but she brushes it aside, curious to see what Natasha is doing here.

“Nat–”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush because I’m terribly late and she’ll kill me if she finds out,” Natasha explains in a rush. “But Y/N won’t be able to make it.”

Her grip tightens around the edge of the table, knuckles white, as the room seems to tilt slightly. She had prepared herself for the worst, but hearing that you weren't coming still felt like a blow. She had spent the past year missing you, hoping for your return, and the fact that you weren't showing up as promised was a hard pill to swallow.

“Is it... is it because she doesn't want to?” Wanda asks quietly. Her whole disposition seems to wilt, as though an unseen force is pressing down on her.

Natasha lets out a heavy sigh, avoiding Wanda's questioning gaze. “It's...complicated.”

Wanda feels her heart dropping at the evasive response. A part of her doesn't want to hear what comes next, but she knows she has to.

“Y/N's mom has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's,” Natasha begins carefully. “And it's been tough on her, especially since she's also trying to mend their strained relationship.”

Wanda feels her heart twist at the news. She knew of your tumultuous relationship with your mother, and the added burden of dealing with such an illness must be incredibly hard on you. It only increases her longing to be at your side, to provide you the comfort you need at this critical time.

“Moreover,” Natasha continues, “She feels like she's not yet ready to see you... that she needs more time.” 

The words sting, and Wanda can't help but feel a rush of disappointment. 

“Thank you for letting me know, Natasha,” she says, attempting a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. “I had...well, you know, built up a lot in my head about this reunion.”

“I get that,” Natasha admits with a sigh. “And honestly? I wish she'd had the guts to tell you herself.”

Wanda looks away, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. So do I.”

Natasha's gaze lingers on Wanda's downturned face. There was a time when she despised the very sight of the woman before her, every fiber of her being resisting any empathy. But now, watching Wanda crumble, it twists something inside of her.

“Do you... do you have any idea why Y/N still doesn't feel ready to see me?” Wanda asks all of a sudden. There is a slight tremor in her voice, but she fights hard to keep her emotions in check, swallowing the lump in her throat. She needs to know, needs to understand, so she can find a way to support you, even if it's from a distance.

Natasha merely shakes her head. “I'm sorry, Wanda, but I don't have the answer,” she says, her voice carrying an undertone of regret.

Wanda gives a nod, a sad smile curving her lips. “Alright, thank you, Natasha,” she says quietly, a soft resignation in her voice. She wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to find comfort in her own embrace. Despite the gloom, she tries to put on a brave front. “Tell Y/N that... tell Y/N that I'm here, whenever she’s ready.”

“There's something else, Wanda,” Natasha says evenly, but there's a solemn look on her face that sends a shiver down Wanda's spine. “Y/N wanted me to tell you that it's okay to move on. She feels guilty that she couldn’t fulfill her promise and she doesn’t want you waiting forever.”

Wanda takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening as she fights back the tears, especially in front of your best friend.

“She... doesn't want me to wait?” Wanda's voice breaks a little as she forces the words out. 

The idea is utterly unfathomable to her. The very thought of not waiting, of possibly moving forward without you, feels foreign, almost laughable. All this time, she felt tethered to you, even with the miles and silence between. 

“No, Wanda, that’s not it,” Natasha gently corrects, her demeanor softening. “She thinks it’s not fair to you. To keep you waiting for something that might not even happen.”

Wanda blinks, a frown marring her face. “But I want to wait for her.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing her temples. “She worries that she might be holding you back from finding someone who can, well, be there for you. Someone who can offer you more certainty.”

“Does she need more time?” Wanda asks, and though she can hear the tinge of desperation in her own voice, she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I can wait, you know. I can give her all the time she needs.”

“That's the thing, Wanda,” Natasha says, meeting her eyes with a grimness that makes Wanda's heart sink. “She no longer knows when she'll be ready, if she'll ever be. She didn't want to give you an indefinite timeline.”

The gears in Wanda's mind are visibly turning as she digests the information, her face contorting with various emotions before settling on a desperate resolve. “Can I contact her? Just to see if she's okay?”

Natasha is quick to shake her head, an empathetic look on her face. “Wanda, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“But–”

“Listen,” Natasha interrupts, holding her gaze. “I understand where you're coming from. I do–”

Fury surges through Wanda. She pounds her hand on the table, her voice trembling as she snaps back, “Oh, so you know all about it, do you? Given your own track record with relationships, Natasha, can you honestly tell me you get where I'm coming from?”

“Yes,” Natasha says firmly, a statue of patience, undeterred by Wanda’s outburst. And she's able to remain steady, because she truly does get it. 

“Look, Wanda,” Natasha begins, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. “I made Bruce wait for me for years,” Her gaze falls, as if lost in the painful memories. “But all that waiting, all that uncertainty, it only bred more resentment, more pain. I hurt him more by making him wait than if I had just let him go. Perhaps I even took away many opportunities for him to be happy.”

She finally lifts her gaze to meet Wanda's. “Sometimes, we have to let go of the people we love, not because we want to, but because it's the right thing to do. It's not easy, and it hurts like hell. But sometimes, it's the kindest thing we can do.”

Wanda lapses into silence, feeling a sting of regret for having belittled Natasha's own experiences. She realizes, perhaps too late, that heartache is not a competition and that she has no right to assume that her own pain holds precedence over the other woman.

“In the end, I think Y/N is trying to spare you both from going through the same thing,” Natasha finishes, her voice thick with emotion as she allows a glimpse into her own painful past.

An extended period of silence blankets the pair as they both wrestle with their respective thoughts, looking out the window. As Wanda observes the thick snow blanketing the Manhattan pavements, she can't help but draw comparisons to the winters she experienced in Spain. The biting cold is a far cry from the Spanish winters where temperatures never dipped below zero. She likens herself to a plant frozen in an enduring winter, suddenly thawed out, expecting the warmth of spring, only to be thrown again in an even longer winter–an uncertain one.

The silence stretches on until it is broken by an awkward cough from Natasha. “So...uh,” she starts, glancing at her watch. “Is it too late to order a cup of coffee? I know you guys close in like, ten minutes?”

Wanda can't help the small chuckle that escapes her lips. Nodding, she pushes off from the table, making her way towards the counter. “It's never too late for a cup of coffee.”

Natasha follows her to the open kitchen, leaning casually against the countertop as Wanda gets to work. Wanda moves around the space with practiced ease, retrieving two mugs and starting the espresso machine.

“When did you two patch things up?” Wanda tosses out casually, glancing at Natasha while the coffee brews.

“About six months ago,” Natasha shares. Wanda acknowledges with a nod, meticulously pouring the espresso and then frothing milk, completely absorbed in her task.

“Because she took your advice?” Wanda asks over her shoulder, the undercurrent of raw emotion detectable in her otherwise composed demeanor.

Appearing a bit disconcerted, Natasha shakes her head slowly. “Truth be told, I didn't even know she took my advice... went her own separate way,” Natasha reveals, her eyes darting away. “I found out when her mother called me by accident. The anger had subsided by then. I wasn't furious anymore. I just... I missed her.”

As Wanda brings Natasha her coffee, they fall into a comfortable silence, standing side by side at the counter. 

“Even if she hadn't taken my advice, I think we would have found our way back to each other, eventually,” Natasha says, her voice soft, almost wistful. "She's my best friend, after all.”

Natasha stirs her coffee, her gaze lingering on the whirls of foam swirling in her cup. She doesn’t look at Wanda as she speaks again. “I’m sorry, Wanda,” she says, her tone solemn. “For having a hand in this. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

Wanda gives her a long, hard look before letting out a sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know, Nat. It’s not your fault,” she says, her voice subdued. “I’m the one who set things in motion.”

Natasha, with a stern look, responds, “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Wanda.”

“I'm not blaming myself,” Wanda quickly counters, her voice carrying a faint echo of a smile. “But it's the truth. I've accepted that what happens in our future is like ripples spreading out from our decisions and actions.”

Natasha gazes at Wanda thoughtfully until Wanda starts to fidget under the intense scrutiny.

“What?” Wanda finally asks, her tone almost defensive.

“Nothing,” Natasha replies, her lips curling into a small, amused smile. “You just called me 'Nat'.”

Taken aback, Wanda gives a small, sheepish laugh. “Is that... bad?” she asks, her cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment.

“No, not at all,” Natasha's smile is warm and friendly. And for the first time, Wanda feels the start of a real, meaningful friendship between them.

Wanda’s quiet for a moment, mulling over something. Then, she breaks the silence with a soft sigh, “I'll wait for her. No matter how long it takes.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, a clear question on her face. “Are you sure, Wanda?” She asks, her voice equally soft. “You're setting yourself up for a long, uncertain wait.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wanda murmurs, eyes instinctively darting to where the band used to be on her finger, now just a faint mark left behind. “But I want to. And... I'd appreciate it if you don't tell her. I don’t want to weigh her down with the burden of knowing that someone is here waiting for her.”

“You have my word,” she promises. Natasha takes a sip from her coffee, then poses her next question, “Hey, do you mind if I swing by here sometimes?”

Wanda gives her a mock exasperated look, rolling her eyes, “Of course, Nat. As long as you're not planning to rob me blind or something.”

Natasha chuckles at this, taking another sip and then humming in satisfaction. “Good,” she smiles appreciatively, “Because this might just be the best coffee I've ever tasted.”

***

A year and two weeks later

As you amble down the familiar streets leading to Second Chances Cafe, each footfall feels heavier than the last. You're more than a year late, and you have no idea if there's anything or anyone still waiting for you after all this time.

“Sure, Yelena, I can look into it for you,” you speak into your phone, rounding the corner onto the alley where the cafe is located. A twinge of nostalgia hits you as the signboard comes into view.

“Really?” Yelena sounds surprised and relieved all at once. “I mean, that's fantastic! You have no idea how much this could help. And don't worry about your identity being revealed. I'll make sure it stays hidden. This exposé is about uncovering the truth about Stark Industries’ tax evasion case, not dragging you into unwanted attention.”

You appreciate her consideration, knowing how much of a sticky situation it could become if your name gets thrown around with the exposé, especially considering you used to work for them.

As your conversation wraps up, you remember to send your best wishes to her partner, “Give my regards to Kate, will you?”

Yelena's laughter echoes from the other end, “She's right here. Kate, Y/N says 'hi'.”

There's a muted shout from the background, presumably Kate's greeting, and you can't help but chuckle. “Tell her I’ll beat her half-marathon record next time. I'll see you both soon.”

With that, you end the call. As you slide your phone back into your pocket, your fingers trace and then retrieve another item there–the contours of an old photo you have carried with you all this time. It’s the photo Valkyrie took of you and Wanda at the Cup-off, and you kept it with you wherever you went for more than two years. It’s tattered around the edges, but you both looked so happy, so in love, and so hopeful. 

It was a different time–a different you. 

Taking one final glance at the picture, you tuck it back safely into your pocket and push open the door to the cafe, the bell overhead jingling in recognition. The familiar sounds, the smells, the sight of the cozy interiors bring back a flood of memories. Your heart flutters with both anxiety and anticipation as you step inside, not knowing what awaits you, a year and two weeks too late.

Two unfamiliar faces are tending to the cafe at the moment. As you slowly approach the counter, you catch sight of a name tag on one of the employees–‘Daisy’, it reads. She greets you warmly, welcoming you before promptly asking for your order.

Rather than choosing a drink, your mind is focused elsewhere. You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “Actually, I was wondering…” you start, pausing to gather your thoughts. “Is the owner here today–”

Before you can even utter Wanda's name, Daisy interrupts, offering an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, but the owner's not here right now. She's on an extended honeymoon in Asia,” she explains.

As soon as the words leave Daisy's mouth, it's as if everything around you ceases to exist. The casual banter, that constant buzz of the espresso machine, even the sound of mugs and spoons clattering, it all just blends into some distant background noise. 

“Honeymoon?” The word tumbles out of your mouth, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears, the impact of the statement making your heart lurch uncomfortably in your chest. “She's... married?”

Daisy nods sympathetically, her eyes showing a hint of surprise at your visible shock. “Yes, they left three months ago. I think they're in Bali now... or was it Thailand?”

Her words ricochet inside your mind, leaving you grappling with the sudden change in reality. Looking back, you guess it isn't the worst thing that could have happened. Honestly, you had no idea what you were walking into when you decided to come here. After all, you had asked Natasha to tell Wanda not to wait.

And that’s it, Wanda found love again, real enough for her to want to say 'yes' to a new beginning with someone else, and you’re–

You’re happy for her. At the end of the long dwindling tunnel, you just wanted to see Wanda once again. If not, you want to make sure she’s happy and living her life to the fullest. 

And knowing that makes you feel okay, maybe even hopeful, about moving forward. 

The smile that makes its way to your lips isn’t forced. It’s not as big as you hope it would be but it’s genuine. As you take in your surroundings, seeing the expanded area of the cafe, you can’t help but be proud of her. 

It's so overwhelming that you don't even notice the tears tracing a warm path down your cheeks until you hear Daisy's voice.

“Ma'am, are you alright?” she asks, concern etched in her young face.

Surprised, you hastily swipe at your eyes with chilled fingers.

“May I leave something for her?” you ask Daisy, pulling out the polaroid from earlier. You take a moment, looking at it one last time, before flipping it over and pulling out a pen.

With careful, slow strokes, you inscribe the words, ‘I'm happy for you, wherever you are.’ 

As you pass the photograph over to Daisy, the reality of the situation seeps in, casting a definitive end to the chapter that was. The young woman before you studies the photograph, her brows knitting together in confusion, a detail you fail to notice as you begin to take your leave.

Wanda is your greatest love–enough to last you this lifetime. You’ll find a way to spend the rest of your life without her, knowing what you two had will sustain you until your last breath. 

Daisy watches as you walk away, wondering who you were and why it felt like she had said the wrong thing.

Just moments after you step out of the cafe, its door swings open again to let in a breathless Wanda, her arms laden with grocery bags. 

She narrowly missed your visit by a heartbeat.

“God, this city is unbearably cold,” she grumbles, setting down the bags onto the counter with a huff. Daisy wastes no time handing her the keepsake you had left behind only moments ago.

“Hey Wanda, this was left for you,” Daisy says, extending your memento towards her.

Wanda, still catching her breath from her rush over, eyes the object in Daisy's hand with curiosity. From where she stands she can already tell what it is and who it’s from. The world seems to pause, almost taking a breath, as she hesitantly extends a trembling hand to take it.

Her voice breaks a bit as she asks, “Who... who dropped this off? When was this?”

Daisy, reading the urgency in Wanda's eyes, scrambles to recall. “A woman came in not long ago…” she starts, but Wanda's already dashing for the exit before she can finish.

Holding the photograph close to her chest, Wanda barely gives Daisy a chance to finish her sentence before she's out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft chime. Daisy, left in a daze by the abrupt departure, hardly has time to process what just happened.

Then, just as quickly, Wanda bursts back in, her face flushed from the adrenaline. “Which way did she go?” she asks urgently. Daisy, taken aback, simply points north. 

With a nod of thanks, Wanda takes off in that direction. Based on Daisy's indication, she surmises you’re probably headed towards the subway station. Her heart pounds in her chest as she makes her way through the familiar streets, the city's buzz fading to a dull roar in her ears. All she can focus on is the hope that she's not too late, that she might still catch you.

Racing towards the station with swift, almost reckless strides, the life she shared with you hit Wanda like a tidal wave. As each scene of their past plays out in her mind, she sends a silent prayer to anyone listening above, begging for a chance to find you.

Wanda's footsteps echo in the nearly deserted subway station. It's a lull between the usual crowds, making the vast space feel even more desolate. The sparsely populated platform should have made it easier to spot you, but instead, it made the hollow in her chest grow.

As she steps onto the almost empty platform, the glaring absence of familiar faces or shapes drowns her in dread. Every corner she checks, every shadow she hopes will move to reveal you, and with each passing second, the sinking feeling in her gut grows. 

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she fights off the building tears, hoping against all odds for a glimpse, a hint, any sign that she hasn't missed her chance.

And then she sees you.

You're at the far end of the platform, bundled up in a thick black coat, hands rubbing together in a bid to fight off the cold. You blow into them, your breath fogging up in the chill.

For a beat, Wanda just watches. She doesn't rush, doesn't shout. She simply approaches with measured steps, drinking in the sight of you, allowing this moment to stretch out. 

As she gets closer, she takes in the subtle changes. The way your hair falls around your face, the look of concentration as you keep yourself warm, the way your shoulders hunch slightly against the cold. 

It's you, but also a different you, one shaped by time and distance.

She stops just beyond your immediate circle, her heart pounding furiously within her chest. Yet, before her lips part to speak your name, something–shift, an intuition–makes you pivot sharply towards her.

Your eyes blink slowly in surprise and then they quickly flick to her left ring finger.

It's bare. 

Your mouth drops open, then shuts again, clearly struggling to comprehend the sight of Wanda standing only a few feet away. 

“The woman from the coffee shop... she said you were married?” 

“That's Agatha,” Wanda responds, tears welling in her eyes.

“But she mentioned the owner–”

“I sold the cafe to her a year ago. I'm in the process of setting up a restaurant. I... I've been assisting at the cafe while she's on her honeymoon,” Wanda explains with a faint laugh.

“I thought–” Your voice breaks off, and the overwhelming urge to pull her into an embrace nearly overpowers you. Yet, there's a question, one that burns with urgency, that you need to clarify. 

Any more confusion could devastate what's left of your heart.

“Are you with someone else?”

Wanda releases a noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a choked cry, and then she's rushing into your arms, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that's tear-streaked, snotty, a little gross, yet absolutely perfect. 

Because kissing Wanda Maximoff could never be anything other than perfect. ​​You hesitantly deepen the kiss, and suddenly, it's like a dam breaking. The cold metal and concrete around you are replaced by the warmth of her body pressed against yours. A faint scent of her shampoo wafts over, one that you recognize from days long past.

Your fingers, almost of their own accord, find their way to her face, tracing the contours you once knew so well, feeling the dampness of her tears. The intensity of the kiss shifts with each moment–at times tender, at times desperate, like a language only the two of you understand.

Breaking the kiss, she pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her own filled with a level of intensity that nearly takes your breath away.

“I'm not with anyone,” she says, her words tumbling out between gasping breaths. “There hasn't been anyone else for the last two years. It's only ever been you–”

“Me too,” you whisper against her lips before diving back into another kiss. This kiss is different, less desperate, but it’s as if this single kiss is mending the broken threads of the past, sealing the promise that you two will never let go again.

But eventually, you have to let go and let her breathe. Pulling back just a hair, you rest your forehead against Wanda's. “God, I've missed you,” you murmur, eyes still closed, half-afraid that this might just vanish if you dare to look.

Wanda gives a watery chuckle, “You have no idea.”

“I'm sorry I'm a year late,” you utter, tears suddenly spilling over before you can rein them in. The thought that Wanda might have really been the one that got married, that you could have truly lost her, crashes over you.

Wanda gently strokes your cheek with her thumb, her eyes soft and understanding. “Even if you're always late,” she murmurs, her lips tantalizingly close to yours, “I'll always wait for you.”

Holding Wanda close, you feel an overwhelming desire to ask her to marry you again. But this time, you won't rush it. After all, there’s two years of new things to learn about each other. And you want to cherish everything–the way her eyes light up when she laughs, the warmth of her hand in yours, and the quiet moments shared over morning coffee. 

You want to learn from your past, not rush into the future. You're ready to enjoy each day, to let your relationship grow and strengthen naturally. You're willing to be patient, because you know that the journey is just as important as the destination.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye as she waves the photograph slightly. “You really just dropped off this photo and planned to leave? Wishing me happiness like that?”

You nod, sniffling, “It meant everything to me. I thought... I thought if I couldn't be with you, at least I could hope you found happiness.”

Wanda's expression softens, her fingers tracing the lines of your palm before squeezing your hand reassuringly. “So, you were just gonna let me go, thinking I had moved on?” She laughs softly, though there's a tremble in her voice.

You swallow, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. “A lot can happen in two years, Wanda,” you say, meeting her gaze squarely. “More than anything, I wanted you to be happy... whether that was with me or someone else.”

She tilts her head, her eyes searching yours for a moment. “Two years,” she muses, as if contemplating the weight of every day, every hour that had passed between you two. Wanda takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's not lose any more time," she whispers, intertwining her fingers with yours. 

You eventually miss the train that you’re supposed to take. 

But it doesn’t matter.

You’re already home.

Taglist: @canvascoloredin | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby| @swiftie1-0-1 | @scarlettbitchx | @tercerspirit-22 | @hyper-fixated-delusions

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #peter parker #daisy johnson #marvel

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (6/?)

Chapter summary: The relationship between you and Wanda reaches a critical juncture.

Chapter word count: 10,500 words

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader (heavy on this chapter), Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: mildly dubious consent, alcohol abuse, smut, toxic relationships

Author's note: Yup.

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Seven

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez

-

Part VI

Wanda hasn’t heard from you in exactly a week. 

After you dropped off Sparky at her apartment, she attempted to invite you in for a chance to explain herself, but you firmly declined and hastily departed without uttering a single word or even casting a glance in her direction. Somehow, the situation has deteriorated further than where it’s been months ago.

As before, Wanda made numerous attempts to call you and sent lengthy messages, earnestly explaining that she never intended to offend you and expressing profuse apologies. Over time, her messages grew increasingly desperate, pleading with you to at least inform her if you no longer wished to see her again. However, you remained silent, leaving her messages unanswered. Eventually, her calls ceased to connect, and a warning symbol appeared next to her texts, indicating delivery failure.

The implications were clear.

You’ve finally blocked her.

She couldn’t understand why the topic of children affected you to the point that you’re hell-bent on writing her off this time. Your discussions about having them never went beyond who’s carrying (Wanda) and how many (two); it was more of wishful thinking that didn’t make the priority list in the five years you’ve been married. 

It’s why she didn’t think twice to open up about her regrets of not having them, contemplating whether things would have turned out differently–if she would have turned out differently. Maybe, she would have been someone who didn't prioritize her own needs above all else. 

In a roundabout manner, it was her attempt to convey that she felt flawed and tainted.

There’s no excuse for her cheating. But she wanted you to understand anyway, that if she could have prevented it somehow, she’d give everything she has to seize that opportunity.

But as it turned out, it was foolish of her to think like you were still partners in the old days; where she didn’t need to filter out her thoughts because they were safest with you. You were her best friend, after all.  It became challenging for her to strike a balance between being true to herself and expressing her thoughts with unwavering honesty. Ironically, her sincerity and openness only served to push you further away. Clearly, her efforts to do the right thing have only resulted in diminishing her chances of reconciliation.

Over the last few days, Wanda’s thought a lot about showing up at your door, but seeing how unpredictable you’ve become to her, the prospect of being turned away like a beggar frightens her more than anything. And worse, it might just prompt you to move out of Natasha’s apartment and consequently, out of her life for good. 

Wanda couldn’t take that risk. She’s lost you for the third time now; and each of them has hurt more than the previous one. How many more times does she have to lose you in order for her to learn how to keep you? 

-

“This isn’t what I ordered.” 

Wanda blinks at the customer with a vacant expression. He took one sip and arbitrarily dismissed the drink before turning his attention back to the tablet in front of him.

“You ordered an Iced Americano with oat milk, two pumps of sugar free vanilla and one pump of hazelnut syrup.” Wanda recites his order from memory. 

“No water.” he replies in a monotone, rigidly unbothered in his pristine suit.

Wanda swallows dryly; that detail she forgot about.

“My apologies. I’ll be back with your drink in a few.”

Wanda hurries to the coffee bar to make another. In autopilot, she redoes it from scratch, putting together the ingredients with preciseness that could only be perfected by hours of preparing complex orders alike. She mixes them all together, before filling the cup with ice to the brim. However, right before she can serve it, another customer comes up to the counter, with a mild complaint about their paninis. 

It takes less than a minute for Wanda to deal with the problem, and then she returns to the businessman with the replacement drink. Wanda quietly places the cup in front of him. His dull eyes flicker to her as he tentatively takes a small sip. Grimacing, he sets his cup down and then flashes Wanda an impatient look as he says, “How many times do I have to spell it out for you? I said no water.”

Wanda’s nostrils flared. “The hot espresso would melt the ice somehow,” she snaps with a tight smile, and then she openly leers at a specific area below his waist. “Or is your brain too small to understand that’s just basic science?” 

Her voice is loud and sharp enough for two other customers to hear, and for Agatha to come rushing to her side to help with the situation.

The man rises abruptly in a fury, and stretches his spine to look taller than his height.

“You’ll be hearing from me in your Yelp reviews later.” With that, he leaves, making sure to slam the door on his way out. Everyone cringes in chorus at the clashing sound of metal chimes. 

Wanda tacitly apologizes to the customers bothered by the commotion, before cleaning up the table of the one who just left.

When she returns to the kitchen, Agatha studies her in concern.

“You alright, dear?” she whispers to Wanda, depositing a tray of dirty plates and utensils on the sink. Wanda works her jaw as she starts putting those in the dishwasher. 

“Wanda, dear?” Agatha tries again. “Wanda.” she repeats in a hushed tone. That’s when she notices Wanda’s hands gripping the edge of the sink hard, her knuckles turn white. The brunette is shaking, breaths becoming shallower and shallower until she’s gasping uncontrollably. Agatha grabs Wanda by the shoulders and starts to lead her outside from some fresh air.

“N-No,” Wanda protests in between pants. “J-Just wait it out.” Then she falls to the floor and hugs her knees, willing for her panic attack to pass. In the background, she hears the remaining customers leave, murmuring to themselves about the “unpleasant vibe” the cafe is giving off. 

Agatha is on the phone, calling Pietro.

Make it stop. Wanda thinks to herself, trying to gain control of her breathing. Please, make it stop.

An image of you appears in her head. With her eyes closed, she can see every crease, every pore, every detail of your beautiful face. 

“Y/N…” she utters your name like a prayer. 

Gradually, the tremors subside. Her heart rate returns to normal. Wanda feels herself reconnect to her body. The episode is over just in time for Agatha to return with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, thank God, you’re alright!” she cries, before dropping to her knees and enveloping Wanda into a stiff hug. “You scared me! I thought you were having a seizure.”

“Panic attack.” Wanda corrects her evenly. “I get them sometimes. Sorry, I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay,” Agatha rubs her shoulder soothingly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The warm feeling of comfort is what finally breaks Wanda. She covers her face with both of her hands and sobs into them. 

“Oh, Wanda…” Agatha takes her back into her arms and rocks her back and forth. “What’s happening to you?”

When her crying subsides, Wanda tells Agatha everything; from the night she found you again at the club, to the short-lived friendship that ended in a misunderstanding about imaginary kids.

“Honey, don’t you think it’s unhealthy to be in-touch with your ex-wife in the first place?” Agatha says in the best way she wouldn’t sound too critical of Wanda’s predicament. 

Wanda hastily brushes away the lingering tears that continue to trickle down her cheeks.

“I never wanted to be divorced from her. I never wanted us to end.” Wanda swallows back a whimper, feeling another dam within her threatening to burst at any second.

Agatha tries to sympathetically put some sense into her. “But you agreed. You signed those papers–”

“It’s what she wanted. And after what I did, I was in no position to deny her anything.”

“And what were you expecting to happen after you gave her what she wanted?

“I…” Wanda trails off, feeling like the biggest idiot now that she’s realizing how naive she’d really been for the past several weeks. So deluded into thinking that she’ll eventually worm her way back into your heart. “I don’t know.”

Divorcing didn’t feel so permanent when she agreed to it. To her, marriage was a legal binding that came with spousal benefits. Even without it, she already knew she was spending the rest of her life with you. When you divorced her, it didn’t change the fact that she was yours for good. 

Agatha sighs and puts her hand on top of Wanda’s, squeezing it lightly. “You know, we’ve never really talked about our personal lives. Most probably because I was your boss.” she says with a light chuckle. “But have I told you that I never married?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Someone from the gallery mentioned it in passing. I forgot who.” 

“I bet it’s Dottie. That bitch,” Agatha mumbles, glaring at the empty space in front of her. “Anyway… What was I saying?”

“You never married.”

“Ah, yes,” Agatha’s face twists into something wistful and sullen. “But it’s not because it wasn’t for me. To be honest, I love the idea of it. I guess you could say I missed the opportunity to be married.”

Dottie never delved into the reasons why Agatha stayed single all this time; likely because no one had gotten close enough to uncover the complete story.

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, recognizing that Agatha is sharing this narrative as a diversion, and she feels a sense of gratitude for it. 

“The love of my life wanted to marry me before I was ready. I was, oh god, eighteen? A country girl, fresh out of highschool and ready to show the world what she’s made of.”

Wanda smiles softly as she imagines a young, vivacious Agatha Harkness. 

“He’s a junior police officer in our town and three years my senior,” Agatha tilts her head, the back of her head pressing against the kitchen cabinet. Wanda observes how engrossed she is in her own trip down memory lane. 

“I remember it like it was yesterday. I hadn’t known he’d been planning a proposal at the festival that was going to be held the night of my graduation day,” Agatha recalls. “So, when he got down on one knee with a ring in front of everyone we knew–our friends, our family, and practically the whole town–I had wanted to be struck by lightning and just…fall dead on the spot. That would’ve been the best thing to happen that night.”

Wanda’s brows are knitted together as she asks, “What did you do?”

Agatha starts laughing–a cackling humorless sound–nothing short of unhinged if Wanda hadn’t heard it before. “I ran. I literally ran for my life.” she tells Wanda.

“He was so humiliated by my reaction, he wouldn’t see me at all. I didn’t reach out either. I don’t think we ever broke up. We just stopped talking to each other. And then my career took off and I landed in New York.”

“Did you ever find out what happened to him after?”

Agatha smiles sadly at that, and says, “Oh, yes. I kept tabs on him for years. He got married to someone else the following year, just before I could muster up the courage to fix things.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. And I’ve moved past it.” Agatha’s eyes are wet when they meet Wanda’s.

"So... you never got married because you've been in love with him all this time?" Wanda asks, curiosity and surprise lingering in her words.

The question sends Agatha into a fit of giggles. “Don’t be silly, Wanda. I’m not a martyr. I fell in love so many times after him.”

Wanda laughs along though self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, I guess that was a stupid take.”

As the silence settles between them, Agatha proceeds, her voice softening. "There was a time when I truly believed I would never move on. I was fixated on him for years. It may sound petty, but I even started curating my social media profiles to project an image of living my best life—well, in a way—just in case he ever stumbled upon them."

She takes a breath before continuing. "But then, one day, I woke up and he didn't consume my thoughts anymore. As my heart let go of him, it also released the notion of marriage."

“Oh,” Wanda looks down at her lap, not really knowing what to make sense of it all. “Those men that came after your ex, you never saw yourself marrying any of them?”

“I already had my one, great love, Wanda. He’s the only boy I was sure I could love forever. Yes, I can fall in love with other people again and again, but I’ve come to realize that it will never measure up to what I felt for him. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

"I do, actually," Wanda responds with unwavering determination. She isn't entirely certain of Agatha's intentions in sharing her story, but it only solidifies Wanda's resolve to win you back. "If I have to go to great lengths to prove myself to Y/N, then I'm prepared to do so. I won't give up without a fight."

"No, no," Agatha shakes her head, a little dismayed that her true message didn't come across as intended. "You're supposed to do the opposite. Let. Him. Go. One day, you're going to wake up, and it will all be nothing but a precious chapter in your life."

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re lying when you say it’s “nothing” to you. The fact that this memory has stayed with you all these years means something.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you regret that you acted a little too late. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make the same mistake.” Wanda says, getting to her feet. 

"I have no regrets," Agatha asserts, looking up at Wanda with staunch confidence. "And you have no right to judge me for choosing to prioritize myself over catering to his wounded ego."

"I wasn't judging you," Wanda soothes softly. "And I apologize if I'm not hearing what you want me to hear, but Y/N was open to maintaining a connection with me. And as far as I can tell, she isn't involved with anyone else yet, which means I-"

"How certain are you?" Agatha interrupts, a hint of challenge in her voice. "How certain are you that she isn't currently planning her future with someone new?"

"I just am," Wanda responds with full conviction.

“That’s not good enough, Wanda.”

“Well, unless I see her say ‘I fucking do’ to someone else at the altar, then the only option for me is her.”

Agatha drops her chin in defeat. She takes a long, deep breath before pulling herself off the ground so that she can address Wanda on eye-level. 

“I can’t tell you what to do because clearly, your mind’s made up. It seems made up long before you and Y/N got yourselves into this mess.”

Wanda is quiet as she stares at the floor, not denying nor confirming anything.

Agatha's expression softens as she reaches out to lift Wanda's chin gently, making her meet her eyes. "I'm here to support you, my dear. And I genuinely wish you the best."

Wanda struggles to swallow the lump in her throat. "Agatha, I... I apologize for what I said earlier about-"

“I’m not hurt,” Agatha says, but it doesn’t make Wanda feel any less guilty. “Believe me, I’ve said and done worse things when I was in your position.”

Wanda nods solemnly. “Can I ask you a favor though?”

“Sure, honey. What is it?”

“Please don’t tell Pietro. He’s doing well, I think. I don’t want him to worry about me. He’s been here long enough already.”

“You have my word.”

-

Later, after Wanda closes up shop for the day, she goes straight to your place. She loafs around a corner across your building, deliberating if she should come up to your unit and hash it out. The lights are open where your living room would be on the third floor, indicating that you’re home. But just as she makes the decision to see you, a figure of a woman approaches your window to draw the curtains. 

Wanda narrows her eyes, and as she looks closely, instantly recognizing that she’s the same woman from the club. The woman you danced with, seemingly without a care in the world.

Wanda’s step falters, almost losing her balance. She lingers for a bit, gazing up helplessly at your window. As people pass by her motionless figure on the streets, their expressions turn to suspicion, their eyes drawn to the direction that has captured her attention so completely.

She pays them no attention, but when it becomes apparent that this woman wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, she decides to go home.

As Wanda catches the last train to her borough, she tries not to think about what it means. 

Wanda’s never been one to reel in her jealousy; no matter the fact that she no longer has any business of feeling that way in the first place.

-

“Y/N?”

“Maybe it would have stopped me.”

Your mind keeps rewinding the same scene from a week ago. Over and over again, you see green eyes, large and imploring. 

“Y/N.”

Maybe it would have stopped me.

You see Wanda standing by the doorway, terrified and confused. It’s haunting in a way that you kind of wished you didn’t agree to this friendship thing in the first place. 

“Y/N!”

Yelena's voice calling your name startles you, snapping you back to the present moment. You blink and refocus your attention on her. "Sorry, what's up?"

Yelena had arrived unexpectedly an hour ago, holding a bag of Shake Shack takeout and mentioning something about being in the area for an event. It hadn't occurred to you that you hadn't been in contact since the night you shared a kiss at her doorstep. In fairness, she hadn't reached out to you either.

She had set up the food spread of burgers and fries on the table in front of the TV while you searched for a horror movie that neither of you had seen. However, in the midst of dinner, she had to take an important work call, and your thoughts immediately drifted back to the events of the previous week, those green eyes that were dark pools of fear and rejection. 

Yelena bites her lip, finally noticing the disconnect and distance you've been exhibiting.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” she asks. 

You tilt your head at her curiously. “Talk about what?”

Yelena rubs her temples as her mouth twists in a wry smile. “Oh my god, you can be such an asshole sometimes.” 

As you grab Yelena's hand, a surge of determination courses through you, preventing her from fully retreating. "Lena," you say, using her childhood nickname, a name that holds a special significance between the two of you. 

It's a subtle way of easing the tension that has filled the room. With a mix of relief and vulnerability, Yelena allows herself to be pulled back towards the couch, and she plops back down beside you.

“Look, I know I didn’t call you either after we… after that night. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to figure things out with you.” she says.

You sigh, letting go of her hand. “Frankly, I don’t know where to begin.”

“How about this,” Yelena proposes. “I’ll start with a question and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“You’ve thought this through.” you say.

“I have.”

“Alright.”

Yelena nods. “Here it goes,” she blows out her cheeks. “Why did you kiss me?”

“I–”

“I don’t need a quick answer,” Yelena interrupts. “I need an honest one.”

The truth is, from the moment it happened until Wanda showed up the following day, it consumed your thoughts entirely. You recall lying awake in bed, unable to shake the desire to experience it again—the softness of Yelena's lips, the subtle differences in her kisses compared to those you had shared before.

You kissed her simply because it was unthinkable to do anything otherwise in that moment.

You give her this answer, and Yelena’s expression remains eerily neutral. Not that you were expecting some kind of reaction, but still–

“So if it had gone beyond a kiss, you’re saying you just wanted to hook up?”

You shake your head at her incredulously. “Not at all!”

“Oh, so you didn’t want to have sex with me at all…”

“I do! I mean–of course I’m attracted to you. But I didn’t kiss you just because I wanted to sleep with someone,” you say, feeling a pressure at the back of your neck. “I kissed you because I just… wanted to kiss you.” you wince at hearing yourself repeat the same thing like a broken record.

Yelena studies you for a moment, before she says, “Does that mean anything?”

“It means being close to you like that brought a decade-old feeling to the surface.” you reply, the volume of your voice considerably fading towards the end of your sentence. 

Yelena plays with the necklace around her neck. “Yeah? What sort of feelings?”

You prop your chin on one hand. All things considered, what you once had with Yelena had every potential to be one of your greatest loves. But you don’t want to mistake love with feelings of nostalgia. 

“You don’t have to answer that one,” Yelena says after a long, heavy moment. “Actually, I’d prefer it if you don’t. I’ve been thinking a lot this past week. About the possibility of us. About you, as a person… about me, as a person. And we’ve… changed. I just didn’t realize it before because you feel like home to me. I think no matter how long or far we’re apart, I’ll always feel that way about you.”

“Me too,” you say with a soft smile. “Your presence in my life has been nothing but comforting. Safe. Like I can always be me, even at my worst.”

“But it’s not enough for me, Y/N. I never thought the window would open again when Nat told me you got married. So, I’ll be damned if I miss my chance again.”

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that we give this a real chance," she says.

"I... I don't think I'm ready," you hesitate.

Yelena can't help but let a smirk creep onto her lips. "Says the girl who kissed me."

You blush at that, wishing you carried the same courage you had that night at this very moment.

When you fail to respond, Yelena prods you with a question. 

“You’re not ready or you’re scared you’d hurt me?” she asks.

With love, you have always been ready. It has always been a natural and instinctive part of your being. You embraced love in all its complexities; with its joys and sorrows, without fear or reservation. But now, you cower in the shadow of betrayal–as if it was love itself that betrayed you, rather than Wanda.

“I’m scared I’d hurt you,” you choke out, barely able to contain the tremor in your voice. “... And I’m scared to be hurt again.”

Yelena’s heart breaks at your words. “Come here.” she whispers.  

She doesn’t really wait for you to act. Before you know it, Yelena has closed the distance to encircle her arms around your waist and pull you into a tight embrace. You hug her back and bury your face into her neck. It’s only when you feel Yelena’s soaked shirt against your cheek, that you realize you’ve been crying.

You remain intertwined in each other's arms for a while, finding solace in the connection you share, until Yelena’s phone rings and it’s Kate urgently asking her to work with her on a story that’s about to erupt. Understanding the importance of her work, you reluctantly send her off, promising to continue the conversation at a later time.

Just as Yelena is about to leave, she suddenly pauses and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you into a brief yet intense kiss. The passion and longing in that moment leave you breathless. Before parting, she whispers, "Something more for you to think about. Now, we're even."

With those words lingering in the air, she releases your bottom lip with a wet sound and leaves you with a swirl of emotions and thoughts to ponder.

-

That same night, on the rooftop of her apartment building, Wanda sits alone, surrounded by the night sky and the faint smell of tobacco after doubling her dosage of tranquilizers again.

The half-empty pack of cigarettes lies beside her, a testament to her struggle to cope with the turmoil in her heart. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, feeling the burn in her lungs, and exhales a cloud of smoke into the air. Beside the pack of cigarettes, a bottle of tequila rosé stands, its contents diminishing with every sip Wanda takes. 

Wanda's mind drifts back to her college days, remembering how smoking was once a non-negotiable deal-breaker for you. She had forced herself to quit back then, eager to align herself with your preferences and expectations. But now, in this moment of heartache and confusion, she finds herself returning to this old habit, seeking comfort and familiarity in the act of lighting a cigarette.

She recalls the day you moved out of your home in Westview, the day her world began to unravel. It was then that she picked up smoking again, a way to cope with the pain of your absence. And even when she found you again, she attempted to quit for the second time, hoping to present a version of herself again that you would approve of. 

But tonight, with her heart heavy and her emotions overwhelming, Wanda allows herself to surrender to the temptation of smoking. Each inhale brings a momentary respite from her thoughts, even if it comes at the cost of her health and well-being. She remembers how you used to despise the smell of tobacco on her breath, how you would express your concern about the impact it had on her life expectancy.

“As much as eleven minutes per stick.” You had told her so many times, back when you were just friends.

Yet in this moment, Wanda finds solace in the cigarettes, even if it's just for those fleeting minutes that they shorten her life. It's a small act of rebellion, a way to reclaim a fragment of control in the uncertainty of it all. 

“Ever wonder who will die first in our old age?” Wanda asks you one night after a particularly intense make-up sex. Lying in bed, you’re exhausted and seconds away from sleep, while Wanda’s energy hasn’t dissipated at all–rather, it increased even more after two orgasms.

You’ve been married for two years, and fought over a random encounter with Carol; a fellow NYU who was crazy about you for the entirety of your sophomore year. The aforementioned encounter was an annual work meeting with your company’s outside partners, and it led to Carol asking you to catch up over coffee after work.

“I hope it’s me.” you say, snuggling close to Wanda’s side. Tenderly, you place an arm over her exposed abdomen and affectionately squeeze a small fold on her belly.

“Can’t be you. I used to smoke three to four cigarettes a day for years before you made me quit.” Wanda says, laughing a little when you accidentally pinch a ticklish spot. 

“For the record, I didn’t make you quit.” 

“Fine,” Wanda rolls her eyes. “But going back to the topic: I think it’s going to be me.”

You’re quiet for a long period with Wanda thinking you’ve already fallen asleep, when you say, “I just did the math. As far as I know, you were a smoker for seven years, so that would amount to… about 10,200 cigarettes. Or 2.5 months lost.” 

Wanda looks down at you in confusion. “What are you on about?”

Your smile is mysterious as you close your eyes using Wanda’s breast as your pillow. 

“Don’t you dare start smoking now.” Wanda threatens softly, but you hear the fear in her voice anyway.

She feels your smile widen against her damp skin as you repeat, “I hope it’s me.” 

Wanda takes a satisfying puff from her last stick and wonders what’s one more thing for you to hate about her. 

Love is watching someone die. She heard that from a song that seems like a lifetime ago. Yet, she never truly understood its implications, given the typically grim connotations associated with death.

It was not until she revisited that casual conversation with you that she grasped the profound reality: by choosing to spend the rest of her life with you, she had essentially volunteered to bear witness to your eventual passing. Death, an inescapable and inevitable anguish, is a burden one willingly embraces solely out of genuine love for another.

Wanda shuts her eyes, recognizing the pressing need to halt her mind's meandering towards these thoughts, or she’ll never stop grieving. 

The cigarette's smoldering remnants fall from her lips as Wanda crushes it beneath her heel. She turns her attention to the bottle of rosé, swiftly uncapping it and taking a lengthy swig. No, she is not harboring suicidal thoughts. However, she remains unfazed by the potential perils arising from the harmful combination of her vices.

-

It’s almost midnight and you have only just been half-unconscious in your bed, when your phone rings for what feels like forever.

An unknown, overseas number appears on your vibrating screen and you stare at it for while before answering.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Natasha’s raspy voice comes through. The line is murky, and you can hear a foreign language being spoken in the background. “Sorry for calling you so late.”

You sit up on your bed, waking up quickly from your shallow sleep. “Where are you calling from?”

“Somewhere in Asia.” 

“Oh, I thought you’re in–”

“No. The mission took me here a day ago. Listen, I only have about five minutes.” Natasha says, not bothering to hide the impatience in her tone. 

You sit up straight on the bed, the last vestiges of sleep leaving your senses. “I’m listening.”

“Yelena and I talked some five minutes ago,” Natasha starts and your heart starts pounding in your ears. You hear a deep sigh coming from the other end–can feel Natasha’s apparent hesitation. But then–

“She didn’t exactly say that she’s still in love with you, but… But that’s how it sounded to me. And then she basically told me to fuck off and not act like an ‘overprotective asshole’–her words not mine.”

“We kissed.” The confession frees itself before you can stop it. 

“She did not disclose that detail.” Natasha says through gritted teeth from what you can hear.

“I should’ve told you but I don’t really know how to reach you, so–”

“I get it. I’m not mad,” Natasha says. “Not saying I’m okay with it either. Actually, I’m being ridiculous because you’re both adults.”

Growing up as an only child, you think it’s endearing how zealous she can be when it comes to looking out for Yelena. It’s something you’ll never dismiss as absurd in any way, especially since both were adopted and shortly abandoned by their parents before Natasha turned thirteen. Apart from you, Yelena is Natasha’s only family. And you hate being the cause of conflict between the two.  

“I just need to know one thing. Do you still love her?” Natasha asks. 

It’s instantly obvious that there’s a right and wrong answer to this. At the same time, you hear someone frantically knock on your door.

“Wait, Nat,” you mutter distractedly, putting on a pair of shorts. “There’s someone at the door.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Natasha mumbles. “Are you avoiding the question?”

“Wait a sec,” you say. The knocking remains persistent and demanding. You yell out, “Who is it?” as you pad towards the door. 

You don’t concern yourself with waiting for an answer. You hurriedly work the locks of the apartment and a certain brunette comes tumbling forwards the moment the door swings open. 

“Wanda?”

She’s wearing a mustard cardigan with liquid stains on the chest. And beneath the cardigan, a pair of pajamas that doesn’t match. From the looks of her, this visit was planned on a whim. 

For a while, you forget that your best friend is still on the call, until you hear Natasha say, “Yes, Wanda. Who else?”

“I… I’ll have to call you back.” you say to Natasha and simultaneously end the call before she can even protest. 

“Is she still here?” Wanda slurs and then lets out a small hiccup that you’d normally find adorable, except that you’re not supposed to feel that way towards her in light of being no longer married. 

And also the fact that there’s nothing adorable about seeing her so plastered to the point of being unable to focus her eyes on anything for longer than a second. 

“Who?” you feign ignorance, clueless as to how Wanda knew Yelena was at your apartment. 

As Wanda tries to approach you, her intoxicated state causes her to stumble, requiring you to swiftly grasp her by the waist to prevent her from falling. She lets out a laugh, but it rings hollow.

“You smell like baby powder.” Wanda comments quietly, her nose bumping the side of your neck. The contact sends a shiver cascading down your spine, awakening sensations you'd prefer to suppress, especially when it concerns Wanda. Feeling how dangerous having Wanda this close is, you gently push at her shoulders. Wanda relents with little resistance and when she looks at you through heavy-lidded eyes, asks the same question, “Is she still here?”

You decide to answer her truthfully this time. “She went home.” 

Wanda nods in understanding and you watch her eyes fall shut, a solitary tear escaping her closed lids.

“Okay,” she whispers solemnly, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Thank you, that’s… All I… yeah.”

You rub your hands over your face in a feeble attempt to wake yourself up in case you’re dreaming, but before you can reckon what to do next, Wanda’s already turning on her wobbly legs towards the elevator. 

“Wanda, wait–” You reach out to tug at her wrist, and the slight force from it whirls her back around. She faces you with her eyes still closed, but her quivering lashes are brimming with more tears that are so close to spill.

When Wanda does open her eyes, they do spill. And it takes everything in you not to pull her into a hug and just make it all go away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Wanda sniffs, brushing at her face but it’s no use–it’s like a dam has burst and it’s apparent that the steady stream flowing through her cheeks isn't letting up soon. “I don’t know why–I just wanted to see you. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Drunk Wanda never cried, particularly not on account of you. She was, at best, silly and clumsy–tripping over things and waking up to minor injuries she doesn’t remember getting.

Instead of replying, you lead her inside and Wanda dutifully allows herself to be led. She curls into herself on the couch, feet tucked under her. 

“I’ll go get you some water.” you say, padding towards the kitchen. It’s only when you’re sure Wanda can’t hear you that you release the breath you’ve been holding since her arrival.

A clean slate is what you yearn for, what seems rational in your current circumstances. The logical part of your mind insists on starting anew, devoid of bitterness, guilt, and the weight of unanswered questions. Free from the presence of Wanda Maximoff, who acts as the catalyst for all those emotions.

But wanting to want something and actually wanting something are two entirely different things. 

The question lingers.

Do you still love her? At first it’s Natasha’s face you imagine while the question is being asked. And then she morphs into Yelena, looking absolutely beautiful in the moonlight just right before you had kissed her. 

And then, it’s you. Do I still love her?

Would you have kept her at arm’s length if you knew the answer to this?

Just as you find yourself confronting the inevitability of needing an answer, you feel lithe arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you tightly against a body that would never not be familiar to you.

You tense automatically, but can’t find the will to step out of her embrace. It’s an understatement to say that Wanda Maximoff is your weakness. Without the raw and immediate feelings of anger and betrayal, without the sickening rush of having blood on your hands, and without the concrete reminders of how she threw away a decade worth of love and trust for a fling she claimed wasn’t even that important to her, is just–

It’s the kind of weakness that could annihilate all sense and reason; that could forgive the unforgivable, forget the unforgettable, even learn what has been unlearned. 

