#Magic Spoon Cereal

[druidian]

ChocZero S'mallows

I’ve come across a few keto-friendly marshmallows over the years, but none of them have ever been quite right… They weren’t the right consistency, they melted into a goo instead of fluff or toasting, or they didn’t taste quite right. No more! ChocZero has recently introduced “S’mallows“, a damn-near-perfect low-carb marshmallow. They taste right. They feel right. They melt correctly. They…

[exactly4spiders]

I’ve said it before an I’ll say it again Magic Spoon cereal is absolutely disgusting. It’s nowhere near worth the ridiculous price. It was like eating styrofoam that someone painted. Just buy regular cereal, carbs won’t kill you, you’ll be fine. And if carbs really are a major problem for you maybe just skip the cereal altogether

[marlynnofmany]

Me: "I wonder what story inspiration is in this room right now."

Me, immediately: "Oh, there it is."

Me: "That definitely looks like it has magic in it. I'll bet it's a bowl of glowing colors to mage-sight. What if it's a villain's pixie traps? Or it pulls in ambient energy from the weave of reality itself? Or maybe these are for planting seeds of magic in the ground, and roots will sprout through all the holes. Or--"

Me: "Right, I need to eat my breakfast and get going."

[alinabohoru]

Magic Spoon Cereal

A series of cereal boxes I illustrated for the good guys at MS, each with its own flavor and characters to match.

Magic Spoon x Sway LA TIKTOK Collab

Jelly Donut

Chocolate Peanut Butter

Other Flavors:

Honey Graham

Oatmeal Cookie

Chocolate Chip Cookie

S'mores

[eldritch-queern-magicat]

We found the fancy Magic Spoon cereal on the way to get sweet potato chips from the organic aisle at the store yesterday. They had cocoa, fruity, cinnamon, and maple waffle flavors. We got the maple waffle, but to be honest the price made me die a little inside. It's definitely an actual treat to get it, maybe once a month. I've been dying to try it, though, since they sponsor at least one of my favorite YouTubers. I can't wait to open it up and taste it. Please please please live up to the hype--🤤

(I just feel like being weird don't mind me.)

-Galaco ☄️😺

[creepyjirachi]

i have become a deranged cerealhead. a true cereal lover

[beastshopping]

TBH with the number of people I see promoting Gamersups I am like anticipating learning their "Caffeine Powder" is like 30% Lead Paint or something

[lunarreign24]

I bought Magic Spoon due to the allulose content (not due to YouTube sponsorships).

Don't do it. Pour some allulose on some Cheerios to have a better experience.

[slowfuckintheafternoon]

18+ only please and thank you

Roommate Ghost who’s basically a rehomed cat.

You barely saw him at first. He’d come out of his room to do laundry, and you’d occasionally spot the back of him as he’s leaving for work, but otherwise it was like living with a ghost. A large, moody ghost who seemed to think eye contact was an unforgivable breach of privacy.

So you did the obvious thing, and coaxed him out with food. You’re lonely, he seems nice enough, and he’s also just conveniently there. It’s no big deal to make something that smells really wonderful when he’s home, and hope he’ll take the bait.

It takes three whole entire dinners. Two delicious meals without so much as a stir from his room, and you’re just about to give up on the whole scheme, when you’re finally rewarded with a tousled head poking out of his room on the third attempt.

“Want some?” you immediately pipe up, giving him an encouraging smile while you scoop noodles into your bowl. Realizing your mistake, you quickly relocate your gaze back to the food, so as not to scare him off.

Cmon, take the bait. Come on out, kitty. You know you want it.

Silent as ever, your massive roommate indeed emerges to fill his belly.

A soft, “Thanks,” is all you get for your efforts, but it thrills you. You sit there practically vibrating with glee, trying to play as cool as possible while you both eat and purposefully don’t speak to each other. There’s just chewing and silence, and the quiet clatter of spoons and forks, and you love it.

The next day, the contents of your personal grocery list have magically appeared in your refrigerator. The meat you needed, vegetables, your special milk for your cereal. Bemused, you step over to your pantry and verify that, yes, he got the dry stuff too. You weren’t planning to cook anything fancy two days in a row, but hell, if he’s around again tonight, you might as well.

But he’s not around. You don’t see him again for several weeks, never even got a text that he was leaving. You were just starting to make progress, and now it’ll all be erased when he returns. You lost your one window of opportunity for building trust, and it’ll be back to silence, back to emptiness, back to being strangers.

But to your surprise, when he does finally come home, he meows at you.

Not officially. Not in, like, actual cat language, but he drops his bag by the door and responds to your quiet greeting with a heavy sigh, and, "It’s good to be back.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, so you quickly hide it by staring at the TV.