It’s a weakness that scares you if Wanda wields it to her favor. You’ve appreciated how she was very conscious of giving you as much space as you need for the past few weeks. You noticed how much she held back every time you were together. But right now, at her current state, you don’t know what Wanda would do. And she probably doesn’t know as well how much power she has in her hands despite her susceptibility to seeing you with another woman. 

“Remember when we talked about who’s probably going to die first when we’re old and don't have many years left in us?” you feel more than hear Wanda murmur against your shoulder, hating the way you slacken in her hold. 

In that moment, memories flood your mind, and although you recall vividly, you opt to remain still and silent.

“I hope it’s me,” Wanda whispers, echoing the exact words you had said to her that night. “I don’t ever want to go through the pain of watching you slip away again.”

Your heart crashes to the floor, breaking into a million tiny pieces that would never be a hundred percent whole again. 

“Wands,” you say breathlessly, then as you turn to face her, a cold hand softly cups your cheek and before you know it, she’s kissing you.

A fresh wave of tears sting at Wanda’s eyes because she can’t remember the last time she felt this happy. She’s hot all over and feeling the onset of a migraine from the alcohol and the pills, but they don’t diminish the pleasure of being surrounded by your smell and the feel of your unmoving lips.

As for you, all you could taste was the combination of bad choices she made just a while ago.

Regrettably, the fleeting moment ends sooner than Wanda desired, as you firmly grasp her shoulders with both hands and apply enough force to cause her to stagger momentarily before regaining her balance.

You barely managed to hang on to what’s left of your control. 

“Please, stop,” you don’t mean for it to come out as vulnerable as it sounds, but it’s hard to keep the firmness in your voice when Wanda’s looking at you like that.

“I love you,” Wanda insists so brokenly, she almost delivers it with a whine. 

“I love you, Y/N.” she repeats, as if there’s a threshold for the number of times she has to say it until you believe her–which, still, you don’t.

“It’s just the alcohol and maybe nostalgia talking.” you say. 

“You’re wrong. I love you. I want you.”

It’s pointless and childish to argue with a drunk person, but you can’t help but seethe in Wanda’s unwavering belief in her own lies. 

You take a couple of calculated steps towards her until you’ve effectively backed her against the fridge. 

“You know what I think?” you say menacingly, and it appeases you to see how she slightly trembles beneath your gaze. “I think you just want to fuck me. And it’s driving you crazy because you don’t own me anymore.”

You say it because it’s something you’ve been wondering about for a while now. It’s difficult for you to tell what she’s after–what she gets out of coming after you and wrecking herself like this in the process. You’re aware of Wanda’s tunnel vision when it comes to getting what she wants–specifically ones that don’t come easy–and you’ve seen it firsthand numerous times over the years. She never backs down from a challenge. 

You can’t help but think–is that what this is? A challenge to win back what she had so carelessly tossed aside?

Wanda, on the other hand, is far incapable of digesting your words properly. And yet, it just becomes clear to her how deep your resentment really goes. 

“That’s perhaps the ugliest thing you’ve ever said to me.” she whispers. 

You shake your head, backing away. It’s not quite as biting as you intend it to be when you say, “Oh? Well, it doesn’t compare to the ugliest thing you’ve ever done to me.”

Tense silence stretches out between the two of you, with only the sound of your breaths and your pounding hearts filling the void. By this time, Wanda’s eyes are dry. All that’s left are tear tracks that run through the edges of her jaw. She looks diminished and soulless, and somehow, it’s a worse sight. 

Wanda promptly hisses at the sharp pain that pulses on one side of her head, her fingers coming up to her temples to massage them.

Your shoulders slump, feeling exhausted–physically and mentally–all of a sudden. 

“Wanda–” you start, her well-being taking priority over your pique. “Please just lie down on the couch. I’ll get you some blankets.”

“I think I’m gonna go.” she says, even as she struggles to walk in a straight line.

“You’re drunk and you’re staying here. This is not a negotiation.”

A beat of silence, and then managing a scoff, she says, “Fine.”

Proceeding into Natasha's bedroom, you retrieve a pillow and a thin comforter, uncertain of where she keeps the actual spare bedding for guests. Returning to the living room, you find Wanda lying on her stomach, already in a deep slumber on the couch. Her face is turned away, mouth slightly open, accompanied by gentle snores. Glancing at the kitchen, you notice the untouched glass of water you had prepared for her. There’s no doubt the headache that awaits her when she wakes up. With utmost care, you drape the comforter over her body, ensuring her bare feet are covered, and place the pillow beneath her outstretched arm.

Creating an ambiance of dimness, you switch off all the lights, allowing only the moon's gentle glow and the radiant lights of the ever-awake city to seep through the window. Your gaze lingers on the shadowed outline of your ex-wife's peaceful form for a few fleeting moments before you withdraw to your own bedroom.

With the reassurance of Wanda being safe and sound in such close proximity, you swiftly succumb to a deep, dreamless slumber.

It’s still dark outside when you stir awake, with the sun peeking just outside the horizon. Last night’s sequence of events return to you in deliberate fragments, and you immediately get up and walk over the living room.

No sign of Wanda. 

The blanket you gave her is neatly folded on the armrest together with Natasha’s pillow. Circling the couch, you spot her cardigan discarded on the floor. She must have ridden herself of it, somewhere during the night. 

Bending down to pick up the article of clothing, and you’re unprepared for the smell of Wanda that wafts to your nose.

You’ve said some things. Appaling things. Reflecting on what was said, you're overcome with remorse, realizing the depth of the vilification you subjected her to.

You wouldn’t have loved her for so long if she was horrible enough to harbor such ill intentions.

Maybe the least you could do is put her cardigan in the laundry. Returning it to her in a fresh and clean state would be a small gesture of consideration and apology.

-

A throbbing pain is what woke Wanda about an hour before sunrise. Dread overcame her right when she opened her eyes to the familiar gray of your flat. She can’t recall much of what happened last night; only an inkling that she fucked up every step of the way following the moment she showed up at your door. Deeply ashamed of barging in and probably forcing you to shelter her for a night, Wanda left your building in a hurry. On top of the humiliation, she’s also already late for her cafe’s pre-opening ceremonies. 

It’s an unusually busy Tuesday, and she failed to get Pietro to come over and lend a helping hand. People are growing agitated by the slow service, ignoring the obvious reason that their server is wearing all the hats today–cashier, barista, waitress and maintenance. She’s tending to the cafe alone, except for Sparky–and she can’t really ask a dog to serve food and drinks… or can she?

Though if there’s one thing Wanda Maximoff is, it’s that she’s a professional multitasker.

“Can I follow up on that upside down mocha latte, miss?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll be right with you.”

“This needs more sugar.”

“We have packets of sugar, sugar-replacement, creamer, cinnamon and so much more over that corner.”

“Excuse me, how much for two dozens of matcha peanut butter cookies? And do you take advance orders?”

“That’s, uh, you know what let me check. And yes we do take advance orders and provide catering services.”

“Your dog is licking the spilled coffee on the floor, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, shit–Sparky, get away from that!” Wanda temporarily sets her tray down on the table of one of her customers to get a mop.

“Miss, I think you swapped my order with–”

She’s not going to freak out. There’s no way she’s going to freak out. 

Wanda’s on her way to cleaning up the spill when someone jerks the mop out of her grip. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Vision mumbles without looking directly at Wanda. “You should attend to that asshole by the window. I think he’s about to lose it.”

Wanda’s at a loss for words, conflicted between carrying on with her duties and thinking whether or not she should confront her former student about why he’s here. In the end, she really has no choice but to charge through the pending orders and appease the snappy customers or else she risks losing this business. 

Little by little, the demands die down. And then finally, Wanda’s left to deal with Vision who’s seated near the back room, hunched over Sparky while her dog laps at his bony fingers.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Wanda says as she approaches his table.

Vision jolts upright and she uses the opportunity to take a proper look at him. He looks a great deal better than the last time they saw each other. Wanda’s sincerely happy for him. Still, he cannot be here.

“Thank you for helping earlier, but I believe it’s best if you leave now.” Wanda asserts, her irritation palpable.

“I wasn’t stalking you or anything,” Vision says, unfazed by Wanda’s animosity. “I didn’t know you work here.”

Wanda snorts in amusement. “I don’t simply work here. I own this place.”

Vision looks embarrassed for making the wrong assumption. “Sorry, I… Congratulations, Wanda. This is truly remarkable..”

“Thanks,” she says, and then gestures at the door. “Now could you please…?”

“Can’t I at least order a coffee to-go?” Vision interjects.

“Fair enough,” Wanda concedes. 

“What would you recommend?” he asks, studying the menu with rapt concentration.

“Our bestseller is the Spanish latte.”

“Got anything Keto?”

Wanda casts him a dumbfounded look. But Vision seems serious with his request. The pieces of their affair now seem like a perplexing puzzle; and now she’s exploring the possibility that their affair could have been her having a mental break. Not for the first time she wonders, what the fuck was I thinking?

“Fine. Would you like it hot or cold? Medium or large?” Wanda asks.

“Uh, iced. Large.” he says.

Wanda works the register. “Large iced americano with two shots of heavy cream and a Splenda, coming right up.” 

Vision pays for his drink and thanks her. He waits by the counter as Wanda prepares his coffee.

The bells-like sound of the door chime rings, and Wanda mechanically welcomes the newcomer without looking up.

“Hi,” you say, not noticing Vision at all. It’s Sparky who greets you, excitedly wagging his tail as he sniffs you all over. 

Wanda flinches at the sound of your voice. Her eyes widen in panic, and they dart erratically from you to Vision, and then you again. It’s only when you absorb the horrified look on Wanda’s face that you catch sight of a taller figure from the corner of your eyes.

"You..." The word escapes your lips, unintentionally carrying a tinge of disdain. It's the first time you witness Wanda and Vision in the same room, and a rush of emotions floods over you, resurfacing all the pain you have been attempting to overcome during the past several months.

A flurry of questions swirls within your mind, leaving you feeling overwhelmed. Didn’t Natasha say he doesn’t remember? Or has he been aware of everything all along? And what about Wanda? Was she seeing Vision behind your back throughout this entire time? The uncertainty and confusion gnaw at your thoughts, leaving you grappling for answers.

Your first realization is this: no–you have not forgiven them. And if they’re fucking or trying a relationship with each other, you won’t find it in yourself to be genuinely happy for them.

The second thing is that you’ve been fooled once again; she had you believing that she regretted ever throwing away what you two had to fuck this kid. 

All this time, they were continuing where they left off. You don’t care why it bothers you so much–it just does and it makes you livid.

Vision cowers at the sight of you. It confirms your suspicions–he does remember. You watch him carefully as he mumbles a shaky goodbye to Wanda before rushing towards the exit, not caring at all about the drink he had ordered and already paid for. You don’t try to step out of his way, holding your ground as an act of intimidation. 

Neither you nor Wanda move an inch as Vision takes his leave.

"Y/N," she breathes, desperately attempting to convey that things are not as they may appear. “It’s not what you think.”

You scrunch up Wanda’s cardigan tightly in your hand before tossing it to the floor. “Doesn’t seem that way to me.” you say in a low whisper. 

A few nosy customers observe you with intrigue, murmuring to themselves and pretending to be busy with their phones. It makes your mouth twist in a nearly lunatic grin.

Just before you leave the cafe, you make sure that Wanda’s looking you right in the eye as you say, “I never want to see your lying face ever again.”

The finality of your words, coupled with the piercing intensity of your gaze, knocks the wind out of her.

“Y/N!” Wanda screams out your name desperately, throwing caution to the wind. She quickly unties her apron and dashes outside to run after you. 

Frantically scouring the nearby alleyways, her search proves fruitless as you have already disappeared, leaving her to confront the empty streets alone.

-

Wanda tries several ways to reach you. First, she tries calling you from her number, but she discovers you still have her blocked. Next, she asks Agatha to call you, but you refuse to pick up, until your phone becomes unreachable altogether. Whether it’s the reception or your phone being turned off, it’s clear that any effort to get a hold of you through a call is moot.

Pietro eventually accedes to Wanda’s begging and covers the final two hours of her shift. She has to lie to him with a fake emergency, which was very upsetting for her to do considering how passionately you called her a liar just earlier. She goes straight to your place when she’s free of her responsibilities. Her frustration fuels her actions as she pounds on your door with an intensity, demanding that you give her the opportunity to explain herself.

She keeps at it for some time, until the security comes up to your floor to inform her that you haven’t returned all day.

Out of options, Wanda goes home, defeated. More than her yearning to give you an explanation, she worries about where you could have gone to. She’s not a religious person, but when it comes to your safety, she prays to every god there is for you to be okay. 

It’s half past midnight when Wanda’s awoken by a loud, angry knock at her door. 

Her sleep riddled brain fails to notice how unusual it is for Sparky not to emerge from his dog house and start barking at the unexpected visitor. Her gut tells her it’s you, but just to be safe, she takes Sparky to the guest room, knowing how wary he is of strangers. 

“Who’s there?” Wanda’s voice echoes through the empty hall, voice hoarse from sleep and from yelling your name all over Queens.

There’s no response, and yet, each thud against the door reverberates through the room, filling it with a sense of urgency and unease.

Startled and growing increasingly concerned, Wanda opens the door and–

It’s the smell of beer that welcomes her first. 

Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were both entangled in a similar situation, albeit in reversed roles. The irony of the circumstances isn't lost on Wanda as she observes the unwavering and intense gaze you fix upon her. It's unclear to her how much you've had to drink to be able to find your way to her, but the determination in your eyes speaks volumes.

“Y/N, thank god you’re here. I was so worried–” Wanda tries to say, but the rest of her sentence dies on your lips. With one hand on the slope where her neck meets her shoulder, you push her roughly back inside her apartment, slamming and locking the door behind you with the other. 

You harshly nip at her lower lip before releasing it and growling, “This is what you want right? This is what you’ve been chasing me for all along?” 

Pinning her with a disdainful look, Wanda feels powerless to refute your allegations. Is that how you perceived this to be all along? How lowly your opinion of her has become? When she finds the courage to put the tiniest bit of space between you and her, you pull her flushed against your body to capture her swollen lips into another bruising kiss. The moan that escapes you both this time is irrefutable. Something tells Wanda that whatever she says between now and what’s going to happen next, will just be sucked into the abyss of retribution. And so, she gives in to the storm that is your feverish kisses and your hatred punctuating your every touch.

If she were being honest, she just wants to feel you. Logic and reason be damned. 

“Y/N!” Wanda mewls when you clumsily rub her through the fabric of her nightwear, pinching her clit as soon as you find it.

There’s no trace of tenderness in the way you maneuver Wanda and deposit her to the carpeted floor of her living room. 

There’s nothing gentle in the way you pull down her shorts to her ankles, and lift her shirt just enough to expose her tits. 

There’s only lust, and instinct, and vengeance in the painful entrapment of her hard nipple between your bared teeth. 

And Wanda loves it. 

It’s the punishment she didn’t know she had been craving for since the moment she invited Vision to her bed. If you needed to ruin her, Wanda would let you. She’d gladly take the beating if it means she gets to have even just a tiny fraction of you back–no matter how cruel this fraction of you might be. 

The throbbing in her clit matches the rhythm of her heartbeat, as you continue to tongue her nipple in broad laps. It’s visually lewd enough for her to avert her eyes in embarrassment, but suddenly, you grip her jaw and force her to look at what you’re doing to her, pausing just long enough to say, “Don’t you fucking look away.” before turning your attention to her other nipple and giving it the same treatment. Wanda feels her wetness soak the rug below her ass, and all the blood rushes to her core, already begging for release. 

Wanda gasps when you slide back up abruptly, the rough friction of your shirt rubbing against her tender peaks. She smells the alcohol on your breath before she tastes it, as you pull her in for a dizzying kiss. You’re uncommonly disoriented in your movements, as if you keep deciding and then changing your mind on how you want her. 

Wanda's fingers tentatively approach the button of your jeans, but you swiftly swat them aside. Instead, you seize her hands, lifting them above her head and securing her wrists together.

You rarely make love to her when you’re drunk. You never liked the idea of being unfocused and uncoordinated when you touch her, and you were always afraid you’d accidentally do something that might make her uncomfortable or even hurt her. And now, as your fingers skim through her wetness, not caring if your nails scrape against her sensitive skin, Wanda understands. She understands what you’re capable of when you give up control and let pure instinct take over.

She understands how perfectly capable you are of hurting her–in all aspects. 

Wanda feels she’s wet enough, but it’s still painful when you enter her unceremoniously with two fingers. 

“Y/N, wait–” Wanda gasps as you start to quicken your thrusts before she’s fully adjusted. “S-Slow down.”

But it’s like you can't hear her, seemingly entranced by your own fingers going in and out of your ex-wife’s cunt. The pleasure eventually overtakes the pain, and Wanda doesn’t have anything to hold onto as the heel of your palm grinds against her nub in a slow, circling motion. 

Wanda’s mouth falls open, warm puffs of air brushing so intimately against your chin. “Fuck, yes, right there–”

You pant against Wanda’s sternum, bitterly thinking that she will always be beautiful whether you’re seeing her through the lens of affection or loathing. 

Feeling how close she is, you add another finger into her. The fullness does nothing to abate the tightening in Wanda’s stomach. She writhes uncontrollably beneath you, overwhelmed by the intensity of pleasure, attempting to halt the motion of your fingers by pressing her knees against your lower body. But you keep her where she is, with her legs wide apart. You angle your hand a certain way, so you’re pummeling the spongy area inside of her every time you push inside.

“Kiss me, please,” Wanda whispers shakily against your sweaty forehead. Ignoring her plea, you lick into her ear instead, and then curl your fingers the only way you know how, propelling her over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck! I’m coming!” Wanda cries, her hips bucking uncontrollably. Her trembling arms wrap around your neck as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. You silently observe Wanda as she regains her breath, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. Her brown hair cascades over the floor, resembling a fallen angel consumed by the depths of the earth.

Wanda's face is stained with tears. However, it is only when she becomes conscious of a droplet landing on her nose that she realizes she is not the one shedding them. Cautiously, as if she’s afraid of what she might see, she opens her eyes and looks up at you.

It’s the only picture of vulnerability in you that she’ll see for the rest of the night, and her own eyes well up, struck by the realization that you can never hurt her the way she’s hurt you. You interpret the look on her face as pity and angrily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“This doesn’t mean anything to me.” you mutter scathingly, even as your lips quiver from the struggle of detaching yourself from your emotions. 

Wanda’s hands reach out to cradle your face. “I know.” she whispers.

“Then why are you agreeing to this?”

“I never stopped being yours,” Wanda whispers with a voice filled with fractures, and it's only your warm and solid presence that keeps her from falling apart. “It’s just how it is.”

You taste the bitterness in your tears, mixed with the metallic tang of blood from your lip from how harshly you’ve been biting down on it. How could she utter those words to you, knowing that someone else had gotten to know her so intimately in this manner? 

Whatever Wanda thought she did, no matter how many times she claimed it didn’t mean anything, however briefly it was–she gave bits of herself to Vision; her body, her mind, her words, her time. Those are the things that you can’t get back. Things you can’t replace. Things you can’t account for. 

Lies after lies, you think bitterly. 

And yet, it only intensifies your desire to claim her one more time. To remind her what she had traded away for illicit pleasure. To ruin her for everyone else.

“Again.” you demand, the mask of indifference returning to replace the face that Wanda loves the most. 

And that seals it–whatever this is. Wanda knows that this can’t end well.

But she couldn’t find it in her heart to care.

"Okay," she mumbles, her voice carrying weariness and resignation.

You wrap her shaking legs around your waist while your arms provide a secure embrace around her back. And then, with her clinging to you like a mindless puppet, you push yourself off the ground and onto your feet, Wanda along with a strength that astonishes both of you.

Wanda buries her head into the crook of your neck, hot tears slipping from her eyes as you carry her to the bedroom.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (1/?)

Summary: Sequel to In Flames I Sleep Soundly; After the divorce, Wanda refuses to give you up. 

Chapter word count: 5k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Masturbation

Author’s Note: So... this AU wouldn’t leave me. For my new readers, you don’t have to read the first installment . This can be read as a standalone. Title is based on lyrics of “This Love” by Taylor Swift

AO3 | Masterlist

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta​

Next Chapter: Two

One

It’s not a god damn funeral, Wanda thinks as she stares at her black outfit.

With a huff, she makes the quick decision to reach for the zipper near the curve of where her spine becomes her head, and then pulls it down so hastily it gets out of track and refuses to budge further than her waist.

Shit, Wanda curses under her breath, wiggling her arms from its sleeves, which isn’t exactly difficult given her recent weight loss. At first she tries to shimmy her body out of the dress, but she only succeeds in getting stuck further and sweating under her pits. Unfortunately the weight loss didn’t happen around her middle, and she also couldn’t get it to move upwards and over her head. The options are to either fix the zipper or destroy the dress. Wanda picks the latter.

Grabbing a pair of scissors, she starts to frantically cut through the silky material. Her heart races as she terrorizes the dress with fervor–grunting Sokovian words she’s surprised she still remembers–until the dress pools at her feet in tatters. Wanda feels her energy depleted after, and she crawls on the bed to lie face down, on her stomach. 

To some degree, her recent outbursts are gradually becoming a concern, especially since she’s back in her old Manhattan neighborhood. The smallest, most insignificant things tick her off, and a densely populated city like New York is filled with them.

Like last week, when she was shopping at Trader Joe’s, and someone kept hitting her backside with their cart while waiting at the counter. 

“I swear to god, if you don’t lay the fuck off–” Wanda’s ears burned when she looked over her shoulder and saw a frail, old woman who looked like she didn't have many years left in her. 

“I’m sorry.” Wanda croaked out and then pressed her lips in a straight hard line. 

“Oh, it’s alright. We all have bad days. But sweetheart,” The old woman warmly smiled at her and then leaned closer as if to share a secret. “You need to get laid.” She added like she’s giving some age-old, archaic advice. 

Wanda’s smile in return was pasty, and she hurried to remove almost half of the stuff(not without receiving a dirty look from an employee who had to put them all back) in her basket so she could leave the counter as soon as possible. 

The mysterious universe had a dark sense of humor. It was sex that brought her to this manic-depressive, freak-out-at-a-grocery-store behavior, and to be told by a stranger that she needed more of it was just the icing on top of this tremendous fuckery of a year she’s had. 

Wanda turns on her back and closes her eyes for a minute. She doesn’t even know why she’s wasted an hour of choosing what to wear for the day she gets legally separated from you. And yet she couldn’t help but give an extra effort to look good for you. All she knows is the days she gets to see you are rare. She can count on one hand the times you’ve met since that fateful lunch at the diner back in Westview. She needs to look her best in these opportunities. 

She needs to look her best, and hopes you’d notice.

Glancing back at her wide-open wardrobe, that’s when she spots it. Hiding in the furthermost end of her rack, is a decade-old sundress she’s kept all this time. 

The memory rises unbidden to her mind, before she could stop it. 

It was the dress she wore on her first date with you. She recalls picking it specifically because it’s green. She wanted it to match her eyes–your favorite part of her body. It made you gape. It made you go almost stupid with want, forgetting the way to the restaurant where you made reservations because you wouldn’t stop staring at her. 

By the end of that night though, the dress was lost somewhere along the trip from the door to the bedroom.

“Aren’t we moving too fast?” You whispered against her swollen lips, breaking the kiss while your hands roamed all over her shaking frame. Wanda merely moaned and put her lips to your neck, kissing every inch of available skin to her. 

You’ve known each other for years. It didn’t feel like you were moving too fast. Rather, it was a culmination of sorts–seemingly platonic hugs that lasted just a tad longer than they should, the way your eyes always found each other in a crowded room, kisses on the cheek that came too close to the mouth. And not to mention, the other people you’ve both dated in those times of being more than friends but less than lovers. 

The pace was actually agonizingly slow. A slow burn that had put all other slow burns to shame.

You directed Wanda back to your mouth and the kiss that ignited again is its own kind of sex. God, she never really understood the fuzz about making out because her sexual experiences in the past didn’t really pay much attention to foreplay. For a while, she was simply content with the sliding of lips and tongues. But then you dropped to the floor and began pulling down her soaked thong, while your dilated eyes never left hers.

Wanda’s breath hitched at seeing you fall to your knees and gaze at her with incomparable reverence. How could you worship her when you yourself were so achingly beautiful?

She needed you to touch her soon or she’d go crazy. “Please.”

Her panties only made it past one ankle before you dove in to taste her for the first time. 

Wanda of the present comes at the ghost sensation of your tongue against her throbbing clit. In truth, it’s just her fingers that brought her to climax while she kneels at the center of her bed, her ruined underwear down past her thighs. She bucks her hips a couple of more times before falling back to the mattress, spent. 

That old lady was right. An orgasm does help.

-

The divorce is final. 

Today, she signed away any legal right she has as your partner. As for everyone else in the meeting room, it’s just another ordinary day to dissolve a marriage.

Wanda’s wearing the sundress that sort of accidentally gave her release this morning. You keep looking at her, no wonder trying to figure out why the dress looks so familiar. And Wanda can’t look at you straight in the eye without blushing. 

You came in with your ever reliable back-up: Natasha. Now that you’re no longer married to her, Wanda’s insecurities about the true nature of your relationship with Natasha has come up to the surface. The way Natasha would pat your back and ask you if you’re alright. The way she’d ask you if you’d like something to drink. The way she also knows you take your coffee black with three teaspoons of brown sugar.

The way she’s just always there. 

It annoys her enough that you said Natasha was your person, because then what was she to you? The title of soulmate triumphs over wife, and Wanda wants to be both. She wants all the titles. 

Well, maybe not all. She definitely doesn’t want to be called your ex-wife. But she’ll accept the reality for your sake. She wasn’t lying when she’d said she’ll give you everything you want, even if it puts her on the sidelines.

“Hey, do you want to get coffee?” Wanda breaks the spell of silence that lasted some five minutes when your lawyers and Natasha left the room to give you two a moment. 

She immediately wants to take back her words when you look at her  incredulously like she had grown another head on her lithe, sagged shoulders. 

“Seriously?” you say, and spitefully chuckle. 

Wanda says nothing, just resorts to quietly admiring you in a skirt suit she’s never seen you wear before. In the short time you’ve both been separated, she’s noticed little changes of yours that makes her homesick for you. You will wear new clothes and shoes, get a new haircut, try a new hobby, walk a certain way, and then all these changes will pile up until you become this inconceivable stranger. Still beautiful–but a stranger nonetheless. She knows the consequences of her actions are harder on you, but maybe, just maybe, it’s equally hard for her too. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” you sigh, despondent. “Maybe for you it’s not, but today is the worst day of my life, Wanda. Or second. Or third. I don’t know. There’s so many of them recently, but this is definitely in the top three. I just want to be alone.” 

Wanda will never get used to the way you’re now just either angry or tired of dealing with her. She’s afraid to reassess the odds of getting you back and finding out it’s worse than zero. 

“Right,” Wanda says, looking down at her feet. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You hum in response.

“It is, you know?” Wanda says.

You shoot her a quizzical look. 

“It’s hard for me too,” Wanda clarifies. “I spent all morning picking out what to wear and getting all dolled-up, in desperate hopes you’d–you’d change your mind at the last minute.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel bad, or–”

“No,” Wanda cuts in in panic. Somehow she keeps saying the wrong things. “It’s hard for me. Because it’s the end for our marriage when all I want is to be with you right now.”

You avert your gaze and nod solemnly at her as if you understood. 

Do you?

Do you, perhaps, feel the same way? Or is she the only one still in love?

“I’m sorry for being a jerk,” you say, eyes downcast still refusing to meet her eyes. “I know it’s unfair for me to act like I’m the only one who’s hurting. I just–I’m tired of being angry and sad and lost all the time. And it doesn’t exactly help when you’re around. For once, I want to feel something else and I need to be alone to figure it out.”

I want to move on from you, is what Wanda thinks you really want to say and her eyes well up. This time, she prays you don’t glance her way. She might just break down right in front of you if you do. She’s never known this kind of desolation. And she only has herself to blame. 

For once, she’s thankful for Natasha’s presence when she interrupts the moment, asking if you’re ready to leave.

“I am.” you tell Natasha. You get up and round the long table to approach Wanda. She could no longer stop the tears from falling when she felt you place your hand softly on her shoulder. The touch is so featherlight, it may as well just be her imagination. 

“Thank you for giving me the best years of my life. Goodbye, Wanda.”

The pain that racks her entire body causes her to visibly shake. She has no idea how she’s still alive at this point. Not for the first time, she desperately wishes for a do-over. But the clock only moves forward, and it’s still moving to take you away. 

Maybe time will also be the one to bring you back someday.

-

Two Months Later

Wanda hasn’t seen you since the divorce. Not once. Nor has she heard from you at all. While you didn’t downright reject her when she had told you that she’d try to get you back, her unanswered texts and unreturned calls should be more than enough to tell her otherwise. 

Her only consolation is that you haven’t blocked her number yet. A few days after she last saw you, she texted to remind you to pick up the last of your things she has in possession. Natasha showed up at her door the very next morning, which confirms you still get her texts. The items are inconsequential in nature, but Wanda had the hardest time putting them in a box. 

She spent an unnecessary amount of time arranging your hardbound books alphabetically (“It’s just not the same, but a Kindle user would never understand.” you’d explain to her whenever you’d shop for more) and cleaning each protector of your small collection of Funko toys (“A dozen more of those and you won’t have space left in your side of the cabinet. What does that leave you with?” Wanda would reprimand you after seeing a shopping bag full of them in the trunk of the car. “Happiness.” you’d reply with a sheepish grin).

She smiled contritely after she had sealed the package; how ironic that she terribly missed the things about you she’s the least fond of. It’s as if the grieving doesn’t have an end. And if she had known you’d send Natasha to retrieve them, she wouldn’t have given them away. She wanted to keep them–wants to keep more of you as much as possible. Wanda wouldn’t call herself a masochist though. Not really. 

Because it’s not over yet. It will take as long as it needs to, and it won’t matter. Patience is her utmost virtue. 

And Wanda believes you feel the same, because there are midnights where her phone would ring from an unknown number. She’d answer and listen to shaky, shallow breaths for a minute before the person on the other line ends the call. It couldn’t be anyone else but you, could it? These moments are always hazy, however, muddled by wine and prescription pills. But Wanda swears they happen. 

The days aren’t so bleak when she pretends she’s still your wife, and you’re just in some faraway place–like a soldier that has gone to war, she’s left to count the days until she’s in your arms again. She goes about her routine as she’s always done when the two of you were still together; go for a run in the mornings, have eggs and toast for breakfast, and then walk Sparky in the afternoon. Her evenings, excruciating and long, are the loneliest hours. Sleep won’t come easy to her, if it comes at all. Her heart mostly breaks as well for Sparky, who still waits by the door around the time you used to arrive home from work. He’d patiently wait there until Wanda would call for him, or fall asleep in the exact same spot. And it’s not like she can talk to him and explain why you won’t come home. All Wanda can do is wait for Sparky to forget this learned behavior or forget you.

So, for the past two months, she’s been taking it one day at a time. It’s now the only way she knows how to survive. It’s working so far, she muses, as she stands before the proof of it while carrying Sparky under her arm, right in the middle of a quiet street in Queens. 

Wanda had loaned the capital for the business right after the divorce papers were signed, and when she got the alimony from it, it was more than enough to pay back the loan in full and still for some change.

She wanted to create something out of what she had destroyed. 

And that’s how the borough’s first Sokovian café came to be. Or at least will come to be when the renovations are finally completed. She can’t see much through the scaffolding that is still in place, but she can make out what it would look like once it’s officially open to the public.

Her contractor and fellow Sokovian migrant, Mr. Jacobs spots her from where he is installing the signage. “Ms. Maximoff!”

Wanda smiles up at him, brushing her bangs away from her sight. The haircut is recent and she kind of regrets it. “Is everything okay around here?”

“I believe so. There’s still some electrical stuff to finish, but I’m confident we’ll be done before your opening.” he tells Wanda.

Sparky starts squirming against Wanda’s hold. “Is it okay to come inside or should I come back another day?” Wanda asks.

“Of course. I had my boys clear out the area and install the A/C last night, so you should be comfortable.”

Perfect. She’s yet to test out the oven she ordered, and there are some new recipes she’d like to try. 

“And Ms. Maximoff?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t worry, this place is going to do great. They’re gonna love you and our culture.”

A feeling of warmth spreads through Wanda’s chest. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.” He gives her a salute before going back to work.

Wanda’s not ready for the emotion that consumes her when she steps inside her new café. She puts Sparky down on the hardwood flooring, and his nose immediately gets to work, sniffing every corner of the room he could find–which isn’t all that long to cover for a regular-sized Jack Russell Terrier like him. The rented space is relatively small, so Wanda had to be smart with its interior design; a long bench stretches from the open kitchen and counter to about two feet from the entrance, spanning two round dining tables that could sit two people at a time; by the window wall facing the street, is a high top table with two chairs. At most, three staff(including her) could fit in the open kitchen, along with a single espresso machine and a wall oven. All in all, the café can accommodate about six customers dining in at a time, which is why she’s hoping she’d do better with take-outs. 

Wanda did all the decorations herself, top to bottom. The floral ceilings are a combination of autumn colors–your favorite season–and pendant lights subtly drop from them to emit a faint, yellow glow. The polished concrete wall of the dining area gives it an industrial vibe, while red brick tiles clad the panels of the kitchen area. For the finishing touches, Wanda decided to place a variety of potted plants in every corner of the room. 

Standing at the center of it all, Wanda feels a sense of pride and fulfillment–something that seemed implausible to her just a few months before.

"Best coffee in the world. Maybe you should start a café business." You’d joke sometimes whenever she makes you coffee in the morning.

A shadow passes over her eyes as she looks out the window. Needless to say, there’s only one thing missing in it. The person she wants next to her when all her dreams come true.

You.

–

Pietro finishes a whole batch of white chocolate macadamia cookies by himself. Wanda’s twin brother flew in last weekend, a rare occurrence since she only sees him once a year at most. He’d be home in the holidays for dinner, and be gone the following day. He lives with a suitcase, and never stays in a city for longer than two weeks. Wanda wasn’t expecting he’d visit her after she broke the news of her divorce, knowing he had gone through the same ordeal twice already without fuss. Apparently, it’s a run-of-the-mill life event for her brother, and it almost did not make it to their bimonthly check-in calls. 

“You’re gonna have to pay me for those.” Wanda tells him. She’s crouched on the floor, feeding Sparky strips of dried meat as she takes a break between baking and practicing her Youtube-acquired skill of Latte Art.

“I thought it’s a welcome home gift.” Pietro says, licking off the crumbs from his fingers. With the bleach in his hair extending to his medium stubbles, their resemblance is close to nonexistent. 

“You earn ten times more than I do in a year.”

“So? What is family for if not free food?”

“It’s $52 dollars.” Wanda says.

Pietro hands her a hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

Wanda smirks at him, pocketing the money in her apron. “I intended to.” She passes him a napkin, and gestures at his chin. He waves her off in a pompous manner, and instead, goes to the back of the shop to clean himself up. She didn’t think it’s possible to both know and not know someone at the same time. To look at them and see who they are versus who you think they’re supposed to be. In terms of money and status, he is miles ahead of Wanda, but perhaps at the cost of being unable to find the brother she shared her childhood with in Sokovia. Wanda’s not sure if he still exists beneath the layers of branded suits and expensive perfumes, she just knows she misses him terribly. 

“Second Chances,” Pietro proclaims as he returns a minute later, waving his hands wildly with an imitation of a fanfare. “A little corny if you ask me.”

“Well, I’m not asking you,” Wanda contends and then proceeds to scrub the empty tray that Pietro left in the wake of his cookie binge. “It’s a good name. People can interpret it however they want.”

“And you? What was on your mind when you came up with it?”

Wanda doesn’t answer that. 

“So,” Pietro jumps into a sitting position on the counter and lets his legs dangle from its edge. 

“How’s the quarter-life crisis, sis?”

Wanda cocks an eyebrow and gives him a once over. “Better than yours. All things considered.” 

Sparky comes up to him and stands on his hind legs to snuffle at his shiny loafers. 

“Touché,” Pietro laughs good-naturedly and crosses his legs to avoid the dog’s attention. “It’s weird though, seeing you get into this kind of thing.”

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks.

“You’re not a salesperson, Wands. Remember your girl scout days? Dad would buy all your cookies because you can’t sell for shit.”

Wanda snorts noisily through her nose. “Mom can’t bake for shit.” She notices the smile fall from his lips at the offhand jab at her brother’s favored parent. 

Wanda sighs. When she does get glimpses of the old Pietro, it’s mostly through negative triggers. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to–” Wanda starts to apologize but Pietro quickly changes the subject without a preamble.

“You’re really not going to talk about it?” 

“About what?”

“Playing dumb isn’t a good look on you.”

Wanda suddenly drops the tray on the sink, the violent sound of metal hitting metal giving both of them a minor headache. She pauses to think, and then says, “How about you just ask me straight instead of skirting around the topic of she-who-must-not-be-named?”

“Okay,” Pietro says in an annoyingly placid tone. “What were you thinking, cheating on Y/N?”

Wanda swallows dryly. She did ask him to be blunt.

“I wasn’t. There’s… I don’t know how to explain it. There’s this missing gap, and I acted to fill that gap.” 

“Was it something that’s missing in your relationship?” Pietro asks and props his cheek on his palm. The question is so familiar to her because she’s asked it herself countless times, the day she kissed Vision for the first time. There wasn’t an epiphany nor were there pieces falling into place when she had slept with him. And when she thought she loved him, it wasn’t because she thought she loved you any less. She came to the conclusion, not too long ago, that perhaps there’s just something rotten inside of her that she simply wasn’t aware of. 

Wanda shakes her head, weary at making sense of herself and her decision to risk everything she’s built with you for something as cheap as a fling. “None of this was her fault. Her only mistake was falling for someone who’s way beneath her.”

“I always thought she’s too good for you, no offense.”

Wanda’s smile is brittle as she recalls how Pietro’s toast at the wedding started with that exact sentence, word-for-word. You had squeezed Wanda’s clammy hand as you listened to Pietro rant about Wanda, and jokingly express his regret that you married the lesser twin. Wanda apologized for his tactlessness, and you responded with a kiss to her cheek, telling her how wrong he was, how you were only good and she made you better. 

“I’m sorry, Wands,” Pietro tells her earnestly. “I can’t say I’ve been through the same thing even with two divorces under my belt. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love with someone the way you both were with each other–or at least, the way she was in love with you.”

“Thanks, but that's not necessary. I’m going to fix it.” she says. 

It stings–the implication that Wanda was incapable of matching your love for her. But it only stings because it’s the truth. You deserve to be happy and she failed.  And yet, she also can’t survive the thought of you getting the happiness you deserve from someone else. After all this time, her selfishness hasn’t been tamed. 

Which is why Pietro’s next words hit her right in the gut. “Divorce can’t be fixed. Hell, it’s the only resolution for a terminal relationship. And hasn’t it crossed your mind that perhaps, she’s already met someone else?”

Wanda gives up on her search for the rolling pin. She cracks some eggs in a bowl and starts to furiously whisk by hand.

Maybe she’s an awful person for assuming you won’t be able to move on from her that easily. 

But that’s just how she sees it. 

“No.” she says.

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know her, Piet.”

Pietro starts clapping in slow, steady beats. “She divorces you and you’re still so smug about how she’s so crazy about you.” he says. 

“If you’ve ever felt loved by someone like her, you’d understand.”

Pietro ignores his sister’s underhanded attempt to hurt him back. He came to terms with the reality ages ago, that he’s probably not one of the lucky ones who will get to experience the kind love that Wanda boasts about with you. Maybe he had it once, not necessarily in a romantic sense. But when he thinks of love–real love–he thinks of no one but their estranged mother. 

“Or maybe,” He jumps off the counter to retrieve his coat hanging from one of the dining chairs.  “Love goes away eventually.”

“Not ours.”

Pietro couldn’t help the maniac laughter that escapes his throat. “Are you hearing yourself right now? Do you know how pathetic you sound?”

Wanda purses her lips, continues whisking. 

“Okay, how about this. If you really love her, then you’d at least want her to be happy, even if it’s not with you.” Pietro tries to reason. 

“Oh, so you’re suddenly an expert on the topic.”

“I’m a dick, not an asshole. And yes, there’s a difference.”

Wanda keeps working the whisk like a madwoman. Large amounts of bubbles are forming in the emulsion, and overbeating the egg mixture is definitely not in the recipe.

Pietro continues, “Yeah, I’m a cheater, same as you are–”

“Don’t you dare–” Wanda suddenly tosses the whisk on the worktop, a glint of something dangerous in her green eyes. 

“Let me finish,” Pietro appeases lightly. “I’m a cheater. I cheated on my ex-wives. But when I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself as some anti-hero who has the potential to be an actual hero and become the person they deserve to be with. Because I’ll never be that guy.”

“We’re not the same. We share a birthday, but that’s where the similarities end.”

“We share the same DNA, Wanda,” Pietro smiles through his frustration. Excessive stubbornness–another quality innate to Maximoffs. “But that’s not the point. You know she’d be better off without you. As cliché as it sounds, the only way you can actually show her you love her is by letting her go–completely.”

The shuddering sigh that escapes her is immediately followed by erratic sobs that go out of control fast. Pietro is right there in an instant, an arm thrown over her shoulder as her whole body jerks, rasping for air. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” he murmurs into her crown. “You’ll be okay, Wands. I promise…you’ll be okay.”

“Will you be okay if I leave you here? I have to meet someone in a few.” 

Wanda heard you say in earnest. She lost herself for a while, stunned by the kindest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. The day flew by so quickly in your company, she hadn’t realized it was time to go. And to think that she almost skipped freshman orientation because going to New York University wasn’t exactly the plan. Columbia was–where her boyfriend was a junior. 

Her boyfriend, who she forgot texted her an hour ago asking if she was ready to go, and hadn’t heard back from her.

“Y-Yeah, my boyfriend is on the way to pick me up.” she mumbled, distracted by the glow of the sunset forming a halo around your head. You were beautiful in a way that was not entirely evident at first. Wanda was curious if anybody else had made the same discovery.

“It was nice meeting you, Wanda.”

“Likewise, Y/N.” she smiled like she’d been doing all day with you, and so frequently, that the muscles on her face were beginning to hurt a little. 

The smile you returned her way was glorious, but in a flash you were already walking away. Wanda couldn’t describe the way she fervently despised watching you go, especially without your number on her phone and no means to contact you in the future.  

“Y/N?” Wanda called out. Her heart seemed to swell and swing against her rib cage. 

“Yes?”

“Do you, maybe, want to hang out sometime?”

And the kindest eyes that ever looked at her gave the answer. 

Pietro leaves shortly after the tremors subside and her breathing returns to normal. The panic attacks aren’t that frequent, but she does get them now from time-to-time. They started right after the night you gave Wanda your wedding ring. 

With her brother gone, Wanda is left to wonder if you’ve met someone. She is left to wonder if you’re no longer miserable like she is, if you’ve taken considerable strides in moving on with your life. She tries calling you. Not to talk, but just to check if you still haven’t blocked her number. After several rings, you don’t pick up as expected. Not a setback. Not a progress either. She pretends you’re asleep or in the shower. She pretends you mean to call her back, but forgets to. 

And if a confirmation of not being blocked is all she gets, she’ll take it.

She’ll take what you can give even if it’s nothing.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #marvel #unbetad #My writing #my fic

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (7/?)

Chapter summary: Despite the detrimental effects, you and Wanda continue to engage in this destructive dynamic.

Chapter word count: 6k+

Trigger Warnings: mildly dubious consent, smut, toxic relationships, mention of drug overdose

Author's note: Please read the trigger warnings before proceeding. Also, didn't want to spoil anything in the chapter summary, so read on :) Eight will be released this Sunday.

Next chapter: Eight

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @sayah13

-

Seven

Wanda’s still twitching when you pull out your fingers and casually wipe the moisture from them in front of her pants. She reaches for the waistband of your trousers, silently asking your permission to touch you, but you shake your head without meeting her eyes and turn your back on her to fix the creases on your shirt. 

Aside from a few words exchanged during your tryst (“open your mouth”, “suck”, and “don’t come yet”), you haven’t spoken a single word that suggests you’re interested in anything beyond fucking your ex-wife–which, in essence, has been happening for almost a week now.  In fact, this is the fourth day in a row that you have visited Wanda in the middle of the day, just to shove her inside the cafe’s tiny stockroom and give her orgasms that blur into each other from your relentless pursuit of them until she begs you to stop.

It's a desperate and intoxicating experience, one that sends shivers down Wanda's spine and makes her toes curl in pleasure, despite it being anything that’s remotely healthy.

Wanda gets to kiss you during these times though; she gets to skim her nose along your jaw when you’re too distracted to care, gets to hear your intimate sighs and feel your erratic pulse, but it’s all overshadowed by a sense of distance.

You couldn’t have been farther inaccessible than you were before this implicit arrangement began. Somehow, your walls are even higher, your armor more impenetrable. When you look at her, your eyes are empty, reflecting her own hollowness back at her. 

Wanda surmises how everything about her ex-wife is simultaneously familiar and a stranger; you look like her, you smell like her; you don’t fuck like her, because you’re even better–bolder and more animalistic. But she knows–hopes, really–that somewhere inside of this enticing stranger, is you. Her Y/N. And if she has to use her body to peel through the layers in order to find the person she fell in love with, then so be it.

Wanda winces at the discomfort of having to keep wearing her ruined underwear. She decides to forgo it altogether and keep her panties in her purse to wash later. There’s no mirror or any smooth surface in the room for her to check her reflection, so she resorts to running a hand through her hair a couple of times while you search for the tie that she had ripped from your collar earlier. 

You eventually find it at the lowermost part of the shelf where the bags of flour are kept. 

Wanda’s fingers itch to do your tie for you, just like old times. “Do you want me to–”

“I got it.” you dismiss stiffly. 

Wanda nods, sheepish all of a sudden. The silence has become even harder to fill now. 

“By the way, I cooked your favorite meal last night. I was going to bring you some later today, but I also packed a container of it when I came in this morning. It’s in the kitchen if you want to try some.” she says.

“Thanks,” you say, quite disinterestedly. “But I have to go. I’ve got an interview in an hour.”

“Oh,” Wanda mutters under her breath. She meant to ask why you came to the cafe wearing a suit, but she got distracted fast when you started backing her into the stockroom with your lips attached at her neck. “Good luck. I hope you get the job. Can I ask where?”

Although it’s unfair to blame Wanda for being terribly proper these days, it still irks you anyway. It’s not like things would improve between the two of you if she just avoids tripping the wire around you each time. 

Frankly, you’re past the point of caring about progress.

(While it’s all Wanda cares about.)

“Stark Industries,” comes your curt response. 

“Sounds like a huge opportunity.” 

You shrug, adjusting your tie for the final time.

“You know, I can make you a packed lunch if you–”

Her words are cut off by the sound of the door unlocking and then shutting behind you.

Just like that, you’re gone. Wanda sits dejectedly on the floor, thinking that she probably should wait a minute or two before following after you.

Agatha’s right outside, cradling a bunch of empty jars in her arms, when Wanda emerges from the stockroom. 

“Agatha!” Wanda exclaims, trying to keep her voice low. “H-How long were you…?” 

“Oh, just,” Agatha smiles awkwardly. “Just the whole time.”

Wanda’s face glows red. The walls are thin and the closet can barely fit two people. She’s aware that she needs to set even just the barest minimum of boundaries, but she’s too afraid that you’d stop showing up no matter how worse she feels every time you leave. 

And, well, Wanda never really knows how to bargain any more than she knows how to fuck things up when it comes to you.

“I’m so sorry.” Wanda says, hiding behind her slightly disheveled hair.

“I didn’t hear anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Agatha tells her.

“That’s the least of my worries. But good to know.” Wanda says with a tight smile.

“Actually it should be at the top of your worries, dear. You don’t want “random sex noises in the backroom” written on our Yelp reviews.”

Wanda swallows dryly, blushing further. Agatha takes pity on her. Leaning against the wall adjacent to where Wanda’s shifting her balance in discomfort, she sighs and says, “What are you doing, hon?”

Wanda presses a hand to her throat, scratching the nerves and muscles there as if trying to alleviate an invisible pressure. 

“I’m still figuring it out,” Wanda fidgets, toying with her wedding ring that she still wears. “This is… new territory for us.”

Agatha gets straight to it. “Are you back together?” 

Wanda’s eyes are downcast, having to face the truth of the matter. “I don’t think so.”

Agatha haughtily snaps her tongue. “So that was a one-time hookup, yes?”

Wanda doesn’t answer, only gnaws at her lip guiltily. 

“Oh my god, Wanda, how long has this been going on?”

Wanda bites her lip. “A week.”

“I didn’t know Y/N had it in her,” she says, looking rather impressed by that part. “How did this happen?” Agatha asks, but her tone and the look of passive condescension on her face says, How could you let it?

“Vision–” Wanda starts.

Agatha gasps. “Wanda!”

“It’s not what you think, ok? That wrong decision is over, I swear. He came by the cafe last week by accident–or so he claimed–and Y/N happened to drop by the same time.” 

“Ah. I see,” Agatha backpedals. “How did that go?” 

Wanda recounts the abridged version of the story. Where you fled the cafe but not before telling Wanda you never wanted to see her again, and then showing up unannounced later that night. She leaves the part out where you were drunk and refused to let her touch you. The part where every one of your actions was an intention to claim her and inflict hurt that Wanda knows she deserves anyway. 

Those are the details that she’d bring to the grave. She’d never betray you that way–or ever again. Despite Wanda being careful with her tale, a shadow passes over Agatha's eyes.

“I’m not an expert or anything, but aren’t you just drawing out the pain of your breakup?” she says, voice dripping with reproach.

Wanda slumps her shoulders. “Hasn’t it been drawn out too long? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hoping that the physical reconnection would eventually translate into something more.” 

“Is it reconnecting or vengeance on Y/N’s part?”

Wanda decides she doesn’t want to answer that.

“Be careful, Wanda,” Agatha says. “Fucking through the problem won’t solve things. It can’t end well.”

“I know. I-I’m okay. I can handle it. Anyway,” Wanda clears her throat, wanting to change the subject. “Can I help you with those?”

Agatha scrunches her nose and then nods. “You just had sex there, honey. Please, don’t make me go in there.”

Wanda almost drops one of the jars that Agatha has transferred in her care. “I'm so sorry. I’ll scrub everything clean, I promise. Also, could you please–”

“–don’t tell Pietro? Of course, I won’t. But he better find out from you.”

She’s never had to worry about Pietro’s tendency to go overboard when it comes to protecting her because you were the perfect partner. Pietro loved you for it. But he had set that aside when he learned about your decision to end your marriage with Wanda. Wanda wouldn’t want to further color his opinion of you when she considers both of you her family. He doesn’t need to find out because it will get better.

Wanda promises it would.

-

The interview went terribly. In your own assessment, it was potentially the worst interview you’ve had including those where you failed to even show up. It didn’t help that half the time, your mind wandered from the sweet smell of Wanda’s sweat-riddled skin, to the petrified look on Vision’s face as he came face-to-face with his attacker.

Attacker. The word makes you sick to your stomach, but only because it’s true. You did attack him and he nearly didn’t wake up from it. Then you separated from your wife and went back to New York like it was nothing. What your mind had buried and only haunts you in your dreams, was abruptly unearthed–and for it to be standing so close to your ex-wife with the same lovesick look almost blinded you with guilt and rage.

But of course, you can't reveal any of those personal details and use them as an excuse with your potential employer. A violent incident like that easily warrants a criminal record that you’re just lucky enough to circumvent. 

No one would hire you if they knew.

“We’ll reach out to you for the result of your application. Thank you for your time, Y/N.” The interviewer offers her hand for you to shake. Getting up from your seat, you square your shoulders and you accept it for what it is: a commiseration.

You thank her with a subdued smile and leave her office. You feel a small amount of regret while walking down the busy halls of Stark Industries’ headquarters. You briefly ponder if things with Wanda would have ended up the same way if you had this. It’s only now that you’ve come to realize that you took your work for granted. It could have saved you by filling those empty hours of the day instead of wasting away in a pub just because you caught your ex-wife and her ex-lover in the same room. Eventually, you have to go back out there. Stark Industries could have been the perfect place to make a comeback. 

As you round a corner, you find a familiar brunette from the back. There’s no doubt that it’s Wanda waiting for you at the lobby with a paper bag in hand. 

“Wanda,” you call to her softly. “What are you doing here?”

The smile on Wanda’s face is instant as she looks over her shoulder. She stands up from her seat.

“I ran some errands in the area and thought to deliver you this packed lunch since you mentioned about your appointment here.” Wanda says in a rush like a well-rehearsed speech. 

It’s thoughtful and somewhat melancholic. For one thing, you don’t believe she ran any errands in this part of Manhattan–everyone knows the surrounding towers are occupied solely by corporate giants. 

“You shouldn’t have bothered. I got a Subway takeout right here.” you say, taking out the aforementioned footlong sandwich out of your bag and waving it a little in front of her. 

A weak and self-deprecating laugh escapes Wanda. The way you’re looking at her and being surrounded by men and women in their Armanis and Diors (while she wears a simple combination of a pair of jeans and a plain, black sweater) has her feeling naked all of a sudden. 

“I would’ve texted you first but…you still have me blocked, I think.” she murmurs, looking down at her sneakers. 

Wanda runs her tongue over her lips and sneaks a glance at you through her long lashes, trying to see how you’d react to that piece of information. While you know she probably doesn’t mean anything by doing that, your craving for Wanda returns like it was never sated just a few hours ago. 

Acting on pure impulse, you pull her by her arm and lead her to the nearest restroom you can find. Straightaway, Wanda knows what’s going to happen next as she carelessly drops the paper bag on the tiled floor the moment you lock the restroom all to yourselves. 

You don’t waste any more time mapping out open-mouthed kisses along her neck, making sure to nip at her pulse point when you land on it. Wanda’s breaths are gradually becoming short and shallow as you continue your ministrations and lift her sweater over head. Her own hands travel across your back, feeling the contracting muscles as you undo her bra and then pull her hips flush against yours. 

Wanda ducks her head and attempts to run her own lips along your jaw, starting at the spot below your earlobe. But your head falls back all of a sudden, so that she narrowly misses her target. 

“No.” you say firmly. Wanda’s disappointment doesn’t last long as your fingers unbutton her pants and, for the second time that day, dip inside her wet cavern. It’s hot and humid where Wanda wants you, and at your next sharp intake of breath, the smell of Wanda’s arousal fills your nose. 

It’s heady and you just can’t help but want more. 

Quickly dropping to the floor, you bury your nose against the source of her heat. Wanda’s hips involuntarily bucks against your face when she feels your tongue probing her cunt even through the thick fabric of her jeans. Rapidly losing your patience, you pull down her pants past her knees, making Wanda gasp at the roughness of the action. 

You take your time to appreciate her pussy and use your thumbs to open her up further for your viewing pleasure. For a few moments you just stare at her, mouth watering at the sight, until you feel Wanda squirming, aching to feel you where she needs you the most. 

Threading her fingers through your hair, she scrapes her nails on your scalp–desperate for you to do something–anything.

“No,” you say, painfully digging your nails into her cheeks. You don’t capture her hands like you did before, restraining her with just your words and warning look. “Touch me again, and I’ll stop.”

Wanda would soak through her panties if she was wearing one. And before she can complain, your mouth is on her. 

It doesn’t take long for Wanda to reach her peak, not while she’s looking at you on your knees, inflicting the sweetest punishment she’d ever have to bear.

“Turn around, grab the sink, and bend over.” you instruct her. Then, you undo your pants and pull them all the way down to your ankles, stepping out of one pant leg to allow yourself a wider range of movement. Pulling her ass towards you, you spread your own pussy to expose your clit and grind against the curve of Wanda’s ass. 

It's evident that you're using her, and the realization becomes even clearer that she's nothing more than a means to satisfy your frustrations and fulfill your own desires.

Wanda moans as she feels your pelvic bone hitting her backside. She expects nothing less of a bruise in that area later on. Her knuckles are white from gripping the sink too hard, trying to hold herself steady through the sheer force of your thrusts. 

“Fuck. S-Stay still. I’m close,” you say between groans, so adamant to chase your impending release, giving Wanda the impression that despite being the one to initiate it, you’re too keen for it to end. 

And the end does come soon enough, with your teeth biting into Wanda’s shoulder, practically tearing through her skin. Wanda yelps in pain, which is quickly dampened by your fingers going back to her clit while you ride the last waves of your orgasm. Wanda isn’t far behind and comes for the second time. Or was it third? Wanda’s lost track because none of it matters. 

They all conclude the same way. Not one of them has made a difference. 

"Are we still on for tonight?" Wanda asks, her limbs feeling like Jell-o. She lacks the energy to pull up her pants and finds herself sliding down onto the floor. The cold sting of the porcelain tile provides an oddly comforting sensation.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” you reply. 

“I just thought that maybe because we’ve done it twice already–” Wanda struggles with her words; she doesn’t know how to phrase it without making what you both were doing sound so cheap. She would’ve read a dictionary from cover to cover if it meant she could tell you another way that with the rate of how often and how fiercely you’re fucking her, it’s not entirely impossible for her to grow an aversion to sex. 

“Fine. I won’t see you tonight.” you say evenly, zipping up your pants. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Wanda says meekly as she gets up on shaky legs, pulling her pants up with her. 

“Then what do you want, Wanda? Tell me.”

“Maybe we could just talk–”

“I don’t want to talk.”

Wanda stares at you longingly. She studies the crease between your brows, the bottom of your lip jutting out just slightly, the slick baby hairs along your hairline–because otherwise there’s just her reflection. Wanda can’t bring herself to take a peek. Or else it will break her resolve if she's faced with the evidence of how much you’ve come to hate her. 

Once you’re done fixing yourself in the mirror, you pick up her discarded sweater and bra from the floor. Your breath hitches when someone from outside starts twisting the knob, but then a moment later you hear stilettos clicking away accompanied by complaints over maintenance.

"Get dressed before I unlock the door," you say, your tone firm and devoid of any warmth.

Wanda nods silently. She quickly gathers her clothes and begins getting dressed. You wait for her to be at least half-decent before walking out on her again. 

As she hurriedly puts on her attire, Wanda's eyes catch sight of something on the floor nearby. It's the packed lunch she had brought, now forgotten and abandoned next to a trash bin. A pang of sadness and neglect fills her heart as she realizes that even her thoughtful gesture went unnoticed in the midst of everything else.

-

Wanda sits primly in her kitchen, sipping her wine as she waits for you to arrive. She didn’t hear from you again when you left Stark Industries, but there’s no doubt in her mind that you’ll show. 

The ice pack she’s been using for the bruises on her neck and hips has long ago been discarded on the sink. Her hair is still wet from the shower, and she’s wearing her most worn-out shirt, oversized enough to cover her thighs as she lounges in just her underwear. 

At 9:30 in the evening, a familiar knock wakes her from her stupor. 

It’s a premeditated dance: putting Sparky in another room far away from you and Wanda’s nightly activities, walking to answer her door, you standing there at her doorstep, looking like some goddess of vengeance (though that’s probably the wine talking), then her inviting you in, before a tug-o-war of misconceptions and truths would lead to Wanda on her back, powerless as you rip an orgasm after orgasm from her. 

It’s a dance that should be calculated and predictable already–where expectations are set in stone. And it comes with the guarantee of leaving her breathless and somehow emptier than the last time. 

A spark of concern flashes in your eyes as you take in Wanda’s appearance. But it’s gone in a second before Wanda can make out what it means. She doesn’t wait for you to make the first move. With a silent agreement between you, she firmly grasps your hand and leads you towards her bedroom, seeking your punishment once again. 

-

“You're leaving,” Wanda has learned to stop posing it as a question. She grips the sheets more tightly around her chest, the cold breeze in the room becoming increasingly unbearable now that you’ve left her bed. 

“Have to be somewhere.” you mumble, turning your shirt the right side out. Your phone buzzed a while ago, and since then, you’ve become more anxious to leave right away. Although still withdrawn, you were gentler with her and studiously avoided the marks you’ve left from previous encounters. To Wanda, it almost felt like it meant something more than you let on. 

Maybe it’s a night of firsts; maybe she can convince you to stay this time. 

"You should consider staying a little longer. It might be challenging to find a ride, especially in my area, at this time," Wanda suggests.

“I was going to take the subway, actually.” you say, scanning the nightstand for your wristwatch. 

“At this hour?”

You shrug and then crawl on the floor to search under the bed.

“I-I made dinner, by the way.” she says.

“I already ate on the way here.” 

How convenient, Wanda thinks. It’s ridiculous that you have an excuse for just about anything. Needless to say, it’s beginning to push her buttons. 

“Can we at least talk about Sparky?” Wanda says exasperatedly, not meaning to use him as a final resort.

You pause, shoulders dropping at the mention of your–Wanda’s dog. “What about him?”

“Don’t you want to take him with you some time? He misses you.” Wanda says, forcefully.

You glance over at Sparky. Somehow, in the middle of this, he found his way to Wanda’s bedroom. He’s lying on one corner, belly up, as he dozes with a light snore. You wonder if he understands what’s going on; what you’ve been putting Wanda through these days, lacking the enthusiasm he usually has around you. Sparky was a casualty of the divorce; at the top of the list of things you signed away. Wanda knew that as well. If anything, your heart hardens at the thought that maybe Wanda is just using him as an opportunity to get to you. 

Seeing her with Vision opened your eyes. Liars make great schemers, don’t they?

You abandon your search for your watch, and say, “I thought I made it clear that this isn’t what you think it is?”

Feeling rather bold tonight, Wanda drops the sheets, exposing her naked torso as a result. She smirks at the way your eyes flit nervously to anywhere but her. It could be the wine she had earlier or you–when you straddled her face and came into her mouth because you were too far gone to care whether she touched you or not. Wanda would tell you that was the first crack in your armor, and you would dismiss it with a scoff. 

But if there’s one thing about the new you, it’s that you’re not as complicit as you think you are. 

In Wanda's perception, it's not hatred but rather denial that seems to be poisoning both of you. 

“Tell me,” Wanda snaps, feeling her jaw harden. “Tell me, what do I think?”

“I–you’re–” you mentally curse yourself at being reduced to a stuttering mess. You should not be having this conversation; you should be somewhere outside of this apartment, with a blonde that had just sent you a heartfelt voice message because you couldn’t make up your mind. 

“What? You can’t say it, can you?” Wanda eggs on.

She knows she’s gunning for a fight–but it’s how battles are won in the first place. 

“I’ll tell you what I think this is. This? This isn’t even the result of what happened last week at the cafe. I told you that Vision was there by chance. I did not invite him. I haven’t been seeing him all this time. And no matter how many times you tell me you don’t believe me, I think deep down you know the truth. But I also think–”

Wanda’s voice breaks. She told herself she wouldn’t cry; you don’t even know how tired of crying she was. But while this has gone for only just a week, it already feels like a lifetime of heartache.

“I think it freed you from holding back on what you really felt all those months ago. And it’s okay, Y/N. If it’s only catching up to you now, I’m here for you. You can be angry all you want. Hurt me all you want. Whatever it takes to makes us ev–”

“Don’t you dare,” The desperation for her to stop leaks around the edges of your trembling voice. “If you think this makes us even, then you still don’t–” You’re unable to finish your sentence as your eyes blur with unshed tears. You catch the first drop with a finger, and then more with the heel of your hand, until you’re openly crying into your palms on the floor.

A second later you feel Wanda behind you, soft breasts pressing against your back, her arms wrapping around you like chains. She puts her head over your shoulder, so when she speaks you feel her breath with every word. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Please, Y/N, you have to believe me. I wish you could read my mind, see for yourself it’s just a coincidence that he was there. I asked him to leave, and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I–”

“Enough, Wanda,” you say, and it almost comes out like a bitter sigh. “I-I need to go.” 

Wanda’s arms stiffen around you, and then they cling harder. Tighter. A frantic, “please, don’t leave, please believe me, how can I make you believe me” slips from her lips as she presses closer to you, like a child clinging to a parent when they scrape their knees. 

But then you’re planting your feet firmly on the ground and rising from your position amidst the weight of gravity and Wanda’s stubborn clutch.

“Y/N.” Wanda tries, at least one more time. She’s left with her arms now dangling uselessly to her sides, bare as the day she was born–except for the ring on her left hand. You’d think that seeing Wanda like this would bring some closure to the resentment that’s eating at you since the night you started sleeping with her. And not for the first time since this started, you ask yourself what the hell you are doing with her. To her.

Presently, it’s no longer about who deserves what. By all accounts of the past week, you’re both so damaged in ways that would only warrant the both of you to deserve each other. 

It’s a mistake for you to come here tonight. As well as all those nights and mid-mornings you allowed yourself to indulge in the past; to see if there’s another perspective to be had without your inhibitions; if maybe the darkness inside would ran out if choose to let it free, together with the hurt and the regret of losing the person you’ve built your world around. 

And it turns out, there’s none. There’s just the bruises on Wanda’s skin, the bruises on your soul, and the never ending push-and-pull that your shared existence has come to. It took Yelena’s tearful voice message to drag you out of Wanda’s bed; and while you might not have cared about how this torrid affair affects you or Wanda, you’re not going to let Yelena near its path of destruction.

“Y/N?” Wanda calls out softly.

One last time. Though it figures that Wanda wouldn’t stop trying to make you stay. A person drowning into the depths of the ocean wouldn’t just stop breathing. Pain demands you to see it through. 

Quietly, you pick up the blankets from the bed and wrap it around Wanda. She looks up at you, eyes red and watery but brimming with hope. 

“Maybe we’ll talk. But for now, I’m sorry. I really have to go.” you say.

Wanda closes her eyes and draws a sharp breath. 

At the bottom of the ocean, darkness and coldness envelop everything, while time's relentless march shows no mercy. Wanda becomes acutely aware of this truth as the echo of the door slamming shut reverberates within her, reaching the depths of her being.

-

There are two cars occupying the parking slot designated for Yelena’s shared apartment. You don’t give much thought about what it means as you climb the stairs to her unit.

Yelena.

You hadn’t noticed that you weren’t returning any of her texts or calls last week, right around the time you started showing up at Wanda’s place in the middle of the night to succumb to warped desires that had unconsciously been accumulating steadily since god knows how long. 

With a deep breath, you raise your fist in a tentative knock. You listen to hurried footsteps approach and brace yourself.

“Hey, Yel–” 

Someone who isn’t Yelena opens the door for you. A woman with dark hair and even darker eyes you’ve never seen before regards you with familiarity. She sweeps you with a sly gaze, and then says, “You’re Y/N?” 

That’s when you remember her name–Kate Bishop.

“I am,” you confirm with a nod. “Yelena left me a voice message. It was a little disconcerting, so I came here to see if she’s okay.”

Kate purses her lips. “I’m Kate by the way.”

You shuffle your feet awkwardly against the carpeted floor of the hallway, uneasy at the fact that she hasn’t tried to invite you in. “I kinda already knew. Yelena talks about you.”

She raises a skeptic eyebrow at that. “I haven’t heard of you until today.”

“Oh.” you say, unsure of how you should react to that information.

“What did she say?” Kate inquires coolly, arms crossed in front of her.

You squint at her, puzzled by the question and quite frankly, puzzled by her passive-aggressive attitude. 

“In her message.” Kate clarifies.

“That’s, uhm, private,” you say, tilting your head to the side. “Should I go back another time?”

Kate offers you a calculating look like she’s weighing something, but then she steps aside and says, “Down the hall. To your left. Knock first, hm?”

You don’t knock, seeing that the door is slightly ajar. The first thing you notice is the freezing temperature of the room, which isn’t surprising at all since there’s quite a few empty bottles of vodka on the floor, and you can only imagine how hot Yelena must be feeling after drinking that much alcohol. A Maisie Peters song plays in the background, and you recognize it because Yelena’s been humming her songs around you and you were curious enough to Google the lyrics you were able to pick out. 

You almost backtrack when you immediately don’t find Yelena, thinking you must have gotten the wrong room (or Kate’s instructions were wrong on purpose), but then you catch sight of a tuft of blonde hair, peeking out from underneath the covers. You round the bed and sit beside the cocoon Yelena’s made for herself. 

Placing a hand over what you think is her shoulder, you give her a little nudge. 

The body beneath the comforter stirs. 

“Kate?” Yelena’s usual husky voice sounds rougher to your ears.

“It’s me.” you mutter softly. Yelena emerges from the covers, a bit hesitant at first, but then she sees you and her hands come flying to your cheeks, squeezing them together. 

“Y/N!” Yelena drags out the last syllable of your name in a sing-song voice. “Are you really here? Oh, wait–did I booty call you?” she laughs; boisterous and unrestrained and pretty much vodka-induced. 

“N-No… Y–” you close your eyes when blinking several times doesn’t help the blurring of your vision. Then, when you’re sure that you can look at Yelena without your emotions running away, you hold up your phone and say, “You sent me this.”

“I did?” Yelena frowns. “I didn’t mean to, Y/N. Just forget about them.”

“How could I? Y-You’re blaming yourself.”

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” she says with a teary smile. “Of course there’s only myself to blame for that.” 

“Yelena–”

“I wish I never left you to study overseas. I wish I never left New York if I had known I’d only end up back here. I would have been a great wife to you. A good mother, eventually. We’d be having a very different conversation in our home somewhere in Montauk, because you said you’ve always wanted to retire there…” Yelena trails off but there’s no tears in her eyes even as voice becomes thick with grief.

“You love me,” you mumble in resignation, looking down at your lap. “You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

You shake your head. “I’m not good for you.”

“It’s just how it is.” Yelena whispers. 

And the words struck you as you’ve heard it before; spoken by eyes that are similarly green, but entirely different.

You can’t ignore how much they hold the same essence of what they speak about–love; no matter how difficult it is for you to believe the other. 

"She's asleep," you inform Kate as you begin to put your boots back on. Yelena wasn’t in the right state to talk about where they stand, so you laid on the bed with her until she dozed off, her head on your chest and your arm around her while you traced invisible lines on her back.

“Will you ever take her seriously?” Kate says.

“Excuse me?”

Kate doesn’t repeat herself, instead she blurts out, “I like Yelena.”

Seeing the dumbfounded look on your face, it doesn’t take her a second to put two and two together. 

“She didn’t tell you,” she sounds downright disheartened by her own conclusion. “I like Yelena. I want to take her out on dates. Gift her expensive things. Make her happy. All those things you want to do when you lo–like someone.”

Ah. Suddenly, it all makes sense. You’re done lacing up and there’s really nothing else to do but take your leave. Your legs feel as heavy as your heart, and you can’t seem to move an inch from where Kate’s pinning you with an accusatory look. 

Kate sighs at your aloof reticence, and then continues, “And I don’t see you doing any of that for her. So, let me rephrase my question–do you see a future with her?”

A future? What does tomorrow even look like? You’ve been stuck in a limbo for so long, you didn’t consider that everyone else outside of your bubble could be making plans, mapping out milestones and basically trying their best to live their lives with purpose.

Were you a wrench in Yelena’s plans? Or Kate’s? Have you been really this self-absorbed all this time? In between these thoughts, your mind unwillingly drifts to your ex-wife. 

For a decade, ‘future’ meant her. Kids. Old age. Death. They were all meant to be with Wanda. 

You shove your hands deep into the pockets of your coat, finding a dried mush of receipts as an acute rush of discomfort overwhelms you.

“Just as I thought.” Kate’s smirk is simultaneously smug and a little sad. Afterwhich, Kate leans into your personal space and takes a curious whiff. Your eyes widen in surprise, but you resist the urge to back away. 

“Hypnotic Poison?” she asks with a grimace. 

This time, you do back away. “What?” 

Kate laughs, eyes twinkling with mirth. “The fact that you don’t know what I’m talking about suggests you’re wearing someone else’s perfume. For your information, the fragrance I smell on you–it’s called Hypnotic Poison.”

You didn’t think the new scent that Wanda wears nowadays would come back to bite you in this way. It’s such a trivial detail that you couldn’t care less about. 

“I–”

“It’s not my place to tell Yelena anything. But I hope you do the right thing.” Kate says. 

And with that, she motions for you to get the hell out of her home.

-

Somewhere, the sound of a siren pierces the air. Some time later at a hospital near where Wanda lives, Pietro Maximoff finds himself pacing restlessly outside the emergency room. 

He unleashes a string of curses at himself, mind reeling from the events of the past hour. How could he have not seen the signs?

If he had been even a second too late, then she’d be–

Pietro buries his face in his hands. 

People survive drug overdose all the time, right?

Yet, in the desolate waiting area, all he finds are worn-out chairs and abandoned coffee cups sitting on them, offering no answers or reassurance.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (15/22)

Chapter summary: You make a decision about Vision, the video, and your lingering feelings for your ex-wife

Chapter word count: 6.6K | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: If you decide to yell at me after this chapter, I guess this is a good time to tell you that I'm smol.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Sixteen

--

Fifteen

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer - David Kushner "Daylight"

"Will you let me know once you figure out what you'll do?" Wanda asks, her voice wavering as remnants of dried tears cling to her cheeks, leaving faint trails in their wake.

You respond with a subdued sound of agreement, but deep down, you harbor doubts about your ability to follow through on your promise. The thumb drive still burns in your palm, and your clenched fist refuses to release it.

Alone in your apartment, hours after Yelena has departed for work, you find yourself replaying this memory time and again. Having taken the week off, your days are largely spent fixated on a particular file on your computer screen. That’s the last time you’ve heard from Wanda. Neither of you has made any effort to reach out since then.

“He recorded us having… having the affair.”

Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace of raw pain. Each breath feels heavier than the last, like you're dragging them from a place deep within you that you've been desperately trying to avoid. Your gaze remains fixated on the screen, eyes glassy, as if staring longer could somehow give you the answers you so crave.

A small, dark corner of your heart wishes you had gone further than just cracking Vision's skull with that vase, now knowing that he did more than violate a marriage.

You hover your mouse over the file.

"I’d take it all back if I could.”

Blinking rapidly, the strain in your smile grows more palpable, etching lines of tension across your face, until you’re gritting your teeth in an effort to maintain some form of control over your emotions.

But in the end, the tears well up and they spill over. 

In the end, you can’t bring yourself to watch how Wanda chose to break your heart. 

You delete the file from your computer, erasing any trace of the painful reminder. As you empty the trash bin, it feels like a symbolic act of letting go, even though the ache in your heart remains.

***

“Wanda? Did you hear what I just said?”

Wanda blinks, appearing slightly disoriented, as if she had been drifting away, coming back and forth to the present like a restless ghost. Calliope regards Wanda with a gentle caution, noticing that she appears different from her usual self this morning. There is a noticeable absence of her usual active engagement in conversation, with Wanda providing only succinct and dismissive replies to her questions.

“Hm?” Wanda's gaze focuses on Calliope, a flicker of apology crossing her features as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I... got distracted.”

“Wanda, I was asking about how you spent Y/N's birthday last week,” Calliope repeats with a soft smile.

Your birthday. It had been one of the best days in recent memory, a rarity considering the limited number of such occasions. And unfortunately, the joyous feeling it brought her was short-lived, lasting only two days before Yelena shattered the blissful bubble she was in.

"I, uh, baked her a cake, but it was more for my own enjoyment and for my customers," 

Wanda shares, and though her expression becomes slightly dreamy, it’s still tinged with despondency. “And then in the evening, we ran into each other by chance, and she treated me to dinner. All in all, it was better than I imagined."

“That sounds wonderful, Wanda,” Calliope says. "But how come you don't seem as happy about it now?"

“A lot has happened between then and now,” Wanda explains. “Her birthday isn’t the last time we saw each other. It’s actually just three days ago, and we, uh, didn’t exactly end that meeting on a good note.”

The only indication that Calliope looks slightly concerned is the eleven that appears in between her brows. Otherwise, her face remains soft and void of tension. “Can you tell me more, Wanda? But of course, only if you’re comfortable to share them.”

Wanda takes a moment to weigh her options. On one hand, there is legal information that she would need to disclose, but on the other hand, she can sense the possibility of her spiraling down if she keeps these things to herself. Ultimately, she decides to place her trust in her therapist and rely on the foundation they have built together, telling Calliope everything. She begins by recounting Yelena's visit and the subsequent confrontation with Vision. Then, with regret she describes the following morning when she visited you to give you an option to fight Vision back another way.

Calliope listens attentively, and though she usually maintains a professional demeanor throughout these sessions with her clients, she couldn’t help but inwardly sigh in relief that Wanda chose to talk to her about the crucial week she’s had. 

There are at least a dozen emotional and mental implications for someone who had gone through what Wanda did in the recent days. As someone who lives and breathes science, Calliope doesn’t believe in good or bad luck, but this is one of those rare occurrences that she’s handling someone who’s gone and continues to go through a multitude of life-changing storms in just a year. Wanda's resilience is a force to be reckoned with, refusing to bow to the hardships she constantly faces.

“It must be beyond overwhelming to be confronted with such things at the same time,” Calliope says. She retrieves a pad and a pen from her desk and looks up at Wanda. “Do you mind if I write some of these things down? So we can go over them one step at a time?”

Wanda gives her a short nod, placing her complete trust on her therapist. Calliope proceeds to write on the pad and then suddenly, she stops and looks up at Wanda who’s chewing on her lip.

“When you learned that Vision filmed your trysts without your consent, how did that make you feel?”

Wanda feels the familiar coil of anger tighten in her stomach at the mere mention of his name.

Her response slips out slowly. “Violated. I–I know I’m half of that affair, and I have no right to feel like a victim–”

“Wanda,” Calliope quickly cuts her line of thought, dispelling right away the notion that just because she agreed to something, she agreed to everything. Even though the sex was consensual, the act of recording it without consent was a violation of trust and not to mention, a breach of the law. 

“Your role in the affair does not negate the fact that you can still feel violated by this type of invasion to your privacy. You have the right to acknowledge your own feelings and experiences, separate from the affair itself." Calliope tells her.

Wanda presses her fingertips against her temple for a few seconds. “I feel like a victim to my own stupid decisions. I’m angry at Vision, but mostly I–I’m angry with myself.”

“Blaming yourself may be a natural response, but the responsibility for the violation lies with Vision. It's not a reflection of your worth or intelligence. You trusted him that time, and he betrayed that trust.” Calliope says.

Wanda is silent. It’s been a long time since she felt like none of Calliope’s words make sense. None could make her feel better at the moment. 

Sensing that she’s not getting through to her, Calliope continues, “You don’t have to believe me right now. All of it is new, and you can take as much time as you need to face your feelings.”

"You know what else troubles me the most? I find it very difficult to reconcile myself with the married woman who slept with a kid all those times. Who is she, Calliope? And by asking this,  I'm not trying to absolve myself of responsibility because she was me, but I simply can't comprehend how I allowed it to happen. If you were to ask me now why I entered into that affair, I honestly wouldn't have an answer for you.”

Calliope nods in understanding. It's not unusual for individuals to struggle with recognizing the person they used to be, even if it was just a year ago or even a week ago. Personal growth and experiences can drastically change people’s perspectives and actions, often leading them to question their past choices.

“We are always changing. You're a different person today than you were yesterday, even if the change isn’t that significant. There’s always something in us that’s changing, progressing, growing.”

“Why couldn’t I have grown back then,” Wanda mumbles in regret. I should’ve been able to prevent it. Things would have gone differently.  

Calliope smiles, understanding Wanda's inclination to obsess over what could have been. “We only realize what's wrong within us when the signs become apparent, like having a fever. A doctor wouldn't say you're sick with a fever alone; it's just a symptom. There's an underlying cause. But the fever serves as an important indicator that your body needs treatment.”

Wanda sighs; she can’t think of any argument to that. “Maybe you’re right.”

And as she replays the memories of that day in her mind, a sudden realization strikes Wanda. There was a vivid detail from her conversation with Yelena that she had almost forgotten.

“Yelena said something,” Wanda begins, her fingers idly toying with the wedding band now adorning her necklace. “Something about Y/N not being completely hers.”

“Go on,” Calliope encourages.

“Do you think she was indirectly telling me that Y/N still has feelings for me?” Wanda's voice is tinged with uncertainty, yet her eyes shimmer with hope.

“Interpreting someone else's words can be subjective," Calliope says. “I want to be honest with you, Wanda–it’s always best not to read too much into it. Yelena's perception of the situation differs from your own, and her words might not necessarily reflect the true feelings or intentions of Y/N.”

Wanda's hopeful expression wavers slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. She nods, understanding the need to approach the situation with caution.

“I know it's easier said than done. Believe me, I struggle with it too, sometimes…” Calliope trails off as if reminiscing her own experiences, before continuing, “But whether or not Y/N still has feelings for you, your well-being should remain a priority. Overthinking and making assumptions can be detrimental to our happiness.”

Happiness. It’s elusive, and she wants nothing more than to hold onto it longer than a fleeting moment.

***

“Are you certain about this? Once we send this letter to his attorney, it cannot be retracted,” your lawyer states as she neatly organizes the pages of the counter demand letter into a folder.

“And if they agree to the terms, will it finally be over?” you inquire, seeking reassurance.

“Yes. I have drafted every clause to safeguard you from any future legal actions regarding the same matter,” she assures.

You take a moment to process the information before a new concern arises. “You mean, he won't be able to sue me in the future if he decides that $800,000 isn't enough?”

“No,” she says with a confident smirk. “If he does that you can sue him for double the amount.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

“It's what you hired me for,” she replies with a hint of pride.

After your lawyer leaves, you pick up your phone and dial Natasha's number. The ringing persists until a recorded voice message greets you.

“Hey, Nat? It’s me. Uh, when you get this call can you please call me back? I–” Your voice breaks, and you close your eyes, envisioning Natasha's stoic expression as she listens to your message. This silence between you is uncharacteristic, as you have never gone this long without talking to each other except when she's working. It pains you to realize the strain in one of the most important relationships in your life right now.

“I’m sorry, okay? I hope we can talk soon and I’ll explain everything. Please, Nat,” you say. “I don’t think I can handle losing you.”

***

“It’s a send off party for those who are racing the New York City Marathon this year.” you explain to Yelena as you stuff your socks into a duffel bag. 

Since joining Valkyrie's running club, you have mainly trained alone, only joining the group for runs on two occasions. However, you've come to realize the benefits of running with others who are faster than you. It pushes you to increase your pace during tempo runs and has led to a faster rate of improvement in your performance. Wanda has chosen not to join the weekday runs with the club, and you secretly appreciate the opportunity to focus solely on running and enjoying the company of other people. Wanda never fails to catch at least some of your attention. It’s one of your more serious flaws.

“Yeah, I get that it's a party,” Yelena mutters, gathering toiletries from the bathroom to pack in her own bag. “What I don't understand is why the party is being held at a park.”

“You know athletes–we need some form of activity first before we drink the booze and eat the cake.” you say.

Yelena wrinkles her nose. That doesn’t sound like the parties she’s familiar with and knows how to enjoy.

“When’s the NYC Marathon anyway?” Yelena asks.

“It’s this Sunday,” you reply, organizing the items on your packing list. You realize that among all the things you need to bring, a pair of shoes and sunblock are the only essentials. The rest are optional.

“Are you running in it?”

“Nope. I wasn’t picked in the lottery.” you say.

Yelena's expression shifts to one of surprise. "There’s a lottery?" she exclaims, clearly unaware of the selection process. The idea of so many people willingly participating–and paying–to tire themselves out is baffling to her. Yelena tried jogging one time and only thought of it as a grueling experience. So this interesting trivia about marathons just leads her to the conclusion that people must truly have a fondness for pain and suffering.

That causes a laugh to bubble up your throat. "If you don't feel like coming, it's completely fine." 

Initially, you hadn't planned for Yelena to join you, but since she expressed a desire to spend the day with you on her day off, you casually suggested she could come as your plus one. And since you knew how she felt about the sport that you do, you assumed she’d turn you down.

“How about we just stay in?” Yelena mumbles, wriggling her eyebrows in suggestion, making you laugh harder. “You know… Netflix, and the other thing.” 

“As tempting as that sounds,” you reply, still chuckling, “I can't. I'm responsible for bringing a damn good apple pie for the potluck. People are expecting it.”

Yelena pouts playfully, feigning disappointment. “Well, I guess I'll have to settle for cheering you on then. Just make sure that apple pie is worth it.”

“I'll do my best. And hey, there's always Netflix and 'the other thing' waiting for us when we get back.” you say.

Yelena grins, satisfied with the compromise. “Deal.”

***

As you and Yelena arrive at The Great Lawn in Central Park, the sight of tables and chairs being set up in preparation for the event greets you. Shaun, the closest friend you made from the running group, approaches you, dressed in a similar fashion of running shorts over a base layer, dri-fit shirt and the latest Alphafly. Introductions are made, and Shaun takes the dessert from your hands, ushering you and Yelena to a table near the spread of food and drinks.

Yelena makes a quick remark about feeling a bit overdressed for the occasion, but you dismiss her concerns with a smile, complimenting her appearance, which prompts her to lean in and give you a long, tender kiss.

A kiss that your ex-wife witnessed as you catch her looking at you and Yelena from afar when you open your eyes at the end of it. 

You’re unable to hide the look of surprise from your face because you weren’t expecting Wanda at this party. While everyone else confirmed their attendance, Wanda remained quiet, never participating in the conversations. Had you known Wanda would be here, you wouldn't have invited Yelena. 

Yelena follows your line of sight, and then seeing Wanda, mirrors your surprised expression.

“Why is she here?” she asks, her voice holding a hint of accusation though she tried to hide it.

“I... don't know,” you mumble absentmindedly as your attention is drawn to the person Wanda arrived with.

Valkyrie.

“And why didn’t you tell me that Wanda also belongs in the same running group?”

You shift your focus back to Yelena as Wanda and Valkyrie engage with the other runners, their presence quickly absorbed into the conversations and exchanges happening around them.

“I honestly didn't think it was important to mention,” you admit. “Wanda hasn't been actively involved in the group–she never joins our runs.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, I think it's worth mentioning.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming today. We all confirmed in the group chat and she never said anything.” you say.

“I get it, just remember, be open with me, especially about her,” Yelena says, her face softening. “I don't want to be 'that' girlfriend, but trust takes time. You not telling me the whole story about her doesn't help.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” you promise.

Yelena nods, pulling you in for another kiss. This one feels more intense, more insistent. Just as Yelena's tongue finds its way into your mouth, Wanda happens to glance your way. The sight causes her to promptly look away.

As Yelena's lips leave yours and she steps back, Valkyrie saunters over, her hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of her vest, a cheeky grin playing on her lips.

“Glad to see you again, Y/N,” Valkyrie greets, her gaze shifting to Yelena. “Who's this?”

You offer Valkyrie a tight smile and proceed to introduce Yelena as your girlfriend. Valkyrie extends her hand to Yelena, their handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, with Valkyrie's thumb softly brushing the back of Yelena's hand before letting go. And then she excuses herself, winking at you both as she returns to Wanda’s side.

It might just be your intense dislike of this woman, but you can't help but worry about Wanda trusting someone who evidently likes to flirt.

As you slide an arm around Yelena, you both find a quieter spot, away from the buzz.

“You don't seem too thrilled about her,” Yelena notes.

With a small scoff, you try to dismiss it. “Valkyrie?”

"Yeah. Right there, when you say her name... It's like you'd rather jump off a cliff," Yelena remarks, noticing your disdain.

“She's just... too full of herself for my liking.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look. “You sure it's not because she showed up with–”

“Of course not,” you retort, a bit too quickly. Feeling the conversation veer into uncomfortable territory, you quickly reroute. “There's beer in the cooler, want one?”

Yelena is momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift, but she nods and replies, “Sure.”

They decide on a casual game of Ultimate Frisbee, as suggested by Valkyrie. 

You find yourself on one team, while Valkyrie stands on the opposing side. In the sidelines, are your ex-wife and your girlfriend, both seemingly enthralled by the competition that’s about to unfold. You've never played this game before, but Shaun takes the time to show you the ropes of throwing a frisbee with a backhand and a forehand. He explains the rules, which turn out to be fairly easy to understand, given their similarity to soccer. The objective is to get the disc to the other side of the field and avoid turnovers.

The frisbee soars through the air, hurled by none other than Valkyrie to signal the start of the game. Adrenaline courses through your veins, as a fierce determination fueled by the seemingly permanent smirk on Valkyrie’s face propels you forward.

With every throw and catch, you channel your frustrations into the game. It's no longer just about Valkyrie, but also about Vision and the money he managed to extort from you. It's about Wanda and how closely she's watching your every move with something akin to regret and longing in her wide, green eyes. It's about the video you chose not to watch, yet its very existence continues to haunt you.

Valkyrie, agile and naturally athletic, matches your intensity on the field. Each time she catches the frisbee, you feel a surge of anger ignite within you. It's as if every point she scores is a personal affront to your pride. You relentlessly pursue her with a goal in mind to outmatch her every move. 

The crowd cheers and gasps with each spectacular play. Wanda's eyes lock with yours, her expression caught between concern and admiration, and you return her gaze with a look of spite as you try to block the movements of the person you’re guarding.

In a pivotal moment, Valkyrie sprints toward the end zone as the disc flies in the similar direction. Taking this window of opportunity, you charge after her, consumed by a desire to tackle her to the ground. 

With a surge of strength, you lunge forward with an aim to bring her down. 

But fate has a different plan.

In the chaotic collision that ensues, you crash into Valkyrie with all your might. But the strong and sturdy body she’s paraded around for weeks proves to be impenetrable. As the dust settles, you find yourself sprawled on the ground, nursing a deep gash on your elbow. Valkyrie, remarkably unscathed, stands tall, a defiant smirk on her face.

Both Yelena and Wanda rush to your aid, much to your chagrin.

“What the hell was that?” Yelena yells as she leans over you with worry.

Wanda, keeping a cautious distance, chimes in, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Valkyrie, offering you a hand to help you up, dismisses the incident casually. “Oh, she's fine. It happens often in these games.”

Reluctantly, you reach out and steady yourself on Valkyrie's arm, disliking the fact you need her help in that moment. You take a couple of steps back from Valkyrie as soon as you find your footing and grab Yelena’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you tell Yelena.

"You're bleeding," Wanda points out, eyes fixed on the wound on your elbow.

“It’s just a small scratch,” you argue, even as the blood drips from your skin and onto the grass.

“Sorry, but it's a general rule to sub out a wounded soldier,” Valkyrie cuts in.

You sneer inwardly at Valkyrie’s flowery choice of words.

“Come on, babe. I'll help you clean that up,” Yelena says, placing a hand on your lower back as she leads you back to the sidelines. 

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Wanda says. Yelena looks at Wanda over her shoulder and you hold your breath, anticipating their exchange. But your girlfriend simply offers your ex-wife a small smile and thanks her.

The night approaches rather quickly after the game. 

Everybody helps pack up the picnic spread before the sun sets, as the group collectively agrees to move the party to a pub that Valkyrie claims she managed to reserve at the last minute. The bar she picked is also unbelievably convenient, only being a few minutes away from the park by foot. So, now, everyone looks at Valkyrie with a sense of awe, seeing how effortlessly she can organize a good time. You remain skeptical, however, suspicious that she’s planned everything in advance.

“This Valkyrie–is she some kind of socialite?” Yelena wonders aloud as the two of you enter the bar. Taking in its classy interior, you can tell almost immediately that reserving the entire area must have come at a hefty price.

You shrug in reply, walking straight to the bar to order a double right away.

Valkyrie hasn’t left Wanda’s side all day after the game. Your only interaction with Wanda so far was when she returned to where you and Yelena sat as your girlfriend tended to your wound. Although she didn't utter a word, a small smile graced her face as she handed the first aid kit to Yelena.

“Are you okay?” Yelena asks, rubbing your shoulder, trying to ease the tension she finds there.

“Just tired,” you answer, knocking down your drink.

“May I have everyone's attention, please?” Valkyrie's voice cuts through the blaring music, drawing everyone’s attention towards her.

“I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for joining us at this event. Your presence is invaluable, and it greatly contributes to the success of this gathering,” she states, and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. Valkyrie lifts her beer can, prompting everyone else to raise their drinks in unison. “Here's to our courageous participants of this Sunday's NYC Marathon. May you conquer the finish line with strength and surpass your own expectations. Cheers!”

With the toast complete, the assembled crowd joins in, raising their glasses and cheerfully clinking them together. Just like that, the party that Yelena is more amenable to officially begins. 

Yelena mingles with the group of people who have come to support their partners' interests, all sharing a similar confusion about the appeal of waking up early to cover long distances that, typically, should not be covered by foot. You relax at seeing her chat with them animatedly, looking like she’s enjoying herself so far. 

With Yelena occupied, you allow yourself a moment to sulk in a corner of the bar. As you look around the room, you can't help but think about how your lawyer hasn't given you any updates about the counter demand letter. You think about Natasha, who still hasn’t called you back. It makes you feel uneasy, not knowing where things stand.

You try not to think about Wanda, who currently has her head thrown back, laughing at something Valkyrie said. It strikes you that you haven't seen her so carefree in quite some time.

“Hey,” Yelena taps you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Me and some of the girls want to go check out this band playing a couple of blocks away. It won't take long, just a few songs. Is that alright with you?"

“Sure,” you respond. “I'll be ready to leave when you get back.”

“Great,” Yelena replies, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

You observe Yelena as she happily leaves the venue with her new friends, while you catch the bartender's attention and order another drink.

An hour passes by swiftly, and there is still no sign of Yelena or any message from her. You take a break from alcohol and sip on water, trying to sober up in case Yelena gets back. Shaun tries to engage you in a conversation about World Marathon Majors and his aspirations to qualify for Boston, but your lack of interest is evident, and he eventually excuses himself to join Valkyrie's group. You notice that they are now playing a drinking game, and Wanda receives a shot glass from Valkyrie.

“Truth or drink, Wanda?” Valkyrie teases, hovering a bit too near Wanda for your comfort.

“Truth,” Wanda responds.

“Got anyone you're into at the moment?”

A laugh escapes Wanda, followed by a nervous gulp. “Actually, I think I'll take that drink,” she deflects.

Valkyrie's expression drops, clearly let down by the missed chance to pry into Wanda's love life.  

“Since you dodged the truth, you're up for two shots,” she announces, her lips curled into a roguish smile. Wanda obediently follows, and you observe her wince as she slams back the tequila shots. A delicate flush on her cheeks hints that this isn't their first round.

You remain an onlooker as a series of questions are effortlessly answered by various individuals until Wanda is in the hot seat once again.

“Can I pass? I think I've had enough.” Wanda says.

“Oh, don't quit on me now. We're just warming up.”

Wanda offers a weak smile, then capitulates, “Alright. Just one more round, okay? Uhm, truth.”

Someone from the group throws the question. “Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Wanda's smile evaporates almost immediately. She forces a feeble laugh as she once again backtracks from her initial selection. Her gaze flickers towards you before darting back to Valkyrie, finding you already watching her closely.

“I think I want to drink for this one,” Wanda declares, going ahead to down two more shots in line with the game rules. The group cheers her on while Valkyrie, laughing, refills the emptied shot glasses.

Valkyrie finds herself intrigued. Wanda could've simply said 'no' if she hasn’t. She only becomes more fascinating in Valkyrie’s eyes knowing that she’s not as saintly as she looks.

The game continues, everyone takes their turn and it lands on Wanda once more. This time, she dismisses the drink pushed towards her. “I really should pass this time.” Wanda says.

Yet Valkyrie keeps pushing the drink towards Wanda, seemingly blind to her discomfort. Seeing this, you feel the urge to step in.

“She said no. Didn't you catch that?” you squeeze yourself in between Shaun and another girl who looks stunned at your sudden interjection. “Because I could hear her just fine from way over there,” you add, thumbing back at your former spot, some distance away.

“Chill out, we're just having a good time.” Valkyrie shrugs.

“Fucking respect her boundaries, okay? She’s had enough. And she has good reasons to avoid it, trust me.” you assert, your eyes narrowing slightly as you emphasize your point.

Almost immediately, Wanda stands, her lips clenched and her face flushed with annoyance.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Wanda says to no one in particular. 

“Need me to come along?”

“Just stay here, Val, okay?” Wanda interjects, her voice softer as she deftly maneuvers past you.

Your heartbeat quickens as you trail after her.

“Wanda, wait!” you shout, pushing through the crowd.

She pays no heed, her steps resounding heavily as she marches on. Her shoulders are stiff, her movements terse. You can almost sense the anger radiating off her like a dark halo. Chasing after her, you weave through the throng of nosy people who are all looking at you openly, as they watch the commotion continue to unfold before their eyes. 

A second later, the door shuts behind you, effectively muffling the music from inside.

Wanda has made it a good distance from the pub, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. 

“Wanda!” you call out again, your voice softer this time, carrying a note of desperate concern.

At your call, she finally stops.

She stands frozen for a moment before turning to face you. Her face, usually so tender and kind, is etched with an unusual hardness now. 

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly steady.

“What are you talking about? It was clear she was pushing you into drinking more than you wanted. I simply backed you up there–for which, by the way, some gratitude wouldn't hurt,” you snap back, irritation seeping into your tone.

Wanda's empty laughter rings out in the quiet night. “You practically just implied to everyone that I have a drinking problem!”

“Don't you?” you hiss through a sneer. “I remember getting a call from the person you cheated on me with because you were almost passed out on the street after a night of excessive drinking.”

Wanda visibly flinches, her body recoiling as though she’s just been slapped. The instant your words escape your lips, remorse floods over you, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Watching the shock on Wanda’s face slowly shift into a profound sadness only deepens your regret. 

“Wanda–”

"Thank you... for standing up for me earlier. Good night, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. With those words, she turns her back on you and starts to walk away.

You think about stopping her, but you’re too ashamed of yourself to do anything.

For the next few minutes you just stare at the spot where Wanda stood, haunted by the look of hurt on her face. In the distance, Yelena’s unmistakable voice reaches your ears, signaling her return. 

‘Hey, baby!” she slurs, elongating the final syllable, leaving no doubt in your mind that she's drunk.

You approach Yelena, keeping your steps hushed, while she bids farewell to her companions.

“Ready to head home?” you ask in a calm voice.

Yelena's face lights up with enthusiasm as she eagerly nods. Taking her hand into yours, you signal a passing cab.

Later, a little before midnight, your pretense of sleep is broken by the piercing ring of your phone. The truth is, you haven't slept a wink, instead lying still with eyes closed, the happenings of the day replaying ceaselessly in your mind. You pick up the call immediately, taking care not to disturb Yelena's peaceful slumber beside you.