He joins you for dinner the next time you cook. And the next. Groceries pop up like spring flowers, anything you write down, even if it’s snacks he never touches.

He starts hanging out with you while you cook. On the other side of the counter at first, looming like a dark shadow, just listening to your music and offering answers to your small talk.

You keep it light. Keep it friendly and easy, and entice him over occasionally to taste what you’re making. He starts lingering closer, letting the kitchen light touch him, leaning against your side of the counter. The scary side.

And then one day he tells you a joke. Just completely out of the blue, “What do you call an angry carrot?”

“Uhh…” you pause peeling carrots for a second, trying to wrap your head around some scenario where this is a legitimate question, because surely he's not about to tell you an actual joke. “I dunno?”

“A steamed vegetable.”

You return to your carrots with a delighted laugh. He's being friendly, he's making jokes! Best not comment on the progress he's made, because you don’t want to scare him off.

Good luck with that.

He starts following you around like an actual stray cat. You can’t bear to close the door on him, so he’s just always there, hanging out in the doorway, telling you little bits about his day while you brush your teeth for bed. He doesn’t talk a whole lot, prefers to listen to you yap, but he’s shut in his room less and less.

Except for the bad times. Simon goes through phases where he recluses himself again. Sometimes it’s only a few hours, other times it’s days, but he occasionally needs time to himself, and you don’t mind. You still get a thrill every time he appears again, metaphorically meowing at you and rubbing up against your leg.

God, you wish he would. You could use some good leg rubbing, actually.

Is he the rubbing type? He’s never made a pass at you, never touched you at all, and even the times when you’ve hung out together in your room, he always stood politely in the doorway. Always turned his head to the side when you’ve had to open your underwear drawer or spilled sauce on your shirt and had to strip it off. He’s just like that, always aware of your personal space and his, uncomfortable about the two bubbles touching without warning.

When it finally happens, it's you who's surprised.

You've just halted mid-step in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the corner of the cabinets because you swear you just saw something move.

When all of a sudden, and actual mouse scampers across the floor, doing erratic zig zags like it's too scared to decide where to go, and all you can do is scream because it's coming right for you--

A thick arm clamps around your stomach, and your feet abruptly lose contact with the floor. You've completely lost track of the mouse, you're just frozen in shock from the fact that your whole back is glued to Simon's side, and he doesn't even bother to hold you up with both arms as he swivels around searching for where the mouse went.

"Thanks," you squeak, patting his forearm as a signal to put you down. "You're really strong, holy shit."

He grunts like he doesn't agree. "Doesn't take much to lift somebody."

Your feet touch back down to the linoleum, and you just hope your hot face isn't too evident. "Right, uh huh. Cause I could definitely lift you."

"Probably could."

You eye him skeptically, all the way from his socks, to the always-mussed hair at the top of the mountain. "I don't feel like throwing out my back, but thanks for the offer."

"I wasn't offering."

It's just small talk. Regular jokes, with his usual deadpan delivery, but you swear there was something he meant to say in those words. You try to discern them, gazing up into those brown eyes that don't mind meeting yours anymore.

It's hanging in the air, the thing he meant to say. You don't want to try and guess. It's too risky, and you might hurt yourself if you get it wrong.

"What is it, Simon? What's wrong?"

His eyes stutter for just a second, like he's ripping himself out of a train of thought. "I think you should hide in your room while I find that mouse."

Stupid, cockblocking mouse.

You don't sleep well that night. You keep thinking about your quiet roommate, end up having to jerk off at two in the morning just to get a little bit of relief, and your sleep is fretful even after that.

You ask about the mouse the next day, and he swears he not only caught it, but released it in the woods a mile away. There's absolutely no telling if he's pulling your leg or not, so you just drop it, too absorbed in the questions that were haunting you all night.

"I'm not good at... fucking."

Your head snaps up, staring wide eyed at Simon's troubled expression across the table. "What?"

"I've never been with a woman before. At least, not... like this. Wager I'll make a fool of myself, so I might as well get it out in the open."

"Oh. Um." Your heart is pounding, your mind whirling to comprehend how you got here so suddenly. He looks so scared, holding himself rigidly into place without so much as blinking, and you're taking far too long to answer at this point.

"I'm good at it," you finally tell him, hoping it sounds more comforting and less like a brag. "We can figure it out together, if it's something you want to do."

"Okay."

It takes a little while to get there. Some time to find a natural moment to take his hand in yours, for him to return the gesture by wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing your body over to his. But then his hand finds the back of your neck, and he's definitely not a beginner at kissing.

You've wanted it for so long, imagined it so often, that the press of his body against yours almost feels familiar. The seeking movements of his lips, the soft breaths coasting over your cheek. It's quiet and slow, in the corner of your shared kitchen.