“Y/N?” Wanda's voice comes through the phone, quaking with fear. “I came home and there's… there’s sick all over. Sparky... he's…” Her words fragment into inconsolable sobbing.

“Hey, hey. Just stay calm, okay? I'm on my way," you reassure her before ending the call. You turn to Yelena, sprawled unconscious on the bed. With delicate motions, you snugly wrap the comforter around her and carefully place a pillow under her arm that was previously draped over you. You plant a kiss on her temple before dressing up quickly to meet Wanda.

Around 1:30 in the morning, the veterinarian steps out of the examination room to announce that Sparky is now stable. Wanda's eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying, but she pays careful attention to the doctor’s report on Sparky’s condition. The situation was critical, but thankfully, Sparky has rallied, his vital signs settling back into normal ranges. Despite this, the vet recommends keeping him under observation for an additional 48 hours to ensure his continued recovery.

You settle the bill out of your own credit card and escort a grief-stricken Wanda back to her apartment. You instruct her to get comfortable on the couch as you move around the kitchen and prepare yourselves a cup of tea. As you re-enter the living room, you notice Wanda remains in the same position, her gaze fixed on Sparky's dog bowl, a few kibbles still left untouched.

“Do you remember when Sparky first became a part of our lives?” Wanda asks suddenly.

You nod solemnly, settling down beside Wanda as you hand her her tea. She accepts it gratefully, cradling it in her hands to soak in its comforting warmth. 

“It was on your 25th birthday, and he was my surprise gift for you,” you recall with a hint of nostalgia.

“Your sneaky way of adopting him without telling me,” Wanda retorts, finally managing a small smile.

The fond memory brings a soft chuckle to your lips. Wanda had never been keen on having a pet, especially in your small Manhattan apartment. But Sparky quickly won her over within just a couple of days. She would serenade him with renditions of "You Are My Sunshine" every day for a week, until she eventually grew tired of the song and moved on to another tune to sing to him.

“I always knew that we would outlive him. But it's just too soon,” Wanda sniffles, new tears welling up in her eyes. “He deserves more years. I want him to stay with us for as long as a dog possibly can.”

“Me too,” you sigh. 

Before you know it, you’re gathering Wanda into your arms. She instinctively nestles her face into the crook of your neck, tears dampening your skin. Your hand gently rubs soothing circles on her back, while your other hand softly strokes her hair. In a hushed voice, you whisper reassurances, telling her that everything will eventually be alright.

When Wanda’s trembling subsides, you feel her shift in your arms. And as you begin to lean your head back from where it’s resting on her shoulder, a magnetic force seems to hold you in place, and you find yourself unable to completely let go. Your forehead ends up resting against hers, watching her calm face in silence. Her eyes stay closed a bit longer, and when they eventually flutter open, you're captivated by the most perfect shade of green, and in that moment it becomes perfectly clear to you that you love her and you never stopped.

Not even then.

A hint of worry appears in Wanda’s deep, emerald eyes as she meets yours. “Y/N–” she starts.

But her words get lost as your nose delicately grazes against hers, and your lips find hers in a clandestine kiss.

She responds to your kiss instinctively, and you merge in a manner that's both wonderfully familiar and refreshingly new. Your fingers trace a soft path across her neck before firmly cradling it, eliciting shivers that ripple through Wanda, right to her core.

The need for breath brings an end to the kiss, and you part from Wanda's lip with a slight wet sound. You take in as much air as you can, ready to lean in once more. But before your lips can meet hers again, she gently places a hand on your chest, giving you a gentle push.

“This... this isn't right,” Wanda stammers, pulling herself back from you. The spot on her neck where your hand rested is warm, the embers of your touch still smoldering as she tries to extinguish the fire you had sparked within her. “We can’t do this to Yelena.”

“Wanda, I–”

“You’re better than me,” she reminds you. “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if you're being jolted awake from a surreal dream, and you instinctively distance yourself from Wanda. Her eyes, filled with worry, attempt to meet yours, but you evade her gaze, the gravity of your actions slowly sinking in.

In a heartbeat, you find yourself bolting from her apartment, your feet pounding the pavement beneath as if trying to outrun the harsh reality of what you’ve done. You just betrayed Yelena. You'd just kissed Wanda. And you don’t know what was more frightening: your actions, or the fact that part of you didn't regret it.

In the waning hours before dawn, sleep proves stubbornly out of reach. The lingering taste of Wanda's kiss and the guilt eating at your conscience keeps slumber at bay. You had done to Yelena the very thing that ruined your life. You spent these hours looking at Yelena’s sleeping face, knowing that this may very well be the last few hours you get to be this close to her.  

And just as your eyelids begin to droop, Yelena stirs, slowly waking up.

Yelena hums as she stretches like a cat, and then blinks up at you, a smile already working its way to her lips. Your heart is ringing loudly in your ears by now, making it impossible for you to mirror the delight on your girlfriend's face.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Yelena asks, concern creasing her forehead as her hand lifts to cup your cheek.

“Yelena, I–” Your gaze drops, focusing on the unforgiving reality of the mattress beneath you, avoiding her piercing eyes as you muster the courage to confess. “I… I relapsed–”

“Don’t,” Yelena's voice cuts through your racing thoughts, her intuition already piecing together your next words. "Don't say it."

The silence that looms over your heads is oppressive and suffocating.

“This has gone on for long enough,” Yelena finally declares, her tone resolute. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Yelena–” you stutter, your mind scrambling to string together a sequence of words that might lessen the blow of your betrayal. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere far away from you,” she replies, her words carrying a frosty undertone.

It stings. And you deserve it.

With that, she gets up and leaves the room, leaving you to the wreckage.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)

Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.

Chapter word count: 9k

Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)

Author's note: And we start the second phase :)

Next chapter: Ten

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife

-

Nine

Five Weeks Later

“By the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.

Wanda hadn’t known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, she’d have been more than ready with an ensemble that’s appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadn’t known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietro’s suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks it’s a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these she’ll have to attend for the rest of her life. 

“You may kiss the–”  

The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons. 

And, well, karma is a bitch.

Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wanda’s been nursing the same mocktail she’s had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything that’s watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the party’s over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed. 

“Stop brooding at my wedding, for god’s sake.”

It’s Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.

"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.

"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.

Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. “Try not to get used to it though. I’m pretty sure you’re aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.”

“Don’t sass me on my wedding day, it’s just disrespectful.”

“Point taken. I’d offer to get you a drink, but I think that’s just gonna push the stick further up your ass.” 

Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.

Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."

Wanda’s brows stitch together in confusion. “Your company?”

“Stark Industries.” Shannon says, taking a sip of Wanda’s untouched water.

The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didn’t get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech company–which now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.

Shannon smirks. “Don’t look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.” 

“Number one?” Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. “Hardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?”

“She works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,” Shannon says. “But her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.”

Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesn’t, however, dwell this time about the people you’ve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours. 

"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re hearing this just now?” Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. “I thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.” Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.

"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.

“I assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.”

“I stopped by to bring her food. I didn’t know I had to dress up for that.”

“How sweet,” Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. “Well, if you’re not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.”

Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. “And what makes you think I’m interested?”

“Because despite my wrong assumptions earlier, it’s clear that you’re still head over heels in love with her,” Shannon says. “Or am I wrong?”

Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face. 

Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. “She recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.”

You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.

Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.

“Here,” Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. “You’re welcome.”

Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, “Why are you doing this?”

"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wanda’s defenses, but then she says, “Or I’m supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it won’t lead anywhere.”

Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.

Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself. 

“Fair enough.” Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.

Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. “Good luck, Wanda. I’m sure you’ll be needing a lot of it.” 

Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isn’t particularly chilly, but Wanda’s always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.

“Sorry about that.” Pietro mutters as he approaches.

Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"

Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. “I saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you weren’t having the best time.”

Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."

“Do I hear fondness in the way you said ‘bitch’?” 

“Not a chance.”

“Between me and her, you forget I’m actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.” Pietro says, somewhat seriously.

“You are,” Wanda says. “But I stand by what I said.”

Pietro sighs. “Anyway, I’m not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. I’m here to say goodbye.”

Wanda sobers at that. She’s been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away. 

“You’re returning to LA?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Pietro confirms with a nod. 

“Doesn’t she work at Stark Industries?”

“Oh, did I tell you that?” 

“She told me a while ago.” Wanda says.

“She can work remotely,” Pietro explains. “And she prefers doing that from our home in LA.”

The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display. 

Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, “Tell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before the–” Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago. 

But if there’s something she’s learned from therapy so far, it’s that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.

“Before my overdose.” Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.

Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.

“At first, I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “And when I saw you and the cafe, I thought ‘see, she doesn’t need you’. But at the same time I also realized it was me–I needed you.”

Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neck–something he does a lot when he’s trying not to be emotional. 

"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same when–"

“–when it’s just us.” Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.

“Yeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.”

“LA is your home.” Wanda reminds him. 

"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."

“I love you, Piet.” 

“I love you too, sis,” Pietro says. “I’m rooting for you–your happiness. Whether it’s with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heart–I know this because you love me just as I am.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?” Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistency–things you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.

“Shannon’s family lives in LA, and we’ve already talked about settling there once we’re married.”

Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.

Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. “Don’t blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because she’s more comfortable living there if we’re going to start a family.”

“You’re already talking about babies? Piet, that’s a huge step.” she says.

Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.

With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."

"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"

“No. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.” Pietro says. 

“I’m going to be an aunt?” Wanda giggles. “I mean, congratulations! You’re going to be a dad!”

"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.

Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.

Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."

Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck it–even Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"

"You better. I already got you plane tickets."

“Oh, and Piet?”

“Yep?”

“I’ll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because she’s having your child, but because it’s… not normal. It’s fucked up. We’re fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasn’t, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.

“I know,” Pietro says, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been seeing a professional for two months now.”

“You are?”

Pietro smiles and takes Wanda’s hand, leading her back inside the reception. “Where do you think I got your therapist from?”

***

"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. She’s sitting to your left and Yelena’s right, and when you haven’t developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works. 

Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how you’re both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner. 

Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.

Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.

“So, how was your flight?” you ask Natasha.

“Quick.” 

“When did you find out you’re coming home?” you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation

“The other day.” Natasha says.

“How do you like your steak?”

Natasha gives you a funny look.

Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.

“We’ve been seeing each other.” she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs. 

Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."

Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."

Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"

With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."

"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.

“You know,” You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I thought I’m used to what you do, but it’s still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,” you snap your fingers. “And we can’t ask you questions.”

“It’s why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,” Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But I can. So, how did this happen?” she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.

“Didn’t you already know?” you say with a teasing smile. 

Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.

"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.

“I, uh–”

"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."

When you look up, Yelena’s eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.

“That’s a nice story, Y/N, but I didn’t mean literally. More like… how did you arrive at the decision to be together?” Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.

“It came to us organically, Nat. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.” Yelena says. 

“I don’t mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?” Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."

You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree." 

“Can I speak to Y/N in private?” She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” you reply, rising from your seat.

You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease. 

Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk." 

You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty. 

Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.

“I was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.” Natasha says. 

You laugh nervously at the ‘girlfriend’ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,” you laugh a little. “And well, things simply worked out, you know?”

“Yeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.” Natasha quips.

"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.

Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but she’s giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.”

“But kidding aside, you have my blessing.” Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.

A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife. 

Besides, you haven’t talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.

But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person you’ve been trying to forget all this time.

“And Wanda? Is that over?”

Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; there’s just no way out of it but the truth–or at least some of it.

“We were briefly in touch,” you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."

Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadn’t had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.

“Because you hate her?” You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. “And, uh, I don’t know… Maybe because I knew you’d be disappointed?”

Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"

"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.

Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."

You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wanda’s bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.

“You’re like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.” you say.

“I’m happy you stood by your decision without me,” Natasha says. “I was worried you’d go back to her as soon as I was gone.”

A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.

“How about you and Bruce?” you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.

Natasha’s smile is sad as she shakes her head. “That ship has sailed. For good.”

“I’m sorry.” you say.

“Don’t be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. He’s a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to believe I deserve more than he’s willing to give,” Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but it’s clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths. 

“Are you happy?” you ask suddenly, widely curious.

Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.

Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena who’s wearing a frown after being left for so long.

“You were both gone for a while already so I thought I’d settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.” Yelena says. “You guys are okay, right?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.

Natasha ignores Yelena’s question and says, “How much do I owe you for the food?” 

Yelena pushes the receipt in her sister’s hand and says, “Everything.”

Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasn’t been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.

“It was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,” Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.

"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.

"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple. 

Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.

As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.

“Y/N?”

"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."

Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."

You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips. 

“I’ll wait up, okay? Hurry,” Yelena purrs against your neck. 

“I’ll be back.” you say.

At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where you’re supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelena’s awake, you’re too exhausted to continue earlier’s steamy exchange.

Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelena’s sleeping form. 

You haven’t had sex with her yet. The desire is there–a hot burning coal of it–and you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.

Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.

***

“Ms. Maximoff? Over here.”

Wanda looks up to find Sparky’s doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Wanda asks immediately.

“The results of Sparky’s blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, we’ll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if he’s responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.”

“And what if he doesn’t respond to his medication?”

“We will conduct further tests to see what’s going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, I’m afraid.”

Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wanda’s heart. “W-What could have caused this?” she asks.

This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life. 

In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days. 

Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.

It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.

And she wouldn't—not even for a moment—consider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.

But then again, you've made your choice. You didn’t want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her café; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.

It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.

…And she’s still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.

Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much you’ve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitor–dropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.

There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.

She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.

But as she’s about to knock, the door swings open.

“Hi, I–” Wanda’s words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.

Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders. 

She is breathtakingly beautiful. 

But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.

Does she live with you?

“Is Y/N home? I’m Wan–” 

"Wanda. I know. I’m Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like she’s struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"

“You’re Yelena? Natasha’s sister?” Wanda asks.

Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.

Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?

"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and she’s just grateful you’re not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wanda’s sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.

-

The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You haven’t had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of “how are you” and “I’m fine”. There’s a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.

The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.

With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.

“Hey, I’ll be home soon.” you say, assuming it’s Yelena on the line.

“Y/N.” A vaguely familiar voice that’s definitely not Yelena greets you. That’s when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.

“Who’s this?”

The caller doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you haven’t been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.

“It’s Vision,” The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. “Wanda needs your help.”

The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. You’ve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.

“Jesus, it’s freezing.” you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.

You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda don’t really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wife–ex-wife–is just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports. 

However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, it’s near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens often–Wanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow. 

The sight of Vision doesn’t bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.

As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. “If you’re not, please tell Y/N that I’m not with him,” Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. “He just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, I’m telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.” 

The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis. 

Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. “How did you find her?” you demand.

“I was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,” Vision recounts. “I saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.”

You’re inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wanda’s shivering form, you can’t help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.

“Thank you,” you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.

“If I find out you’re the reason why she’s this miserable, I’m putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.” he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.

“Is that a threat?” you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.

“It’s a warning,” Vision answers coolly. “As far as I know, you haven’t atoned for anything. And it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s because of her.”

He’s right–you walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what you’ve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how you’re not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?

It’s a conversation for later–you don’t need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.

“I’m ready for anything,” you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. “Now, get your jacket off her and I’ll take it from here.”

As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.

-

Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she is–

“Shit, you’re burning up,” you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.

Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor. 

When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.

Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.

Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.

“Y/N,” Wanda’s weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. “You should g-go.” she says hoarsely.

Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.

"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“I-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about Sparky…”

She? Yelena? You didn’t think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.

"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.

Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?”

Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liver–not normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.

"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.

"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.

"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."

Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form. 

That's when you notice it–her wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her life–and yours–that she carries with her, in a different way.

Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving. 

The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.

“Is this–I mean, do you think should…?” she stammers out, and you’re unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"

Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.

A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wanda’s hair. 

As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew she’d get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; it’s just not possible to restrain herself from it when you’re this gentle with her.

“Can you handle the rest?” you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Okay. I’ll go get some towels.”

Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what you’ve just done.

Don’t think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer. 

Don’t think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.

Don’t think.

When you’re both dry and you’re back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It won’t go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you don’t think that’s a good idea.

Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.

"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.

"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.

“Better?”

Wanda nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didn’t think Vision would–”

“You’re welcome,” you interject as soon as she mentions his name. “We’ll talk soon.” 

Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore—not as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."

Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.

"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."

-

Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her. 

"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.

You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"

Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, “No. Do you?” 

Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. “I took Wanda home,” you declare, bracing yourself for Yelena’s reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.

“Can you clarify?” Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.

"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. “He said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.”

“Why didn’t he take her home himself?”

You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.”

There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, “And nothing happened?”

“I helped her get change and manage her fever,” you say. “Nothing else happened.”

Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.

"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.

"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."

You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.

“I wasn’t going to,” Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “But have you?”

You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelena’s shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,” Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.

"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (17-II/22)

Chapter summary: You up and left the night you found out about a bitter truth. And then you and Wanda come to an understanding on how to move forward.

Chapter B word count: 8.5k | Warnings: Angst, Smut, Profound Sadness | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: There's still angst ahead, be warned. This is my all time fave part to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did :) P.S. Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars is such an old and a bit overrated song, but I envisioned this part with this song.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Eighteen

--

Seventeen - Part Two

“Suspended?” Wanda repeats incredulously at your assistant. Her mind spins, thinking about the last several days when you've been mysteriously silent. Every call she's tried to make has gone straight to voicemail; every text she's sent is left unseen, hanging in the balance.

It feels like you've dropped off the face of the Earth, a sensation all too familiar to Wanda. It's like you've once again disappeared from her life without any warning, leaving her in a state of worry and confusion.

Her gaze falls back on your assistant, Martin, who just nods apathetically, his bony fingers carefully balancing a tray of coffee. His casual, nonchalant manner seems to strike a nerve with her, agitating her more than she'd like to admit.

“Sorry, Ms. Maximoff,” he says in a flat, apologetic voice, “She's not been around, hasn't been taking calls or replying to messages from our human resources.”

Wanda's eyes flicker from the reception desk to your office, her heart throbbing with concern and confusion. The glass pane of the office door merely reflects a distorted image of her, nothing of what it concealed inside. “But she's the boss here…” she lamely objects, her voice trailing off.

“Yes, and she suspended herself, apparently,” he replies, shrugging. “In essence, she's on a sabbatical, if you prefer.”

“Did… Did she inform you or anyone here why?” she manages to ask, trying desperately to figure out something–anything.

Martin sighs, placing the trays on his unruly desk. “Wish I knew, really. But she left with only two words 'personal reasons'. That's all we got.”

Wanda stands frozen, questions swirling in her mind, none finding an outlet. Her eyes moisten, and she swallows hard, her worry for you amplifying every second. She scans the room one more time, a futile effort to find answers.

“The last time I saw her,” he starts, his voice breaking her trance, “She seemed...off. Like she was wrestling with something. Something big.”

Her heart lurches. The last time your career was put on hold was when the two of you had to navigate through the tangled mess of divorce proceedings. If even your assistant has noticed that something was amiss, it must mean that whatever you're going through is truly serious, enough to have disrupted your usually composed work life. 

“If she calls in, could you let her know that I came by? And that I need to speak to her urgently?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

Martin nods, his face softening for the first time. “I will. And if I hear anything, I'll let you know.”

With a sigh of resignation, Wanda hands him her card and manages a small, tight-lipped smile as a parting gesture.

Yes, you've disappeared on her before, but this time it feels different–a gnawing worry eating at her gut that she can't ignore. She knows it's not like you to abandon your responsibilities, not without a strong reason. You no longer have Natasha–or Yelena, for that matter–to turn to which makes it all the worse.

She needs to find you.

***

“She’s not home,” the words ring out, echoing in the grandiose lobby of your apartment building. 

The statement is identical to the one she had been fed two days prior.

“Can I go up to the apartment?” she implores, searching for an excuse for them to let her in. “I... I left my purse there.”

But the concierge, rigid in his protocols, shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Miss. Without the tenant present or without their explicit permission, I can't let you in.”

You're not at your office. Not at your apartment. Your absence is a gaping void, pulling her to the brink of panic.

“But you don't understand,” she retorts, her voice stronger now, her fear manifesting as assertiveness. “I need to find her. No one has seen her in the recent week, and she's not answering her phone. I need to...I need to make sure she's okay.”

“Rest assured, she’s fine. She recently got in touch with us about the utility bills,” he assuages.

But it does nothing to quell her rising anxiety.  Sure, you might have called about the utility bills, but that was a routine chore, something that could be done from anywhere, even automated. It didn't necessarily mean you were okay.

Wanda sighs, rubbing her temples in an attempt to ease the throbbing headache brewing there. 

“Did she say anything else?” she asks, desperation tinting her words. “Anything at all that might indicate where she is?”

He shakes his head, his expression distant and almost uncaring. “That was all.”

Her shoulders slump, her heart heavy, but her resolve unwavering. If she had to overturn every stone in the city, knock on every door, she would. She needs to know that you're safe. 

Because even if the world believes you're okay, she knows better. 

She knows you.

Later, that very same night, Wanda finds herself pacing restlessly in her living room like a caged animal. The worn floorboards creak under her weight as she tirelessly traces the same path over and over, her mind swirling, imagining the worst.

In her desperation, an idea occurs to her.

Natasha. 

Their last conversation had been a little more than a week ago, but it had been far from pleasant. Accusations and blame were tossed around like grenades, and Natasha had left with a bitter parting shot. 

She glances at the old wall clock. Late. Very late. But time has lost its meaning to her lately. It's been nothing but a constant reminder of your absence, every ticking second a chime of worry.

Chewing on her lower lip, she finally makes up her mind. She picks up her phone, her fingers trembling as they navigate to a contact she hasn't dialed in ages. She stares at the screen for a moment, then pushes the call button.

The dial tone drones in her ear. She waits, each ring echoing the magnitude of her worry. She needs to find you. And for that, she needs Natasha to pick up.

Wanda's breath catches in her throat as she waits, clutching the phone with trembling hands. The apartment feels still and silent, the only noise is that persistent, mocking ring.

Just when she's about to end the call, the dial tone stops. A beat of silence, then–

“Wanda?” Natasha's voice is clipped, cold even, but Wanda can't help but feel a surge of relief at hearing it.

“Natasha,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “I need your help.”

There's a pause on the other end, long enough for Wanda to feel a pang of doubt. She can almost see Natasha's face, the guarded expression that's become her default since the fallout.

“Why should I help you?” Natasha finally asks, her voice devoid of warmth.

“Because it's about her,” Wanda replies, her words tumbling out in a rush. “She's missing, Natasha. She's not at her apartment, not at work, and she's not answering her phone. I've tried everything. You're… you’re my last hope. Please.”

There's a long silence on the other end, the tension so thick she can almost taste it. Wanda can feel her heart in her throat as she waits, hoping against hope that Natasha will put aside their differences, their painful history, and help her find you. 

Then, Natasha sighs, a sound that's both vexed and resigned. “Give me a few hours, Wanda,” she says finally, her voice laced with reluctance. “I'll see what I can find.”

Wanda manages a small, grateful nod, even though Natasha can't see it. “Thank you. I–I'll wait.”

The line goes dead, leaving Wanda with her worry and the late-night silence of her apartment. She drops onto the worn-out couch, her eyes fixed on her silent phone, her mind filled with thoughts of you.

But it turns out, she doesn't have to wait long. Five minutes later, her phone vibrates on the coffee table, startling her. Picking it up, she sees Natasha's name flashing on the screen. 

That was peculiarly fast.

She answers it, her heart pounding.

“Why didn't you call her mother?”  Natasha's voice is sharp, impatient.

Wanda blinks, visibly thrown off. “Her...her mother?”

“Yes, Wanda. Her mother!” Natasha sounds incredulous, exasperated. “She's in Montauk. She's been there for the past week. Her mother just confirmed it.”

Wanda's heart drops, a mix of relief and shame washing over her. She hadn't thought of calling your mother. In fact, she's been avoiding the idea altogether.

“I...I didn't call her because... because she blocked me,” Wanda admits in a small voice. “After she found out about my infidelity, she blocked me.”

There's a pause on the other end, followed by a deep sigh. “Well, now you know,” Natasha says, a hint of softness creeping into her voice. “She's in Montauk.”

With that, the call ends. Wanda is left staring at her phone.

She wastes no time buying train tickets for the following day.

***

Years have passed since Wanda last tread the well-worn path leading to your childhood home.

The once vibrant paint now peels and fades, no recent attempts at refurbishment have been made, and yet, it retains a charm that's impossible to overlook. Sitting all by itself on the beach, it's about the most peaceful spot Wanda's ever known.

She's always loved coming to your place in Montauk, even though she's acutely aware that your mother's affections for her have always been less than warm. But as she stands there now, the salty sea breeze tugging at her hair, she looks up in awe.

Her gaze is drawn to the attic window–your old bedroom. She imagines you might be there. She wonders if you're asleep, tucked away in a corner where your bed is and always will be. She thinks about what you might be dreaming of. Are they good dreams? Or the kind that makes you wake up in a cold sweat? The thought of you being troubled, even in sleep, makes her heart ache.

She wishes she could be up there with you, could slide into the room and sit down next to you. She'd love nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to pull you close and wrap you in her arms. She'd whisper in your ear, tell you that everything's going to be okay. “I'm here,” she'd say. “And I'm not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.”

But for now, she's stuck at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at that attic window. So with a sigh, she tears her gaze away, and turns back to the front steps. Eventually, her feet lead her to them, but she pauses, a knot of nerves twisting in her stomach. This isn't like the other times she's visited. There won't be a warm welcome from you, just the cold, guarded reception from your mother.

Taking a deep breath, she squares her shoulders and climbs the steps, her hand hesitating briefly over the door knocker. For a moment, she's tempted to turn back, to avoid the frosty confrontation. But she knows she can't. She's here for a reason.

The lingering echo of the knock seems to hang in the air before it's swallowed up by the constant rhythm of the sea. Then, the soft sound of footsteps resonates from within. Her pulse quickens in response. Fixing her eyes forward and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she readies herself for the encounter.

As the door creaks open, the familiar face of your mother appears. But her expression isn't the stern, guarded look Wanda has come to expect. Instead, her eyes hold a sense of knowing, as if your mother has been expecting her for a while now.

Wanda’s well-rehearsed words hang in her throat, momentarily lost amidst the surprise. But she quickly regains her composure, preparing to speak, when your mother breaks the silence.

“Took you long enough,” she says, her voice softer than Wanda remembers. “Come inside, dear.”

Taken aback, Wanda can only nod. She smiles politely at her in return as she steps across the threshold. 

Soon enough, Wanda finds herself seated at the worn kitchen table, as your mother moves with an ease born of years spent there, preparing an early dinner. The scent of food simmering stirs the air, joining the comforting aroma of tea brewing on the stove.

As she cooks, she fills Wanda in on what’s been going on with you lately. 

“She's been upstairs, in her old room, for days now,” she shares, nodding towards the ceiling as if it would help Wanda see you. “Doesn't come out much. Sometimes I hear her... crying, then nothing. She won't talk to me, no matter how much I try.”

Her usually steady hands reveal a hint of tremor as she stirs a pot on the stove. “I'm scared,”she admits, making brief eye contact with Wanda.

“I've been thinking... maybe it's about you.” she adds after a moment.

She doesn't say it like she's blaming Wanda, more like she's just trying to make sense of things. It leaves Wanda silent, turning the possibility over in her mind.

The kettle whistles, breaking the heavy silence. Your mom pours the hot water into a teapot and then turns to Wanda. “Tea?” she asks, like this is just any normal day.

“I’d love some tea, thank you,” Wanda responds, giving a brief nod. She takes the warm mug offered to her, the heat seeping into her palms. Afterwhich, she reaches for the jar of honey and adds a dollop of it in her tea. 

As your mom settles down across the table, an uncomfortable silence fills the kitchen. The only sounds are the soft humming of the fridge and the occasional clink of a spoon against a cup as your mom stirs her own tea.

They just sit there, silently looking at each other over the worn kitchen table. Wanda takes a sip from her mug, feeling the tea's heat spreading through her, a pleasant contrast to the chilly November air that's started to creep into the house.

Every sip, every moment of silence, makes Wanda more aware of the pressing need to apologize to your mother. She's hurt you, her own daughter, and if what your mom suggests is true, she may even be the reason you've up and left your life in Manhattan.

Finding the courage, Wanda finally speaks up, her voice shaky but sincere. “I understand this may not change anything,” she begins, “But I need to apologize... for the pain I've caused. For betraying your trust, and more importantly, for betraying Y/N's.”

She can feel the prickle of tears behind her eyes, but she forces them back. This isn't about her pain; it's about yours, and perhaps your mother's too.

“I wish I can go back,” Wanda admits, her eyes falling shut to keep her tears at bay. “And undo everything.”

She pauses, collecting her thoughts before continuing. “I’ve done a lot of self-reflection. I've looked into the mirror and didn't like the person staring back. I was... I am... deeply flawed. But I'm trying, I really am. I've started therapy, trying to understand and learn from my past mistakes.”

Wanda takes a deep breath before proceeding. “Your daughter...she deserves the world. And I know, in your eyes and perhaps even in my own, I don't deserve her. But what I'm asking, I guess, is not for you to forget or to absolve me. It's for another chance. A chance to prove that I can be better. That I can make things right with Y/N. I’m asking for your blessing, should it be possible for us to try again.”

After her heartfelt confession, your mother just quietly sips her tea, her gaze steady on Wanda. The silence is deafening, broken only by the regular ticking of the kitchen clock.

Wanda squirms under the silent scrutiny, but she doesn't look away. Instead, she meets your mother’s steady gaze, even if her own eyes are red and her vision is blurry.

“I… I know actions speak louder than words,” she adds quietly, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “And I'm ready to do whatever it takes, no matter how long it may be, to show you... to show Y/N, that I am capable of change, of being the person she deserves.”

Then, it's quiet again.

The silence stretches on, and just when Wanda thinks your mother might never respond, she sets her tea down and begins to speak. But it's not a direct answer to Wanda's plea. Instead, she starts to tell a story.

“You know, Y/N was always a deeply emotional child,” she begins, her voice soft and her eyes distant, lost in memories. “She had this incredible ability to love, to pour all of herself into someone or something. She trusted easily, loved fiercely.”

She pauses and takes a slow breath, her gaze turning sadder. “And because of that, she often got hurt. People took advantage of her kindness, her unwavering loyalty. They saw her love as something to exploit rather than treasure.”

Wanda blinks in surprise when your mother extends her hand, clasping hers firmly on the tabletop. The unexpected touch all but strikes a chord. 

“She's been through a lot, Wanda. Her heart's been bruised more times than I care to count. But she still loves with all she has, still trusts, even when she's been betrayed,” she says. “As her mom, all I ever wanted was for Y/N to find genuine happiness.”

Tears well up in Wanda's eyes, spilling over and trailing down her cheeks in crooked streams. With her free hand, she wipes them away hastily, while her other hand clings to your mother's in a gesture of guilt and a plea for forgiveness.

Your mother waits for Wanda’s wracking sobs to subside, before she gently lets go of Wanda’s hand and then looks out the window, her eyes turning steely. 

“I don’t doubt your sincerity,” she tells Wanda. “But what I need is to see that light in her eyes again, that joy she used to have. If you can help bring that back to her, then we can talk about forgiveness.”

Wanda can do nothing but nod as she accepts the challenge of the task. 

Your mother slowly rises from her chair, gathering the empty mugs on the table. “I've prepared dinner for tonight,” she says. “You can serve it when you're both ready.”

Wanda looks up, her eyes reflecting her confusion, “You're not staying?”

With a soft smile, your mother shakes her head, “I'll give you two some space to talk and sort things out. I'll be staying with a friend tonight.”

The offer leaves Wanda momentarily stunned, but she recognizes the trust and faith your mother is placing in her. It's a responsibility she doesn't take lightly, and she nods, hastily pulling herself together.

“Thank you,” Wanda says, her voice soft. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

Your mother reaches out to touch Wanda's arm, her eyes filled with understanding. 

“Just do right by her,” she says.

After your mother grabs her purse and car keys, she leaves, the door closing behind her with a quiet click. 

Wanda is left standing in the empty house. She looks around thoughtfully, the smell of the cooked dinner still lingering in the open space. Then, her eyes stray upwards towards the attic. She can't help the nervous flutter in her stomach as she thinks about what awaits upstairs.

Taking a deep breath, she firms her stance and prepares herself to face you.

As Wanda navigates the familiar hallways of this house, she's assaulted by a flurry of memories. 

Most vivid of all are the memories of your bedroom during your college years. That sacred space where you both had surrendered to your desires, the place where you both discovered each other in the most intimate ways. The countless nights when whispers and soft sighs were swallowed by the plush pillows, the sheets a tangled mess of sweat and evidences of pleasure.

Each memory, each recollection, sends a shiver down her spine. She remembers the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the way your eyes would darken with desire. She remembers the feel of your body against hers, the thrill of being the only one to see you unravel.

She remembers the way you’d moan out her name. The way your breath would hitch when she touched you, the way your fingers would trace patterns on her skin. The way you would look at her, as if she was the only one that mattered, the only one you saw.

Chiding herself, Wanda shakes her head, a blush coloring her cheeks as she catches her mind in the gutter. While she terribly misses you, aches to be with you, this isn’t about her longings or her desires.

No, this is about checking on you. It's about making sure you're alright and not alone. That's the priority, and it's what keeps her focused right now.

Moving towards your room, Wanda raises her fist to knock, but as her knuckles make contact, the door creaks open on its own accord. She freezes, the noise sounding overly loud in the deafening silence of the house.

The sight that greets her makes her breath hitch. There you are, asleep in your bed, your back to her. Curled up under your Star Wars covers, you seem so small, so vulnerable. A small smile pulls at the corners of Wanda's mouth, seeing you cocooned in remnants of your adolescence–the old covers, the posters lining the walls, the trophies gathering dust on the shelves. It’s endearing, and so quintessentially you.

Wanda carefully slips off her shoes, setting them neatly next to your own pair by the door. The room is quiet, save for the soft sound of your steady breathing. She doesn't want to disturb your peace, doesn't want to pull you from what seems to be a rare, restful sleep.

With cautious movements, she edges towards the bed, lifting the corner of the blanket. As silently as she can, she slips under them, feeling the familiar warmth they hold. She shuffles closer to you, wrapping her arms gently around you from behind. Your body is a comforting presence, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling her own worries.

As if on cue, even in your sleep, you move closer to her. You shift backwards, snuggling into her arms as if your body remembers the familiarity of her presence.

Closing her eyes, Wanda allows herself to relax for the first time in days. The constant worry, the relentless anxiety of the past week begins to ebb away. Here, holding you, she finally allows herself to succumb to her own exhaustion. 

A while later, beneath your lids, your eyes move restlessly. And like the recent days, it's the same nightmare that haunts you. Wanda, lying motionless in a hospital bed, a sight that sends cold tendrils of fear winding around your heart.

In your dream, you're a phantom, invisible and unheard. You're screaming, pleading, shouting for someone to hear you, to help her. But your voice, your presence, goes unnoticed. You watch helplessly as her heart rate dips, her once vibrant life draining away before your eyes. And then the dreadful flatline–

With a start, your eyes fly open. The world spins for a moment before settling down. In your sleep, you've moved so that Wanda now lays on your chest, sleeping soundly. Your arms are wrapped securely around her, a protective gesture that feels as natural as breathing.

As your eyes adjust back to reality, your mind doesn't quite catch up in time. For a moment, you believe this too is a dream. But in this one, Wanda is safe, wrapped snugly in your arms, far away from any harm. With gentle fingers, you start brushing through her soft hair, the familiar motion soothing. You find yourself slowly massaging her scalp, a habit from the good old days.

The gentle motion stirs Wanda, her eyes fluttering open to meet your startled gaze. As she squints up at you, drowsy and slightly confused, the pieces fall into place for you. This isn't some surreal dream. 

Wanda is actually here, with you.

“W-What time is it?” Her question is barely a whisper, the words escaping her in a quiet, sleep-addled mumble.

Your response is a knee-jerk reaction, a surprise that compels you to pull away. But there's nowhere to retreat, no room to distance yourself from the reality before you. Trapped between Wanda and the wall, in the confined space of the single-sized bed, you have nowhere to go.

“W-Why…” you begin, your voice coming out raspy from sleep and shock. Your eyes dart around as if seeking an escape.

Before you can finish your sentence, Wanda’s hand reaches for yours, her fingers curling reassuringly around your wrist. 

“Hey, it's me. You're okay,” she murmurs softly, but you remain tense, suspicious.

You don’t try to scramble further away, but you remain tense under her touch.

“Why are you here?” you finally manage to get out, your voice trembling slightly. “You shouldn't be here. You need to go.”

Wanda looks jolted at your words, her eyebrows shooting up. “Go?” she echoes, incredulity seeping into her tone. “Why would I go? You've been missing for days. I've been worried sick.”

Your heart aches at the crack in her voice, a clear indication of her sleepless nights, but the need to protect Wanda from you overpowers your sympathy.

“I can't...I can't tell you why,” you stammer out, hugging your knees to your chest, using them as a barrier between you and her.

Wanda's grip tightens around your wrist. “Why not?” she insists, her voice laced with frustration. “You can't just disappear and expect me to leave when I finally find you.”

“Because you’re not safe,” you say, avoiding her eyes.

“But why?” She pushes, her voice shaking with worry. “What do you mean I'm not safe?”

You struggle to find the right words, your throat dry. “You just... you just aren't, Wanda. Please, just leave.”

Her eyebrows pull together as she stares at you, as she searches your face for some explanation. Then, a name flickers across her expression, and her body goes rigid.

Pietro.

Shit.

What did he do?

“Y/N?” Wanda utters slowly. “Did you… Did you find out about my–”

“Yes,” you cut her off. Not wanting to hear from Wanda herself what–

What you’ve put her through.

The memory of the hospital report you secured after you found out, the graphic details of the picture that was sent to you—they've been haunting your nightmares for days.

Your hand slips out of hers as you awkwardly sit up, pressing your back against the unyielding concrete with a wince of discomfort. Wanda looks at you, her eyes wide and her lips parted, as if she's just now realizing the gravity of what you’ve been really dealing with.

“I found out, Wanda. About the pills,” you say quietly, your voice shaking. “The night I left...you overdosed. And I–I didn't even know.” You run a hand through your hair, frustration and guilt making you feel sick.

“That's why you can't be here, Wanda. That's why you have to leave. Because I can't... I can't be the cause of your pain anymore.”

Wanda looks at you for a moment, her expression unreadable, then, as if a switch is flipped, her expression crumbles. 

Despite all the tears she's already shed over the past week, she finds that she's not done yet. She's cried so much she thought she had nothing left, but there's always more when it comes to the pain you're both in.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells you firmly. She says it like she's trying to drill it into your head, her jaw set, teeth clenched. She wants you to believe her. She needs you to believe her. 

It's not your fault.

The dam holding back your own tears finally gives way. “How can you say that, Wanda?” you choke out, your voice shaking as much as you are. “I have proof that I almost killed you!”

But Wanda just shakes her head, stubborn as always. She won't accept what you're saying, won't see the truth of the matter. And so, you switch tactics.

“Why are you still here, Wanda?” you ask, your voice suddenly cold. “Why are you still looking for me? Why do you act like you still...care? Is it guilt? You cheated on me and now you're stuck with me out of pity? Do you pity me because you got the good side of this mess?”

Your words hang heavy in the silence that follows. Wanda just blinks at you, her eyes wide and shock clearly etched on her face. She pulls back slightly, her face flushing with a mix of hurt and anger.

“You think I pity you?" she whispers, her voice shaking with the intensity of her emotions. “You think this is guilt?”

But before you can answer, she's already shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears again. “No, you're wrong. It’s not pity, it’s not guilt. It’s...it’s…”

Her voice breaks off as she clutches the fabric of your shirt in her fists. “It’s because I love you, you idiot,” she finally admits, her confession plunging the dagger further into your beating heart. “Despite what they say…despite all of it, I still love you.”

It's raw and painful and beautiful all at once, but it also scares you more than anything. Because if Wanda still loves you, despite everything that's happened, then you're going to have to fight even harder to protect her from yourself.

“Wanda, I…” you try to protest, to explain, to push her away, but your words die in your throat when she suddenly crashes her lips onto yours. It's fierce and demanding, full of so many unsaid words and bottled-up emotions.

Her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer while one of her hands finds its way to your hair, holding you in place. She's practically clinging onto you, as if she's afraid you'll disappear again.

Your initial shock fades away as the kiss deepens. You melt into her, your resistance collapsing. Your arms instinctively go around her waist, pulling her closer until there's no space left between you.

Everything narrows down to the sensation of her lips moving against yours. The kiss is intoxicating and it's not long before you find yourself giving in, the guilt and fear momentarily forgotten.

What you’ve put her through.

But the words flash behind your eyes again. You can't help but question if this, the intoxicating sensation of being with Wanda Maximoff, can absolve you of it all.

Your thoughts whirl, but Wanda seems to know exactly what you need. She breaks away just enough to capture your hands, bringing them to her flushed cheeks.

And then, with her eyes closed, trusting, she whispers, “You’re not hurting me, Y/N.” Your hands tremble as they stay on her face, moving cautiously, as if she's a fragile piece of glass that might shatter under your touch.

When Wanda opens her eyes, you're struck by their clarity, their luminosity. “See?” she whispers. “All I feel is how much you love me. I–I know you do…”

In the next beat, she's guiding your hands lower, slipping them beneath her shirt to rest against the warm skin of her waist. Without thinking, your fingers begin to move, massaging the soft dips of her stomach, tracing the familiar curves and lines of a body you've known and cherished for years. 

“All I feel is your warmth. Your tenderness,” she murmurs, a slight catch in her breath as your hands start to move upwards, brushing aside her bra to gently cradle her breast. “Your desire. Your love that nurtures me, makes me thrive,” she finishes, a small gasp escaping her as she feels herself responding to your touch, her nipples hardening against your palm.

“So, please, Y/N,” she cries desperately as you wordlessly make quick work of removing her shirt and bra. “Please don’t make me go. I need you.”

It's hard to resist her, especially when she looks at you with such pleading eyes. You’ve always had a difficult time saying no to Wanda, and this moment is no different.

After shedding your own shirt, you pull her close, the skin-on-skin contact sending sparks through your veins. For a moment, everything else fades away. It's just the two of you, tangled together in a cocoon of your own making.

Your resolve wavers, then collapses. You can't deny her, not now, not ever.

Taking a deep breath, you lean in to press your forehead against hers. “I want to make you feel good,” you say, and before Wanda can utter her agreement, you press your lips against her delicately. 

The kiss is slow and tender, a gentle exploration rather than a heated demand. It's a promise, a vow to take your time and be mindful of her needs. You want to make up for all the hurt you've caused her, and this is where you'll start.

Without breaking the kiss, you carefully guide back down on the bed. Your fingers dance over the button of her jeans and when you can't proceed without breaking the kiss, you do so reluctantly. Wanda lets out a soft whine at the loss of contact, her impatience showing as she moves her hips to aid you in removing her pants. Once she’s left in just her underwear, you take a moment to appreciate the sight before you.

Wanda, naked in your teenage bed, her skin flushed and her thighs pulled together to relieve the delicious ache in between them. And your instinct is to worship every inch of her until she’s calling out to another higher power in the midst of your care.

Growing restless, Wanda eases herself off the bed, just enough to clasp the nape of your neck, drawing you back to another sweet entanglement of her lips.

This time, you get lost in the moment, letting your tongue outline the shape of her mouth, tasting the mix of her salty tears and the sweet remnants of her honeyed tea. You leisurely familiarize yourself with her, navigating the familiar paths inside her mouth, until the top of your thigh accidentally bumps into her clothed center. 

The sudden touch makes Wanda gasp. Her head rolls back, her eyes tightly closed, and you press into her again–harder. You watch as her mouth forms the perfect 'o,' each quick, sharp puffs matching the rhythm you’ve now set with your hips. Your hand trails down from the nape of her neck, across the delicate expanse of her shoulders, before settling on her waist, using it as a leverage to drive harder into her. 

“Y/N–P-Please…” Wanda's plea hangs in the thick air between you two. She doesn't know exactly what she's asking for, only that she'll lose her mind if you don't act soon.

Knowing what she needs, you push her thighs apart and lift them towards herself, until her knees are almost touching her shoulders. Grabbing her bottom, you tilt her hips slightly upwards, slotting your thigh directly over Wanda’s cunt. 

And then, without warning, you lower down to start driving your leg into her soaked core.

“Baby, what are you–oh, fuck!” Wanda can't hold back the scream that's torn from her throat.

Your fingernails dig sharply into her ass as you encourage her to fuck your leg. Your arms are working hard, holding up the lower half of Wanda's body at the precise angle you need. You duck your head to suck on the hollow of her throat, making Wanda squirm as she encircles her arms around your shoulders, keeping you in place. 

While you continue to maintain your rhythm, her slippery underwear—the lone piece of clothing she still has on–becomes too drenched that they slide right into and get stuck between her pussy lips, the folds of the fabric adding a pleasurable friction to her clit. At this moment, you decide to let your mouth venture further down her torso until it finds a hardened peak, and you waste no time immediately nursing on her teat. 

In a matter of seconds, Wanda feels the familiar coil in her belly. Her escalating cries, coming in sharp bursts, echo in your ear, a clear indication of the inevitable. She wraps her legs around your waist as her breathing becomes more frantic, encouraging you to plough into her mercilessly. On the next thrust, your hand releases its grip on one of her buttocks to push her panties aside and pump two fingers into her without preamble, before switching your mouth to her other nipple, giving it the same furious attention.

“Fuck, I’m–nnnghh!” Wanda yelps, and all it takes is one more slam of your hips before Wanda's entire body stiffens, her back arching into a perfect bow. You almost couldn’t stop yourself from closing your teeth around her areola as you feel her continue to buck against you, riding the final waves of her high. 

Moments later, you finally let go of her nipple with a wet pop when she weakly tugs at the back of your head, and you gently lap at the reddened area, tending to it with soft kitten licks. Once you’re satisfied, you climb back up to softly kiss Wanda’s closed eyelids, feeling her body slacken in your hold as she slowly recovers from her orgasm. 

You continue to sprinkle a few more kisses randomly across her face, until her giggles ripple through you, the sound of her laughter chiming like bells in your ears.

“Good?” you ask while still inside her, your other hand caressing the curve of her cheek as you gaze into her eyes, ensuring she's completely comfortable in every way.

Wanda bites her lip and nods, a blush coloring her cheeks as she basks in the intense attention you're showering her with and the weak, come-hither motion of your fingers still inside her.

“Good,” you say with a soft smile, and then Wanda’s breath catches as your eyes darken once more, pulling your fingers out of her carefully before licking them clean. “Because now I want to taste you.”

“But you haven’t–”

“This is what I want,” you calmly assure her. In reality, you want a number of things. You want to apologize to her. You want to feel that she’s there with you. That she’s alive, even if she’s a puppet on a string, at the mercy of your mouth and fingers.

You want to erase the image seared into your mind of Wanda, lifeless and cold.

Wanda smiles at you, and you respond by leaning in to give her a gentle kiss, a silent promise that it’s not because you’re merely rejecting her touch. What you really want is to love her right now, and perhaps see her let go and lose herself in the moment. 

Slowly, you start to trail kisses down her stomach, stopping just above her navel to playfully swirl your tongue within it, eliciting a reaction from Wanda as she arches her body upwards, offering herself to you. As you continue, your hands glide her underwear down her legs, before casually discarding it somewhere behind you. 

Instantly, her scent fills your nostrils, making your mouth water. You fight the urge to dive right in, not wanting all of this to end too soon. You follow the smell of her arousal to its source, your nose skimming over the area above her pubic bone, the apex of her thighs, anywhere but where Wanda’s gushing out in need. 

Wanda feels an urge to beg you to stop teasing, but she understands that's not what you're doing. She recognizes why you're taking your time, even though the deliberate pace is making her grow more frustrated by the second. 

As for you, emotions well up inside as you discern that Wanda is surrendering to you, reminding you of your ability to make her feel good, to make her happy, and it's taking all your strength not to crumble and break down in front of her. 

Even amid the heavy fog of desire, Wanda experiences a rush of gentle affection when she feels your fingers intertwining with hers, providing her a comforting squeeze. But Wanda should have taken that as her warning, when in a split second, she feels your tongue dart out to taste the length of her. 

Wanda's head lolls to the side, her eyes tightly closed. She hadn't anticipated that the buildup would be this intense, that such a simple move would drive her crazier than usual. She whimpers as you lick her languidly, almost reverently, as if you’re memorizing her taste and every crease and every sound your tongue elicits.

This time, when Wanda reaches her climax, it's more than just the physical sensations pushing her over the edge. 

It's your smile that she feels brushing her dewy skin, it's the hums of approval you're voicing, it's the way your eyes lock with hers, absorbing her every reaction, in sync with her sensations and emotions. 

The way you’d rest your head on her stomach while catching your breath.

Much like how it was when loving her was something you were so proud of.

As midnight approaches, you finally give in to Wanda's pleas for you to stop. She's come more times tonight than ever before in her life, and with her stomach growling in hunger, all she can think about is the beef stew your mother left in the kitchen for both of you.

She extracts her tired body from your secure hold, and dresses herself in comfortable silence, while you sit on your bed, confused and not knowing what to do with yourself now that you’ve accomplished your mission of making Wanda come a record-breaking six times.

Wanda stretches languidly, much like a cat, her bones making small popping sounds that draw a soft moan from her. She then tells you that she'll warm up the dinner you were meant to have and bring it back up to eat in the room.

As she makes her way to the kitchen, the rich, comforting aroma of the beef stew your mother had prepared earlier that evening wafts into the hallway, causing her stomach to complain louder.

Approaching the stove, she finds the pot still sitting there, the stew inside cooled. She turns on the burner underneath, and waits for it to heat up. All the while, her thoughts continue to race. She wonders if giving herself to you tonight has somehow provided you with the comfort you needed after finding out about her overdose on the night you left.

Did it reassure you to see her not just alive, but right there with you? Did the intimate connection help to ease any lingering fears or guilt from that night?

Once the stew has warmed enough, she ladles it into two bowls and carefully makes her way back up the stairs. As she nudges the bedroom door open with her foot, she's met with a sight that warms her heart. You're sitting there, now modestly dressed in a pair of pajamas, looking far more composed than when she'd first walked into your room earlier in the evening.

Your hair is neatly combed back, and the lines of worry that had marked your face earlier have faded, replaced with a serene expression. 

However, your eyes tell a different story. Something significant has shifted, and she can't quite put her finger on what it is.

“Will you set those down for a moment? I need to tell you something,” you tell her, your voice eerily calm. It sends a ripple of unease through her, yet she does as you ask.

Quietly, Wanda places the bowls of hot stew on the nearby dresser. The comforting scent of the dish wafts through the room, yet her earlier hunger has been replaced by an uneasy feeling that ties her stomach in knots. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed beside you, her hands folded neatly in her lap. 

You take a deep breath before you begin, as if you're preparing yourself as well for what you have to say. 

“I… I'm not sure how to go about it, or even why I'm doing it, but... you should hear this,” you start off.

“Last week, I... I tried sleeping with a stranger because I wanted to understand, to put myself in your shoes,” you continue, not waiting for her response. Wanda is quiet as she listens to your confession, each word slicing through her like a blade.

“I wanted to feel... what it was like for you when you chose him. When you chose him over us, over what we had,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. 

Wanda can hardly breathe. “Y/N…” 

“I couldn't do it,” you blurt out, your words spilling over one another in your haste. “Even though technically, we aren’t together, I… I couldn’t be with someone else,” you say in a choked half-sob, half-laugh that pushes Wanda dangerously close to a fresh torrent of feelings.

Tears flow freely down your cheeks now, your nose sniffling from the congestion. You sniffle, struggling to draw in breaths through your mouth to compensate for the hindered airflow.

“How?” you force out the question, your voice filled with aching pain as you look at Wanda, your face contorted with sorrow. “How was it so easy for you?”

Wanda doesn't have an immediate answer to your question, instead, she just looks at you, her heart breaking with every sob that shakes your body. 

“It wasn't... it wasn't easy,” she finally stammers out, her mind frantically revisiting the long weeks she spent with Calliope, trying to unpack her baggage and find something, anything, that might ease your pain. “Nothing about this has been easy, Y/N.”

But she knows it's not the answer you want. 

“I wish I had a straightforward answer,” she starts, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I wish I had a valid reason... something. But I don't... I just... don't. You were–are–everything to me, Y/N. You’re patient, loving, caring. You deserved so much better.”

She can't justify her actions. She can't explain why she risked the one person who loved her unconditionally. And it's a different kind of torment, the understanding that there's no satisfying explanation, no logical reason for her betrayal.

“I don’t trust you,” you admit to Wanda, a deep sorrow seeping into your voice. 

“Y/N, I…” Wanda starts, but you raise your hand to silence her.

“Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me,” you cut her off, your voice a broken whisper. “But every time I see you, every time I'm around you, it's like... it's like I'm back at square one,” you continue, your voice strained. “I don't know if I can ever trust you again, Wanda. And worse, I don't trust myself around you.”

Your gaze drops to your lap, where your hands are tightly knotted together, knuckles white with the effort. 

“And I don't know if this feeling will ever stop,” you add, more to yourself than to her. “I'm just so tired of it all. Tired of feeling this way, tired of... going around in circles.”

Wanda swallows thickly, her throat constricted. Her heart feels like it's being ripped apart at the seams as she watches you, so vulnerable, so hurt. All because of her.

“I...I could never have done that to you.” you tell her with finality.

“I know,” she answers, her voice filled with an emotion so raw it makes your chest tighten. “I know you’d never do anything to hurt me like that. It's... it's unbearable, Y/N. But I... I'm so sorry. I want to try, if you're willing... I want to earn your trust and forgiveness.”

“I need to earn your trust back,” Wanda corrects herself quietly, cowering, expecting you to laugh in her face with how delusional she is for begging you the one thing that she already destroyed. “I know it won't be easy, and I don't even know if it's possible, but I have to try, Y/N. I can't... I can't lose you again without even trying.”

A part of you rebels at the idea, reminds you of all the reasons why you should harden your heart and walk away–for the sake of you both. Yet, another part, a larger part, doesn't want to.  Despite the hurt and betrayal, despite the broken pieces, you still care for her. 

You want to trust her again. You want to be in love in the purest sense.

(You’re already in love, you just want to stop questioning it.)

“I can’t promise you that it’ll be easy to deal with,” you warn her, your voice thick with sincerity. “I can't just... sweep all of this under the rug, Wanda.”

“I can handle that,” she replies with a soft smile, her voice full of certainty. 

“Can you really?” you question, disbelief plain in your tone. “What if you blindside me again? What if I do something that would put you in harm’s way again?”

Wanda nods knowingly. “Which is why we can't do this by ourselves alone.”

“What do you suggest?” you ask curiously.

“That we seek professional help.” she says without hesitation.

“Professional help?” you repeat, slightly surprised. You hadn't considered this avenue, but the complexity of your situation seems to call for it.

Her practical approach impresses you, her willingness to explore different ways to mend things. The idea of exposing your deepest emotions to a stranger in a clinical setting is intimidating. But if Wanda is willing to do it, to unpack everything and lay it all out in the open like a defenseless soldier in a middle of a battlefield, then–

“Okay,” you say finally.

“Okay?” Wanda looks up at you with wide, expectant eyes, making her look so innocent like a child.

You nod, your lips curling into a tentative smile. “I guess… we could try.”

A watery smile flickers on Wanda's face as she carefully circles her arms around your neck. You reciprocate her hug, hesitant at first, but then with more confidence as you both meld back into each other. For a while, you simply sit there, clinging onto each other, until Wanda’s rumbling stomach shatters the moment.

Chuckles bubbling up, Wanda draws back from your hold and says, “Should we get to that stew now?”

Grinning, you give a playful snort and rise to fetch the bowls of warm stew yourself.

Then it hits you, the real fear isn't the dread of her repeating the same mistakes nor the risk of hurting each other again. 

No, it's the idea of her being here with you, and not putting in the effort to make things right.

And that, you decide, is something you don't think you could live with.

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[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (14/22)

Chapter summary: Vision sends you a demand letter for physical assault; Yelena makes a discovery that could shake the delicate foundations of your newfound 'friendship' with Wanda.

Chapter word count: 5.6k | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: Enjoy? :)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Fifteen

--

Fourteen

The demand letter sits in front of you, openly mocking you with its mere existence. It arrived at the most unanticipated time, suspiciously just a few days after your birthday. It is drafted by one of the most sought-after law firms in New York and co-signed by one Victor Shade, but you doubt that he had any hand in composing it. 

You've read it at least a dozen times now, its words wasting no time diving into the heart of the matter, “On January 4th, 2022 I suffered severe and critical injuries, when the actions of your insured, Ms. Y/N L/N…”

Deep down, you think you’ve been expecting this. The way Vision looked at Wanda the last time you saw them hinted at his lingering feelings. You knew he would do something to ease Wanda's rejection of him, and now he wants a specific amount as compensation: "Total Damages - $831,615.60."

With steady breaths, you carefully fold the letter back into its envelope. 

You wonder if Wanda knows about this. Clearly, whatever she and Vision previously agreed on to delay this matter has now unraveled. And if that’s the case, you want to make sure that Wanda stays out of this, and that her ties to Vision are permanently severed.

As you’re pondering the financial repercussions should you opt to settle, and the added frustration of Natasha not returning any of your calls, your office phone rings, startling you.

"Yes?" you answer when your assistant speaks.

"Sorry to bother you, but Ms. Yelena Romanoff is here to see you," your assistant tells you.

"Send her in, Martin. Thanks." you say and hang up, hurriedly clearing your desk, thoughtlessly placing the letter on top of the pile of documents you need to burn through for today.

A few moments pass, and then Yelena appears at the doorway of your office, wearing a bright smile that matches her vibrant pink lipstick. Coyly, she taps on the door, even though it's already slightly ajar. She's dressed in tight, ripped jeans, paired with knee-high boots and a vibrant red jacket–easily a sight for sore eyes. 

“Hey, baby, you busy?” she asks sort of mischievously. 

You shake your head, grinning “Not for you.”

"Good," she replies, stepping into the room and locking the door behind her. You begin to rise from your seat, but she stops you with a hand. Making her way around your desk, she forcefully pushes you back into your executive chair.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, entranced, and watch as she straddles your thighs.

"Assaulting my girlfriend," she murmurs with a wink, her choice of words momentarily freezing you in place. But as her lips find their way to your neck, any further thoughts dissipate, distracting you from everything else in that electrifying moment. Your hands rest innocently on her hips, massaging her gently as her hips start a slow, gentle rhythm. Tilting your head back, you surrender to her fervor as she traces the length of your throat with her nose, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the way.

Yelena's jacket slips from her shoulders, cascading to the floor, revealing a thin turtleneck that clings to her form. With haste, you lift it up, exposing her flushed chest that’s heaving with her every breath. But before you can bury your face into her soft mounds, the phone rings again, prompting your girlfriend to get off your lap. 

You let out a frustrated curse under your breath, while Yelena giggled, amused at your striking annoyance.

"What is it, Martin?" you answer as calmly as you could while trying to get the image of Yelena’s breast out of your head. 

"Mr. Stark is calling in the managers for an emergency meeting," Martin informs you.

That completely diverts your attention away from a half-naked Yelena panting on your desk. 

“He’s here?”

"Yes, ma'am," Martin confirms.

"Uh, okay. Give me two minutes," you say, ending the call. 

Having overheard the conversation, Yelena quickly retrieves some tissues and proceeds to gently wipe away the lipstick stains she had left on your neck. “Shit, sorry, babe.”

"Don't worry about it," you stammer, still finding it difficult to concentrate amidst your lingering arousal.

“Yeah,” Yelena smiles knowingly. “Maybe another time, then.”

"Would it be more practical if I put that in my calendar?" you suggest, half-jokingly.

Yelena scrunches her nose at the idea of scheduling sex. “Where's the fun in that?” she retorts.

"You're right. I’m a fussy nerd, I know," you admit with a chuckle.

"A sexy nerd," Yelena corrects, planting a full kiss on your lips. "Now, go get 'em, tiger."

She playfully nudges you towards the door, urging you to make your way to the meeting. As you straighten the creases on your skirt, you quickly reassure her, “I'll be back in a few, okay?” There's a hint of worry in your voice, as if you fear she might leave without your knowledge.

Yelena's eyes meet yours, and she gives you a reassuring smile. “I'll be here,” she promises.

As soon as you leave the room, Yelena retrieves her jacket from the floor and tidies her appearance. In an instant, she transforms into the journalist persona that she hasn’t allowed you to see. She had visited you for another purpose today, and the unexpected opportunity that presented itself left her both surprised and eager to fulfill her intentions. 

Call it an instinct or a persistent gut feeling, but Yelena had been on edge since your birthday. A sense of unease had settled within her, accompanied by an unexplained nagging sensation that there’s something she needed to uncover. It feels as though you’ve been keeping a secret from her for quite some time.

Carefully, she rummages through your drawer, cautious to leave things as they are. And then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention—an envelope. It doesn’t look like it belongs there, on top of documents and folders that have the stamp of Stark Industries in them. No, this envelope bears the distinct markings of an infamous law firm. And clearly, you’ve read whatever is inside, considering the gaping tear on the side of the envelope.

With steady hands, she retrieves the envelope, her movements purposeful and precise. Carefully unfolding the letter, her eyes swiftly scan its contents, absorbing the information with speed and accuracy. She knows that time is of the essence, aware that you could return at any moment, leaving her with limited opportunity to delve into its contents.

Yelena slips the letter back in its envelope and returns it to its original position, making sure to arrange it exactly as she found it. Were you going to tell her about this? Would you have asked for her help or her input as your partner? Or would you just go through the tides without her ever knowing? 

Her intuition had been spot-on; there was indeed something to uncover, and it was undeniably connected to your ex-wife.

She promised you she’d be waiting, but if she wants to help you out of your situation, she better get going.

***

Later that same day, Wanda stands behind the sleek espresso machine, a confident smile on her face as she prepares to demonstrate to Peter a coffee technique known as "pour-over brewing". The café is relatively quiet, with only a few customers lingering over their cups of coffee. Valkyrie left just a while ago after enjoying her usual brew. Before leaving, she had presented Wanda with a thoughtful gift—a bag of exotic coffee beans collected during her recent business trip to Cape Town. Valkyrie had hoped to impress Wanda not only with the beans themselves but also by showcasing herself as a renowned photographer. Eager to try them, Wanda saw this as the perfect opportunity to share one of her favorite brewing techniques with Peter.

As Wanda expertly pours hot water over the meticulously arranged coffee grounds, she explains the process. "Pour-over brewing allows us to extract the full flavor from the coffee grounds. It's all about precision and patience. The water must be heated to the right temperature, and the pouring technique should be slow and steady. It results in a clean and nuanced cup of coffee."

Crouching down to bring himself to eye level with the coffee, Peter’s concentration deepens as he poses a question: "So, how can you tell when it's ready?"

“Generally, it takes around two to three minutes for the water to pass through the coffee bed, depending on the desired strength and flavor profile." 

Wanda leans in, pointing out the subtleties of the process. “As you observe the flow of water, pay attention to the color and consistency. The water should form a gentle, controlled stream, evenly saturating the grounds. If it rushes too quickly or seems to pool in one spot, it may be a sign to adjust your pouring technique.”

“Additionally,” Wanda continues, “Watch for the final stages of the pour-over. As the water nears the end of its journey, the drips become slower and more intermittent. This gradual decrease signifies that the process is almost complete.”

With a smile, Peter watches as the coffee brewing process unfolds before his eyes, precisely as Wanda had described. As the last drops fall into the waiting cups, Wanda proceeds to pour the freshly brewed coffee, dividing it between two cups—one for herself and one for Peter to try.

“For the rest of the week, you’ll be covering all the coffee orders, alright?” Wanda says.

Peter nods eagerly in excitement. 

Just as Wanda is about to bring the cup to her lips, the cheerful chime of the café's entrance sounds. Her eyes widen in surprise as she catches sight of the least expected person to walk through the doors of her coffee shop.

Yelena. 

Confusion immediately clouds Wanda's face, but before she can react, Peter takes the initiative to greet their customer. Yelena responds with a faint smile as she approaches the counter, drawing closer to Wanda until they’re standing face to face, finding themselves in a similar situation just a few weeks prior.

“One cup of coffee, please,” Yelena orders meekly, pulling a twenty-dollar bill off her purse.

“Coming right up,” Peter promptly replies, ready to assist, but Wanda interjects.

“I'll get this, Peter. Why don't you attend to the stock for now?” Wanda suggests.

“Certainly, Ms. Max–Wanda,” Peter says and scurries off to the back room, giving the two some space. 

Wanda's smile brims with gratitude as Peter leaves, granting them a moment of privacy. She then shifts her undivided attention to Yelena, whose growing discomfort doesn't go unnoticed, stoking Wanda’s own anxiety about the purpose of her visit.

Pushing aside her inner reservations, Wanda adopts a professional demeanor, masking her own concerns. From this point onward, it’s all business.

"Specifically, what coffee would you like?" she asks.

Yelena shrugs. "Anything, really."

Wanda chuckles softly, appreciating Yelena's laid-back approach. "Alright, then. Would you prefer it hot or iced?"

Yelena raises an eyebrow. "Who drinks cold coffee?"

Wanda's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Actually, many people do. But I have something special for you. I just brewed some off-the-menu grounds from Cape Town. Would you like to try that?"

“Sure. How much?” 

Waving her hand dismissively, she insists, “On the house. It's a gift from a friend anyway.”

It’s met with a quiet nod from Yelena, who slips the twenty dollar bill into the tip jar as a token of appreciation.

“How about something to eat?” Wanda asks.

“I’m good,” Yelena politely declines, shaking her head.

However, the next words that escape Yelena's mouth are anything but polite, catching Wanda off guard. 

“Are you trying to get her back?” 

Wanda almost drops the cup she was in the midst of placing on a tray for Yelena.

Staring at each other, tension lingering palpably before Yelena clears her throat, breaking the moment. She gestures towards a more secluded area of the café. “Should we, uh, talk over there?”

With a hesitant nod, Wanda acquiesces, her thoughts filled with a flicker of doubt about her choice to open a café rather than a bar. At this very moment, she wishes for nothing more than a shot of whisky before having this ‘talk’.

Yelena doesn’t jump back right in after they are seated. Instead, she takes a sip of her coffee, humming pleasantly at the flavor that touches her taste buds.

“How did you find this place?” Wanda asks. How did you know where to find me?

Yelena, unfazed by the question, responds matter-of-factly, “I'm a journalist. Finding out things isn't too hard for me to do.”

"So, are you trying to get her back?" Yelena repeats as her eyes lock on Wanda’s.

Wanda's response is swift and sincere. “I'm not,” she states firmly. If Yelena had asked her that question before the night she nearly died, she would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. But now, she has nothing but respect for your relationship with Yelena, and doesn’t want to come in between the happiness you’ve found with her.

“But you still love her, don’t you?”

Wanda acknowledges her feelings for you in a slow, deliberate nod, seeing no point in denying it.

“I don’t know why you feel the need to ask me this,” Wanda says. "Y/N loves you. She wouldn't be with you if she didn't."

“I know,” Yelena says with conviction. "But that doesn't mean she’s mine completely."

Wanda's eyes narrow, searching for the true intent behind Yelena's words. Does Yelena genuinely believe that? Could there really be a possibility that you still love her?

Wanda swallows dryly. “I–”

Yelena interrupts, her tone heavy with resignation. "You should have just stayed away," she sighs, her gaze shifting downwards, as if the realization dawned on her just a little too late. She didn’t mean to start talking to Wanda about her insecurities, but Yelena couldn’t help but think about the depth of your attachment to this woman the more she looks at her. 

As she gazes at Wanda, she can't help but wonder where your love for Wanda ends and hers begin.

“I am staying away,” Wanda firmly declares, her posture shifting as she straightens her spine in the chair. All of her encounters with you except for the time you were the one to come to her have been purely coincidental–despite how often they happen.

“Except for matters concerning Sparky,” she adds, correcting herself, “He used to be Y/N's dog as well. It was important for her to be informed about what was happening with him.”

“So, you didn't contact her on her birthday?” Yelena probes, watching Wanda intently for anything that would suggest that she might be lying with her answer.

Wanda, to her credit, doesn't even flinch as she replies, “I did.” It’s immediately clear that Yelena has no idea that you ran into her that night. Wanda understands that it is a matter to be discussed between you and your girlfriend, and she has no intention of revealing something that is not hers to disclose. But it’s another question that will definitely consume her thoughts later.

Yelena tightly clenches her jaw, trying to stay calm. She's always trusted you and never invaded your privacy, never checked your messages. But now, she can't help but wonder if she should have been a bit more vigilant.

“I see,” she drawls, and then finishes the last of her coffee. She doesn’t think she wants to know the details of that any further. “You claim that you’re trying to stay away from Y/N, but obviously, you’re not doing such a great job of it.”

Confused, Wanda furrows her brows and asks, "What do you mean?"

Yelena reaches into her purse and retrieves a thumb drive, sliding it in Wanda's direction.

Wanda looks at the curious little device. “What’s this?”

“Before I tell you, there’s something you should know,” Yelena pauses, making sure that Wanda is thoroughly listening before she shares the news. "Victor Shade has just sent Y/N a demand letter for damages related to physical assault."

"V-Vision?" Wanda’s voice trembles as she speaks.

Yelena nods knowingly. "I assume there's only one Victor Shade in your life–"

"He's not in my life." The words escape Wanda's lips with a forcefulness and intensity that surprises them both. “Not anymore.”

A pregnant pause hangs between them, Yelena patiently waiting for Wanda to gather herself as she observes the rapid whirl of thoughts inside her head. 

After a beat, Yelena continues the slew of disclosures. “I assume his decision to exact revenge on Y/N has something to do with you.” 

Wanda's voice rises in defense. “Are you accusing me of conniving with that–”

“No, not exactly,” Yelena says. “He’s a kid who grew up in a wealthy family, never being denied anything in his life. I think his letter was driven by jealousy. All I’m saying is that this could have been avoided if he had not seen you two together.

“Which brings us to that,” Yelena's gaze shifts to the USB device, which sits untouched near Wanda's hands on the table. It's as if Wanda is actively avoiding it, treating it like a dangerous explosive, which in retrospect, could be deemed as such if its contents were ever revealed. 

"Look, I don't have concrete proof of him stalking you, but I believe this is substantial evidence to shake him off balance."

Wanda fixes Yelena with an expectant gaze, her eyes brimming with anticipation.

Yelena lets out a resigned sigh. "Fine, I'll tell you, since you're so patient.”

Wanda resists reacting to the veiled sarcasm, sensing that what Yelena is about to reveal aligns with her worst fears.

“Vision filmed you both having sex,” Yelena states bluntly, not concerned with softening the crude reality of the situation. “I was able to retrieve just one. I don’t know how many there are. And from the way the recording was cut an hour later when you’re already sleeping means you have no idea he was doing this.”

At Wanda's lack of response and the visible dread in her eyes, Yelena decides to speak up again.

“That's an invasion of privacy. In the state of New Jersey, you can send someone to prison for that for up to five years. Now, it’s up to you to decide what to do with this information.

“I know you care about Y/N, “ Yelena takes a deep breath, as if that fact physically hurts too much for her to accept in light of things. “I know you’ll do everything to help her in this situation.”

“How much is he asking from Y/N?” Wanda mumbles after a long time. 

“More than $800,000 in damages.”

“Jesus,” Wanda gasps at the amount, instinctively bringing her hands up to her face, covering her eyes and burying her features in her palms. Although insurance might cover it, it’s still potentially crippling. Determined to figure this out, she finally picks up the USB from the table and secures it inside her pocket. 

“How did you find out all of this? And how did you even get this video?” Wanda inquires curiously.

“I don’t reveal my sources.” Yelena replies with a smile, leaving Wanda suspicious about the legality of her methods. And equally suspicious of Yelena’s intentions, Wanda asks, “Why are you helping me?”

Yelena's snort breaks through, a genuine expression of glee that surprises Wanda. "I'm not. I'm doing all of this for Y/N."

"Fair enough. But why approach me then? You could have immediately gone to Y/N about this, even shown her the video?” Logically, it would be a strategic move for Yelena. Witnessing the gritty details of Wanda’s cheating would undoubtedly reignite the grievances in your heart. And she’d never have to worry about you going back to Wanda ever again. 

The look that Yelena throws at her is a mix of pity and disgust. “I’d never intentionally hurt Y/N. I came to you because it's your responsibility to fix this mess. It's the least you could do for all the pain you've caused her.”

With those words hanging in the air, Yelena rises from her seat. Casting one final glance at Wanda, she adds, "If you think I’d resort to dirty tricks just to keep Y/N, then you really have no idea how to love her in the first place.”

***

“You have no idea how happy I was when you said you wanted to see me.”

Vision smiles at Wanda as her gaze unwillingly falls upon him, her body trembling with a fury she never realized existed within her. The moment Yelena left her café, Wanda wasted no time in reaching out to Vision, and he promptly answered her call, as if he had been eagerly anticipating that very moment all along. She had chosen a crowded restaurant, in one of the busiest streets in Manhattan near Town Square, seeking safety in the presence of a man she knew deep down couldn't be trusted.

"I didn't want to. I had to," Wanda admits sharply, crossing her arms in front of her. "I thought we had an agreement. That you would stay away from Y/N. And your idea of that is extorting money from her?"

“My circumstances have changed,” Vision argues, sounding almost remorseful. “My dad decided to cut me off, and I can no longer fund my move to Tokyo to pursue my film studies.” 

Vision searches Wanda’s face, hoping to see a reaction, but she remains indifferent to his news of departure, seemingly unaffected by what's happening in his life.

“That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Wanda says spitefully. And then she sighs in defeat. “If I give you the money, will you–”

"I don't want the money from you," Vision declares, placing his fork down with a loud noise. "She did put me into a coma–”

“Because we fucking drove her to it!” Wanda screams her frustration. The outburst attracts the attention of others in the restaurant, and Wanda looks around apologetically before sinking back into her chair with a sigh.

“The assault happened and I can prove it in court if it ever comes to it.” he says after Wanda has grown quiet.

“You’re not going to prove anything because you’re going to retract that letter and you’re going to leave her alone just like you promised.” Wanda’s words carry a sense of finality, as if there is no other option for Vision.

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore–”

“I can,” Wanda says with a bout of confidence. "Otherwise, you're looking at up to five years in prison for filming me without my consent."

It takes Vision a moment to grasp the meaning behind Wanda's words, and Wanda takes pleasure in observing the color drain from his face. 

“You hacked into my stuff?” he stammers in disbelief.

“You fucking filmed me,” Wanda reiterates, as they both remain fixated on their respective grievances. “I can’t believe I ever trusted you. I’ve never felt so betrayed and disgusted with myself as I do now.”

“How did you get the file?” he asks.

“I don’t reveal my sources,” Wanda says, echoing Yelena’s statement from earlier.

He locks eyes with Wanda, attempting to gauge if she's bluffing, but Wanda remains resolute, maintaining a stoic expression. Then, a small laugh escapes him, shaking his head as if the situation is nothing more than a joke. Wanda fumes as she takes a sip of her water and sets it back down heavy-handedly.

“Here’s the thing,” Vision casually signals for the waiter to refill his wine. “We’re all backed into a corner. If you use that against me, she'll find out, and it will only fuel her hatred towards you. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

Wanda hesitates, her lips parting with uncertainty before closing them in a swift decision. It's a high-stakes gamble, an all-or-nothing move that reveals the vulnerable hand she holds.

You really have no idea how to love her in the first place. She doesn’t exactly know what Yelena meant by that, nevertheless, it makes her doubt her ability to love you properly. She wishes there was a manual that she could read from cover-to-cover until the pages are worn from countless readings. All Wanda can do is prove that she can; even though loving you is the one thing she wants to get right, but has failed multiple times.

“You don’t get to question me about what I’m willing to risk.” she says as she stands up to leave.

Vision calmly wipes his mouth with a table napkin. “Then I guess we’ll just have to find out what Y/N’s next move is.” 

***

Standing on the balcony of your high-rise Manhattan apartment, the view from up here is breathtaking.

The city below pulsates with vibrant energy, resembling a living organism with a heartbeat all its own. Its grandeur is reminiscent of the landscapes that once inspired poets and artists in centuries past. However, the awe-inspiring scenery does little to quell the turmoil raging within you, as you grapple with the decision of whether to pick up the phone and call Wanda or let the silence linger.

You haven't told Yelena about the demand letter that you received from Vision’s law firm yesterday. You want to protect her from getting involved in the convoluted aftermath of Wanda's cheating, which evidently still affects you like aftershocks from an earthquake. You tell yourself that you will let her know, in time, when you figure out what to do. 

With Wanda, there's a strong likelihood that she is already caught in the midst of this storm. You vividly recall the last encounter with Vision, his demeanor exuding a sense of power, as if he held the ability to dismantle your life in a single moment. He subtly implied that it was solely Wanda who prevented him from doing so. 

You wonder if Wanda’s aware that Vision has carried out his plans for revenge; she needed to stop protecting you from him. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself and accepting the repercussions of your own choices and actions. 

As you deliberate on what to say to Wanda when you eventually call her, the sound of your building lobby intercom blares through the living room. The voice on the other end informs you, "Ms. Y/L/N? A certain Wanda Maximoff here would like to see you. Shall I allow her in?"

Your heart skips a beat and you press the button for you to speak. "Please, thank you.”

There’s the answer to one of your questions–Wanda probably knows about Vision’s stipulation  regarding the substantial sum of almost a million dollars.

It’s a few minutes of waiting before you hear the doorbell ring.

You open the door to find a visibly fatigued Wanda standing timidly before you. Dark circles under her eyes and a certain gauntness in her cheeks catch your attention, details that you may not have noticed before due to her naturally pronounced cheekbones that give her a sharp, distinct look. 

"I should've called," Wanda says, offering a thin smile as you welcome her inside. "But my feet were already bringing me here before I even thought about it."

"It's no problem at all. Would you like some water or something to drink? I have kombucha, tea... There's also a French Cab breathing in the kitchen, though I know it's quite early."

"I think I'll go for a glass of wine," Wanda replies.

"Coming right up," you say with a warm, good-natured smile, playfully mimicking Wanda's typical line in her own café.

“Is Yelena around?” Wanda asks as she nervously takes in her surroundings.

“She’s working,” you reply as you trudge towards the kitchen.

Left on her own, Wanda perches awkwardly on one end of the couch, her eyes scanning your quaint living room. She can discern the details that reflect your personality, but it doesn’t appease the fact that she has never felt more like an outsider in your life.

"Here," Wanda hears you say from behind her. She turns her head to find you giving the wine glass a gentle swirl, observing as the liquid moves about slowly and clings to the sides—a clear indicator of its high alcohol content. Bringing the glass to your nose, you take a whiff, seemingly enticed by its aroma. Finally, you extend the glass towards Wanda, offering it to her.

Wanda takes a sip–it’s rich and heavy, and the warmth it brings immediately spreads to her chest, instantly soothing her.

You look at her expectantly, choosing to sit on the opposite end. Seeing how worried she looks, you feel that she might finish her glass before she could utter a single word about what she came here for. 

Deciding to help her out, you break the silence first. 

“I take it you know about Vision’s demand letter,” you start, running your fingertip along the rim of your own wine glass. “It’s what you came here for right?”

Wanda nods and then raises the glass to her lips once more, taking another sip until she empties its contents. A small dribble of red liquid escapes from the corner of her mouth, which she promptly wipes with her thumb.

“What are you going to do?” Wanda asks, somber eyes fixed on her lap. Guilt weighs heavily on her, feeling like she brought this on you–which, in hindsight, she probably did. 

As Wanda wrestles with her own feelings of culpability, she hears Calliope's voice echoing in her mind. “You can’t shoulder all the blame, Wanda,” she told her. “It just leaves you lonely and stuck in a situation you have no control of.” 

Control is an illusion, Wanda reminds herself.

“I already set an appointment with my own lawyer. She’s going to go over the figures so we can renegotiate.”

It’s not at all what Wanda is expecting.

“You’re paying him off?” she asks, gaping at you openly for a moment.

"I did send him to the hospital. For quite a while actually," you admit, blinking slowly. "And if he had never woken up, I could very well be in prison right now."

As Wanda struggles with lingering guilt, you find yourself unable to deny the truth either and it weighs heavily on you. Frankly, you see no other way around this. Evading the consequences of letting your anger overwhelm you to the point of potential homicide is no longer a viable option.

You can see Wanda struggling with your decision, and you bitterly think that it’s too late for her to protect you in any way. She’s inflicted her own damage; and the consequence for her is watching the implications of it unravel before her.

“I–I have another way,” Wanda says.

Arching an eyebrow, you’re torn between curiosity and doubt. Wanda is aching for another glass of wine, but she has been consciously limiting her alcohol consumption lately. She doesn't want to repeat the countless occasions where she has either blacked out or come close to it.

“Wanda, stop,” you say, your voice gentle. “I don't want to know. I need closure. I need to get it in the right way, not through shortcuts. Please, don't protect me from this.”

Wanda’s eyes close on their own accord at your mention of the word ‘closure’. Does that closure include her?

“Just hear me out, please,” she implores with urgency. “There’s… there’s something he did that you can bring up with the law as well. And Vision has no proof that you were ever in his apartment, right? So if it comes to it, he really can’t prove that you’re the one who attacked him.”

Wanda looks pale even as she speaks with a kind of preternatural calm that you recognize only comes out when Wanda has come to terms with something. You lean back on the arm rest with an expectant look.

“He recorded us having… having the affair,” The words wrench themselves out of Wanda’s mouth and it takes a while for them to sink into your brain; when they do, you quickly look away, wishing you had instructed the concierge to deny Wanda's request to see you earlier. 

You make a conscious effort to rein in your emotions, particularly the anger that wells up inside you. Wanda's infidelity is something you have learned to cope with long ago. But to discover that it can be substantiated with moving pictures and sounds leaves you grappling for answers.

“Did you know?” you ask steadily–while you can. “Did you know you were being recorded?”

Wanda can’t read the emotion behind your words as she shakes her head no. 

Wanda inches closer to you, until your legs are almost touching. With utmost care, she takes hold of one of your hands and places a flash drive in your palm, closing your fingers around it. Your instinctive response is to maintain a firm grip, clenching your fist tightly around the drive.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she whispers. "If it wasn't for... for what I did, you’d be... we’d be..." Wanda's voice trails off as tears well up in the corners of her eyes, which she hastily wipes away.

Your own eyes moisten at the sight of her, but you manage to hold onto your rage to keep yourself from shattering altogether.

“I'm sorry he's resorting to this,” she continues, her gaze fixed on your clenched fist. “I'm sorry that this exists,” she adds, acknowledging the evidence of her betrayal in your hand. “I’d take it all back if I could.”

You feel the bandaid being ripped off the same wound that refuses to heal. 

How deep does this go and where does it end?

Wanda's breath hitches, her struggle to hold back a sob. You impulsively attempt to create some distance, a physical retreat. Yet, as you lean back, the solid presence of the armrest behind you seems to trap you in a greater sense–of simultaneously wanting Wanda close and wanting her as far away from you as possible.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife | @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (5/?)

Chapter summary: The "calm" before the storm. Wanda’s tentative friendship with you is off to a good start

Chapter word count: 5.4k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader (heavy on this chapter)

Notes: don't need to squint for fluff in this one, also kind of a filler before we get to the much dreaded part 6

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next Chapter: Six

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez

-

Five

Wanda’s tentative friendship with you is off to a good start. There’s a silly smile on her face as she puts the harness on Sparky; and the energetic pupper struggles only slightly when Wanda coos at him.

“We’re going to see Y/N,” Wanda says, and Sparky wags his tail hard at the mention of your name. “Who’s an excited little boy?” 

She proceeds to hook the leash on the harness and then temporarily secure the hand loop around the doorknob. 

“Stay there while mommy puts on makeup.” Wanda commands and feeds him a treat from her hand. 

Wanda studies herself in front of the mirror. It’s a problem putting on the liquid foundation because she can’t stop smiling, the product caking along her laugh lines as a result.The last time she was drunk on happiness was when she got that job at the art gallery and you surprised her by taking her to a romantic dinner cruise around the island. While there, you both mapped out the plan for her to eventually be the senior art curator–a position that eventually went to Agatha Harkness. Wanda had been bold to give herself only two years to work her way to the top, and it wasn’t purely of her own accord. It was being with you that she felt she could dream anything. It was you that removed all her fears and doubts. 

If anything happens, let them happen, she thought to herself. As long as she had you, the rest was just confetti. 

It didn’t mean that Wanda’s ambition and everything else outside of you were just background noise; it only meant she knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she failed.

Wanda ends up just applying a bit of lip gloss on her lips, recalling how often you used to tell that you prefer her more natural look. 

Her phone buzzes with a notification. Wanda unlocks it to find a text from Pietro, who she asked to man the cafe until afternoon.

You owe me a free batch of those macadamia cookies for this. - P

I’ll bake all the cookies you want for a discount. - W

Thank you for doing this. - W

Agatha agreed to help in the morning. - P

You text with Agatha??? - W

:p - P

Please don’t flirt in front of my customers. - W

No promises. Enjoy your date with Y/N. - P

Wanda grins from ear-to-ear. 

It’s not a date. - W 

You wish it was. - P

Wanda chooses not to answer that and slips her phone back in her purse. Then she turns to Sparky who’s been fiercely watching her all this time. 

“Ready to go, bud?”

–

“You look nice.” 

It’s offhandedly delivered after you take the reins on Sparky, yet the speed at which she blushes from the compliment is almost embarrassing. Like always, she makes it a point to look good for you. 

You and Wanda chose to meet at the Conservatory Garden in Central park, taking advantage of the spring weather. Its main path is littered with trees and benches, and an overall perfect spot for people watching. Sparky was the first to spot you, and he started barking the second he picked up your scent and ran towards your direction, dragging Wanda along with his leash. Tears almost fell from her eyes when she watched your touching reunion. You fell to your knees to gather Sparky in your arms, while he made sure to lick every part of your face. 

“I missed you too, bud.” Wanda heard you whisper over the back of Sparky’s furry head. Sparky made a whining noise, and you knew he understood.

“I was surprised you’re available on a Wednesday,” you say. You and Wanda are strolling side by side, Sparky in tow, moving in circles around you and occasionally around Wanda too. 

“Pietro covered for me.”

“I didn’t know he could bake or make good coffee for that matter.” you say with a light chuckle.

“I baked everything in advance this morning, so all he has to do is take care of the register. Also, he’s caffeine dependent and very particular about his coffee, so he already knows how to make the ones on the menu.”

Though, what Wanda really wants you to know is that she woke up at 3AM just to be able to walk Sparky together.

You raise your eyebrows, half-impressed and half-skeptic. “I’m curious if he’d make them as good as yours. I mean, you make pretty darn good coffee.” 

Wanda bites her tongue to maintain her neutral expression. Another compliment. She wonders how many more she can squeeze out of you. The reality is she’s a nervous ball of energy. Worse than College Wanda was nervous when she first realized her feelings for you.

“Thanks, Y/N. It means a lot, coming from you.”

“Aren’t you worried I’m just being biased?” you quip with a devious smirk. Wanda feels a strong urge to wipe it away with her lips. “After all, you did train my tongue to like your cooking.”

“I did not!” Wanda passionately protests, blushing when her mind wanders to what else she trained your tongue to do in the past. 

You surprise her by letting loose a laugh; a real one, blissful and unrestrained; playfully challenging her with a, “Then explain why I love overcooked chicken.”

Wanda’s still thinking of a smart comeback, when your ringtone goes off in your pocket. 

“Excuse me, I should take this.” you say, handing back the leash to Wanda.

“Hey, stranger,” you happily receive the call, and Wanda curiously watches you from the corner of her eyes.

“This Friday? Yeah. Aside from dinner…? No, I don’t think I have anything else planned.” 

Plans this Friday? Wanda muses, trying to figure out if said plans are platonic or not. The thing is, she can’t tell with the tone of your voice alone. 

“I’m a Knicks fan, yes,” you confirm something Wanda already knows. “You cheer for Brooklyn? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

You only talk that way to your best friend. Were you talking to Natasha?

“A long time fan, huh? So you’re saying you’ve been rooting for New Jersey all this time,” you laugh. “Nope, you can’t take that back cause I’m recording this call.”

The cheeky way you’re addressing this person is not sitting well with Wanda. Sparky comes up to Wanda and jumps at her, poking her knee with his paw. 

“Not now, Sparks.” Wanda hisses at him the way someone would scold a child.

“Count me in. How much does the ticket cost? What? I can’t let you do that… Fine, popcorn’s on me then. Uh, huh. We’ll see about that. Simmons is not who he used to be. Alright, we’ll continue this in the game. Yes, you have me for the whole night, I promise,” you say, your mouth splitting into an amused grin. 

Wanda’s head cranes towards you, no longer bothering to pretend she’s not eavesdropping. You catch Wanda’s green orbs and lower your voice as you end the conversation with, “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll see you. Bye.”

“That was Yelena,” you say after tucking away your phone. “Natasha’s sister. I think Nat’s mentioned her to you.”

“Natasha doesn’t talk to me.” Wanda says, keeping her tone light.

You gawk at her. “That’s insane. Of course, she does. I mean not now, because of, you know, what happened.”

“No, she doesn’t. Whenever the three of us are together, we talk to you.”

You hum in confusion, your mind drifting through countless dinners the three of you shared in the past. You suppose Wanda’s claim had basis; Natasha’s seems more reserved in Wanda’s presence.

“Well, I–maybe you heard about her from me?”

“I just know that Natasha has a sister. I never knew her name, though.”

“Ah,” you say, face warming up and sweat gathering around your upper lip. The heat of the sun is at its peak, making you feel incredibly hot. “I thought I'd mentioned her before.”

“So, Yelena,” Wanda starts, wanting to know more about this person despite the pang of jealousy that has crept into her chest. “What’s her story?” 

What’s on Friday? Why does she have you for the whole night?

You stop and sit on one of the benches. Wanda follows and plops next to you, leaving just a few inches of space between your bodies. Sparky immediately stands on his hindlegs, trying to jump into your lap. With care, you scoop him up into your arms and cradle him like a baby. 

“She’s Natasha’s sister.” You dumbly repeat, not really knowing where you should start telling your ex-wife about the woman who just asked you out on a date. 

“You said that already.” Wanda says; though she manages a smile that’s convincing enough, her tone is clipped and rather distasteful. 

“What do you want to know?”.

Wanda looks pensive for a moment, before she says, “How come I’m only hearing about her now?”

“She flew to England right before freshman year and then we lost contact right away.” you say.

“And when did she get back?” 

Your eyes flit away from her for a moment. “Two years ago.”

“You’re saying you’ve been friends again for the last two years?”

You refuse to let it bother you that she’s obviously jealous even though she has no right to be. 

Sighing, you say, “Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“I’m just curious.” Wanda shrugs, scratching Sparky in the area near his tail. He seemingly looks like he’s fallen asleep on you, but his tail still wags at Wanda’s attention. 

“Were you?” Wanda prods. “Were you in touch with her in the last two years?”

For a while you don’t say anything. The thing is, you could lie. You don’t owe Wanda anything anymore. But with Wanda’s line of questioning, it's like she’s almost trying to assert herself and redefine history; perhaps even make it seem like you weren’t so innocent in all of this after all. 

Except you were innocent. You never flirted with the idea of other people. Not even that time you ran into the other great love of your life. So with confidence, you tell Wanda the truth. 

“We ran into each other five or six months ago. But we recently just reconnected again.” you say. 

Wanda does the math in her head. 

Oh.

“You didn’t mention that when we–that was before we–”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” you say coolly, your patience wearing thin. “It happened that day you asked me to retrieve a painting from Agatha.”

It’s Wanda’s turn to be speechless. Though you never talked about what really went on that Tuesday afternoon when you clobbered Vision with a vase, Wanda had an inkling that you had something to do with the missing paintings in his room: the one he was working on for his final project and the one she gave him. 

It’s still a sour topic; seeing the way your jaw hardens at the mention of the paintings. Wanda backpedals, reeling in the possessiveness she still feels towards you. 

“I see…” she trails off. 

Badly, she wants to know more about this Yelena, but she’s afraid that she might push you too hard for answers; answers that you don’t have to provide in the first place. Wanda feels somewhat ashamed of having taken advantage of your kindness (yet, again) to get what she wants. 

But where does she draw the line? 

Wanda wanted you still. She needed to know if there were other people in your life competing for the same thing. She couldn’t just stand meekly in the corner and watch you fall in love with someone new. 

“Sparky looks chunkier. Is he chunkier?” you say all of a sudden, rubbing his belly.

Wanda is more than grateful for the change in topic.

“He is. He gained five pounds last time I checked.” she says, smiling fondly at the scene before her.

“So he’s basically happy without me?” you ask, more relieved than downhearted by the fact.

Wanda shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe he’s just eating his feelings, you know? Like I sometimes would.”

You cast a funny look at Wanda. “That sounds implausible.”

Wanda’s laugh fills the air with its melodic resonance. “Why don’t you find out? Take him from me for the weekend. See if he’ll miss me enough to gain a few more.”

It must be so blatant how she’s trying you get you to see her again so soon after today. Though it doesn’t seem like you noticed. 

“This weekend?” You pause to think about your schedule despite having all the time in the world to do absolutely nothing. Aside from cleaning up the apartment and doing laundry as part of your Saturday routine, you’ve been wanting to visit your mother in Montauk. 

It definitely wouldn’t be a problem if you take Sparky with you.

“Sure, why not?” you say. 

“Great,” Wanda beams at you. “I’ll drop him off at your apartment before I open the shop?” she inquires softly, hoping she could get your address.

“Sounds good. Did I already give you my address?”

Wanda does a little victory dance in her head. “You haven’t.” 

You text her the details right away. 

“Listen, do you want to have lunch before I go?” you ask, getting up and putting Spark back on his feet. “And thank you for this time with Sparky.”

“No problem.” 

You’re still ridiculously polite. Still kind. 

Still her Y/N.

-

“You’re late.” Pietro grumbles as soon as Wanda arrives at the cafe. 

He has an overly-complicated coffee order waiting, and two customers waiting for their food orders. Agatha has already left two hours ago.

Wanda shrugs her shoulders, placing the eco bags she’s carrying in both hands on the counter. “I went to the grocery store to buy some supplies.” 

Pietro mutely hands Wanda her apron and she quickly starts working the espresso machine. 

“How did your date go?”

Wanda doesn’t bother to correct him this time. 

“It was okay.” 

Pietro doesn’t look convinced at the very least. “That’s it?”

“We walked Sparky and had lunch.” comes Wanda’s nonchalant reply.

“Ah, lunch,” Pietro flashes a leering smile at his clearly smitten sister. “Were you the one to ask her?”

Wanda grins with a dazed look. “Nope.”

“Congrats, sis. You’re on your way to getting back with your ex-wife. Which, if I may add, was your plan all along even when you agreed to a divorce in the first place.”

On any other day, Pietro’s sarcastic humor would normally push her buttons in a snap, but right now Wanda couldn’t care less if she tries. The memory of her time with you and the scent of your perfume is still fresh. There’s nothing that could ruin her perfect day. 

The door chime sings to signify the arrival of a customer. Wanda quickly draws a simple latte art on a coffee order, and then proceeds to serve it to the customer by the window. Her eyes briefly brushes the customer who just came in, and is taken aback when she finds the woman staring at her expectantly.

Wanda carefully places the mug on the table for her other customer, before very quickly fixing her hair to greet the new arrival.

“Hi, welcome to Second Chances. Dine-in or take-out?”

“I’m here to get Pietro.” The woman says with a bored expression. 

Wanda grits her teeth. Her brother really knows how to choose them. “And you are?” 

“Shannon,” she drawls. “His fiancé.” 

“His what? I mean, that’s–” Wanda is stunned beyond belief, and looks over at Pietro who’s pointedly trying to avoid her gaze. “–amazing news. Congratulations.”

“He proposed months ago.” Shannon deadpans, like she’s used to Pietro’s people not knowing he has a fiancé or a girlfriend for that matter.

“He didn’t tell me.” Wanda says.

Shannon doesn’t acknowledge that information. Instead, she says, “Nice little cafe you have here.”

“Thanks.”

“Though the Spanish Latte needs more sugar. I had it earlier this morning.”

Wanda has to ball her fist to refrain from using them on this woman.

“Actually, we have a suggestion box.” Wanda says, gesturing to the aforementioned box by the counter, designed to look like a mini treasure chest. “If you could write it down, we’ll get to it as soon as we can.”

Shannon forces a smile that’s undeniably fake, possibly for lack of trying. 

Pietro approaches them slowly, his rounded eyes reminding Wanda of a wounded puppy. 

“Hey, babe,” Pietro mumbles and pecks Shannon on the lips. “I’m ready to go. Let me just change, okay?��

“Five minutes.” Shannon prompts in a stern voice. 

At this point, Wanda would rather see Pietro flirting with Agatha than have to watch him be pushed around by this woman with his tail between his legs. A barrage of questions run through her mind, starting with why her brother is marrying this bitch.

“You’re wondering why he’s marrying someone like me.” Shannon says wryly. 

“You read minds?” Wanda tries to joke. 

Shannon isn’t having it. “It’s a mystery. I, myself, am wondering why I’m still hell-bent on marrying him.”

Wanda tilts her head at her with a quizzical look. 

“Oh, you don’t know.” Shannon’s laugh is devoid of humor of any kind. 

“Know what?”

“I caught your brother in bed with different women… more times than I can count with one hand.” Shannon explains so casually like she could have just been talking about the weather.

“And I still won’t quit him.” she adds as an afterthought.

“If you’re telling me this because you think I can talk some sense into him–”

“I don’t expect you to do that.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” Wanda asks, no longer holding back her ire.

“Pietro told me what happened with you and your ex.”

“He had no business telling you that.” Wanda says through bared teeth.

Shannon looks unnerved by the evident irritation of her future sister-in-law, and says, “He’s your brother and we do run out of things to talk about.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

Shannon drops her gaze to the floor in thought, before they flit up back to Wanda’s eyes which have narrowed into slits. 

“Pietro cares about you. The reason he refuses to go back to LA is because he’s worried about you. I just want to give you something to think about that might help all of us.”

Wanda says nothing and merely waits with her hands on her hips. She already doesn’t trust whatever piece of advice she’s going to hear from this stranger. 

“Love is forgiveness. If your ex couldn’t forgive you for straying once, then you’re better off with someone else who will accept you for your mistakes. Because believe me, you’ll never run out of them.”

Wanda’s anger slowly ebbs away until all that’s left is bafflement at the insinuation that you’re not good enough for her. 

That you’re not worth it. That she’s stupid to chase a love that should overcome anything including infidelity. 