He tucks your body into his, lets you saturate yourself in each second of this moment while you both learn the way the other likes to kiss. You end up in your bed soon after, just for the sake of comfort and lining up your mouths a little more conveniently.

It's easy to lose yourself in the safety of him. Your body feels at home in the muscled softness of his, in the thoughtful, patient movements of his hands exploring under your clothes. It feels like he's belonged to you far sooner than today.

His first time isn't perfect, but he makes up for his inexperience by taking his time. Laughs at your breathless, "a hole is a hole" statement, and insists on exploring with his mouth and fingers first.

Simon makes the prettiest noises when he finds your wetness waiting for him. He seems to enjoy the feeling of it on his fingers, sliding them in and out so carefully, studying the textures inside you. He tastes his own fingers, less like a scientist and more like a little kid who's discovering new flavors in the sandbox.

He makes a sound then, a warm, rumbly one, and then pulls his fingers out of his mouth to lean down and find your clit with his lips.

A hole is a hole, but there's something special about whispering little cues at him in the dark, and the way he efficiently adjusts himself, ever the dedicated soldier. A hole is a hole, but you cum like that, with your roommate's strong hand gripping your hip, and his mouth accomplishing exactly the motion you need to draw a slow, brain-melting orgasm out of you.

"Yeah, just like that," you pant a few moments later, shoving his face away from your oversensitive pussy.

Just like that.

[sleepysuccubuswife]

thinking about how this cereal that went around in youtube sponsorships for a while is called magic spoon but has these corporate google drawings for mascots instead of a wizard who uses a spoon to grant +30 nutrients

[pagesofkenna]

saw the podcast 'cereal' at target and bought the chocolate flavor on a whim

regret. don't love it

[daycare-care]

galaxy/Space themed activities

coloring pages

Activity sheets

Quests

Build Your Spaceship

Story: Your plushie crew is ready for liftoff, but the spaceship needs to be finished! Quest:

Make a spaceship out of a cardboard box, blankets, pillows, or chairs.

Decorate it with stars, stickers, buttons, or drawings.

Name your ship! (e.g., "The Cozy Comet" or "USS Snugglecraft")

Bonus: Make control panels with paper and crayons (lots of pretend buttons to press!).

Star Map Seeker

Story: You’re the official star mapper of the galaxy — chart those constellations! Quest:

Look out a window at night or pretend indoors with glow stars.

Draw a star map: connect stars into shapes and give them silly names.

Mark where your spaceship is going next!

Mission Log Journal

Story: Astronaut [Your Name] must keep a mission journal! Quest:

Write or draw what your day in space was like (pretend or real!).

Describe any aliens you met, planets you saw, or snacks you made.

📔 Add Stickers: Decorate your “mission logbook” with stars, planets, or plushies.

Galaxy Ranger Badge

Story: Complete missions to earn your Space Ranger badge! Quest:

Choose 3 missions (from this list or your own).

Make a paper badge or sticker with a star on it.

Wear it proudly or give one to a plushie crew member too!

🎖️ Badge Names: "Snack Officer," "Navigator," "Captain Cozy"

Alien Rescue Mission

Story: An alien plushie is lost on a faraway pillow planet! Quest:

Hide a plushie somewhere in your room.

Follow clues or draw a map to find them.

Bring them to your spaceship and take care of them with food/snuggles.

🍼 Roleplay Add-On: Feed them “space snacks” or wrap them in a blanket!

Moon Camp Snuggle Time

Story: You’ve landed on the moon and it’s bedtime at base! Quest:

Set up a cozy nap spot in a “lunar cave” (blankets or tent).

Bring a flashlight or star projector.

Snuggle with a plushie and listen to gentle music or white noise.

💤 Imagination Tip: Say goodnight to the stars one by one.

Recipes

🍇 1. Galaxy Fruit Wands

You’ll Need:

Blueberries (stars)

Purple grapes (galaxies)

Starfruit or watermelon stars (use a star cutter!)

Skewers or safe sticks

How to Make:

Slide fruit onto your stick in a galaxy swirl pattern.

Add a starfruit piece on top like a magic space wand!

🌌 Pretend Name: “Cosmic Comet Pops!”

🌀 2. Nebula Yogurt Swirl

You’ll Need:

Vanilla or blueberry yogurt

Purple and blue food coloring (optional)

Star sprinkles or edible glitter

How to Make:

Divide yogurt into bowls and mix in galaxy colors.

Swirl together gently (don’t mix too much).

Add sprinkles and call it stardust!

🥄 Serve With: Space spoons (glittery or decorated with stickers)!

🍪 3. Moon Rocks (Snack Bites)

You’ll Need:

Rice Krispies treats or small cookies

White or purple icing

Crushed rock candy or edible glitter

How to Make:

Coat treats in icing.