“And you’re that person for my brother?” Wanda says, smiling in contempt. 

Shannon lifts her chin. No, she wouldn’t go as far as verbally claim it, but the Alpha behavior more than proves that she thinks so highly of her capability to love. Wanda feels an overwhelming urge to throw this woman out. Instead, she turns her back on Shannon to stalk towards the staff room where Pietro is changing. 

“I don’t like her.” Wanda states as soon as the door swings open, expecting a half-naked Pietro. 

He’s cross-legged on the floor, watching YouTube videos on his phone.

“Which is why you’ve never met her. And before you say anything, I did try very hard to keep it that way. It’s not my fault that you came back so late.”

“What do you see in her, Piet? You haven’t eloped, right? You can still get out of this.”

Pietro shrugs his broad shoulders; shoulders that would have taken him to superstardom, if not for the series of injuries that plagued his short career. 

“Look at me,” Pietro says in a languid manner. “I’m a fuck up, Wands. I’ll always be a fuck up. It’s in my nature. And she loves me anyway. Maybe I just want someone who will always have my back no matter what.”

“That’s not love. That’s codependency, you idiot.”

“No offense, sis. But it’s not like you have the moral high ground to lecture me about relationships.”

Wanda’s lips press together into a hard line at the proverbial mirror in front of her. They were both fuck ups. The only difference is one of them has already embraced it with open arms. 

After a beat, Wanda asks, “Are you, at least, happy?”

Pietro considers it for a moment, before saying, “She’s not so bad once you get to know her.”

-

The Knicks versus Nets game is starting in thirty minutes, and the thick crowd is scrambling to get their pre-game ritual done; long lines in the restroom, the merchandise stores and the snack bars, fans taking group photos in-front of giant cutouts of NBA players. You stand in the middle of it all, a giant bag of popcorn in each of your arms, when Yelena shows up alone at the assigned gate for your seats. 

Her blonde hair is up in a tight bun, with just a few stray strands falling in front of her eyes. She’s wearing considerably less makeup than she wore in the club, which you think makes her even more beautiful.

Not that your preference has anything to do with how Yelena presents herself, and you certainly wouldn’t let her know that. 

“Where are your friends?” you ask, eyes darting everywhere behind her.. 

“They canceled at the last minute. Kate got called on an assignment.” Yelena says with a huff.

“What a waste.” 

“Kate sponsored the tickets and she doesn’t mind. It’s just her change.” 

“Kate, huh?” you teasingly look at Yelena.

“Really, Y/N?” Yelena mutters, feigning offense. “You’re breaking my heart, you know? I said I like you. Don’t pawn me off to someone else.”

Your cheeks warm at her directness. 

“Shit, sorry. You’re right. I was being a jerk.”

“You were.”

You offer her one of your priced popcorn. “Will this make it better?” you ask, lower lip jutting out into what you hope is an adorable pout. 

Yelena takes your peace offering and then candidly says, “Fine. But stop being so cute or you’re going to regret it.”

You flush even further and feel a jolt deep in the pit of your stomach. 

Somehow, the game is the last thing on your mind right now.

-

The Knicks are down ten at the half, and Yelena’s trash talk isn’t letting up anytime soon. You’re on your third bottle of beer, and the intimacy of how Yelena is half-leaning on your side, her weight solid against your own body, is keeping you tethered more than anything. 

You positively look like a couple, despite the fact that neither of you has acknowledged that this has turned into a date. 

“Wanna bet on how many bricks your team will make in the second half?” Yelena goads with a self-satisfied smirk.

“They’ll find their shooting, you’ll see.” you say with a toothy grin, unfazed. Truthfully, the games’ outcome is the farthest of your concerns now that Yelena’s fingers are inching towards your lap as she shares an anecdote about her workmates. She tells the story rather animatedly, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the girl you practically grew up with. 

Towards the end of Yelena’s story, the crowd around you goes wild. You look up to see the kiss cam land on you and Yelena. 

You both shake your head in refusal, gazing up at yourselves on the huge monitor in the middle of the arena. People start booing at the two of you, and as a consolation, you put your arm around Yelena’s shoulders and kiss her on the forehead. It’s enough to pacify the crowd and the kiss cam moves on to another couple who gamely makes out in front of everyone.

When the moment passes, you suddenly realize what you’ve just done. The line has been dangerously toed, and you sheepishly retract your arm the same time Yelena straightens her posture.

“I’m s–”

“Don’t,” Yelena stops you before you could utter an apology. “I wanted to kiss you, but I was worried about overstepping any boundaries.” 

“Nat won’t be happy about this.” you murmur, still keeping a respectable distance. 

“For once, don’t think about what other people want. Think about what you want.”

The remaining two quarters is not enough to think just that. 

-

You see Yelena off to her apartment after the game. Sharing a ride is cheaper, since your own apartment is less than thirty minutes away by foot. 

“...and that’s how Kate and I met,” Yelena concludes after a minute-long summary of how she ended up crashing with her current bestfriend. “Why do I feel like I’ve been talking too much about myself for the last hour?”

“There’s more than a decade of stuff for us to catch up on,” you say, feeling a bit regretful about the time that has passed of not being in each other’s life. “There’s a lot I don’t know about this new you.”

“What “new” me? It doesn’t feel like I’ve changed too much.”

“You have,” you say. “But you’re different in a good way. I like both Yelenas.”

Yelena ducks her head. “You’ve changed as well. But judging from how much fun we had in each other’s company, I say the important bits of us remained the same.” she says.

Your eyes sweep over her. She’s right. She’s just Yelena, Natasha’s younger sister and your first love. Beneath the changes that had accumulated over the years, your soul still recognizes her soul.  

“I had a really great time.” you say before you both turn the corner to her place. 

Through the remainder of the distance to her apartment, your pace slows down to a crawl. It’s a familiar ritual: the walk to her doorstep, fishing out for keys, playing for a while with those keys, an exchange of awkward smiles, and then–

The pinnacle of a first date, where the magic happens.

Yelena shuffles her feet, fiddling with her keychain. “This is a date, right?”

You swallow dryly. “Yelena–”

“If you mention my sister’s name again, I might have to strangle you.” 

“It’s not just Nat,” Out of habit, you thoughtlessly reach for your left ring finger to play with the wedding band that is no longer there. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Yelena. 

“Is it Wanda?” Yelena crosses her arms in a slightly defensive stance. “Are you still in love with her?”

The question has been plaguing you long before Yelena drew it out in the open. 

Shaking your head, you lean in and kiss her. 

-

The next morning, Wanda’s at your door at exactly six. She texted you thirty minutes ago to inform you that she’s on her way but received no reply. Now she’s worried that she might wake some of your neighbors with her forceful knocks. If not, then Sparky’s yelps certainly would.

It takes a few more seconds before she hears your familiar footsteps on the other side of the door. The door swings open and Wanda’s heart skips a beat at the sight of you; in your pajamas; hair messy from sleep; fabric marks on the left side of your face, indicating that you still sleep on your side in the direction of where Wanda used to be when she slept next to you. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” Wanda can’t help how quickly her smile reaches her eyes.

“Wanda? What are you doing here?” you mumble, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes. 

Wanda frowns. Did you forget?

Sparky takes it upon himself to remind you with a small whine as he lifts his paw to scratch at your leg.  

You look down to find him with his tail a blur, wagging from side to side, and it automatically puts a lazy smile on your lips. “Hey, buddy!” 

“You agreed to take him for the weekend.” Wanda says slowly, gauging your reaction. “But if the plan has changed, then–”

Your eyes widen when, at last, the realization sinks in. “No. Sorry. I just lost track of time. I didn’t know it’s Saturday already. I still want to take him.” you say, flushing in embarrassment.

“Great,” Wanda breathes out, and then motioning inside your apartment, says, “Can I, uhm, use the toilet before I–” 

“Of course!” you exclaim, opening the door wider to let her in. “Sorry, I’m still out of sorts.”

“Rough night?”

“Hmm,” You hum pleasantly. “Something like that. The bathroom’s that way.” 

Wanda doesn’t miss your little indulgement in reminiscing last night’s affairs. Definitely not ‘something like that’. She heads to the bathroom with Sparky following behind her. He curls on the floor as he waits for Wanda to finish her business.

“Do you want some coffee? Or maybe not coffee. I have…” you yell out, searching the fridge. “Beer and soda.”

“Water is fine.” Wanda says as she approaches the kitchen. 

She picks a chair that’s nearest to the counter where you’re busy making coffee and pouring Wanda a glass of water. 

Wanda surveys your new home. The lack of decor and the monochromatic paint job screams Natasha; the best friend who’s attached to your hip, but is obviously not present at the moment.

“Where’s Natasha?” you hear Wanda ask.

You think whether or not you should disclose the news about Natasha. You figure it’s not necessary anymore for Wanda to keep tabs on your friends. “She’s visiting a family member upstate.”

“Oh, I didn’t know she had family,” Wanda states, feeling a little silly. Natasha’s an important person in your life, and this is the kind of information she’s supposed to know already. 

“It’s good she’s spending time with them.” she adds.

“Yeah.” you mumble, feeling remorseful about the little lie. “Made me think of mom. I’m actually heading to Montauk later. I’m taking Sparky there if that’s okay with you?”

Wanda gives an enthusiastic nod. “Just don’t forget to pack some water on the trip.”

“And some healthy treats too, I know. I’ve got it, Sparky’s Mom.” you say with a quiet chuckle as you bring over a tray of water and two large mugs of black coffee.

Wanda rolls her eyes at the nickname, secretly elated.

“It’s like we’re co-parenting him.” she blurts out without thinking. 

By the look on your face, the idea of it hits you in a different way. 

“Is…that what we’re doing here?” you say, only half-teasing. 

“I’m not insinuating anything. It’s just somewhat comparable if you think about it.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and it drives Wanda on the edge. 

“I know I’m the one who wanted kids, but I’m glad we didn’t have them when it happened.” you say, and it surprises Wanda beyond anything–the trivial way in which you said it.

“I don’t know, Y/N, ” Wanda whispers. “Maybe if we had kids, things would’ve been different.”

Your eyes are unreadable as you ask, “Different how?”

Wanda couldn’t think of anything to say except what’s really on her mind. 

“Maybe we could’ve avoided separating altogether.”

“Because you think having kids would have made me stay married to you?” you say, in a tone of voice that makes Wanda’s knees buckle and her heart squeeze in regret of her words. 

“Because maybe it would have stopped me,” Wanda says in a rush. It’s the wrong thing to say, but it might even be more wrong if she chooses to lie about it. “Maybe it would have given me a different purpose. Would have made me into someone who isn’t selfish and didn’t lose sight of what truly mattered–”

“You’re saying that our childlessness is what motivated you to cheat on me.” you say, and Wanda watches you flex your fingers; shaking away some numbness. 

“That’s not–” Wanda grapples for words. 

There’s none. 

“I didn’t think this through.” you whisper to yourself, eerily calm and collected. 

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks frantically. 

In the absence of words, you merely look at her with a pained expression.

“Y/n?” Wanda gapes at you and her soulful green eyes widen in panic. “Wait, please, I’m sorry. If we can just–”

“I’ll drop Sparky at your apartment on Monday.” 

Wanda pauses momentarily at the door; but you’re already walking back to your room, indifferent to what she chooses to do. 

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (4/?)

Chapter summary: The night at the club - from your perspective. And we find out whether you came to the opening of Wanda's cafe or not

Chapter word count: 6.3k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader (heavy on this chapter)

Tags: fluff if you squint (did I just say fluff?)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next Chapter: Five

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez

-

Four

The night at the club - from your perspective

The club Clint chooses for Natasha’s send-off is a drug deal away from being sleazy, despite its popularity. It’s significantly larger too, than the typical nightclubs you’ve been to in the past; there's a mezzanine for VIP members and celebrity guests; three bars are stationed at the corners of the main room, selling beverages based on a price bracket–with the most expensive ones near the steps leading to the VIP area. In here, you find all kinds of party-goers–from preppy high school kids with their daddy’s money and fake IDs to aging business men looking to score a high-end escort or a B-list actress in need of a sponsor for their lavish lifestyle. 

And then there’s you–newly single, unemployed, nearing your 30s and rooming with your best friend. Just with how you’re dressed–a white, velvet sleeveless cowl neck top and skinny jeans–you wonder what other people think of you, what backstory they’ve concocted in their heads. Whatever it is, it couldn’t be worse than your actual reality.

“How did you find this place?” you ask Clint after he returns with shots of tequila to start the night with.

He glances between you and then Natasha, who finishes her shot in a single gulp the second she snatches it from Clint’s fingers.

“Did you not see how big this place is from outside? It’s hard to miss the biggest nightclub in New York, Y/N.” His breath fans over your face, and all it takes is one whiff to know he’s already had some pre-party drinks in his system. 

“I prefer the dive bars we used to frequent.” you say, grimacing as the tequila burns down your throat. It immediately warms the middle of your chest, leaving you thirstier than before.

Clint raises his eyebrows at you incredulously. “We’re not here to talk and catch-up. We’re here to get trashed because our girl right here,” he playfully puts an arm around Natasha so she’s snug against his side. “Is returning to the front lines.”

“Damn right!” Natasha yells, raising her empty shot glass to no one in particular. She’s deadly as she looks for what she’s capable of–which you know very little about–and yet, astoundingly lightweight when it comes to holding her liquor. It wouldn’t take three more rounds to render her thoroughly incapacitated.

Clint looks so smug, and it doesn’t take a second more for you to realize that he gave Natasha a double. You weakly jab his side with your elbow and then proceed to swipe his credit card from his back pocket, making sure he at least pays for everything tonight.

“Come on,” you say, reaching for Natasha’s hand. “We can’t have you drinking on an empty stomach or you won’t last until midnight.”

Natasha shakes her head with a pout. “Gotta last much, much, much later than that.”

“For sure. But first, let’s–”

“Where are you taking my sister?” A voice behind you asks in a demanding but playful manner. You feel it being said right in your ear, causing goosebumps all over the back of your neck.

Whipping your head around, you find Yelena smiling at you as she staggers a step back to avoid you accidentally kissing her cheek in the process.

There’s tension from the last time you saw each other, and it becomes instantly obvious that it hasn’t gone away the moment you take in her plunge cocktail dress and the rose-colored smirk she has on. You don’t really mean to, but it’s easy to make the conclusion that anyone would easily find her the most attractive person in the room. 

“Little sis,” Natasha exclaims in barely contained excitement, hastily enveloping Yelena in a bear hug. “You came!”

“Hey,” you breathe out, failing to stop your gaze from straying below her collarbone and landing on her proud cleavage. 

“Hey, stranger.” she greets you back, and you catch the mischievous smile on her lips despite having half of her face squashed against Natasha’s shoulder. Yup. She’s definitely noticed.

“See you around, kid. I’ll take care of this one.” Clint says, already pulling Natasha away before she can suffocate Yelena further.

Helplessly, you watch Clint and Natasha disappear into the crowd, anxiety crippling your ability to decide what you’re going to do or where you’re going next.

Yelena lightly taps you on the shoulder to get your attention–which, for all intents and purposes–is already hers to begin with. You just don’t want to be too obvious about it.

“My sweater.” she simply says with an unreadable expression when you turn to address her.

“Sorry?”

“You still have it?”

And then it comes back to you. Your ruined shirt, borrowing’s Yelena sweater, Yelena joking about her first sexual experience, that happened to be with you–

You can always blame the tequila for the way your cheeks flush at the memories. 

Biting your lip, you say, “The truth is I forgot to mail it. With everything that’s happened–”

“It’s okay. Nat just recently told me the stuff you went through the past few months,” Yelena cuts in, and the softness in her gaze gives you a sense of calm. “Do you, maybe, want to drink about it? First round’s on me.” she reluctantly offers.

“Nah,” you dismiss her intentions to pay, as you hold up Clint’s Visa. “All our rounds on this.”

Yelena orders a frozen margarita, while you opt for a more basic choice of gin and tonic. You find yourselves sitting closely together, sharing a couch with random strangers in the most relatively secluded part of the club.

“So, what exactly did Natasha tell you?” you ask, letting your index finger dance along the rim of your glass. 

Yelena takes a sip of her drink and considers how she should relay what she knows. 

In the end, she goes for the unfiltered narrative, given that there’s really no way of making it sound less severe than it is. “That your wife cheated on you with her student.” 

You offer her a wan smile and clink your drinks togethers. “Cheers.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be betrayed like that by the person you–I assume–trust the most.” Yelena says after some time. She’s not used to being the one to give consolation, especially with you. Growing up, you were a steady, ever-reliable presence in her life; her place of solitude throughout the pains of her youth. It’s pathetic how she’s wishing she had gone through the same ordeal if it meant she could give you the comfort and understanding you needed. 

“Me too. I don’t even remember how I was able to survive what came right after taking your sister’s call that day. Did Nat mention that I almost killed the kid? He’s only a little younger than you are.” you say.

“Yeah. It’s fucked up. But it doesn't compare to what she did.” Yelena tells you with a pained expression. “You’re okay now, though. Right?”

“I’m,” You search for the right word that perfectly describes your monotonous routine and lack of a meaningful purpose. But you figure that there’s no need for Yelena–or anyone for that matter–to worry about you. Life’s easier to live without the concern of disappointing people who care about you. “I’m better than I was yesterday.”

Yelena nods empathically, and places a hand on your knee. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Your smile is small, but genuine. Clearing your throat, she quickly puts her hand back over her lap. 

“Y/N?” Yelena starts.

“Yes?”

Yelena, for all her boldness and tenacity, has to put down her glass lest it accidentally slips from her shaking hands. 

“There’s something I want to say, and you can’t talk unless I say so. Understood?” she says as calmly as she can manage.

“Am I free to react?” A smile plucks at the corner of your mouth, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

Yelena has grown into a woman so different from when she was just Natasha’s little sister. She carries an air of sophistication, and from what you can tell, sasses her way out of difficult situations and knows what and how to get what she wants. Which is why it’s refreshing to see her display glimpses of the shy girl who spent her summers burning through classic literature in the public library. 

A husky laugh escapes Yelena’s throat. “As long as it’s a good reaction.” she says.

You playfully roll your eyes at her. 

“But seriously, hear me out,” Yelena breathes steadily through her nose. “First of all, I want to apologize about what happened when you were at my apartment.

“I didn’t know why I brought up losing my virginity to you, and it was terribly awkward–for me especially because the look on your face was…” Yelena trails off, pointedly avoiding your curious eyes. “It’s like you were recalling a bad memory–a memory that’s dear to me. And to be honest, it hurt me a bit.”

“Yelena–”

Yelena shushes you with a finger. “Let me finish. I was hurt, but I understood that I crossed a line that day. I was flirting with you the whole time knowing you were married. In a way, I was no better than–well, your ex-wife.”

Yelena pauses to look at you. She can’t read your expression, but at least you haven’t run away yet. Which is more than a good sign for her to continue.

“There’s no excuse for what I did. I could dismiss it as friendly between old friends, but could we even call ourselves that? We were never just friends. We had something that wasn’t official, and then I ran off to the UK before we had a chance to talk about that thing that wasn’t official, and then when I got back, I found out you’re already with someone else.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… that was a shitty move on my part and I’m sorry. But I’d be lying if I said I didn't mean to do any of that. ‘Cause I did want to stir the pot just to see if there’s still something there.”

You wait for her to continue, but eventually Yelena vaguely signals that she’d done speaking. 

You cover your mouth with your hand, thumb scratching lightly at your chin as you thoroughly digest her confession.

“Y/N?” Yelena asks when she feels you’re being silent for too long, fear lacing her voice. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” you quickly reply. “I accept your apology. And I do appreciate your candor–for not skirting around that incident like I probably would’ve, for…well, forever.”

Yelena is overwhelmed with relief.

“You were never great at confrontations.” she muses, and your minds both wander to the letter you wrote for her that she had missed, already having boarded the plane when you decided to drop by and hand-deliver it yourself.

“I’m working on it. I know I can’t keep putting things at the back of my head until I eventually forget them and then it’s too late.”

“Or maybe you just think it’s too late, and you use that as an excuse to not even try.” Yelena counters. It’s a fair point and somehow applicable to your shared history together. 

“You know what? I’m just gonna shoot my shot here while I’m feeling brave,” Yelena says, keeping her eyes trained on her almost empty drink.

“Go to dinner with me next Friday.” 

Before you can stop it, Wanda’s languid face in the mornings registers in your brain fleetingly. And then you blink once and the image of her is gone, replaced by Yelena’s hopeful stare. 

“Dinner, as in…” you try to clarify, just in case you’re misreading it.

“As in I’m asking you out,” Yelena confirms, and proudly smiles at how your ears redden at this point. “Or if you’re not ready, say so. I’m a big girl. I can take it. Then I’ll ask you again in a few months.”

“I-I don’t know. Can I sleep on it?” you say, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Take all the time you need. I just thought you should know that I’m an option.”

Your expression turns grim once you question the fact that someone like Yelena wants you.

She senses your internal conflict and asks, “What’s wrong?” 

“How could you want me? I’m damaged goods. You know that, right?”

“Y/N,” Yelena chides, and she looks positively horrified.  “Don’t you ever think you’re half the person you are just because somebody was stupid enough not to know your worth.”

You shrug your shoulders. There’s no point in arguing. Regardless of what other people think, it’s what you see in the mirror these days.

“Okay.” you mumble in reply and casually chug your drink to the last drop.

Yelena’s not convinced, but recognizes that it’s not the right place nor the right time to show you you’re more than just damaged goods. 

“Okay.” she says, then looks over to where people seem to be under the spell of eternal bliss. 

“Wanna dance with me at least? You know–as friends,” Yelena says, and then a second later adds, “For now.”

You don’t answer and merely allow yourself to be pulled towards writhing bodies moving to the beat of the music, like puppets on strings. 

-

You don’t remember the last time you’ve thoroughly enjoyed dancing with someone.

(That’s a lie though, because you do; if twirling your wife and enthusiastically swaying to her poor singing in the kitchen counts.)

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of green eyes darts to you and your dance partner, before they shut in reprieve.  

-

A surprisingly sober Natasha appears next to you as you’re getting the next round of drinks. You fan yourself uselessly with your hand after breaking out a sweat on the dancefloor. 

“Hey! Where have you been?” you say.

“Bruce was here. But that’s not important.” Natasha says.

“Are you guys–” you begin to ask about it, but Natasha brazenly cuts you off. 

“Don’t even think about it.” she says, her tone unusually stern, and you whip your head so fast in her direction your vision spins a little.  

“Think about what?” you say.

“Flirting with my sister.” 

“I wasn’t,” you say and Natasha lifts an eyebrow. “I swear.”

Natasha surveys you a while longer with an unreadable expression, and just as you start feeling uncomfortable, she backs off with a small nod.

It only bothers you more. “I-Is that something I’m not allowed to do?” you cautiously ask.

Natasha scratches at her nape. “Technically, you’re single now and you can flirt with whoever you want. But maybe not my sister, okay? I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“What are you implying?”

“Look, Y/N, I’m just trying to give you the big sister talk, and I hope you understand why I need to. Especially since Yelena told me not long ago about the R-rated version of your history together.”

Your mouth falls open in shock, already circling around the details of what Yelena might have shared with your best friend. “She what?”

“I wanted to smack you in the face when she told me that you were…” Natasha grimaces, trying not to imagine you in bed with her sister. “... her first.”

“God, Nat. I–” Your tongue feels heavy, and you wish you weren’t half-sober for this. “She–we–”

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I found out about it yesterday. I’ve known ever since she came back to New York.”

“I think I’d prefer if you’d still smack me in the face right now. But please consider how tiny I am compared to your usual sparring partners.”

Natasha lets out an airy laugh that gives you a bit of relief. “To be honest, I think I’ve always known that there was something going on between you and her. I was just too stubborn to admit it because I care about you both so much.”

“I care about you too. And Yelena.”

“I believe you,” Natasha says. “But Yelena thinks you hung the moon and stars and all that shit, and you’re–you’re kind of a mess, Y/N. No offense.”

“Do you want me to stay away from her?” you ask. 

“Not really. But as her older sister, I need to remind you to think about it carefully if ever it becomes more than platonic.” she says. “I’m leaving in a few hours, so I need you to promise me not to be reckless. That's all I’m asking.”

Natasha gives and gives and gives, and rarely ever asks for anything. 

And you suppose you owe it to her in some way.

“Promise.”

-

A couple of more shots (and an incident of restraining Natasha from punching the lights out of a guy who randomly grabbed your ass) later, you’re stumbling out of the club, reeking of smoke, sweat and alcohol. 

Your phone dies just before you could confirm a ride, and you blearily stare at it like you’re expecting it to suddenly come alive again by some miracle. Yelena has left earlier, mentioning an early meeting at work, and you can’t find Natasha since Bruce’s surprise appearance. An option is to walk to your apartment, but you can’t seem to move any part of your body with the intense throbbing in your head.

You deliberate your fate for the night, until you feel an odd sensation of being watched. 

Your eyes flit across the street and there she is.

Wanda Maximoff.

-

You get home safely with the help of your ex-wife. Once you reach your room, you don’t bother to brush your teeth or wash your face. You just mechanically strip down to your underwear before diving under the covers.

In your sleep, you dream about Wanda.

Dream Wanda resembles College Wanda, with her dirty blonde hair that falls in waves past her shoulders. She’s cradling your head on her lap, while you look up at her lovingly.

“Wands,” you whisper. “I miss you.”

She scrunches her nose as she smiles down at you. “I’m right here, baby.”

“You’re not.”

“Where did I go then?”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Look for me, then. I only want to be found by you.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” you confess to Dream Wanda, and her brows stitch together into a frown. Then you feel something wet and cold drip on your cheeks. Your eyes flutter open but instead of seeing Wanda, you see Vision’s face covered in blood. 

Your mouth opens in a silent scream. In reality, you’re alone in Natasha’s apartment, thrashing in your bed and mumbling incoherently. 

The next morning, you don’t recall any of it, but you feel its echoes in your heart anyway.

-

You wake up to a text from Natasha, telling her that she’s already at the airport. The message came in at 1:30AM, and was followed by another text six hours later, saying that she has landed safely and that you won’t be hearing from her again in the next ten days at the minimum. A third message came in a second after that, and it simply read, “Look out for my sister. Don’t forget what you promised.” You text back a short “Take care, Nat.”, before tossing your phone somewhere on your unmade bed. 

Trudging towards the kitchen, you think about Yelena. 

There was a time when the blonde used to occupy your thoughts day and night, notwithstanding the thousands of miles you were apart.

But all that changed the day you met Wanda, and she never crossed your mind again except when she’d come up in conversations, and until that time you accidentally almost ran her over in Soho. 

You languidly stir together the milk and cereal in your bowl. It would be a lie to say that seeing Yelena, especially in that dress, didn’t do things to you that a married woman would normally stamp out before they could spread like wildfire. Except, you’re no longer a married woman. And Yelena let you look as much as you wanted–even encouraged it. 

It’s liberating more than anything, not because you’re free from the confines of marriage, but because you didn’t feel guilty having looked.

Is it time? 

You’ve always thought of Yelena as your ‘right person, wrong time’. 

Is it the right time?

-

The weekend passes in a blur of series marathons and Chinese takeouts. Wanda doesn’t text or call, neither does Yelena. You thought you had sufficient time to reconsider Wanda’s invitation, but Monday eventually comes around, bringing about an unexplainable anxiety you can’t curb and can only attribute to intuition. Even if you don’t tell Wanda the reason you won’t come, binge-watching another show instead of doing something meaningful for someone is at a level of pathetic you’re not willing to stoop towards. 

Besides, you said you’d come. Being steadfast in your word is both your strength and your undoing. And so, your intent to follow through with your promise brings you to a corner gardening store, after scouring the internet for ‘grand opening gift ideas’.

None of them suggested this. Though you knew Wanda enough to know better than those online articles.

“And this pretty thing? What does it stand for?” you ask, pointing at flowers of a variety of colors resembling a pompon.

“That’s a Chrysanthemum–or just ‘mums’. Very easy to keep them alive. In Chinese culture, it represents longevity and good luck. But it also simply symbolizes friendship and happiness.” the store keeper says. 

“Perfect,” you say, focusing on ‘longevity and good luck’. “I’ll get… Five of those in a pot.”

“What color would you like, dear?”

Without thinking, you pick Wanda’s favorite color. “The red ones. All of them.” 

The store keeper claps her hands together. “Excellent choice. Just give me a second to prepare them for you.”

A pleased smile works its way to your lips. “Thanks a lot.”

Mums in a pot. That's a good gift right? Not too thoughtful nor impersonal. It would look good displayed anywhere in her shop should Wanda decide to keep it there. Or she can place it at her new home near a window, as it probably needs six hours of sunlight a day. 

Perhaps you should also write instructions for Wanda on how to care for these mums. And will she need some fertilizers too? 

You’re busy putting together a mental list when the store keeper comes out with the final product. 

“Here you go,” she says and hands you over Wanda’s gift in a paper bag. “It’s $95.86.”

You pull out a hundred dollar bill from your wallet. “Keep the change.”

She does a little bow of gratitude and says, “Thank you, dear. She’s going to love it.”

“She?” you sputter, bewildered.

“The recipient’s a lady, I assume. Is it not?”

“It…is.” you hesitantly confirm.

“Good luck, ma’m.” she says with innocent cheer, unmindful of your sudden skepticism.

As you leave the shop feeling less sure of your gift choice, your phone’s ringing tone goes off in your pants. With urgency, you take your phone out of your pocket and find an unknown number calling. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” A husky voice greets you over the receiver.

“Yelena?”

“Hey. I, uh, got your number from Nat,” she says, hearing her heavy sighs in between sentences. “Is this a bad time?”

“No. Is something wrong?” you ask, swinging the paper bag back and forth as you meander about the busy alley on your way back home.

“I’m in the middle of a news article that’s due for tomorrow, and I heard that your former boss is Scott Lang?”

“You heard right.”

“I need your banking knowledge to go over some facts in my draft,” she says. “And maybe, get a quick interview with Mr. Lang?”

For a while, you don’t know how to answer. You haven’t been in touch with Scott or any of your colleagues since moving back, and it seems kind of rude to call him up out of the blue for a favor.

“Please?” you hear Yelena beg softly. You knew Yelena. Like Natasha, she almost never asks for help, not unless it’s a matter of life, death or career. 

“Okay,” you finally say. “Where should we meet?”

“I’ll meet you at Nat’s in an hour? It’s where you’ve been staying, right?”

You agree on the time and place, and hurry to catch a bus instead of your original plan to walk the thirty minutes back to the apartment.

It oddly feels good to be part of a Monday’s morning rush once again.

-

You end up spending the whole day helping Yelena and trailing after her to visit various places and meet financial executives just to put together a 1,500-word news article on The Wall Street Journal. 

“You saved me today,” Yelena tells you while you escort her to the lobby. “Let me make it up to you on Friday?” 

It’s tempting, especially after discovering that you both make a great team. You actually had fun running errands with her. 

But you promised Natasha.

“I’ll text you.” you answer with a small smile. 

Once Yelena gets inside her ride, it hits you right away where you’re supposed to be. You check your watch and the time displayed sends you in a panic. 

It’s almost ten. Wanda’s café is only open until nine. You quickly grab your gift for Wanda and hail a cab for Queens.

Your cab screeches to a halt right in front of Second Chances. You make sure to tip big for forcing your driver to beat the speed limit several times on the way. 

You get off the cab, and take in your first impression of Wanda’s café. The facade of the coffee shop is simple: the signage looks obviously hand-drawn, while the black awning underneath it gives it a Parisian vibe; a string of yellow led lights hang above the glass door and the full-length window next to it.

It has Wanda written all over it. And you can’t help the teary smile that creeps its way to your lips. Carrying the potted Chrysanthemum securely under your arm, you walk to the entrance that holds a ‘Sorry, We’re Closed’ sign. The stainless shutter is lowered down just barely, and it’s pitch black inside except for a beam of light coming from the back room.

You raise your fist, about to knock, when suddenly you catch a figure from the corner of your eyes. 

It’s Wanda, and she’s asleep with her arms as her pillow, hunched over the bar table facing the window. Curiously, you move over to stand right across her and push your palm against the translucent barrier. 

She waited for you to show. Your heart betrays you as it thumps wildly in your chest. 

For a moment you just stand there watching. There are still days when you randomly get angry at Wanda all over again. Some days, you bargain and simultaneously undergo depression. And you cycle over these stages in random orders but haven't–not even once–felt like you’re ready to accept all of it. 

Somewhere in the stillness, an ambulance siren could be heard wailing in the distance. Wanda is slow to come to, and even as you realize she’s waking up, you stay frozen in your position.

“Y/N?” you read your name being spoken from her lips. Wanda looks confused in her sleepy state, still deciding if you’re actually there. You beam at her and mouth a ‘hi’ in return. 

Wanda lights up right before your eyes. She hurries to unlock the door to her shop.  

“Sorry I’m late.” you say.

Wanda’s smile only widens, and then she says, “Better late than never.”

You choose to sit at one of the tiny dining tables for two near the open kitchen. There are congratulatory flowers arranged neatly by the counter, making you a bit self-conscious about bringing something similar on a smaller, more insignificant scale.

“How long have you been waiting?” you ask as you survey the interior of the cafe..

“Not long.” Wanda assures you, and then proudly hands you over the menu. Her writing is almost instantly recognizable. 

“Pick anything you want. On the house.” she says, tying back her apron. 

There aren’t many items on the list, but you’re familiar with each of them from Wanda having made them for you over the years. 

“I’ll have a Spanish latte,” you say, eyes still scanning the menu. “Do you have any cookies left?”

“Sorry, they are all sold out.” 

“Wanda, that’s awesome!” You exclaim, placing the menu back on the table.

Wanda endearingly chuckles at your excitement. You’re still a customer, and it’s very unusual for one to cheer when the item they want is unavailable.

“Have you eaten? I can whip something up.” Wanda says, peeking inside the fridge. 

You haven’t eaten since lunch, but you don’t want Wanda to go through the trouble of preparing something off the menu. “It’s fine.” 

“I’m kinda hungry myself,” Wanda chews on her bottom lip. “Does garlic pasta sound good?”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles and Wanda tries to suppress a smirk.

“Sounds amazing.” you mumble, somewhat flustered by the sound you just made. The thought of a warm pasta for dinner, however, is already making you drool.

Wanda grins, buzzing with childlike enthusiasm. “Coming right up!”

Right before she gets to it, Wanda puts on some music and gives you her phone. “Play anything you want.” she says. A classical piano piece starts playing in the background, and it actually matches the mood and the vibe of the room, so you choose to stay on the current playlist.

Wanda already has some minced garlic and left over pasta from earlier, so it’s just a matter of reheating and then mixing the ingredients. In less than ten minutes, she’s bringing out two plates of Aglio e Olio and your order of a hot Spanish latte.

You haven’t realized how starving you are until the aroma of Wanda’s dish reaches your nose. 

“What’s that?” Wanda points to the paper bag sitting beside you after she settles in her seat across you.

“Oh!” you say. “I almost forgot. This is for you. Happy, uh, grand opening day?”

Wanda takes the bag, unintentionally brushing your fingers in the process. Her skin is warm from cooking and smells like the condiments she used to prepare your food.

You quietly eat your food, unable to keep yourself from moaning out your satisfaction. After months of living on takeouts, it’s a very welcome change.

Wanda, on the other hand, peers inside the paper bag, and her smile grows and grows until it reaches her watery eyes. 

“These are gorgeous, Y/N,” Wanda comments, taking the pot out of its hiding. “I love them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wanda stands up and walks towards the window near the entrance, the plant and a glass of water in tow. She places the mums in the corner where it will be least bothered by customers, but should receive the most sunlight at the same time. She then proceeds to water it, careful to cover the whole soil and sprinkle some on its delicate petals. 

A smile graces your lips as you watch her tend to the mums. 

It’s hard not to wonder if maybe this could work. Maybe healing can be possible while being friends.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, after you finish your food. You subtly eye Wanda’s plate, which she’s barely touched. 

“Like I said, on the house.” she answers. 

You purse your lips in disapproval but don’t insist; the tip jar is right beside the register and you can slip some twenties later when Wanda’s not looking.

“So, any feedback? Is the latte too sweet?” Wanda asks with a devoted curiosity of a businesswoman. “For the pasta I added an extra ounce of minced garlic from the original recipe, but I’m not sure if it made the flavor too strong. And this table–don’t you think it’s too small? Cause they don’t look standard-sized to me, and I keep telling them–”

“Wanda, slow down,” you gently cut in, bringing the coffee mug to your lips for a taste test. It’s sweet but not achingly so. There’s still a hint of bitterness in the aftertaste, and the richness of the condensed milk counters it, resulting in a very comforting pick-me-up.

“It’s good. I’d say, better than the ones I always got when I was still working.”

“You’re not working anymore?”

You bite your lip at that, not really meaning for that information to slip out of you.

“I took a sabbatical,” you explain, refusing to call yourself jobless in front of your ex-wife, who somehow contrived to achieve greater heights following a divorce and a narrowly missed small town sex scandal.

You quickly try to change the subject. “Anyway, don’t worry about the furniture. As long as they’re comfy.”

“Half of your ass is barely hanging onto your seat, you know?” Wanda points out with a giggle. 

There’s no denying the tinge of jealousy you feel over the fact that Wanda seems to have her shit together more than she cares to admit. But that’s overruled by the natural joy of seeing someone you care about (because you do, you really still do) thrive, no matter how much they hurt you in the past. 

“Are you saying my ass is fat?” you ask, pretending to be offended. 

She laughs harder, resulting in tiny hiccups that never fails to trigger you into a fit as well.

“Honestly though, it barely fits mine as well. But that's all I can afford for now.” Wanda says as she keeps twirling the pasta around her fork without any intention of actually eating.

“You shouldn’t play with your food.” you chide, still smiling.

“Do you want some of mine?”

You shake your head no. “Not when you just implied I have a fat ass.”

Wanda snorts, her laughter building up again at your poker face. 

When she recovers this time, you sheepishly smile and take some from her plate and transfer it to yours. 

“I haven’t thanked you for coming.” Wanda mutters in a hoarse voice. You wordlessly fill her empty glass with water.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure until this morning if I was going to.” you say.

Certain muscles on Wanda’s face visibly tighten at that.

“Why is that?” Wanda whispers, staring at her unwanted food, losing again the appetite she lied about in the first place.

You mull about it for a moment. There’s no point in denying that you feel things for Wanda. Abstract feelings that you can’t name, but feel regardless. And it’s still unclear whether they are beneficial or not to you moving forward. Just that, being in communication with Wanda again puts you at ease; brings back a sense of normalcy that you so crave. It could be because you can’t remember a time she wasn’t a part of your life, can’t remember who you were before her. Going cold-turkey only led to some impulsive decisions (not to mention, a cheap and random sex with a stranger who was spoken for).

“Because I want to do what’s right for me, this time. And I’m not sure if this is.”

“This?”

“Being in each other’s lives.” you coolly state, crossing your arms and leaning back on your chair. 

Wanda blinks a couple of times when wetness gathers around her eyes. You drop your head and sigh. It goes without saying that these meetings with Wanda are always volatile. But constantly crying around someone is obviously not an indication of a healthy bond. 

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who can answer your own question, Y/N.” Wanda swipes at the corner of her eyes. 

You hollowly laugh. “I was kinda expecting you’d convince me that this is a good idea.”

“The fact that I invited you here and never stopped trying to contact you says alot without me having to say it.” Wanda reasons evenly.

“And me doing exactly the opposite, must also say a lot. Is that it?” you retort. 

Wanda squints at your hard tone. “That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Well, it’s what I’m hearing.” 

An impasse is reached, and Wanda wishes nothing more than to retract her statements and start all over again. 

“Why do I keep fucking this up?” you’re scarcely able to hear Wanda talk, more directly to herself than you.

You release a ragged breath and speak out, “You’re not fucking up anything, Wanda. There’s nothing to fuck up in the first place because we’re not supposed to expect anything from each other anymore, remember?”

Wands nods in understanding. “It just feels like I keep saying the wrong thing.”

You consider her words for a moment. “Maybe it’s because I keep waiting for you to.”

Wanda looks up at you with wide, limpid eyes. “So I am walking on eggshells.” 

“You don’t have to though. You can’t always worry about what will set me off. Let me worry about that.” 

“I’m scared, Y/N,” Wanda whispers. “I’m scared I’ll say one wrong thing and I won’t hear from you again for a long time. I mean, I just… I just found you. Inadvertently, if I may add.”

“I-I get where you’re coming from, and I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” you say. “But I can’t promise that I won’t disappear when something happens.”

Wanda hums and you lick your lips.

“I have thought about it.” you say, in spite of the delicate timing. 

She looks skeptical. “Thought about…?”

“Us,” you motion between yourself and her. “Being friends.”

“Oh,” Wanda tries not to sound disappointed. The problem is she wants too much too soon. And she needs to work on that or else she ruins her chance with you. “And?”

You’re nothing but truthful when you say, “And I miss the comfort of having you as a friend.” 

“Me too,” Wanda whispers thickly as you both share a meaningful look.

Maybe someday, she can have everything she has lost. 

Just not all at once.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #wanda maximoff #marvel #natasha romanoff #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #angst

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (3/?)

Chapter summary: Wanda finds you again after months of estrangement.

Chapter word count: 5.5k

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Decided to post this early in celebration of Love & Death's final episode.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next Chapter: Four

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r - let me know if I missed anyone

-

Three

At two in the morning, Wanda’s insomnia is at its worst.

Sleep doesn’t come despite doubling her usual dosage of sleeping pills, and she considers taking another, just so she can stop thinking about what Pietro said–about you moving on with someone new. Because despite her confidence in your love for her, her faith is waning with each passing day that you continue to leave her messages seen and her calls unanswered. 

She wonders how love–a resilient but tainted one–can survive in the dark. If it can survive at all. 

Wanda remembers reading somewhere on the internet that the human epidermis continually makes new cells every second, so that in just 30 days, one’s skin is entirely new. In months of being apart, it meant that there’s no longer an inch of her that has ever touched you. All that remains of her in you are memories. And what a fragile thing they are, when people are always forgetting. 

Wanda doesn’t want to be forgotten. Least of all by you.

She knows it’s within your rights to fall in love again, and she’s adamant for it to be with her. Her stubborn nature makes her cling to your wedding vow: that if you don’t end up with her, then you end up with no one. Maybe she’s delirious to still believe that you’d fulfill those promises, especially with how hard it is to reconcile those promises with dead silence.

Nevertheless, Wanda tries. She continues to send you mundane messages like a restaurant discovery or what she had for lunch, or a comment on the weather, telling you how nice it’d be to go outside for a walk. 

Tonight, she sends you a text about Sparky’s visit to the vet, hoping it provokes a reaction from you. It immediately gets read. Wanda’s breath hitches when she sees three dots appear right after her message. However, they soon disappear, leaving Wanda to stare at another unanswered text.

Tomorrow, then. And if not, the day after. Wanda won’t let you forget about her.

-

Agatha helps her with the finishing touches on her café, which happens to be unsold paintings donated by her colleagues from the gallery itself that Agatha manages. She’s informed Wanda that she’s considering early retirement to find something else to do, and when Wanda mentioned that she’s opening up a business, Agatha suggested she’d volunteer to help out on weekends in exchange for free coffee and dessert any day of the week. Wanda didn’t think twice to accept the proposal, and they shook on it.

“You have an eye for design, Wanda. You can make a career out of it once your cafe takes off and can hire someone to manage instead of doing it all by yourself.” Agatha says, dusting the final frame they hanged on the wall.

“Thanks. It’s just not me though. I had a lot of help from friends in NYU.” Wanda says, going behind the counter to make sure everything’s set for the big day, two days from now.

“Are you worried about the opening?” Agatha asks.

“A bit, yes.” Wanda admits with a sigh.

“Don’t be. Your pastries alone will keep this adorable thing afloat.” Agatha assures her, admiring the aforementioned pastries currently cooking in the oven.

Wanda smiles graciously, a little unsure if she’d take it as a compliment. With her former boss, it’s hard to tell sometimes. Agatha has the tendency to toe the line between maternal and condescending.

“That’s what I keep telling her.” Pietro, who Wanda didn’t notice entering the shop just now, chimes in. Her brother taps Agatha on the shoulder, making the older woman turn her head in an unnecessarily coquettish manner. Wanda lifts an eyebrow as she observes the two.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Pietro says, before running a hand through his hair and letting his textured, angular fringe fall dramatically back over his bleached eyebrows. “I’m Pietro, Wanda’s twin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Agatha says evenly with a smile, turning around to face him fully.

Pietro stands unnecessarily closer to her and says, “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

Wanda’s never heard Agatha giggle like a schoolgirl, and shoots him a murderous look. Her oblivious brother merely carries on staring at Agatha like he could see through her clothes. 

Squeezing into the narrow space between the two, she starts pushing her brother away from his prey. She can already sense him scheming, and she’s not going to let him potentially ward off the free help she’s gonna get on weekends.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wanda hisses at him under her breath as soon as she’s positive Agatha’s no longer within earshot.

He raises his hands in front of him in defense. “I was being friendly.”

“No, you weren’t. You were literally eyefucking my ex-boss back there.”

Pietro shrugs. “Maybe she was eyefucking me.”

“I swear, you’re going to–”

“Excuse me?” Agatha interrupts, and they both whip their head towards her–Wanda with a stricken look, and Pietro with a cheshire grin. Agatha can’t help but think how they’re both very attractive.

She addresses Wanda first. “I’m sorry but I have to go. Call me if you need anything, sweetie.” 

“Thanks again, Agatha.” Wanda says.

And then she turns to Pietro and winks at him. “I’ll see you around, handsome.”

“Oh, you will.” Pietro answers in a sultry voice that has Wanda harshly digging her nails into his forearm.

He only reacts to the pain after Agatha stepped outside. “Ow! Let go of me!”

“She’s off limits you pig.” Wanda chastises, landing some weak strikes on his arm. 

“Fine!” Pietro throws his hands up in surrender.

Wanda lets him go with a triumphant smile. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought I’d see you on Monday.” she says.

“My friend invited me to this club tonight, and I want you to come with.” Pietro says. 

“I’m not really in the mood to party.”

“You really have changed since you’ve been married to Y/N.”

“Thanks.” Wanda says curtly, and it’s not even sarcastic. If there were changes about her that were of your influence, then they could only mean the good kind. Wanda has long ago learned that she likes herself best when she’s with you.

“Don’t you at least feel like celebrating this?” Pietro gestures at the tiny confines of the cafe. 

“My idea of celebration is just steaks and wine,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. “Lots of wine.”

“Wands, you can’t keep punishing yourself. You deserve to have a good time once in a while.”

Wanda scoffs. “Punishing myself? Believe me, I haven’t started.”

“Wanda, come on,” Pietro pleads earnestly. “The thing is, I’m planning to bump into this real estate dude, and having my sister to make me look like a decent guy is going to help my chances in my investment pitch, okay?”

Wanda considers the new information. “Why didn’t you start with that in the first place?”

“Because I didn’t want to flat-out ask my heartbroken sister for help. Cause I know you’re… You’re half the person you used to be. You’re not whole, and here I am, needing your help when there’s nothing I can do to help you back.” 

It’s the most vulnerable she’s seen her brother, and it makes Wanda want to gather him in his arms and be children again. 

“Piet..”

Pietro assumes back a sturdy posture. “I’m sorry. I just need you. But if–”

“I’ll be there. Just text me where and what time you need me.” Wanda assures him. 

“I’ll owe you one, sis.”

“Try twenty.”

-

Pietro deserts her as soon as she serves her purpose, and he gets invited to the VIP floor of his prospective investor. Wanda doesn’t hold it against him, seeing how important this deal is to him. Besides, thirty minutes of blaring techno (it’s a crime to call it music, Wanda muses) and seizure-inducing lights are too much for Wanda to bear. She just happens to have four drinks in front of her (bought by different strangers), and there’s just no way she can let perfectly crafted Negronis go to waste. Really, she’s left with no choice but to stay and savor her prized cocktails. 

At least two men–and one woman–have taken up the courage to approach her by the bar, and Wanda only has to show them the ring she still wears on her left hand for them to leave her alone with a polite apology. 

On her own (and despite you being unaware of it) she wants the world to know she’s still yours.

Heaving a deep sigh, Wanda finishes her drink. One down, three to go. She’s already swimming in a pleasant buzz, and when her eyes drift to the center of the dance floor, she sees the last person she thought of seeing tonight.

It’s true what they say about experiencing everything around you slowing down to a stop when your life flashes through your eyes. It’s closest to how she’d describe seeing you in the flesh after a long stretch of only seeing you in her dreams. For a split second, she thinks she might be mistaken, but it’s definitely you when you start doing that dorky mannequin move that never fails to send her into fits of laughter. And that’s exactly what Wanda does; she half-laughs and half-sobs into her drink as you stiffly move your limbs, wearing a blissful smile of your own. 

You seem…okay. Happy, even. Against her will, a deep sense of insecurity settles heavily on her chest. 

And then, as if on cue, a blonde girl mirrors your dance moves, stepping into your space too close for Wanda’s liking. She looks much younger than you and Wanda are, and she recognizes the captivated look on her face. It’s the same look Wanda is giving you right now, the same look you used to give her everyday for more than ten years. Wanda helplessly watches you take her hand and spin her around goofily. And when the girl stops and loses her balance, she leans on your side for support. You let her, putting an arm around her shoulder as both of you continue to laugh at the silliness of it all.

Wanda feels her heart fall and crash into pieces. And the guilt of falling apart at seeing you happy like you deserve to be, comes to her in rolling waves.

She downs the rest of her drink–all three of them–and then weaves through the crowded club, bumping against sweaty bodies to find her way out.  

-

Wanda ends up waiting for you from across the street. She wraps her jacket tighter around her body and fights off the cold by blowing her breath into her hands and rubbing them together. It does little to keep her warm, but she’s too enthralled to see your face again to care. She couldn’t simply walk away and wait for another opportunity like this to come. 

Eventually–after nearly two hours of waiting–you come out of the building. You’re not accompanied by anyone, and you’re peering down at your phone. In the distance, she can clearly see how unfocused your movements are, which makes her wonder why you’re all by yourself.

She’s about to cross the empty street, when you unexpectedly look up and Wanda’s eyes lock with yours.

Her eyes glisten at the sight of you: somber eyes and flushed cheeks and the beginnings of a dazed smile at the corner of your lips. You were always a doe when there’s alcohol in your system, and Wanda could take advantage of that.

She could. But she won’t, even as you seem transfixed as she is.

Wanda tests the waters by taking a small step in your direction. You don’t move an inch from where you’re standing, but Wanda still holds her breath with each step. She keeps her eyes trained on your figure in case this is a hallucination–in case this is all just a result of standing for hours in the cold. But you gaze back at her, equally awestruck, and she thinks perhaps you’re also figuring out the same thing: if all of this is real. 

Wanda takes another careful step while you shift your weight, working out the best way to keep your balance. And then another, until you’re within reach and she can hear your shallow breaths, can smell your scent mixed with your favorite perfume, can see your baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Until she can look into those eyes that always held kindness she doesn’t deserve. 

Until finally, she’s standing right in front of you.

It’s been too long, the words keep repeating itself in her head.   

Without thinking, Wanda stretches out her arm to cup your face, but–despite your semi-drunken state–you backpedal on instinct. Dispirited, she drops her hand to her side and chews on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. You must have sensed her dismay, because you force a smile, before her name falls from your lips.

“Wanda.”

There's no doubt that you can break her if you want to just by saying her name. 

“Y/N,” she whispers your name back, greedily drinking you in an openly brazen manner. 

“H-Hi…”

“You… uh,” you fumble with your sentence, trying to come up with something to say, before settling on what you really just wanted to know. “What are you doing here?” 

Wanda actually considers lying, until she remembers that it’s what destroyed everything in the first place. 

“I was at the same bar and I saw you. I thought about going home, but I couldn’t leave knowing you were just there.” she says.

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply as you assess how you feel about your ex-wife waiting for you outside and possibly catching a cold in the process. Inclined to blame it on the alcohol later, you don’t think you hate the idea that she stood there for hours just to talk to you. It’s so disparate from the time when you two were together, and you were often the one to wait. 

But the truth is, it mostly just hurts. After all this time, it’s the same wound that just refuses to heal. Only now there’s more guilt on your part for ignoring her for months even though you know you shouldn’t feel bad for trying to move on the way you have to. 

“It’s good to see you.” Wanda says after a beat. “I’ve missed y–”

Suddenly, your head is filled with images going down on a stranger at the gym. You shake your head harshly in a feeble attempt to shake off the memory. 

Wanda is quick to assume that you don’t want to hear any semblance of how much she aches for you. 

“I don’t feel–” 

You feel violently sick, but you fail to say that out loud because the next second, you hear Wanda shriek in shock and you find yourself bent over your stomach, emptying its contents next to her stilettos. Wanda hovers above you as she gently pulls back your hair on one hand and rubs soothing circles on your back with the other. 

Your throat burns and you grimace as you stagger back on your feet. 

“Wanda, I’m so–” 

“Shhh… you need to sober up,” Wanda explains softly. You don’t know you’ve been leaning onto her for support until you saw her left hand wrapped tightly around your arm. 

Her left hand, that is anything but bare. 

“Why are you still wearing it?” The question abruptly falls out of your mouth, losing the ability to filter the thoughts that you would rather stay in your head if you weren’t in such an inebriated state. 

Wanda tenses up at the question, surprised that you still noticed. 

“You know why.” she mumbles, struggling to keep you upright. She doesn’t say more, just silently directs you to the pavement where you both sit next to each other.

“Your hair. It’s too brown.” you speak in a slow drawl, still having enough cognitive function to change the topic. Wanda grimaces at the comment, despising her new hairdo more than usual. 

For a while you and Wanda just sit there, basking in awkward silence. 

“I need to call an Uber but my phone is dead.” you whisper into your knees, talking to no one in particular. You look and sound so small, so far from when you were dancing earlier. Wanda tries not to think that maybe she’s the reason for it. She worries at her lip, contemplating if she should call a ride for you. But with your current state, she’d be on the edge all night wondering if you got home safe. And knowing you probably won’t update her, she’s probably going to lose her mind over it.

Rising to her feet, Wanda makes a decision and offers a hand for you to take. 

“Hey. I’ve got an idea.” 

-

Wanda watches you dip a fry into a plain sundae and pop it into your mouth. Her cheeks redden a little when you moan in appreciation, eyes closed as if you were sampling a gourmet dish. She’d never understand your weird taste for putting together two of the things that should never be put together.

“Feel better?” she asks, disinterestedly picking at her nuggets. 

“Much.” you say, licking your thumb with gusto. At this point, Wanda makes the right decision to look away before her thoughts become anything but innocent. You’re starting to recover from your intoxication, and she’s careful not to make you feel the slightest discomfort.

“How’s Sparky?” you ask all of a sudden, remembering Wanda’s text the other night about a visit to the vet. 

Wanda takes a sip of her coffee, then says, “Something about a low platelet count. They just prescribed him some meds. He’s doing better, I think.”

“That’s good to hear.” you say. 

Both of you fall back into another period of quiet.

Wanda’s head is sifting through the many topics that she had mentally filed in advance for this moment, but all she wants is to ask about you and your dance partner. The way she fell into you and the way you caught her with ease wasn’t at all friendly. The girl was obviously smitten, and Wanda can’t blame her. She can’t blame anyone but herself.

She peeks at you through her lashes, taking in your solemn expression as you suck on the plastic spoon.

Are you dating her? 

Have you already slept together?

Has she been replaced?

Instead, Wanda says, “He misses you though”, because she couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing. 

“I miss him too.” you say, and Wanda detects a hint of softness in your tone for the first time tonight.

It’s pathetic how she’s internally begging for you to say the same thing about her. 

(How she’s envious of her own dog for it.)

“You should see him some time.” Wanda says, and at the skeptical look in your eye, she adds, “I don’t mean you visit him at my place. I can bring him to you. Maybe he can stay at yours for a weekend.” 

You nod like you understand what she’s trying to do– what information she’s trying to get out of you. She expects you to dismiss the idea, but you surprise her by saying, “That can be arranged.”

“Great! We’ll–”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Right.”

The stillness and lack of words return for the third time. Not that Wanda is counting. But it doesn’t last as long as the other two, when you surprise her again by offering her what’s left of your sundae. “Want some?”

Wanda smiles at the gesture and scoops some with her own spoon. She misses the little things, like sharing food and killing time in a place as mundane as Mcdonald’s. 

“Are you still using your old number?” Wanda asks, a subtle tremor in her voice. 

You wince, aware of what she’s actually asking. You let it slip that your old number is active when you asked about Sparky. 

“Not as much as my current one.”

“Oh, that explains it.”

Something about her reply rubs you off the wrong way.

“Explain what?”

Wanda is taken aback by your snippy tone. She used to be able to read you so easily, and now she can’t pinpoint exactly what set you off. 

“What I mean is,” Wanda starts as gently as she could. “I’ve been trying to reach you for months. And you weren’t entertaining any of my attempts to communicate.”

“Well. Imagine that.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Wanda asks, voice thick with unshed tears. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

You heave a sigh, and Wanda frowns at that. In such a short time, she’s managed to exasperate you without even trying. 

You pause to gather your thoughts, and then regard her with an apologetic look.

“Sorry…For being a bitch to you, not for avoiding you.” you say.

Wanda wipes a single tear that has escaped her eye with a finger. “You did say goodbye. I’m just too delusional to accept it.”

“You’re not.”

Wanda lets out a hollow chuckle in response.

“I’m delusional for thinking that I can erase you if I pretend long enough you don’t exist.” you say.

She knows it’s what you’ve been doing, but it still hurts for you to lay it out in the open.

“Did it work?” she asks, picking at the skin around her nail until it bleeds.

“No,” you answer truthfully. You don’t elaborate on it and give her the satisfaction of knowing that you’re still miserable without her. 

For Wanda, those two letters give her first, real taste of hope since the night you confronted her about Vision. She knows better than to jump at the earliest sign that things may start turning around, but she couldn’t help herself from speaking the words that are most important for you to hear.

“I love you,” she feels every syllable of them in her tongue, and she cries further when you shake your head.

“We can think we’re in love, when we’re really just in pain.” you say to her with a mournful smile. 

“I don’t believe that. Sometimes they go together, because it’s just how it is. Love’s supposed to hurt.”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you. This is something we have to resolve individually, exclusive of each other.”

A look of resignation registers on Wanda’s face. It’s the most meaningful conversation you’ve had since separating, and she’ll willingly let go of the things you don’t want to discuss any further.

“What happens now?” she asks, placing the decision in your hands once again.

“I don’t know,” you say more with your shoulders than anything else. You steer the topic away from Wanda’s persevering feelings for you, and continue with, “I just want to enjoy this meal with… a friend.”

Wanda’s breath hitches at the apparent rejection. 

“You want us to be friends?”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet.”

“Friends....” Wanda trails off. It’s better than nothing, right? Being friends again is a good start. Friends fall in love all the time, don't they?

“I can do ‘friends’.” she says with newfound determination.

“I need to think about it.” you say because in spite of everything, you’re never one to make promises you can’t keep.

Wanda nods meekly. You stare at each other for a few moments, having reached an impasse, before Wanda remembers a major detail in her life she hasn’t shared with you over a text. 

“I have news. I’m opening a café in Queens on Monday. It’s, uh, where most of the alimony went.” 

Your face considerably brightens, as if the past several minutes didn’t happen at all. Wanda falls in love with you just a little harder at your organic reaction to her accomplishment.

“That’s amazing, Wanda. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” she says and blushes at the way you look so proud of her. 

“Wanda Maximoff, Cafe Owner.” you state her new title wistfully. “You make the best coffee though, so I’m not surprised by that…”

Wanda is no longer listening as a sense of déjà vu creeps underneath her skin, recalling how you had said something similar when she accepted a teaching position at Westview Institute.

Wanda Maximoff, Professor.

And when she got that job at the gallery.

Wanda Maximoff, Art Curator.

And after sharing your first kiss as wife and wife.

Wanda Maximoff, my wife.

Wanda comes to, just before you’re done speaking.

“…Is there anything you can’t do?” you say, good-naturedly.

Love you properly. Wanda broods over her regrets. 

She gathers all her verve, only to come up with a paper-thin smile. “You forget I’m a terrible dancer.”

You laugh. “Oh, yeah, that.”

“And I’m also terrible at self-control because,” Wanda admits before she loses the courage for what she’s about to say next. “Because I want to invite you to come to my opening.”

The laughter dies in your throat but the corner of your lips stay upturned.

“I haven’t even gotten my head around ‘friends’ yet.” you remind her softly. “But… I’ll make sure to drop by.”

Wanda exhales in relief. At least she knows when she’ll get to see you again.

“Now, about that Uber?” you say.

“I got it.”

-

Today’s forecast promised clear, blue skies–and yet, the feeling of dread wouldn’t leave Wanda.

She’s never been a fan of boats (and all sorts of transportation for bodies of water), but she couldn’t come up with any other meeting spot where she wouldn’t accidentally run into you. It’s ironic because for weeks, she’s scoured the places you’d normally be for a chance encounter.

Not this time. 

Not when she’s with this person.

Wanda boarded the ferry from Astoria, and it made a quick stop in Roosevelt where Vision was waiting to board the same vessel.

“Thanks for meeting me.” he says as he approaches Wanda who’s standing in the rear viewing deck. The amount of people onboard and the noises of the drafty wind should give them both enough privacy. Wanda doesn’t look up to acknowledge him. She merely continues to observe how the water churns and foams as the ferry picks up speed to leave its dock.

“Threatening to put Y/N in jail if I don’t, didn’t exactly leave me a choice.” Wanda says after a long time. 

“You didn’t leave me a choice either. It’s the only way you’d see me,” he argues, and not for the first time, Wanda sees him for what he really is; a mere school boy whom she dragged into her bed, and indirectly scarred for life. “Plus, you know I wouldn’t do that to her. Not because she doesn’t deserve it, but because I made a promise to you.”

Wanda finally forces herself to look at him. His appearance isn’t that of a healthy person. His gaunt cheeks clearly signifies how much weight he’s lost. There’s an ugly scar that runs from the left side of where his hairline starts, all the way down to his nape. And because of the wound, his previously vibrant blonde is all gone, leaving a dull, sandy color of a shaved head.

“What do you want, Vision?” Wanda whispers, feeling more sorry for him than anything. 

“You.” Vision states obviously. “I know you’re no longer married.”

“I told you it’s over,” Wanda says mutely. “Back when I was still married. Nothing has changed.”

“When this thing between us started, you knew the worst that could happen. You took the risk. That can’t be for nothing.” Vision’s impassioned plea makes her want to throw up. Wanda wants to deny each of his points, but she’d only be fooling herself. 

She did know that there’s a chance you’d discover the affair on your own, and yet she did it anyway. And that’s something she’ll never forgive herself for.

Wanda studies Vision for a moment. She can’t fathom how she ever made the mistake of using him to fill a gap that she couldn’t put a name to–a gap that is deeper and larger in the aftermath of her extramarital affair. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for doing this to you. I’m the worst thing to happen to you and Y/N. I’m sorry for this,” Wanda allows herself to lightly trace the wound on his head as a gesture of sympathy. “Don’t blame her, please. I put her through unimaginable pain for her to have done this.”

Wanda allows him to remove her hand from his face and clasps them in his. It’s the one last thing she can do for him.

“You’re so beautiful.” Vision murmurs, trying to keep his emotions at bay. “I don’t mind having my skull smashed a thousand times if it means I could have you all over again.”

Wanda gasps and promptly backs away, effectively freeing her hand from Vision’s hold.

“Don’t say that. You could’ve died!” 

Vision smirks and Wanda sees a flash of arrogance he held when he was still her student.

“It’s not so different from what you’re doing to me right now.” he says, and Wanda resists the urge to purse her lips.

“You don’t want me, Vision. You’re young and you have so much to offer–”

“–so much potential, so much capable of great things. Yes, Wanda, I know because you made me see it. You believed in me when no one else would. You saved me from being… worthless.” Vision slides down to the deck, leaning against the railing. He groans in pain, massaging his temples, as if rubbing it hard enough would make all of his problems go away.

Wanda crouches beside him, and then says, “I didn’t save you. I used you. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Vision keeps his eyes closed in an effort to avoid the tears threatening to spill. “Are you… are you back together?”

“No.”

A flicker of hope flashes in his eyes. It glows brighter than the sun as he asks, “Did you ever love me?”

Wanda dares to meet his gaze, and there’s no hesitation in the way she says, “No.”

Vision swallows hard and firms his jaw; a showcase of blind resolution that Wanda doesn’t know how to extinguish. 

“I don’t believe you.”

Wanda says nothing. She merely stands up and puts more distance between them.

“You don’t fuck someone like you’ve fucked me and not have feelings.” Vision insists, clinging to the memories of intimately knowing the woman in front of him.

It’s then that Wanda loses her patience.

“You’re a kid,” Wanda snaps, her fingers tightening around the metal rod she’s holding onto. “People lie all the time: with their words, their actions, their bodies. You’re naive to assume you know anything just because you had the best fuck of your life.”

Vision is drawing heavy breaths the second she’s done speaking, as if the weight of Wanda’s words were enough to sink him to the bottom of the sea, desperate for air. Wanda, on the other hand, is equally shocked and simultaneously disgusted at her cruelty towards someone who’s begging for love–begging like she is for yours. What she did to you warranted a punishment that’s ten times greater than he had gotten, and yet you never spoke ill of her, never tried to hurt her as sharply as she did Vision. 

Vision–this charming, brilliant, handsome young man who didn’t do anything wrong but succumbed to his boyish desires. Who she just maimed with her words. 

The ferry arrives in Long Island. People start gathering their belongings before they head towards the exit. Wanda glances at her wristwatch. She’s late for her first staff session with Agatha. 

“Vis,” Wanda croaks. “I wish I could give you what you want, but I can’t. I just can’t, okay? She’s everything to me.”

Vision is quiet, gazing at the sea with a faraway expression.

“It’s more than presumptuous of me to ask you this, but I’m going to ask anyway: forgive Y/N. Please don’t come after her for what happened. I’ll… I’ll pay for the damages.”

Vision lets out a humorless laugh, and then, without looking at her, says, “Just go, Ms. Maximoff.”

-

Monday

It’s nine-thirty in the evening, and Wanda ushers out the last of the customers to grace her opening day. 

You didn’t show up.

“Thank you so much, please come again!” she brightly exclaims with just a hint of tiredness from being all over the place for hours. It wasn’t a blockbuster where the lines would reach the next block, but it didn’t fall flat either. Her pastries were all sold out, and she hadn’t expected the need to place orders to her suppliers so soon.

For all that, as she flips the door sign from ‘Hi, We’re Open’ to ‘Sorry, We’re Closed’, the rush of today’s triumphs also leaves her. 

And then she sits alone in one of the barstools facing the window and patiently waits.

The gap widens some more.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #wanda maximoff #marvel #unbetad #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #my writing #my fic #angst

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (2/?)

Chapter summary: You face your own struggles after the divorce

Chapter word count: 4k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Brief smut, Fingering (r giving), Oral sex (r giving), only mentions of Wanda in this chapter, sorry

Author’s Note: Things will pickup considerably after this.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta​ | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied | @casquinhaa​ | @marvelwomen-simp​ - let me know if I missed anyone 

Next Chapter: Three

---- 

Two

“Thank you for giving me the best years of my life. Goodbye, Wanda.”

You couldn’t escape that room fast enough. The room that kept the person you love most in the world–was your world. Natasha approaches you carefully after handing the check to your lawyer. Her brows are snapped together in what seems like a permanent frown whenever you’re concerned, and it puts you off more than usual. 

“You alright?” she faintly asks, already knowing the answer. The part of you that refuses to die–the part that endlessly cares for Wanda and wants to protect her at all cost–inexplicably wants to send Natasha to that room so she could offer her comfort to your ex-wife instead. Wanda’s been left by you. She is alone for the first time in her adult life, without the same support you’re getting from Natasha. You give thought to the fact that you were Wanda’s best friend first, before you were her lover and eventually her wife. And it dawns on you that, maybe, Wanda's losses outweigh yours. It’s a sick form of victory for some, yet you certainly don’t feel like you’ve won anything. 

“Honestly?” You groan and clutch your stomach, frantically scanning the hallway. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Natasha calls on a staff member to direct you to the nearest restroom.

You nearly miss the toilet in the first empty cubicle you find. Feeling the cold, hard tiles on your knees, you think it couldn’t get any worse than this. You’ve finally hit rock bottom, and you’re still alive–

–If the burn in your throat and the bitter taste of bile in your mouth constitutes being alive. 

Slumped against the porcelain seat of the bowl, hardly a good place to deliberate one’s life choices, you try to figure out what’s next.

-

Following the divorce, you don’t last a month at your new job. Your newfound love of whisky before bedtime may have contributed to it when you only managed to be on time for work twice: your first day and your last.

In the beginning, not being able to see Wanda in the flesh helped. Being back in your beloved city and taking refuge in the small confines of Natasha’s spare room initially distracted you enough to carry on as normally as you would. That lasted a full twenty-four hours before you started seeing her ghost everywhere–on the subway platform while waiting for the train to arrive, on the street lining up for a morning bagel, and even in your bed, whereas she no longer has any business being in. 

You briefly considered moving to a new state, but financially, it wasn’t the best option. With Wanda out of sight, there’s just yourself to deal with. And dealing with yourself gives you a strong urge to flee; to a place or time that would take away the remnants of yourself that stubbornly belong to Wanda. 

“You can stay here as long as you like.” Natasha says when she catches you mindlessly scrolling through real estate listings in the neighborhood. 

“You’ve helped enough, Nat. I can’t keep being your charity case.” you mutter, continuing with your search.

She raises her hand to aim for your temple, but thinks better of it and pulls it back. “You’re lucky I’m done with violence or you would’ve had your ass handed to you for saying that.”

You snicker. “I’m your golden ticket to heaven for being so good to me. Even my mom would’ve kicked me out by now.”

“You want to pay me back? Stay. Don’t argue anymore.”

“But, Nat–”

“I said drop it.”

Your mouth snaps shut at the forceful dismissal. Natasha’s eyes dart everywhere to avoid yours. You’ve been so caught up in your problems, you missed the obvious signs that maybe she needs you as much as you needed someone when your life was falling apart (and still is).

“Babe, are you okay?” you ask, keeping your tone casual.

“Babe,” Natasha chuckles at the nickname you haven’t used on her for almost a decade. “God, it sounds so weird, now that I’ve heard you call Wanda that countless times.”

You scrunch your nose, recalling also the times you’ve screamed that endearment during sex with your ex-wife. “Fuck, you’re right. I kind of want to barf all over this couch.”

“Don’t you dare.” You’re both laughing now and it feels really, really good. 

“So,” you say once you’ve both recovered. “Is there something you’d like to share with me?”

Natasha pauses to think, and it’s more than enough to let you know she doesn’t want to talk about her own problems and feelings. 

“I’m good. Now, where are we on: not abandoning your best friend after exploiting her?” she says, effortlessly putting you back in the spotlight.

Whatever it is she’s going through, you want to be there for her. 

“Fine,” You already owed Natasha your sanity; you didn’t want to owe her money too. “But I want to pay rent.” 

Natasha grins in satisfaction. “Deal.”

-

It was either you get drunk on alcohol, or you get drunk on memories of Wanda. Apparently, it only takes a while before they eventually mix up to mess with your head tenfold. One second you’re struggling to keep your eyes open to take just one more shot before you call it a night, and the next your fingers are inching towards the waistband of your shorts, your mind wandering to moments you’ve woken up in the middle of the night mid-orgasm, your wife’s head buried in between your thighs. 

Nothing sobers you up more than the near mistake of touching yourself to thoughts of your ex-wife. You’re beyond disgusted that you still fantasize about a woman who’s no longer yours.

A woman who basically destroyed your ability to trust. 

The bed of Natasha’s spare room is a double, and you’re still not accustomed to having all the space to yourself. After downing what’s left of the bottle of whisky, you place all the pillows on the unoccupied spot to your left and lay down on your side, waiting for sleep to take you.

-

The days that follow are a mere repetition of the day you officially quit your job. They mostly adopt a template that consists of three things: Netflix, pizza and housekeeping.

(In truth, it’s four things, but you keep the liquor in your room, where all the drinking takes place without your best friend’s knowledge.)

Apart from being a lifestyle that’s easy to maintain, it is also a far cry from your old life. You want to remove as much detail in your life that reminds you of Wanda, and this is what you’re left with. Your mother(and only living parent) who has retired in Montauk, is not pleased to discover that you’re reliving your college era–jobless and sharing a flat with Natasha. But at least she had more to say about your current situation than when you told her about your failed marriage over the phone. 

“I did warn you about that girl.” your mother remarked frankly during that call, and then proceeded to flatly ask if you were okay, like she was reading a script on how to react when you find out your daughter is getting a divorce. In retrospect, it was the best reaction you could ever hope for considering her dislike of Wanda–a feeling she’s never attempted to hide at every opportunity. Wanda, to her credit, only ever respected and loved her through the side-eyes and snarky comments, and this capability of hers to do so surprised you given her relationship with her own mother. The way she loved your mother certainly felt like an extension of her love for you.

Right after letting your mother know you’re out of work, she wired you a ridiculous amount of money for your “allowance”. You tried giving it back, but she refused and alluded that you should take some time to enjoy yourself without the pressure of getting another nine-to-five desk job. You graciously relented, knowing it was her way of looking out for you and being sorry for what happened with Wanda. 

And that is basically how you are able to keep up being a kermit in Natasha’s apartment. If it’s up to you, you wouldn’t change a thing in your routine, but Natasha has other ideas after finding her study tidy and uncluttered–which she often leaves in a state of anarchy.

“Here,” she says, handing you a purple key fob. “Go to the gym, and use up all your energy on lifting weights instead of ruining my order of things around here and wallowing in self-pity.”

You pause the television and put down the slice of pizza you’ve been holding to receive the key with greasy fingers. 

“If I go, will you promise to leave me alone for the rest of the week?” you ask around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni. 

“Do it, and then I’ll think about it.”

You shrug and return to finishing a whole box of pizza by yourself and your eleventh re-run of Modern Family. 

“One more thing,” Natasha says, tossing you a watch. You click pause again and look at the offending item on your lap. “Wear that so I’ll know if you actually do the workout.”

You groan and Natasha smiles in triumph at your agony. You don’t know what her deal is, but you’re actually thankful someone’s making sure you don’t stuff yourself to death with pizza.

-

The gym looks more like a hotel lobby than a place where people grunt and sweat and ogle their reflection.

By the counter near the elevators, a receptionist is wearing an ensemble that belongs more to a fashion magazine company. You had expectations that it would be a luxurious place due to it being housed on the penthouse floor of Manhattan’s newest skyscraper. It’s ridiculously aboveboard, however, and you’re starting to feel uneasy and out-of-place. 

“Welcome back, Ms. Romanoff.” The receptionist greets you, flashing her unnaturally white and straight teeth. You respond with a timid nod before heading straight to the lockers in case she asks for ID. 

After changing into a black sports bra and biker shorts, you walk straight to the lifting section. 

There are only two other clients in that room, both of them male, and they’re not exactly subtle as they let their gaze sweep over you from head to toe. 

Oblivious to prying eyes, you attempt to deadlift just a tad more than half your weight, but think better of it when your forearms feel like they would snap out of your elbows if you try to raise the bar a few more inches off the ground. Exhaling sharply, you drop the weights and it causes a resounding bang as it hits the floor, turning a couple of heads in your direction as a result. You hear snickering behind you, and sweat forms along your hairline as you duck your head in embarrassment. 

Your eyes flit to the rows of treadmill to your right. That’s something you definitely can’t screw up. Hopping on one that’s situated in the corner, you are presented with a spectacular aerial view of the city.  

The last time you’ve been to the gym was the day you learned that Wanda was fucking one of her students. While you haven’t lost weight (quite frankly, you’ve managed the opposite), you’ve lost all the muscles you’ve developed in a measly gym back in Westview. Your habit of googling everything led you to actually read a few dozen articles on how to heal a broken heart, and while their advice varied from developing a healthy habit to copious amounts of rebound sex, they all suggested daily exercise or taking up a new sport. Running was the only sport you fell in love with in the suburbs, but you found it hard to motivate yourself once you moved back to the city.

You and Wanda spent a lot of time in Central Park the first few months you began dating, and you knew how much she enjoyed taking random walks there. No matter its vastness and the odds of randomly seeing her during a stroll being less than ten percent, you can’t rely on your subconscious not to bring you to some of the areas that might result in an encounter. 

Not that you haven’t thought about the possibility, on the contrary, you’ve thought about running into Wanda a lot. 

You’ve thought about how you’ll feel and what you’d do. If you see her, should you say hello like two old friends meeting after a long estrangement? Should you apologize for not answering her texts and returning her calls? Would she apologize for it again? Are your interactions from now on, going to be awkward exchanges of hellos and sorries? 

Will words be exchanged at all? Or will you be strangers passing each other on the sidewalks, like parallel lines that would walk the same paths but never intersect each other again?

How do you cope with knowing someone from the inside-out, only to cut them out completely out of your life?

“Excuse me?” you hear a female voice next to you, cutting your line of thought.

Speeding on the treadmill at eight miles per hour, you’re lucky to hit the stop button before you could trip all over your feet. Once you’re sure you won’t lose your balance, you steadily turn around to address the owner of the voice– 

The girl is stunning, and–as cliché as it sounds–has the appearance of a Victoria’s Secret model. Her auburn hair is styled in an intricate braid and she smells too good for someone who’s just finished their workout. 

“Can I help you?” you ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious about your own appearance and scent.

It doesn’t help your diffidence when she deliberately takes a step closer. 

She must’ve sensed her effect on you, because she makes the bold move to place a delicate hand on your damp arm, then says, “I’m about to do some post-workout stretch, and I know this is gonna sound weird but I need your help.” 

You swallow dryly. “My help… stretching?”

“I understand if you’re not comfortable with it. It’s just, I don’t want to ask a man to do this for me.”

You blink at her. Otherwise, you barely move a muscle in your face.

At your lack of verbal response, she gives you an apologetic smile and starts walking away. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, thank you for your time.”

You catch a whiff of her perfume, and suddenly your tongue finally catches up with your brain. 

“Wait!”

Like a trained ballerina, she swivels gracefully on her heel, and you swear she looks even younger from this distance. 

“I can help. Just tell me what to do.”

-

You’ve never done this. You’ve never done anything remotely close to this.

Not before Wanda, and certainly not in a semi-public place where anyone could walk in and hear you. 

(Although in this case, they’d be hearing her.) 

Her name is Charlie (or was it Lottie?) and she’s riding you on a bench in the women’s dressing room. Her towel has pooled to her waist, barely covering her ass as it bounces on your lap at the motion of her hips lifting and forcefully coming back down to fuck herself on your fingers. 

You’re so mesmerized at the sight of someone’s pleasure, and the fact that you’re the one causing it. By your standards, it hasn’t been too long. But the nights you’ve woken up to a throbbing sensation between your legs and not once seeking release, had you acting on impulse when Charlie/Lottie kissed you as soon as you stepped out of the shower. 

“Fuck, it feels so good.” she moans against your ear. “More, please.”

You don’t bother to ask what she’s asking for specifically, as you insert a third finger into her pussy, and push in and out of her at a speed that has your wrist cramping in a matter of seconds. She doesn’t last much longer after that. As soon as she starts coming, she buries her head in the area where your neck meets your shoulder; her teeth biting rather harshly at the flesh there while her walls flutter around you. 

She kisses you softly after she comes down from her high, and it almost makes you cry. 

“Thank you.” she murmurs sheepishly, and you try not to think about the last person who thanked you for an orgasm. 

“You haven’t cum yet. Do you want–”

“Can I taste you?” you whisper, blushing at your own request.

She nods eagerly at that, and you gently lay her down fully on the bench. You take her towel off completely from her waist and place it over her chest in case she starts to feel chilly. Securing your own towel around you, you lick a trail down her body. The thing about Charlie (you decided to just call her that) is she’s inconceivably hot. Half of your thoughts are fixated on that one particular fact, and the other half is still fumbling with what’s already happening. Charlie’s thighs close around your head, causing your cheeks to rub against the smoothness of them. Her supple skin feels as expensive as it looks, her stomach is taut and defined, unlike–

Nope.

You’re not supposed to compare. You’re not supposed to even think about her at this moment. 

When you reach your destination, you place an open-mouthed kiss at the top of her cunt before flicking her clit with the tip of your tongue in short, quick strokes. At the same time, your right hand travels to your own wet heat, and you groan at her taste and the relief of finally attending to your own needs. Charlie impatiently removes the towel covering her torso to grab her own breasts and squeeze them. 

Moving lower, to the place where she’s ostensibly gushing, you stick your tongue in a slow but deliberate movement. The action causes her to abandon one of her tits in order to cover the scream that escapes her mouth. You switch up tactics. Flattening your tongue against her clit, you alternate between massaging and giving it little licks, all the while you mimic the same measures to your own nub. You start moaning against her pussy, sending subtle vibrations that add to her building climax. 

You meant to tease her to no end, until she impatiently whines, “Hurry, my boyfriend’s picking me up soon.”

“Yeah, my boyfriend is on the way to pick me up.” Wanda said after you asked her if she’ll be okay on her own. Natasha had been ringing your phone for the last fifteen minutes, and it wasn’t going to stop vibrating in your pocket unless you got to the subway.

She’s the prettiest girl you’ve ever met, but the universe apparently had other plans and was telling you you’re in over your head. 

You tried to contain your disappointment. “It was nice meeting you, Wanda.”

“Likewise, Y/N.” Wanda beamed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The faint glow of the golden hour hit the side of her face at the most perfect angle. Her bottom teeth weren’t perfect, but her smile was so carefree and so unrestrained, it lit up the empty hallway where the two of you were standing close together. A warm fuzziness seized your entire body, reaching the end of your toes and your fingertips. 

It’s a mystery to you as well, but you genuinely hoped she was happy and properly loved. 

With a grateful smile, you waved her goodbye.

However, just right before you turned a corner, you heard your name echoing in the hallway. 

“Y/N?”

You turned around and met Wanda’s green eyes that pulled you like magnets. “Yes?”

“Do you, maybe, want to hang out sometime?”

You didn’t think you’d eventually find yourself at the other side of the equation. That someone would use you to cheat on their partner. Karma has a dark sense of humor, and you can’t do anything but chuckle in disbelief.  Her revelation makes you freeze in all respects, and there’s no way you’re going to cum after knowing that you’re fucking someone else’s girlfriend. 

“That was incredible,” Charlie murmurs in between pants. She reclines on her back, unabashedly naked like a renaissance painting. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again with you.”

You pick up her towel that has fallen on the floor, and carelessly toss it right at her face. 

“I would.” is all you say, and start dressing yourself without another word. 

-

You don’t remember much of the so-called walk of shame. One minute you’re eating a girl out, and the next you’re back in Natasha’s apartment, staring at the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back. You took another shower–a scalding one–when you got home, cleaning off the woman’s traces from your skin. What you couldn’t remove is the mark she left on your neck: a glaring purple bruise that will probably won’t go away for at least two days. 

With a long sigh, you close your eyes at the detail that won’t leave you. 

She had a boyfriend.

For a short moment you were in Vision’s shoes, even if you had no idea that she was using you for the very same thing that broke you.

“Y/N?”

You visibly jolt out of your stupor, and reach for the knob of the bathroom door to make sure it’s locked.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“No, it’s fine. Please don’t come out yet. I prefer saying this without you seeing me right now.” Natasha says, and you can tell she’s now standing just on the other side of the door. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, uhm…”

A pause. Two deep breaths drawn, and then–

“I’ve decided I’m going back.”

“Back…?”

“Back to work.”

“Natasha,” You say in quiet shock. “Does he know? You’ve talked to him about this?”

Natasha nods. “He said I can do whatever I want. We’re on a break, anyway.”

“Oh,” Your eyes drop to the floor, thinking of something else to say.

“You’re going to be okay on your own, right?” you hear Natasha whisper through the door.

You? She’s putting her life in constant danger once again, and she’s asking you. It just about makes you smile with boundless affection. You’ve been through countless conversations with Natasha, trying to talk her into a career that is not life-threatening at the very least. You used to think that Bruce coming into her life years ago would change her mind, but it seems her work is so etched to her identity that she could not just be without it.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. When are you leaving?”

“The day after tomorrow.” she says.

You open the door this time. “Wow, they really need you that bad, huh?”

Natasha smirks. “Clint’s throwing me an impromptu send-off party tomorrow night. Will you come?”

“As long as you’ll pay for the drinks.”

“He’s got us covered,” Natasha says, and then her eyes zero in on the evidence of your earlier tryst. “Oh, and you might want to cover that up.”

You blush as your fingers automatically stroke the hickey on your neck.  

“I–” you try to explain.

She doesn’t let you and only says, “Good for you. Sweet dreams, stranger.” with a knowing little wink, before retreating to her own room. 

Good for you. Somehow that makes you feel infinitely worse. 

You pad quietly towards your bed, and as you settle in it, you hear a vibration coming from inside the nightstand next to you. 

It’s your old phone. The one you keep but no longer use. The one that Wanda’s been relentlessly calling and texting. It’s buzzing to notify you that its battery is at a critical level.

You still haven’t decided what you should do with it. When you were married to Wanda, you were naturally each other’s emergency contact, and so you’ve convinced yourself that maybe you should keep it for that reason alone.

Picking up the phone with the intention to plug it, you see one missed call from Wanda. Guilt, however irrational it may be, settles at the pit of your stomach as your mind returns to what happened in the gym. It mortifies you now to realize that you have touched Charlie the way you would touch Wanda when you made love to her.

Aside from the missed call, there’s a text message from Wanda that reads: Took Sparky to the vet today. He said there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe he just misses you.

Biting your lower lip, you think about responding. 

‘I miss him too’, you begin to type. ‘I miss y–’

You quickly press the backspace button to delete it altogether. Deciding not to text back, you return the phone to its hiding place. The battery will eventually run out, and maybe then, you’ll be able to decide its fate. 

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #wanda maximoff #marvel #natasha romanoff #unbetad #My writing #my fic

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (8/?)

Chapter summary: You and Wanda wake up, each in your own way, but with a shared realization that ultimately leads to the same conclusion.

Chapter word count: 4,061

Trigger Warnings: mentions of suicide

Author's note: Please read the trigger warnings before proceeding. This chapter is short, but it concludes the ending of Part I (ILGOSS will be told in 3 parts). We are 1/3 through the story after this! Any mistakes are mine, unbeta'd as always.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Nine

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @sayah13 | @aliherreraa

-

Eight (end of Part I)

When you dream this time, it’s that night again.

You’re back in Westview, New Jersey, or at least a version of it that’s forever in the midst of a storm. Yet, in the thick of the tempest, the familiar sights greet you.The deep hue of dark blue engulfs everything, while the moon casts its enchanting display of twisted tree shadows upon the room's walls. You don’t see a calendar anywhere, but you know what day it is. The day you consciously removed your wedding ring while Wanda begged you not to leave her. It’s the day your heart stopped beating. 

There, in the bedroom you once shared as spouses, Wanda is kneeling on the floor, cradling your face in her hands, the gold metal band on her left ring finger burning against your cheek with how cold it has gotten. 

But this Wanda is battered and bruised; a cut on her lip and discolored patches adjourned her once-pristine features; a chilling testament to the pain and suffering she’s endured. 

“Wanda, who did this to you?” you ask. Your fingers come up to gently graze the ugly marks. Wanda only sighs and closes her eyes at your touch; she seems to revel in the sting they bring to her fresh wounds. A seething rage simmers in the depths of your being, momentarily tamed by the presence of the fragile woman in front of you. 

The cut on her lip stretches as a smile works its way to her lips, adding a touch of complexity to her expression. “Baby, don’t you recall?”

As you gaze into Wanda's eyes, her question lingers in the air, stirring fragments of memories within your mind. The weight of her words hangs there, urging you to search deep within the recesses of your consciousness.

But she tells you anyway.

“You did.”

Your mouth opens in horror. “That can’t be right.”

“It’s okay, baby. It has to be this way.” Wanda says, her eyes shining with sadness and resignation.

"Why?" you ask, your eyes welling up with tears as a few of them manage to slip free.

Wanda catches them with her chapped lips, tasting the salt from them.

“So we can be together again.”

-

This time around, when you wake up, you remember every detail of your dream. 

You think about calling Wanda. Maybe even seeing her. 

But you don’t think you’ll ever stop hurting her if you do.

-

The light is blinding when Wanda’s consciousness gradually reawakens. As her eyes slowly adjust, Wanda's ears are immersed in the backdrop of sounds surrounding her. A steady beep emanates from a nearby machine, signaling that her vital signs are stable. Voices resonate nearby, discussing the medications she recalls consuming moments before succumbing to unconsciousness. 

It wasn’t her intention to wake up in a hospital. But at the same time, she’s too scared to admit that waking up at all was the least of her concerns when she emptied a bottle of sleeping pills in one night. All Wanda wanted was to numb the pain. And it worked perfectly. 

For three days.

When her vision finally refocuses, it is Pietro's face that greets her, hurt and confused. Wanda struggles to get up, but her muscles, weakened from inactivity, fail her. With a hand on her shoulder, Pietro carefully urges her to remain lying down.

"Hey, don't strain yourself," Pietro says, pulling his chair nearer to Wanda's bedside. “You just survived the darkest moment of your life, you know?” Pietro smiles softly at her, willing the wetness pricking at his eyes not to fall. 

“Are you hungry? Shannon went out to buy some of your favorite snacks.” Pietro says, caressing the top of Wanda’s head. 

"I..." Wanda attempts to speak, but only a hoarse sound escapes her parched throat. Then she starts coughing uncontrollably from the dryness of her throat. Pietro hurriedly pours her a glass of water and brings it to her lips, assisting her as she takes a careful sip. 

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says softly, once she has recovered her voice a little. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want to–”

“I know,” Pietro couldn’t bear to hear more. He wouldn’t be able to keep it together longer if he hears the word ‘die’ fall from Wanda’s lips. “It was just an accident right?”

Wanda nods, her lower lip quivering as the gravity of what she’s put her brother through comes crashing down on her. They’ve been orphans since they were twelve, and one of their parents had willingly orphaned them by succumbing to a toxic combination of alcohol and prescription pills. It was a nightmare that took them years to wake up from. For Wanda, it took meeting you and experiencing your unconditional love and devotion, to completely heal from that.

With what’s happened, Wanda has no idea how Pietro can look at her with anything but resentment. And even then, overwhelmed with guilt for letting her brother undergo the same trauma they went through as kids, she thinks of you. 

She wonders if you knew; if you’ve seen her in the worst possible way. She considers herself to be utterly pathetic, believing that she has nothing to offer you anymore. In the past, she had something when she basked in the warmth of your love and affection, but without it, she sees herself as unworthy and devoid of any value.

“Did you–” Wanda clears her throat when her voice breaks again. “Did you talk to Y/N?”

Pietro’s jaw hardens at the mention of your name. Wanda senses that his knowledge extends beyond mere speculation; in the last 72 hours she had been indisposed, Pietro had all the time to find out what he needed. 

“She’s not your emergency contact anymore,” he says, his voice rising in volume as his temper edges closer to the brink of his control. "And if anything had happened to you, I would have put her in this very hospital."

“Piet, don’t say that, she’s got nothing to do with–”

“Don’t fucking cover for her, Wanda. She’s toxic for you,” he hisses through gritted teeth, and Wanda’s eyes fall shut from hearing the truth. 

“W-What I did to her was worse–” 

“Worse?” Pietro’s voice steadily rises. “She wasn’t the one who ended up with a tube down her fucking throat just to be kept alive!” he yells out, catching the attention of the nurses passing by Wanda’s room. 

Wanda says nothing. She stares at the oximeter clipped around her finger as she absorbs Pietro’s anguish. 

“Agatha told me everything,” he continues to seethe. “Everything. She used you like a toy. For what? To cure her own damage?”

Wanda recoils as if she’s been slapped. You don't deserve his wrath; none of this is your fault. She made her own choices—

"I don't care what you think you did, or if you think you deserve all this shit because you don't," he says firmly. "She doesn't have the right to treat you like trash."

"But she does, Piet," Wanda responds, her voice filled with self-blame. "I hurt her so much--"

“Do you even hear yourself?” he interrupts; there’s just so much frustration that he couldn’t release the way he’d like because of Wanda’s delicate situation. “How many times?” he asks.

“What?”  Wanda replies, confused by the sudden question.

"How many times did it happen?" Pietro presses.

Wanda shakes her head, refusing to answer. “Why does that matter?”

“Jesus, Wanda,” Pietro sighs sharply. “You have bruises on your skin. They showed me where they are mapped all over your body.  Between your apartment and the cafe, you couldn’t have gotten them from an accident or anyone you interact with daily. It’s her, isn’t it?”

"Please, Pietro, that's enough," Wanda pleads, attempting to lift her head from the pillow to get a better look at him but her world suddenly spins, causing her to groan in discomfort.

"If I had been even a second late bringing you to the hospital, you'd be dead by now. So, no, Wanda. I won't let her near you ever again," Pietro asserts, jaw clenched and eyes red from being up all night and from crying.

"I wasn’t asking for her," Wanda interjects once Pietro's anger subsides momentarily. “I–I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. I was worried that you contacted her.”

Pietro's mouth twists into a humorless smile, his gaze fixed on Wanda’s pale form. In that moment, he wonders if his sister has truly lost her mind, still worrying about you above all else. 

"I don't know, Wanda. Maybe if she knew what she drove you to do, she'd finally stay away for good," he spits out bitterly, his anger burning fiercely and showing no signs of dissipating.

"Keep her out of this," Wanda warns him, summoning what little energy remains within her. "Promise me."

Pietro breathes audibly through his nose, and then reluctantly obliges with a sharp nod. The thing about addiction is, one wouldn’t know the lengths an addict would go through for the very thing they fixate on. He's acutely aware of the need to be cautious with his words and actions around Wanda. While she may have survived this particular ordeal, who knows about tomorrow or the day after that?

"I promise I won't say anything to her," he says, leaning in to lock eyes with her. "But I need you to promise me something in return. Promise me that you'll seek help."

Wanda doubts that therapy will be able to alleviate the emptiness she feels every minute of every day. However, she realizes that it won't hurt to tell Pietro what he needs to hear at this moment.

"Okay," she whispers softly. "I promise."

-

To your astonishment, you are offered the job at Stark Industries.

The news comes three days after the interview that you initially thought was a disaster. A small talk with the hiring manager informs you that the interviewer found your honesty refreshing; too refreshing that he doubled your asking salary in exchange for starting as early as Monday the following week. You could start today if it was possible, but you quell your excitement so as not to come off desperate or too eager. 

After dropping the call with their human resources representative, you thumb through your contacts, stopping at Wanda’s name briefly, before scrolling down to Yelena’s number. Calling Wanda used to be your go-to in these significant moments, but you reassure yourself that it's just a habit that will fade with time.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice is hoarse from sleep–hopefully just that, and nothing else. Since the night of your visit, there has been a notable silence between you, particularly regarding the voice message she sent you in her drunken state.

"Hey, it's me," you utter, pausing to take a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady your racing heart. “Just checking in, and uhm, guess what? I got the job at Stark Industries. I start on Monday.”

“That’s awesome, Y/N. Congratulations!” Yelena sounds sincerely happy at your news and you smile at hearing the glee in her voice.

“Thank you. Unemployment was starting to suck.” you chuckle, switching the phone to your other ear. 

“Who else knows? I think your mom is going to be so relieved to hear that.” Yelena says.

“Actually, you’re the first one to know,” you say, blushing at your confession. “I mean, I’d call Nat but she’s in some unknown part of the world and you know how it is when she’s working.”

You hear Yelena hum, and then carefully, she says, “So you called me first because my sister is unavailable?”

Her insinuation that this was a proxy call causes you to tightly shut your eyes, reflecting on your own stupidity.

“No, that’s not it.” you say, a little hastily. “I called you because you’re the first person I want to tell. I-I don’t know why I said the other thing.”

“I see,” Yelena says, her tone even and unaffected. “Okay.”

You sense the shift in her mood. The ball is now in your court, and you can tell that she's anticipating your decision on how to proceed with it.

“Listen, uh, about that night–”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Sending you that message was… I couldn’t be more embarrassed,” Yelena says, sort of deflecting. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Don’t apologize. I needed to hear that. It was a wake up call for all the shit you had to put up with for me.”

You hear Yelena take several deliberate breaths, before she says, “Okay, Y/N. Okay…”

"Can we discuss this further? Perhaps over dinner tonight?" you ask, as you tightly grip your device to your ear.

On the opposite end, a prolonged silence ensues as Yelena remains quiet. Moments pass, filled only with intermittent sniffling and the faint sound of sheets rustling. Right before you’re about to check if she’s still on the line, she finally murmurs, “Will 8pm work for you?”

You release a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. 

"I'll pick you up.”

You reach Yelena’s place ahead of schedule, arriving before eight in the evening. In fact, you find yourself thirty minutes early, yet you willingly choose to wait outside her door, preferring not to appear disrespectful of the time she specified for the two of you to meet. 

Positioned with your back against her door, legs crossed, you entertain yourself by scrolling through your phone, engrossed in useless facts you somehow find amusing. You’re so engrossed about the science behind why strings get tangled, when without warning, the door swings open, startling you to the point that you nearly lose your balance, teetering on the verge of landing unceremoniously on the floor.

“Y/N!” Yelena jumps and yells your name in surprise. “You scared the shit out of me. What the fuck are you doing?”

"I was early," you mutter, squinting as you look up at her. Tonight holds a distinct aura, far removed from the casual dynamics of your previous basketball outings as friends—well, sort of. It dawns on you only now as you find yourself on the ground, gazing up at Yelena's radiant visage, that she is too exceptional and breathtaking for you to ever feel deserving of.

Yelena laughs deep from her belly. “You could have knocked?”

You grin at her sheepishly. Yelena looks down at you, mirroring the silly smile on your face, and then offers a hand to help you up. You graciously take it, pulling on her a little as she supports some of your weight into a standing position. 

“To be honest, I’m not that hungry.” she says, putting on her stud earrings as she toes the pair of stilettos she had picked earlier to go with her outfit.

“Oh,” you frown, disappointment washing over your features. “A rain check then?”

Yelena shakes her head, her glossy rose-colored lips pressing into a thin line. “I kind of want to take a walk… if that’s okay with you?”

“A walk sounds lovely.”

“Let me just change into something more comfortable.” she says. You kind of expect her to go back to her room for a change of clothes, but Yelena simply kicks the stilettos to the side and pulls out a pair of Nikes from the shoe rack. And somehow, it goes even better with her sundress. 