Sprinkle glitter or candy on top.

Let sit until they look like little moon rocks!

🌑 Little Fun Tip: Hide one and go on a moon rock “mission!”

🛸 4. Alien Toast Faces

You’ll Need:

Bread, toaster waffles, or rice cakes

Cream cheese, yogurt, or nut butter

Sliced fruit (bananas, berries, grapes)

Sprinkles or googly candy eyes (optional)

How to Make:

Spread your base topping.

Use fruit to make a silly alien face!

Add “antennae” with pretzel sticks or cereal loops.

👽 Play Add-On: Interview your toast alien before you eat it!

🌙 5. Planet Popcorn

You’ll Need:

Popped popcorn

Melted white chocolate or candy melts (dyed blue, purple, or pink)

Sprinkles or star sugar

How to Make:

Spread popcorn on a tray.

Drizzle with colored chocolate.

Toss with sprinkles and let cool.

💫 Pretend Name: “Pluto Puffs” or “Meteor Munch!”

[bigboigorgeous]

I'm becoming that person

You know the kind. The ones that casually start a tumblr just to like and reblog stuff about gaining. Yeah, I like the belly I've noticed on myself too - but I'm not like these obvious feedees. I have self control. I know how to say no to an extra snack. To stop eating after 8pm. My clothes are tight right now - if I let myself go I'm going to need to buy the next size up in both shirt and pants. So yeah. I got this under control. I have to.

I'm becoming that person. Yeah, I just ate dinner, but I need my dessert right away. A cookie now. Some gummies later. Then a cup of cereal. And 3-4 scoops of peanut butter just before bed. Look, the gaining thing is hot. I've been having fun just feeling good about my fat. Feeling turned on by my fat. Besides, winter is coming. I joke to people that it's 'fat boy fall'. We all gotta store up, right?

I'm becoming that person.

I can't get off unless I'm envisioning myself getting fatter. Sometimes it's a montage over the next year, imagining my soft body through various stages. Various pants sizes. Popped buttons. God, I want to burst out of my clothes with fat. Other times, I imagine a magic force making me gain all at once. I think of overflowing my clothing. When I bend over these days, my love handle stick out. Sometimes I stand up and my shirt goes with me, exposing a sliver of my widening belly. But I can't let it get that far. I buy a funnel from the store down the street. Just for the thrill. I'm not going to use it.

I'm becoming a fat person.

I stare at myself in the mirror and tell myself I don't look that big. I still fit in the same shirts I did a year ago. Well... "fit". They are tighter. The waistband of my jeans rolls over on itself, straining to keep in my widening girth. Girth. People would use that word when thinking about me. I stare at the XL undershirts and size 42 jeans in my online shopping cart. I close out the window. That can't be me. I can't let that be me. Besides... I like how tight my current jeans feel. When I burst the button, then I'll have earned those new jeans.

I am a fat person.

A breakfast bar (200 calories) and a cinnamon roll (400 calories) for breakfast. Pizza (800~ calories) for lunch. Burger and fries (1200 calories) for dinner. Then a constant graze of deserts that I don't keep track of. 2-4 spoonfuls of peanut butter? Wait how many did I have? I was just eating it without thinking. My shirt slides up over my belly as lie down in bed and cum myself to sleep.

[redroomreflections]

Her Best Secret Part 3

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair.

Note: ENJOY =)

w/c:6.3k

Routine. It’s what you value. It keeps you grounded when everything else feels too big or uncertain. Your days were pretty much the same. Wake up, shower, make breakfast, and prepare Claire for the day. If you were lucky, you could steal a moment for yourself—just a few minutes of quiet before the demands of the day swallowed you whole. 

Claire sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth, eating her favorite Cornfetti cereal. The sugary loops crunched between her teeth, and you can’t help but frown slightly. You’d rather she ate something healthier—fruit, maybe oatmeal—but Sam had insisted once, grinning as he poured the rainbow-colored pieces into her bowl. “Live a little,” he’d said.

So now, Cornfetti was her favorite. You moved through the kitchen with rehearsed ease, cracking eggs into a pan while the toast popped up behind you. Sam’s thermos was already filled with coffee, and you'd packed his lunch: leftover chicken, a few snacks, a note tucked inside that says, Have a great day. You’re unsure if he reads them anymore, but you wrote them anyway.

Sam came into the kitchen just as you were plating his breakfast. He was still wearing his undershirt, his tie loosely around his neck. He smelled like aftershave and the soap you bought last week, which constantly reminds you of cedarwood.

“Good morning,” he said, pulling you into a hug from behind. His arms were warm and solid, and you momentarily let yourself lean into him. He kissed your temple, then glanced at Claire, who happily shoveled cereal into her mouth.