You haven’t noticed you’ve been staring until Yelena calls you out on it. 

“What?” she asks.

“If I had known I’d be walking next to the coolest person in the city, I would have offered dinner at my place instead.” you remark, looking down at the ripped jeans and v-neck black top you’re wearing. You miss the way Yelena’s eyes travel with you, sweeping your body once with an appreciative glance. 

Yelena playfully mocks you with a teasing, "Loser", and then sort of shoves you into the hallway with a strength that is unmistakably Romanov. 

You don’t want to get your hopes up, but this walk already looks promising. 

“God, that made me so hungry.” Yelena comments around a mouthful of her hotdog sandwich. Circling the neighborhood, you’ve walked a total of three miles, at a speed that couldn’t even be called a snail pace. 

“Thought you weren’t hungry?” you tease her lightly.

“Well, maybe, if you didn’t make me walk a marathon–”

“For your information, a marathon is 26.2 miles.”

“Whatever. Semantics.”

It really isn’t, but you roll your eyes anyway and let it go. It’s a debate for another time.

After falling into a brief, comfortable silence, Yelena asks, “So, you relapsed. That’s all there is to it right?”

It seems you’re back on the heavier topics, but that was precisely the purpose of meeting Yelena tonight; to put a name to whatever that’s been going on long enough between the two of you. Navigating the space between being more than friends but less than lovers has proven to be a precarious situation, one that has placed you in the predicament of almost losing her friendship altogether.

Which is why you told her everything–well, maybe not everything. Most of it. You recounted how you found Vision in Wanda’s cafe, how it triggered something in you that you didn’t know existed. How you thought you had already moved on from the hurt of her betrayal, only for it to resurface at a greater intensity.

And then you told her about that night you showed up at Wanda’s, consumed by an overwhelming desire to ruin and exact revenge the only way you knew how. 

You do not, however, disclose the nights that followed, or the several times you went to Wanda in the middle of the day to have her in the stockroom of her cafe, or that one time in the public restroom of the company who just hired you. Well, semantics, right?

“Relapse?” you tilt your head at her quizzically. 

"When you slept with her," Yelena clarifies, unapologetically, despite her own clear romantic interest in you. It's as if she sees it as a commonplace and almost normal occurrence for someone to sleep with their ex-wife.

“I’m not sure if it’s as simple as that.” you reply.

“Did it happen because you’re in love with her?” she asks. 

At this second, you’re no longer pretending to walk. You’ve both stopped at an intersection even though it’s not a particularly busy one.

“I wanted to hurt her,” you quietly confess. The rational part of your brain knows that it’s the farthest thing from love as far as a healthy and nurturing relationship goes. So, it’s rational thinking that prods you to answer with, “By definition, no.”

Yelena seems satisfied with it.

“Okay.” she says.

“Okay, what?” It’s starting to bother you how often she’s been throwing that word around all day.

“Okay. You relapsed. I’m not easily fazed by such things if that’s what you’re worried about,” Yelena tells you with a soft smile, the lamp post hitting illuminating her face in the best way. “I still think we have a shot at this. Do you?”

More than a decade after your relationship took a backseat to Yelena's dreams, you both feel that you owe it to yourselves to at least try. For a long time, you both regretted not seeing your relationship through, and now you have the opportunity for a second chance at your first love. It's a rare opportunity that few people are given in their lifetime.

“I do,” you say. It’s unthinkable to do otherwise.

“Good. Because I think you can be happy with me. We were happy, Y/N. We can have that again. You know I’d never hurt you.”

You can’t exactly say the same for her. But by not trying, you have hurt her.  When you’re with Yelena, you feel like you’re capable of becoming a better person–at least better than the person you were for the last several days. 

“This is the part where I kiss you, but maybe we should take things slow.” Yelena says with a teary laugh.

A smile graces your lips in return, and you lean in to envelop her in a warm and tight embrace.

Yelena sighs into your shoulder, and you nuzzle her head with your cheek, the sweet strawberry smell of her shampoo giving you a feeling of lightness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

“You know what I should do first though?” you whisper after some time.

“Hm?” Yelena hums, still clinging onto you comfortably.

“Move out of your sister’s place.” you murmur softly into her hair. 

"Good. Because I don't date people who still share a living space with their best friends in their thirties," Yelena replies, her voice muffled against your chest as she snuggles closer to you. The vibrations of your laughter resonate through your throat.

“Pot calling the kettle black.”

-

There is a phenomenon called ‘Rayleigh Scattering’. It’s basically the change in hues of the sky, when the sun is low in the morning and the blue light scatters away, so that a sea of orange and red floods the heavens instead. 

Wanda learns about it while she waits for you to show up at her doorstep, the night following her discharge from the hospital. In light of recent events, she successfully managed to talk Pietro out of moving into her place temporarily. Though she agreed she’d take his calls at specific times during the day, or else he will pack up his bags and take his residence in her guest bedroom.

So, going back to her old ways, Wanda stays up all night, attentive to your impending arrival; a human time lapse looking directly into the eyes of time. 

But your familiar steps never echoed in the hallway when the clock struck nine in the evening.

And the night after. 

And the next. 

Until one day, your smell no longer lingers in her pillows and her sheets.

For the following weeks that you keep failing to show up, Wanda makes an effort to refrain from checking on you. She’s done enough to push you away; to hurt you even even further by forcing herself to be with you in any capacity that you allow. Unconsciously, her insistence only turned you into a lesser version of yourself–the only version of you that was willing to be with her. 

It hurt Wanda to know that she’d be the one to bring out the worst in you.

She wanted to be better for you; to fill in the mold of someone you deserved to be with. She tried to, by putting up her own business and dedicating all of her efforts to establish it. She did something for herself for the sake of learning and growing, and moving on from the idealistic and unreliable wife you used to know. 

Ironically, her progress took a nosedive when you reentered her life. Seeing you awakened that selfish part of her that always wants you to be hers–at all costs. 

She was scheming to get you back at all cost. The realization of that came too late. She had already ended up further than when she started. 

Wanda stares off in the distance as she stirs the coffee she’s made for herself in her own kitchen, its rich aroma providing the smallest comfort.

Somewhere, you’re in New York, probably taking your morning coffee as well; probably drinking it black because you’re too lazy to add the cream and sugar yourself. If you were together, you’d be having your coffee in an entirely different way because Wanda loves to keep the little things extra special, especially when it comes to your pleasure.

Somewhere in New York, you exist; it serves as the sole source of solace while she chooses to leave you in solitude, at least for the time being.

With the business card that Pietro had discreetly slipped into her jacket as she was leaving the hospital the other week, Wanda ponders her options, flipping it between her fingers. After a moment of contemplation, she resolves to retrieve her phone and dial the number on it.

You’re still Wanda’s dream. She doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. 

But now she understands that in order for dreams to turn into reality, she needs to wake up and fight for herself as well; after all–love isn’t something that weak people do.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (22/23)

Chapter summary: Natasha finally reaches out with a way for you to earn her forgiveness; You assess where you are in your own journey of discovering who you are without Wanda.

Chapter word count: 9.2k+ | Warnings: Angst | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: It's not the end--yet. Enjoy! :)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next part: Twenty-three

--

Twenty-Two

The night before the Cup-off, you’re helping Wanda to round off all the final preparations for the competition when you finally receive a text you’ve been anticipating for the past several weeks. 

Natasha’s message is laconic and straight to the point. And she’s using a different number too.

Meet me in 30 minutes at our usual spot - Nat

Upon reading the message, it hits you right away that this is the only chance you’ll ever get to talk to your best friend again. You glance at Wanda who seems engrossed in a pile of notebooks, scribbling and revising her ideas with fervor. You approach her, lightly tapping her shoulder to grab her attention.

“Hey, I... I've got to go,” you say, your voice small and reluctant.

Wanda turns to face you, her brows stitching together in confusion. “Go? Now? What's going on?”

“It’s Nat,” is all you get to say before Wanda is nodding in full understanding. She sighs, running a hand through her hair. She knows how much you've been waiting for this. Truthfully, she's slightly apprehensive about how this conversation could unfold. And although she’s laid all her cards for you, she’s afraid that Natasha might say something that would change your mind about her. 

Wanda anxiously chews on her lip. This isn't the time for her to act selfishly. “Alright, just be careful, okay?”

In response, you kiss her quickly before heading out.

The walk to your usual spot is shorter than you remember, or maybe your thoughts are just too consumed by the prospect of seeing your best friend after weeks of begging her to talk to you.

You reach the small, familiar park where you've shared countless moments with Natasha. You find her sitting on the same bench where you used to sit together during your college days. Seeing her there, waiting for you, fills you with a pang of nostalgia. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Nat,” you greet, the nickname rolling off your tongue as if it hasn't been weeks since you last said it to her face. Her response is a silent nod, an invitation to sit beside her. Despite the clear tension, you sit anyway, waiting for her to speak first. This is her show, her rules. You're just here to listen.

“Y/N,” Natasha starts, her voice steady. There's a calculated calmness about her, which is so distinctly Natasha that it makes your heart ache a little. “It's been awhile.”

You nod, unsure of what to say.

Inhaling deeply, she continues, her emerald eyes piercing into yours. “I’m aware of what you're hoping to achieve here. But I need you to understand that this might not go as you think it will.”

“I know that, Nat.” you say.

“Do you?” she retorts with a humorless laugh. “Because I'm not sure you understand how much you've hurt my sister.”

Her pain and anger is as palpable as the day she told you you weren’t friends anymore–they simmer, beneath the facade of indifference that she’s practiced so well.

“Maybe I do,” you say.

“What?” Natasha asks sharply, as if daring you to elaborate.

“I do understand how she feels. Which is why I know there’s nothing I can do to atone for–”

“You really are shameless, you know that?”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, though you know your words are but a hollow echo, unable to mend the broken pieces.

“For what?” Natasha counters, her eyes glossy under the dying daylight. “For betraying her? For breaking her heart? Or for being too cowardly to face what you've done?”

“For all of it,” you whisper, hardening your jaw to hold back the torrent of emotions ready to consume you. “And for the fact that I can't undo any of it.”

A single tear rolls down Natasha's cheek, and something constricts in your chest, knowing that Natasha rarely shows her emotions, let alone cry in front of anyone.

You thought you understood before, but you didn’t. Not until this moment. The hurt you've caused is not just a concept, it's tangible, it's real, and for the first time, you truly see it.

“I'm sorry,” you repeat, the sincerity of your regret reflected in your eyes.

For a moment, silence descends upon you both, broken only by the distant hooting of an owl and the rustling of the wind through the leaves.

“Does she know you're sorry?” Natasha finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She...she does,” you say, letting out a ragged breath. “The last time I saw Yelena... I told her how sorry I was. But she...she told me she doesn't know if she can ever forgive me.”

This revelation takes Natasha by surprise. “She talked to you?” She manages to ask after a beat.

“Yes,” you blink at her curiously. “She hasn't spoken to you?”

Natasha slowly shakes her head. “Not recently,” she says, her voice faint. “She left the state. She's living in Chicago now.”

The information crashes into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs. 

“Chicago?” you parrot back, the city's name tasting foreign on your tongue. Yelena had moved states without you having any clue about it, intensifying the guilt gnawing at your insides.

“I found out through a fucking note,” Natasha divulges with a grim expression.

“I... I didn't know,” you stammer, an overwhelming feeling of regret washing over you. “I didn't realize it had gotten that bad.”

Her gaze returns to the park in front of you, her voice almost swallowed by the wind when she speaks, “It did. It really did.”

“I'm sorry,” you repeat, the apology feeling more potent this time. It extends beyond Natasha, reaching out to Yelena and even to yourself. A regret for the distress you've caused, for the trust you've broken, for the chasm your actions have carved between all of you.

“Stop apologizing. It’s starting to annoy me.”

You clump your mouth shut. Judging from the way this conversation is unfolding, it's abundantly clear that a friendly parting at the end is off the table.

Your teeth begin to chatter as the last vestiges of sunlight dip below the horizon. 

“Why couldn't we have moved this conversation to a more sheltered spot?” you grumble, observing the misty puffs of your breath evaporate into the frigid air.

Natasha merely shrugs, an almost sinister glint in her eyes. “Maybe I wanted to punish you a little,” she quips nonchalantly. She seems unaffected by the low temperature, hardened by her work which often requires resilience in less-than-ideal conditions.

Your reply is a tight-lipped smile, a pitiful attempt to make light of her response. The cold might be bearable for her, but you can't help but feel the chill seeping into your bones, much like the icy silence that follows her words.

It's quiet, too quiet, the silence pressing down around you both.

What now?

“I wish...” you start, but the sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. You wish for so many things. To turn back time, to change your actions, to see Yelena's face light up the way it used to. But more than anything, you wish for forgiveness–from Yelena, from Natasha, from yourself.

But none of that matters because you don’t wish you weren’t with Wanda now. She’s the only one anchoring you to this reality, having so much of yourself stripped away. 

“Don’t,” Natasha interrupts, her voice sharp as the frosty air. “Just...don’t.”

And then, a moment later Natasha rises and starts walking in circles in front of you. You look at her with a bewildered expression, curious to see what she’s up to. 

“But maybe there’s something…” she trails off, still following an invisible pattern on the ground as she keeps walking, avoiding your eyes. 

“Something…?”

“Maybe there’s a way for me to believe that you’re not making another big mistake in your life.”

“Nat, what are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, she finally looks up to you and asks, “Are you with Wanda now?”

You hesitate for a moment, and then slowly nod. 

With a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow, Natasha lets out a laugh that is more of a scoff. There's a sharpness to it that feels pointed, almost a jab. Her lips curl into a smirk that's too pleased, too knowing. 

“I don’t even know why I expected anything else,” Natasha mumbles to herself. “And is it worth it?” she asks, her voice laced with bitterness. “Worth enough to risk our friendship, to break Yelena's heart?”

“Nat,” you start, watching her carefully, “What's this about? What are you implying?”

She takes a second to reply, staring at the darkening sky as if it holds the answers she needs. When she finally speaks, her words come out with a certain steeliness.

“I need to see it,” she declares, her gaze finally finding yours. “I need to see that this...whatever it is between you and Wanda, that it’s real, that it’s worth something. Worth losing Yelena and me, and everyone else who’s ever cared about you.”

The color drains from your face as she continues speaking, a sinking feeling in your stomach telling you where she's going with this. 

“And there’s something else,” she continues, her eyes narrowing. “I need to know that Wanda, the woman who had the audacity to cheat on you once, isn't going to do it again. That she’s not just playing you, and this isn't just her running from guilt or looking for comfort.”

“Nat,” you swallow hard, a tight knot of unease building up in your chest. “What are you asking?”

“I want you to stay away from Wanda for a year,” she says, her voice cold and unwavering. Her eyes challenge you, and the heavy demand sends a chill down your spine.

It seems overbearing, even slightly irrational, and she's aware of it. She understands how it might paint her as controlling, perhaps even bordering on the brink of madness. But if this is the price for her forgiveness, if this is the means for you to earn her acceptance of you and Wanda, then so be it.

For you, it’s almost suffocating. A year without Wanda seems daunting, an insurmountable task. But as you watch Natasha, her face stern, her posture unyielding, you understand that this is her version of justice, her way of testing the strength of your conviction. It's a tall order, but if it's the road to mending the fractures between you, then it's a path you're ready to consider.

It takes your breath away, as if the winter air has been sucked from your lungs. “A year?”

She nods, her expression unwavering. “If, after a year, you both still choose each other... if Wanda has remained loyal to you in that time, then I’ll know it’s real. Then I can start to consider the possibility that what you've sacrificed for this might not have been in vain.”

“Why would you ask me this?” your voice breaks as a lone tear trickles down your cheek, cold and sharp against your skin in the harsh winter. But Natasha remains unmoved by your visible distress, her chin held high in defiance.

“Because, it's the only way I can even think about forgiving you,” she surmises. “It’s the only way I can ensure you're not just making another colossal mistake. And more than anything, it's my way of trying to protect you... from yourself.”

“Protection? Is that what you're calling this?” you hiss at her, anger and bitterness lacing your words. “You want to take away someone who means the world to me? You expect me to believe that you're doing this for my sake, but all I see is you trying to make me as miserable and alone as possible!”

Your breaths coming out in ragged puffs against the frigid air. For a moment, Natasha looks taken aback by your outburst. Then, her expression hardens once again, her green eyes meeting yours with an unwavering resolve.

“I don't expect you to understand,” she says, her voice cold. “But if you truly care about Wanda as much as you claim, you would take this chance to prove it. Not just to me, but to yourself as well.”

“You’re not making any fucking sense.”

“Am I not?” Natasha fires back, her eyes flashing, her smirk carrying an edge of dissent. “Then answer me this, Y/N. Who are you without Wanda?”

“Who am I without Wanda?” You echo her question, your voice dripping with sarcasm, as if the very idea is preposterous. But then the reality of the question hits you like a ton of bricks. You repeat it, softer, almost a whisper, as the world seems to stand still around you. “Who am I without Wanda?” 

It's as if she's pulled the ground from under your feet and you're free-falling, grappling for something solid to hold on to. 

“Yes, Y/N. Who are you? Tell me,” Natasha urges, her voice relentless, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“I…” you begin, your voice faltering. You're the head of a finance department in a multimillion-dollar company. You earn a sizable income. You are the subject of envy among your male colleagues. You reside in a luxurious apartment in Manhattan. You're–

And yet, none of these achievements feel like they define you. 

None of these accolades hold meaning without Wanda. You recall how you had yearned for those promotions, how they were a part of a bigger plan–a plan for a life with Wanda, a shared dream of starting a family. Every milestone, every victory was not just yours, it was hers too. All those achievements were built around the scaffolding of your shared love. 

But everything crumbled when your marriage fell apart.

“And that's exactly why you need this,” Natasha tells you after a long period of silence that you didn’t even notice. Her tone is not condescending, but matter-of-fact, devoid of any satisfaction that she might have been right. “You've become so wrapped up in her that you've forgotten who you are. You need to figure that out, Y/N. You need to know who you are, independently, before you can be with her.”

Natasha then takes a deep breath, steeling herself before continuing. “I talked to Wanda a few weeks ago,” she discloses, and you look up at her in surprise. “She insists that she loves you. And it's possible that she's being honest... or maybe she's trying to convince herself that she does. But do you trust her, Y/N? Can you look me in the eye, right here, right now, and tell me without a shadow of doubt that you believe her?”

Your eyes search Natasha's, looking for signs of manipulation or deceit, but find none. Her question continues to echo in your mind, forcing you to confront something you'd rather not face. It's taunting, almost, making you look deep within yourself for the truth.

You think back to your conversations with Wanda, her promises of love, her regretful apologies. You recall the yearning in her eyes, the vulnerability in her voice, but also the uncertainty, the hesitance. You think about your sessions with Calliope. Each one of them ends in the same way, with you tasked to ruminate over your feelings, to introspect. There's never a concrete conclusion, only a carousel of thoughts that keeps turning, prompting you to understand your emotions better.

There's the constant feeling of jealousy. Random bouts of suspicion, an itch to check her phone, and look into her emails. None of this tells you that you trust Wanda.

“I... I want to,” you say, burying your face in your hands. “But I don't know if I can. Not yet.”

For a moment, there's a heavy silence, punctuated only by your quiet sobs. Then, Natasha moves. She takes a seat beside you again, bridging the space you've unconsciously put between yourselves. She hesitates for a second, as if unsure whether she's crossing a line, before finally placing an arm gently around your back in a silent show of support.

Her touch is unexpected, but it brings a certain level of comfort. In that moment, you realize that, despite everything, Natasha still cares. 

“What if I lose her?” you voice your biggest fear. 

A year–where anything can happen. It’s sailing into the seas without a compass. It’s essentially letting go and letting fate take over. 

“If she truly loves you, she'll wait,” Natasha responds simply. “And if she doesn't... well, then maybe she isn't the one for you after all.”

That stings. But the words resonate within you.

“Take the year, Y/N,” Natasha says softly, her fingers digging slightly into your back as if she can get you to listen more with the action. “Figure yourself out. Prove to me, to yourself, and to Wanda, that you can be someone beyond the prison of your love for the woman who doesn’t even deserve it.”

"If I choose to do this," you say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Where does that leave us? Can we ever be friends again?”

Natasha is quiet for a moment, mulling over your question.

“This isn't about securing our friendship, or winning me over. It's not a trade-off.” she says.

“Then what is it?” you ask, your face crumpling as another dam breaks within you.

Her eyes seem to plead with you, even as her words keep their distance. “This is about you earning my trust back, not about bargaining for our friendship. This is about you finding a way back to your old self. Your happiness seems so intertwined with Wanda that it feels like you're not whole without her. But ask yourself this, Y/N, can you really be happy constantly doubting? Always second-guessing the sincerity of her love for you?”

“Think about it,” she says quietly. “That's all I'm asking, Y/N. Think about it. Really think about where you are right now. Who you are. What you need. And then decide.”

When you find your way back to Wanda, the look on your face immediately sets off alarm bells.

“Hey, what's wrong?” she asks immediately, pulling you inside the café where the air is much warmer. She touches your skin and lets out a small gasp, “You're freezing!” she exclaims. With a concerned frown, she cups your neck, her thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your skin as she gently nudges you to look at her. 

In a flurry of movement, Wanda dashes to the backroom to crank up the heater. Returning to your side, she carefully unzips your jacket, before wrapping herself around you in an attempt to share her body heat.

“Y/N?” she implores, her eyes searching the faraway look in yours, willing you to come back to the present. After a moment, you blink several times, as if waking from a dream. Finally, your gaze sharpens, landing on Wanda.

“Wands,” you utter, your voice barely a whisper. Your hands find their way to her cheeks, cradling them gently. Leaning in, you plant a tender kiss on her nose, grounding yourself in the moment with her.

“Did something happen with Natasha?” Wanda asks. She tries to steady her heartbeat, fearing what your answer might be.

You shake your head and give her a soft smile, your thumb grazing over her worried brow as you commit to memory every line that time and laughter have carved on her face, and then her eyes–a universe within their own right, trapped in forest green orbs that sheltered you for so long.

“We just said our goodbyes.”

“I'm sorry,” Wanda returns quietly, her concern deepening with each passing moment.

With another shake of your head and an effort to keep the mood light, you divert the conversation. “Let's get back to work for your competition, okay? You're going to do great tomorrow.”

***

Bryant Park is alive with anticipation.

The air is saturated with the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans and resonates with the buzz of conversation and laughter. Coffee enthusiasts and competitors alike have gathered here for the highly anticipated annual coffee showdown. 

Your mouth waters at the prospect of tasting these unique and innovative creations crafted by the city's finest experts.

Wanda's booth, unpretentious yet warmly welcoming, serves as the focal point of your day. You, alongside Agatha, have dedicated your time to help her meticulously manage every aspect, while Peter holds down the fort at the cafe.

Wanda’s choice of beans–the ones you'd brought back for her from LA, single-origin and carefully sourced from a quaint little town in Northern Japan–was being used to craft three different offerings: a piping hot brew, a refreshingly cold variant, and an innovative ice-blended concoction.

Beside you, Wanda is a portrait of contained chaos. Her eyes, wide with a mix of fear and excitement, dart around incessantly, taking in the hustle and bustle of the competition. Her hand, icy and trembling, has been clutching yours in a vice-like grip for the past hour. You return the pressure every so often, your thumb gently stroking the back of her hand in a silent bid to soothe her nerves. 

“You got this, okay?” you assure her.

She gives you a quick, nervous nod but can't find the words to say anything. You let out a small chuckle, amused at how wound up she is. Despite her being a rookie in this competition, you've got no doubts she'll come out with a win. After a while, she mutters about needing to take a walk and stretch her legs. You nod, understanding her need for a bit of personal space, and secretly grateful for the chance to give your hand, which had been squeezed relentlessly, a break.

In the sea of people, you spot a familiar face–Valkyrie, her broad smile as conspicuous as ever. Her sudden appearance grates on your nerves. It seems she's always present at these occasions, enough to make you wonder if she's on a perpetual campaign trail.

“Running for mayor, Valkyrie?” you can't help but quip as you approach her, your tone laced with annoyance.

Her amused chuckle does nothing to soften the expression on your face. “Believe it or not, I'm not everywhere by choice," she responds, flashing her camera at you. "I'm a photographer, remember? These events are part of my job.”

She says it as though it's a fact you should already be aware of, which only fuels your annoyance further.

“I wasn't aware of that,” you shoot back, frowning at the lens pointed at you.

“Look,Y/N, no hard feelings,” Valkyrie says after she snaps a picture of your scowl. “I wasn't in on all the drama. Wanda gave me the rundown, though. Honestly, I'd probably be jealous of me, too.”

You narrow your eyes at her, crossing your arms over your chest. “What exactly did Wanda tell you?”

“That you two were married? And you cut her loose after she screwed up? That's kinda harsh, don't you think?”

“Well, you don't have a clue about the things we went through,” you retort rather defensively.

“Perhaps I don't. But I know a thing or two about loss,” Valkyrie counters, removing her gloves to show you her left hand.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Take a closer look,” she directs, pushing her hand further in front of your nose. Intrigued, you lean in and catch sight of a faint impression on her finger–evidence of a ring once worn.

She used to be married? 

As if reading your thoughts, Valkyrie offers a short explanation, “He died four years ago. It was cancer.”

Your retort dies in your throat. Oh.

After an awkward silence, you manage to stutter out, “I... I'm sorry.”

Valkyrie's smile has a quality that makes you perceive her in a new way. “Time passes,” she says. "People move forward, or they try to, at least."

She puts her gloves back on and readjusts her camera. “Wanda's a good person. And she's gone through a lot too. Be kind to her, okay? She deserves it.”

It’s an advice to be expected from someone on the outside looking in, but it’s also an advice that despite its simplicity, is actually very important and essential in every kind of relationship.

Before you can think of a response, Wanda returns to your side.

“Oh, hey, Val!” Wanda greets, throwing a brief hug around Valkyrie.

Valkyrie gives her a nod before asking, “How about a quick photo, while we wait for the results?”

You can't remember the last time you and Wanda posed for a photo together. There's an awkward moment before you position your hand around her waist, her own arms finding a comfortable place around your neck.

She presses her cheek against yours, her grin so broad it nudges your own expression into a smile. You make a mental note to ask Valkyrie for a copy later.

“Wanda, they’re about to announce the winners!” Agatha pushes through the crowd to reach you both, her face alight with anticipation.

Your heart pounds in your chest as everyone gathers around the stage, the chatter and noise dimming down into a sea of murmurs and excited whispers. The host takes their time, going through the runner ups and then the third place. As each name is announced and it’s not Wanda, your hope dwindles, thinking she may not have placed at all. Wanda recognizes some of them as owners of more-known cafes in her neighborhood.

And then, the host announces the second place winner.

“Second Chances cafe!”

The crowd erupts into cheers and claps, and you find yourself grinning ear to ear as she looks at you in shock and disbelief. Agatha gives a whoop, her arms flying into the air in celebration.

With an excited flush in her cheeks, Wanda takes the stage, her eyes never leaving yours. She accepts the plaque and cradles it with gentle hands, the glow of pride in her eyes enough to make your heart squeeze. As she turns to the crowd, she raises her hand, her fingers wiggling in a modest wave. The crowd roars in response, their cheers echoing in the open park. 

Wanda, second place in her first ever coffee showdown, and with a flavor she put together herself. It's like something out of a dream.

But the dream turns a little sour when you notice the many people coming up to her, showering her with praise, and more than a few of them seeming overly friendly. 

You see people congratulating her as she steps off the stage, handing her flowers and gift baskets, everyone eager to talk to her, to share in her moment of triumph. They are complete strangers, all drawn to her like moths to a flame.

And as you watch, you see them–people flirting with her. Wanda, for her part, remains gracious and kind, her smile never wavering as she laughs at their jokes and thanks them for their praise. 

But something about it makes your skin crawl, makes your hands clench into fists at your side. It isn’t just the jealousy, although that’s a large part of it. It’s the fear, the unshakeable insecurity that even after all you’ve been through, you could still lose her to someone else.

With every laugh she shares, every hand she shakes, the knot in your stomach tightens. You try to shake it off, reminding you that this is the very thing you’re both working on: trust. But as you see the ease with which she interacts with others, the memory of her infidelity looms larger in your mind.

Instead of confronting your feelings, you let them stew, let them build into an almost obsessive preoccupation with the thought of losing Wanda to someone else. It's a spiral you can't seem to pull yourself out of, a cycle of fear and uncertainty that you're trapped in. So, you stay in the background, your eyes locked onto her figure as she laughs and smiles with people who are not you, your mind racing with endless possibilities and outcomes. 

It’s a terrible, consuming feeling.

You should be happy for her. You are. But there's a voice in the back of your head whispering things you don't want to hear, insecurities you don't want to address, and fears you don't want to confront.

Yet they're all there, unavoidable in the wake of her success and the admiration she’s receiving from everyone.

When Wanda finally manages to extricate herself from the crowd and return to you, Natasha's words are already resounding deafeningly in your mind.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Wanda's voice breaks into your thoughts, the warmth in her eyes replaced with concern as she notices your distant expression. You force a smile onto your face, trying to push away the question that’s been haunting you:

Who are you, truly, without her?

“Everything's great,” you assure her, trying to sound more convincing than you feel. Wanda's forehead creases in doubt, but she doesn't push it further. Instead, she takes your hand, holds onto you in case you drift off somewhere she can’t follow. 

Her touch is meant to be soothing, but all it does is remind you of Natasha's challenge and another question pops into your mind:

Will you even survive if she breaks you the second time around?

As you're tucking yourself under the covers, you hear Wanda's voice call out to you, “Hey, Y/N,” causing you to peek out from the duvet.

“Yes?”

“Remember the assignment Calliope gave us? The...uh, eye-gazing thing?” She sounds slightly bashful mentioning it.

Your eyebrows raise in remembrance. “Oh, right,” you murmur, sitting up straighter on the bed. “Do you want to do it now?”

Wanda nods, her eyes already softening in preparation for the exercise. She situates herself across from you, the both of you sitting cross-legged on the large bed. The room is silent except for Sparky’s soft snores coming from the foot of the bed.

You grab your watch and check with Wanda, “Five minutes?”

As soon as she gives her go signal, you press ‘start’ on your watch. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs and then slowly leave your body, calming your nerves. You lock your gaze with Wanda's, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has come to a standstill.

The first few moments are awkward, and both of you giggle, breaking the silence. But soon, you both fall into a serene silence, eyes never leaving each other. You focus on her eyes, noting the flecks of different hues, the way her eyelashes curl, and how her eyes crinkle when she tries to suppress a smile.

“Are we required not to talk?” Wanda asks in a hushed tone, as if she’ll be reprimanded for it.

You respond with a shake of your head, biting back any words that threaten to slip out. Instead of talking, you allow yourself to reach out and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, all the while keeping your eyes locked with Wanda’s. 

Wanda, understanding the unspoken agreement, begins to mirror your actions. Her fingers, gentle and warm, trace the line of your jaw. The simple, intimate gesture draws a soft breath from you, and in response, your hand comes up to cradle her cheek, thumb lightly brushing her skin.

The air between you two becomes charged, filled with an intimacy that words could never capture. Her touch is feather-light, but it ignites a slow burn in your core, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact.

Despite the lack of words, it's the most profound conversation you've had in a while, a connection so deep that it renders words meaningless. 

You let yourself get lost in her eyes. 

‘Getting lost in one’s eyes’–it’s something you’ve only read in books, a cliche found in romance novels that doesn’t really translate in reality’s fast-paced nature. But with this exercise, you discover that it’s possible. 

Time begins to slow as you swim further in those emerald pools, familiarizing yourself with what’s inside. You’re hyper aware of what you’re seeing, and focus all your emotions on the task at hand. 

But as you delve deeper, a painful realization begins to take shape: your entire purpose revolves around her, with not a sliver of it left for yourself.

Wanda does the same, and it allows her to see something else behind the look of adoration in them. She sees your insecurities. Your fears. But most of all she sees your love for her, the true magnitude of it. Wanda isn't sure what to make of all this, not just yet. Maybe this exercise isn't about finding answers, but rather about observation, about exposure. It's about having faith in each other, trusting that whatever you reveal, whatever pieces of yourselves you lay bare, won’t be dismissed or exploited.

As the final seconds of the five-minute mark wind down, Wanda gently leans in, allowing her forehead to rest against yours.

The last tick of the timer goes unnoticed, lost in the shared warmth between your foreheads. Neither of you makes a move to disengage from the connection, the outside world seemingly forgotten for now.

“Five minutes…” Wanda murmurs softly, more to herself than to you, as though astonished by how much could be conveyed in such a brief span. Her hand, previously resting on your cheek, moves to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

Wanda leans in abruptly, her lips crashing into yours in a heated kiss. It's frantic, bordering on reckless, and for a split second, you fear she's glimpsed the war you’re waging with yourself. Her hands cup your face, her fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer, deeper into the moment.

You respond instinctively, the depth of her kiss stirring a response from within you. Your hands fall on her waist, your nails digging into her flesh. Her shirt has ridden up, and you explore the new expanse of smooth skin available to you, causing goosebumps to rise on Wanda’s skin as she feels the heat of your palm against her hardening nipples. 

“W-We should stop,” Wanda manages to utter but it ends in a yelp as you tweak her peaks with purpose.

“Why?” you breathe out against her ear.

“C-Can’t have sex. Doctor’s orders…” Wanda's words falter as she arches her neck, giving way to your lips and tongue as you move your assaults there. 

The words are like a bucket of ice-cold water, and a sigh of frustration escapes your lips. 

“Right.”

You pull back, extracting yourself from the tangle of limbs and heated desire that Wanda has become. Your body screams in protest, a physical ache that leaves you breathless.

Wanda looks up at you with understanding in her eyes. "I know it's hard," she says, her fingers lightly tracing patterns over the exposed skin of your arm. Your eyes, in a moment of weakness, stray to her panties and see the undeniable evidence of her arousal soaking her underwear. You suppress a groan, flopping back onto the bed to keep your impulses in check. Wanda follows suit and lies on her side, facing you.

Nodding, you swallow down the lump in your throat. “It is,” you admit. You let out a deep sigh, pushing away the longing that threatens to consume you. “But it's necessary,” you add, meeting her gaze head-on. Your fingers trace the line of her jaw, your touch light yet full of promise.

“Seems like my dreams will have to pick up where we left off,” you quip, trying to lighten the mood. 

With a tender laugh, she moves closer to you, resting her head on your chest. “By all means, darling,” she whispers against your skin. “Even in dreams, I belong to you.”

Will Wanda still belong to you a year later?

***

“I’ve been thinking…”

Calliope pays close attention to your thoughtful expression as you search your words. 

“Wanda, she's done some amazing things this past year...and all without me by her side,” you say evenly, staring out of her office window. You seem lost in thought, like you're on the verge of an important realization. Patiently, Calliope waits, letting you take your time to reveal them.

A moment of silence follows your confession, you continue gazing out the window.

“And how does that make you feel?” Calliope gently prompts when it becomes clear that you won't say anything else on your own. 

A deep sigh escapes you as you finally return your gaze to your therapist. “Freeing, in a way–yet kind of sad too,” you confess. “I mean, I'm glad. Wanda's strength... her independence. It's one of the things I love about her. But realizing that she doesn't necessarily need me... it's a strange feeling.”

Calliope steeples her fingers together; She wants to tread lightly, to guide you to self-realization without imposing her interpretations onto your experiences.

“I sense that Wanda not ‘necessarily needing’ you is a point of contention for you. Is that right?”

“Uh, yeah, I suppose you could put it that way,” you say, offering her a sad smile.

“Would you mind going into that a bit further, Y/N?” Calliope requests, her tone open and nonjudgmental.

“Yeah, sure,” you begin hesitantly, letting out a small sigh. “I guess you could say... It's like I'm jealous, in a way. It's odd, I know. But when I see her now, how far she's come, the woman she's become since... everything... I can't help but compare it to my own progress.”

“See, I only feel like I truly came back to myself after we reconciled, like I returned to a safe and comfortable cocoon. But Wanda...She's been out there, growing, learning, becoming this incredible person. It's like she's soared to these incredible heights, and I'm still stuck in the same place, trying to catch up.”

You let out a small, hollow chuckle at the irony of your next concern. “And yeah, there's the whole issue of trust. I forgave her for what she did, or at least, I'm trying to. But now I find myself questioning whether I'm good enough for her. I wonder if she deserves someone better, someone who isn't so... diminutive.”

“Feeling 'less than' can be incredibly difficult, especially after experiencing betrayal,” she starts gently. “And it's natural to wonder if the person you love deserves better. But let me remind you, Y/N, that you are not responsible for determining what Wanda deserves or doesn't. Only she can decide that.”

Calliope’s eyes soften as she pauses, letting you absorb her words.

“As for feeling 'diminutive'... Everyone grows at their own pace. Wanda has had her own journey, and you've had yours. There's no definitive timeline or checklist for growth and healing. You are not less valuable or worthy because you perceive yourself as behind her in some way,” she tells you.

The words she speaks should be appeasing, but they just feel empty to you. They're meant to inspire, to motivate, to help, but they don't reach you. They seem to be directed at someone other than the conflicted individual you've become. The detachment is disconcerting, leaving you feeling even more adrift.

With a sigh, you say, “Something happened recently.”

Calliope adjusts the glasses perched on her nose. “Tell me more.”

“Remember Nat? My best friend and Yelena’s sister? She finally talked to me. She, uh, made a suggestion,” you say, shuffling your feet on the carpeted floor. “She thinks my struggles might be more about me than my relationship with Wanda. She suggested I take a year off. To separate from Wanda, to rediscover who I am on my own.”  

Calliope leans back in her chair, taking a moment to consider your words before responding. 

“That's a drastic step,” she acknowledges, her tone neutral. “It's a valid suggestion and one that's often employed in cases where codependency has taken root. As a therapist, I can tell you that taking a step back from a relationship to focus on personal growth can indeed help provide perspective, allow for self-reflection, and foster personal development.”

Her eyes lock onto yours, steady and compassionate. “However,” she continues, “It's a decision you'd have to make with careful consideration. It's not just about time and distance–it's about what you do with that time and how you utilize that distance. Self-discovery requires active engagement. It's not something that just happens.”

You nod in understanding. You haven’t gotten around to thinking about how you will fill that gap year. And it just amplifies Natasha’s belief that you don’t know who you are or what to do with yourself when left to your own devices. 

“What's your instinct telling you, Y/N?” Calliope inquires, taking off her glasses as if to put aside her professional role and connect with you on a more personal level, like a trusted confidant. “Do you feel that taking this time apart from Wanda could help you rediscover who you are outside of your relationship with her?”

You've been so entwined with Wanda for so long, the thought of detaching yourself from her feels like extracting your own heart. A year from her feels more permanent than when you divorced her because you’re not angry this time.

“I don't know…” you admit, your voice becoming thick with emotions. You look down at your hands, flexing them nervously. “Part of me thinks it could help, because… Because it’s getting worse.”

“What is?”

“This… nagging feeling,” you say. “That… That I have to look at her phone, to read all her messages,” you confess, the words leaving your lips in a whisper.Your eyes remain lowered, and your hands betray a subtle tremor as you push forward. “I haven't looked because I can't bring myself to ask Wanda for her permission, and I can't figure out her passcode. And the feeling of jealousy is more frequent now, and it’s not me.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest as you bare your deepest insecurities to Calliope. The fear of invading Wanda's privacy conflicts with your need for reassurance, for a confirmation that your trust is not misplaced. 

Your confession flows naturally, “I've been under this impression that I need to watch her every move. Yet, I can't shake off the fear that I might overlook something and end up being blindsided again.” There's a pause, followed by a humorless chuckle. “And who am I in all of this mess? If Natasha asked me that question now…” You give a disappointed shake of your head, “I'd probably answer with ‘a bundle of jealousy and insecurity.’”

“I see how that’s extremely difficult for you, Y/N,” she says simply. “You're trying to find out who you are, while at the same time dealing with trust issues. It's like you're walking on a tightrope.”

Tiredness washing over you, you merely hum in agreement, your inner conflict sapping the energy out of you.

“Have you talked to Wanda about this?” Calliope probes, trying to keep the conversation going despite your evident weariness.

“I haven't yet. I'm afraid... I don't want to hurt her, it feels like I've given her false hope.”

“Before you finalize any decision, it would be fair to talk to Wanda. Allow her to give her insights. It's not just about making a decision, it's about including her in the process,” Calliope says. “If you feel that you have already made a decision, tell her before you set any plans in motion. Wanda cares deeply for you and she will understand, no matter what decision you make.”

That's the first piece of advice she's given this session that resonates with you.

“What do you think I should do?” you find yourself asking. The idea of having someone else make this critical decision is temptingly easier. You know how she’s going to respond, but out of desperation, you ask her anyway.

Calliope shakes her head, offering you a knowing smile. 

“Have faith in yourself, in your ability to make the right decisions,” she says.

You bite your lip in resignation. “Can I still come to you for guidance, no matter what I choose in the end?”

“Absolutely,” Calliope nods, seeing the answer to your question in your own eyes before you can even realize it. “We're lucky to live in a time where help can be reached in many ways. As long as you want my help, I'll be here for you.”

***

New Year’s Eve passes by in a blur of fireworks, wine and dancing with Wanda in the kitchen, and the next couple of days slowly settles back to its usual rhythm. The city of Manhattan, once draped in holiday cheer with twinkling lights and a towering Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, slips back into its usual attire.

The days following the celebration return to their familiar tempo, like a song falling back into its regular beat after an energetic chorus. Street vendors replace holiday markets, and the regular hum of traffic replaces carols and festive laughter.

As the first week of January wraps up, you and Wanda find yourselves back in Calliope's office. The session is spent mostly reflecting on your holiday experiences and discussing the eye-gazing exercise Calliope assigned you both. Wanda's vivid storytelling about your LA trip takes center stage, and you find it challenging to stay engaged in the conversation. 

Time seems to slip through your fingers, and before you know it, Wanda's thanking Calliope for the session, and it's time to leave. Despite your quiet demeanor throughout, Calliope doesn't prod you for it. She seems to understand where your thoughts were wandering. The short nod she gives you before you could leave tells you one thing: Talk to Wanda.

Wanda, on the other hand, hasn't overlooked your frequent distant gazes, seemingly lost in your own world. She hasn't missed the way your eyes fleetingly dart to her buzzing phone, filled with messages from her customers and suppliers, as you wait for dinner to be ready. She notices your attentive ears whenever she's on the phone, not making any attempt to have private conversations away from you. She picks up on the tension in your features when you're out together, and an admirer's gaze lingers on her for a tad too long.

She can't help but notice the way you're always a little bit on edge. It makes her wonder if you’re genuinely content with how things are. If you’re happy with her. If this is really working for you. 

But then, behind closed doors, it’s paradise. 

Because when the lights are out, and it's just the two of you, your name is the only one she knows, the only one she calls out into the quiet of the night.

***

Finally, on a quiet Saturday morning, you wake up before Wanda. You watch her sleep, peaceful and untroubled, and you decide–today is the day.

Taking a deep breath, you gently nudge her awake. She stirs, blinking sleepily at you, and you give her a soft smile.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your fingers gently combing through her hair. Wanda snuggles further into the pillow, attempting to shield her eyes from the morning light. For a while, you let her be, savoring the peaceful moment as long as you can.

“Wanda, we need to talk.”

Your voice carries a certain tone that instantly cuts through her sleepiness, washing away the last traces of sleep from Wanda’s eyes. She shifts slightly, propping herself up, her eyes now fully focused on you.

“Alright,” she says, her voice a hushed whisper.

You run your fingers through your hair nervously, leaning against the headboard with your back turned to her. She watches you intently, and you feel the weight of her gaze as you gather your thoughts. Inhaling deeply, you finally speak, your voice soft and almost trembling.

“When Natasha came to see me, it wasn’t just to say our goodbyes,” you begin, feeling Wanda's breath hitch slightly. Her lack of surprise indicates that she's sensed there's been more to it. She's been waiting patiently for you to share what's been troubling you, and now she can connect the dots. 

Something had changed after the day you spoke with Natasha.

She shifts closer, an instinctual pull towards you for comfort. You don't resist, opening your arm for her so she could tuck herself into the curve of your body, her head finding its familiar resting place against your chest.

“She, uh, made a suggestion that at first sounded fucking ridiculous to me," you say with an empty laugh. “She thinks maybe I–maybe I need some time. To figure things out...about myself, by myself.”

Wanda's hold on you becomes firmer, drawing you in as if she could meld you both into one. The added pressure makes the looming conversation even harder to continue.

“She believes it might be good for me–and, well, us–to take a break. A year apart from each other, to rediscover who I am on my own,” you say and glance down, hoping to catch Wanda's eyes, but you find her eyes tightly shut as if your words have physically wounded her.

There's a pause. A long, deafening silence that you're not sure you can stand for much longer. But when Wanda finally speaks, her voice is calm, and there's a strange kind of acceptance in her eyes when she opens them.

“And what do you think?” she asks softly.

“I... I don't know, Wands,” you confess, the nickname slipping out unintentionally as you feel the cracks in your resolve. “I love you, more than anything. But I also... I also feel lost. And I hate this feeling, this...paranoia...jealousy... It's not me. At least, I don't want it to be me.”

You sense a faint nod from Wanda, drawing a small measure of comfort from her understanding.

“Before I make any decision, I wanted to talk to you,” you say, finally lifting your gaze to meet hers again. “I…” you trail off as you watch a glimmer form in her eyes.

“Wands, what are you thinking?” you ask.

Wanda takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against yours. “I've noticed,” she admits, her voice so soft it's almost a whisper. “I've seen how you've been pulling away, getting lost in your thoughts. I just... I hoped it was a phase. But even if it were, it hurts to see you like this.”

You nod, your vision becoming a little blurry. This is harder than you thought it would be.

“Have you reconciled with Natasha?” she suddenly asks.

You shake your head no.

Wanda sighs deeply, the corners of her mouth pulling downwards into a deeper frown. “You remember when we first bumped into each other after our divorce, right?” she starts, shifting closer again as she closes her eyes once more. “I was so determined to win you back. But we both know that didn't end up well. I crashed, you left, and I was alone for the first time in a long while.”

Pausing, she takes a moment to recall everything. “Of course, I missed you. But the thing is, after some time, my perspective changed. I wasn't exactly happy, but I found a sense of contentment. I felt... steady, you know?”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears. “Then I reached out to you again, for Sparky. Seeing you, talking to you, it made the dormant feelings I had for you flutter back to life. But things were different this time. I'd had some time to really work on myself, to define my identity outside of…you. Beyond just wanting you and being guilty of what I did. I learned so much about myself during that time.”

Wanda pauses, her gaze becoming misty, the emotions she'd been holding back threatening to spill over. 

“And maybe,” she hesitates, her voice becoming thick with tears, “Maybe that's what you need too.”

You stare at the ceiling in silence, the enormity of her words sinking in. Your chest is tight, and your head is spinning. 

“Is that what you want?” you ask. It would be easier if this is what Wanda wants.

“I want you to be happy,” Wanda whispers through a cascade of tears and trembling lips. “No, I need you to be happy.”

You look at her, taking in the raw emotion etched on her face. The tears streaming down her cheeks make your heart constrict with a pain more acute than you thought possible.

“You mean so much to me, Wanda,” you choke out as your own eyes begin to sting. “I need to be certain that I'm not only holding onto you because I'm afraid of being alone... or afraid of who I am without you.”

Wanda shifts, her fingers coming up to touch your face. “We're in this together, aren't we?”

The thought of being without Wanda, even if it's for your own self-improvement, leaves an acrid taste in your mouth. It feels so wrong, and yet, it may be what's necessary for you to find your footing again.

“Yes, but this is something I need to figure out on my own. For us,” you emphasize. “For me.”

She looks away for a moment, struggling with her own emotions. “I want to support you,” she starts, “But the thought of losing you, even for a little while, scares me.”

You swallow hard, your heart heavy. “I know. It terrifies me too. But I need to do this so we can have a chance at a future where I'm not always second-guessing and doubting.”

Wanda bites her lip, thinking. After what feels like hours, she finally speaks, “Whatever you decide, just... promise me one thing?”

You nod, urging her to continue.

“That you'll come back to me. No matter what you find or how you change, always come back to me,” she says. “And I promise I’ll always be there, waiting for you.”

“One year,” you whisper as your face becomes wet with tears. No contact. No calls, no emails, no texts. No checking up on each other online. 

Total disconnection.

“A year later, on this day,” Wanda nods despite herself. “We’ll meet again at Second Chances.” Her lips twitch into a tentative, poignant smile, alluding to the deeper sentiment that the name of her coffee shop embodies.

Wanda's tear feels warm against your thumb as you gently wipe it away. You're both quiet for a while, the room filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing and the muted ticking of a nearby clock. The decision has been made, the terms agreed upon, and now there is nothing left but to savor these final moments of togetherness.

“Can we... can we just hold each other?” you ask quietly. It's a small comfort, but right now, it's everything. You need to feel her close to you, to memorize the feel of her body against yours before you part ways.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. She needs more than just that.

“Touch me,” she breathes, her words melting into your mouth as she captures your lips in a feverish kiss. “Let me give you everything,” she implores, her hands finding yours in the darkness as her eyes fall shut.

Complying with her heartfelt request, you gently ease her back onto the mattress, your bodies tangled together in a dance as old as time.

And then, in what feels like the mere flutter of a heartbeat, it's a year later.

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