“Morning, Daddy,” Claire waved, her voice cheerful and unbothered, her small hand sticky from the milk dripping off her spoon.

“Cornfetti again, huh?” Sam teased as he plucked a piece of toast from the counter.

You shrugged, trying to match his lightheartedness. “You’re the one who started it.”

“And she loves it,” he said, grinning as he leaned over to tousle Claire’s hair. “Right, Claire-bear?”

Claire nodded enthusiastically, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk with a mouth full of cereal.

The nickname caught you off guard. It wasn’t new, not by any means. Sam had called her that plenty of times before. But the first time—the very first time—wasn’t his. It was Natasha's.

You still remembered the unbidden but warm day it slipped from her mouth. Claire was about fourteen months old then. She held Natasha’s hand, pulling her toward the garden to show her a flower she’d plucked. “Come on, Claire-bear,” Natasha had said, the words soft and affectionate, as if they’d belonged to her all along.

Natasha. The name sent a pang through your chest, and you wondered if missing someone more than you did now was possible.

You missed Natasha fiercely, missed the way her eyes sparkled when she teased Sam, or how she always stole a piece of your food from your plate. You missed her soft voice when she read to Claire how she made up stories about dragons, magic, and princesses, which Claire would beg her for. It's not like she was unobtainable. Natasha was three doors down. Always there. Always constant. Except she wasn’t. Not anymore.

"Earth to Mommy," Sam chuckled. You looked up, and his brows were furrowed in concern. "Where'd you go?"

You blinked and shook your head. "I'm here. Just...thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing," you said, forcing a smile. "Just what we're going to do today. I'm thinking of taking Claire to the park to play."

You turned away before Sam could see the lie on your face.

The morning passed without much else happening, and soon enough, it was just you and Claire.

******

The television played quietly in the background, the black-and-white image of a man in a suit shaking hands barely registering to her. Natasha stood at the ironing board, focusing on smoothing the faint creases in Steve’s pale blue shirt. It was one of his favorites, and he had a meeting today. She’d promised it would be ready.

Her hand stilled for a moment, her mind somewhere else entirely. The room smelled faintly of starch and lavender. On another day, this might feel peaceful, but not today. Not when her thoughts kept circling back to the way you’d smiled. The way your laugh echoed in her head, even now. Then, her thoughts turned bitter. The way you'd left her house. Her kiss on your cheek wasn't supposed to be goodbye.

The phone rang, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Hello," Natasha answered, the cordless receiver tucked between her ear and shoulder. She silently hoped it was you. But instead, it was Jane, her cheerful neighbor.

"Good morning, Natasha. It’s Jane."

Natasha forced a polite smile, though no one could see it. "Hi, Jane. How are you?"

"Good, good," Jane replied warmly. "Just wanted to remind you about dinner tonight. You and Steve are still coming, right?"

"Yeah," Natasha said, her eyes flicking to the iron in her hand. The shirt was only half done, and the distraction was welcome. "Do you need us to bring anything?"

"Just yourselves," Jane replied with a light laugh before hesitating. "Oh! Is Y/N coming too?"

Natasha blinked, caught off guard. She gripped the phone a little tighter, her heart skipping a beat. "Y/N?"

"Yeah," Jane said. "I mean, you’re so close. I figured she’d be joining you. It’d be nice to catch up with her. She didn’t answer my call this morning."

Natasha scrambled for a response, her usual composure slipping. "Oh—uh, I’ll ask her," she said quickly, trying to sound nonchalant. "I’ll make sure she comes."

"Great," Jane said, oblivious to Natasha’s unease. "Tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her. It’s been too long."

"Will do," Natasha murmured, her voice quieter now.

"All right, see you tonight!" Jane chirped before hanging up.

Natasha set the phone down slowly, her hand lingering on it as if it might ring again. She exhaled sharply, trying to push down the knot forming in her chest.

"I’ll make sure she comes," she had said. But the truth was, Natasha had no idea what you’d say—or if you’d even want to come.

She picked up the iron again, smoothing Steve’s shirt with slow, deliberate movements. Yet her mind wasn’t on the fabric or the faint hum of the local news in the background. It was on you. Always on you.

********

Natasha hadn't seen you for three weeks. Not that she was counting. She'd come outside to check the mail. She gazed three doors down, silently hoping—half-ashamed at how much she was expecting—to see you on your lawn. Sure enough, there you were, kneeling on the grass with Claire, holding her tiny hand as she attempted to blow a bubble with her new wand.

Natasha paused at the mailbox, thumbing through the envelopes without seeing them. She should have just gone back inside. There was no reason to linger. But her eyes betrayed her, darting back to you before she could stop herself.

You laughed, the sound carrying easily, and she felt something twist in her chest. Her fingers tightened on the stack of mail as if to steady herself.

It wasn't until Claire pointed in her direction that she realized she’d been caught. You glanced up, shielding your eyes from the sun, and Natasha quickly dropped her gaze to the stack of mail as if it was suddenly the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

It wasn't until she heard the pitter-patter of little feet along the concrete. She looked up, and sure enough, Claire was running towards her.

"Natasha," the toddler shrieked, her tiny arms stretched wide.

“Hi, sweetie,” Natasha replied, crouching down just as Claire barreled into her. Tiny arms wrapped tightly around her neck, and Natasha couldn’t help but smile, the tension in her chest easing for the first time all morning.

“Claire! Claire Elise Wilson!” Your voice carried across the lawns.

"Natasha, I got new bubbles," Claire lisped, her words slightly garbled but no less enthusiastic. She paid your calls no mind, too engrossed in sharing her news.

“New bubbles? That’s awesome!” Natasha replied, her tone warm and indulgent as she adjusted Claire on her hip.

You jogged over, brushing your hands on your shorts as you approached. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, cheeks flushed—not from the sun but from embarrassment. “She’s been in a mood today.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but the look was playful.

"Really? She doesn't seem like she's in a mood," Natasha said, turning her gaze to Claire, who grinned and buried her face in her neck.

"I am," Claire said, her voice muffled but still bubbly.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Natasha replied, trying her best to sound disappointed, which earned her a giggle from Claire. "I guess you won't be able to show me your bubbles."

"No, I can show you," Claire insisted, leaning back and pushing her lower lip into a pout. "Please, Nat?"

Natasha chuckled and gently tapped Claire on the nose.

"Okay, okay. You can show me," Natasha replied with an amused shake of her head.

"Can we go to the park too?"

Natasha's smile faltered slightly, her eyes flicking to you.

“Claire,” you said gently, trying to keep your tone even. “I think Natasha has things to do today.”

“Nooo,” Claire whined, clinging tighter to Natasha. She rested her head against Natasha’s shoulder, her small hands gripping tightly. “I wanna stay with Nat.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shifting uncomfortably. “Claire, come on,” you said. “Let’s go inside. It’s almost time for lunch.”

Claire shook her head. “No. I want Nat.”

Natasha patted Claire's leg and slowly released the little girl from her arms. "Listen to your Mama."

"But—"

"Don't worry, we'll see each other later," Natasha promised, smiling softly.

Claire frowned, her lips pushed into a pout. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Claire finally nodded, accepting her fate. She reached for your hand, and you took it.

"Bye, Nat," she said, waving.

You started to turn away, but your steps faltered. There were so many thoughts swirling around in your head. There were so many things you wanted to say to her. You gripped Claire's hand a little tighter. Natasha straightened, watching you intently, her posture tense. Her lips parted as if she might say something, but no words came.

You turned back, your eyes meeting hers briefly before they darted to the ground. The words you wanted to say sat heavily on your tongue, but they felt too raw, too uncertain. You swallowed, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

"I just..." you started, your voice trailing off. You hesitated, glancing at Claire, then back at Natasha.

Natasha's expression softened, but there was a flicker of anxiety in her gaze. She didn’t push or prod; she just stood there waiting like she always did.

"I need time," you finally mumbled, barely audible.

Natasha nodded slowly, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. "Okay," she said softly, her voice steady despite the flicker of something—hurt, worry—in her eyes.

You nodded, too, your throat tight. Without another word, you turned and walked back toward your house, Claire skipping beside you, blissfully unaware of the tension.

Natasha stood alone on the sidewalk, her eyes still fixed on where you were standing. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. She watched the door close behind you, and suddenly, it felt like the distance between you had never been greater.

*************

Jane and Louis Redman's dinner parties were always the highlight of your summers. They lived across the street, and you spent most weekends with Jane and Natasha. You'd gossip, talk about men, and drink iced tea until the sun started to set.

This night, though, was different.

You stood at the bottom of the Redmans' driveway, nervously twisting your watch around your wrist. It was a nervous habit that you thought you'd broken years ago. Apparently not.

You should've just stayed home. Maybe even feigned a stomachache or something. Instead, here you were, waiting to be invited into a place you once considered your second home. Sam stood next to you, his hand in his pockets and the other holding onto Claire's.

Claire tugged on Sam's hand, her gaze darting between you.

"Mommy, are we going?" Claire asked.

Sam glanced at you, his eyes narrowing in confusion. You hadn't said a word since you'd arrived, and now you were just standing outside, staring at the Redman's house.

"Yeah, we are," Sam said, his voice light. He squeezed Claire's hand and took a step forward.

You followed them, and the three of you walked up the driveway together.

"Are we gonna eat, Daddy?"

Sam smiled. "Of course. But remember what Mommy told you. You have to behave and eat your veggies."

"But I don't like green beans," Claire grumbled, wrinkling her nose.

"I know, but they're good for you. You'll like them eventually."

You opened the front door, the familiar smell of home-cooked food and laughter wafting out.

"Y/N!" Jane greeted, her face lighting up. "Sam, Claire!"

"Jane, hi," you replied, mustering up a smile.

Jane pulled you into a warm hug. "It’s so good to see you all. Come in, come in!"

Sam greeted Jane with a smile and a polite nod before scooping Claire into his arms. "Smells great in here. Let me guess—your famous pot roast?"

"Of course," Jane said with a laugh. "I’ve got a few more dishes in the kitchen. Y/N, would you mind giving me a hand?"

"Sure," you said quickly, grateful for the distraction. You followed her into the kitchen, glancing briefly toward the living room where everyone else was gathered.

That’s when you saw Natasha.

She stood by the mantle, chatting quietly with Steve, her hand resting lightly on the back of the armchair he occupied. Her red hair was swept in soft waves, and she wore a sleek, dark green dress that hugged her figure perfectly. It wasn’t anything over the top—modest but elegant, perfectly Natasha.

You caught yourself staring and quickly looked away, focusing instead on the dishes Jane had laid out on the counter.

"Everything smells amazing," you said, forcing a bright tone as you picked up a dish of roasted carrots.

"Thanks," Jane said, shooting you a knowing look as she handed you a serving spoon. "Louis and I have been testing new recipes, so let me know what you think."

You nodded, trying to focus on the task as your heart raced. Natasha hadn’t noticed you—or at least, you didn’t think she had. But you could feel her presence.

"Y/N," Jane said, her voice snapping you out of your thoughts. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you said quickly, offering her a small smile. "Just a little tired."

Jane didn’t push, but her gaze lingered momentarily before she returned to the food.

You carried the dish to the dining table, carefully setting it down to avoid looking toward the living room again. But you didn’t need to look—you could feel Natasha’s eyes on you now, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glance back. It was going to be a long night.

*********

The table was cleared, and coffee and wine cups and pie slices replaced the remnants of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

Around the room, couples settled into their usual places, sharing stories and laughter. It felt good for your mind to be on something else for a change. Jane leaned into Louis’s side, her hand resting on his arm as she told a story about their youngest getting into the flour bin that morning. Wanda sat on the floor, her legs crossed under her skirt, as she picked at a piece of pie while Vision chuckled beside her.

You sat on the couch next to Sam, your hands perched on his lap as he rubbed your arm soothingly.

Natasha sat in the armchair across the room, her posture relaxed, though her eyes darted to you more often than she’d like to admit. Steve, ever the gentleman, offered to refresh Jane’s coffee, leaving Natasha with her hands wrapped around her untouched cup.

The children’s chatter and occasional shrieks of laughter filtered in from the playroom down the hall. Jane and Louis’s three kids—Emma, Michael, and Daisy—were busy keeping Billy, Tommy, and Claire entertained. The adults hardly noticed when one child peeked into the room to snag another cookie before disappearing again.

Louis chuckled as he reached for his glass of wine. "You know, I had a funny conversation with a few of the guys at work the other day. We were talking about gender roles, of all things. Some were adamant that a woman’s place is at home, raising the kids and keeping the house in order... you know, the usual. I had to bite my tongue because it felt like stepping into the 1800s."

Vision raised an eyebrow, leaning back into his chair. "Well, what did you tell them? I mean, not everyone can afford to have someone stay home all the time, can they?"

Louis laughed. "I just told them I had a hard time believing anyone would be happy with being cooped up all day. We need both parents working—at least in this generation. If anything, the man's job is to keep the kids entertained while the wife goes to work."

The men around the room laughed, and you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"You don't agree y/n?" Louis asked. He was baiting you. You didn't honestly want to contribute. You tended to get passionate about these topics. But the alcohol loosened your tongue, and you found yourself responding anyway.

"I just don't think we need to pigeonhole ourselves into traditional roles," you replied, your tone light but firm.

Louis gestured to you, his gaze turning to Sam, who shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Louis asked.

"I'm not saying the woman can't be a housewife. Or that the man can't do housework. We need to stop making it a competition.

"Competition?" Wanda repeated, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "It's not a competition, y/n. Not unless you want it to be."

You shook your head, ignoring the sudden heat in your cheeks. "I'm not saying it's a competition. I'm just saying we need to stop acting like there's some kind of hierarchy. If the woman goes to work, the man is less of a man. Or if the man does the cooking, then the woman is somehow inferior."

"You make a valid point," Vision said. "We have made quite a few assumptions about gender roles."

"Right, which is why we shouldn't assume anything. We should just...do what makes sense for us."

Wanda tilted her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I suppose so," she said, her tone light. "Though, I still think it's much more comfortable being a woman. You guys are the ones with the balls."

Another round of laughter filled the room, and even you couldn't help but grin.

"All right, all right," Jane said, her smile warm and bright. "Enough about gender roles. Did you guys hear about Georgia Park one street over? She found out her husband was having an affair and has a secret family."

"You're kidding," Louis said, his eyes wide. "That's a new level of cheating."

Jane nodded. "I heard he was living with the other woman and their kids. Georgia said they've been married for twenty years, and he had a second family right under her nose the whole time."

"That's crazy," Sam blurted. The conversation shifted quickly, but Natasha and you stayed quiet, each processing the information in your way. While the others were shocked and animated, you felt uncomfortable at the gossip, unsure if you should participate.

"That's... awful." Wanda frowned. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding eye contact, and let your fingers brush the edge of your wine glass, trying to distract yourself from the topic. "I can't imagine how she must feel."

Natasha looked down at her hands, her voice low but steady. “People are capable of some strange things, aren't they?" She glanced briefly at you, her eyes more intense than usual."It's... not something I'd want to be involved in."

You nodding, swallowing a bit, not wanting to add anything too personal."Yeah, I think it’s better to just... leave it alone. I mean, it’s not our business, right?"

Wanda shrugged."I guess. Still, it's hard to let go of something like that.”

Natasha glanced at you, her expression softening."Sometimes we have to just let it go, though."

You looked up and met her gaze. Your chest tightened at the look in her eyes, and for a moment, it was just the two of you in the room. Then, Sam's voice broke the silence.

"That's enough of that. Who wants to play a round of cards?"

Natasha blinked, the spell broken, and turned away.

"Oh, yes. That sounds fun," Jane said, her enthusiasm bubbly and warm.

"I'm in," Louis chimed in.

The group quickly dispersed, and you excused yourself to the restroom.

Natasha watched you go, her eyes lingering on your retreating form.

In the bathroom, you gripped the edge of the sink, your reflection staring back at you.  You took a deep breath and tried to steady your hands, which betrayed your nerves by trembling just enough to make you fumble with the compact mirror you’d pulled from your bag.

You focused on reapplying your lipstick, the repetitive motion of the tube sliding over your lips grounding you in the moment. It was better than thinking about why you were here. Better than admitting, even to yourself, that you’d come knowing full well Natasha would be sitting at that dinner table. It was better than acknowledging the ache in your chest that hadn’t entirely gone away since the day you walked out of her home. 

You’d been the one to end it. You’d said it wouldn’t work, that the two of you were kidding yourselves.

The bathroom felt too small, the walls pressing in as your mind replayed her words from earlier. "Sometimes we have to let go." Its weight settled in your stomach, heavy and unrelenting. Was that how she felt about you now? Had she let go? And if she had, why did she look at you like that? Like she still felt so much for you.

Moments later, you stepped out of the bathroom. The conversation in the den had gone to a low hum, and no one seemed to be talking. 

"Where's Natasha?" You asked as you stepped into the den. The redhead's absence was noticeable.

"She went home to fetch her favorite drink," Steve replied.

"Oh," You nodded. "I am just going to go check on her. "

"The two of you are so attached at the hip; I love it," Jane commented, giving you a friendly grin.

You ignored the playful jab, too distracted by the sudden urge to speak with Natasha. You had to find her.

You walked outside toward Natasha’s house, the familiar path feeling strange beneath your feet tonight. You arrived at the front door, hesitated, and then pushed it open. The familiar warmth of her home greeted you, but tonight, something different about it made it feel less like the sanctuary it usually was.

You found Natasha standing by her home bar. She looked so at ease, yet distant in a way you hadn’t seen before. She was dressed in her dinner outfit, and the tension you’d both felt earlier hung in the air.

She glanced up at you, her expression flickering with surprise before she masked it with her usual calm demeanor. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was steady, but the question had a slight sharpness, unintended but there nonetheless.

You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden coldness in her tone. It wasn’t like her to sound like that, and you weren’t sure how to respond. You took a breath and tried again.

“I just—” You hesitated. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed distant earlier, and I thought maybe we could talk.”

There was a brief silence, and Natasha stood still, eyes scanning you before her arms folded loosely over her chest. “I’m fine,” she said, but the words didn’t come with the usual certainty this time. They were quiet, almost as if she wasn’t entirely convincing herself.

You stepped closer, avoiding her momentary gaze as you glanced around the room, letting the silence sit for a second longer. “I know you’re fine,” you said softly. “But I still wanted to see you. To make sure you were okay.”

"Well, now you see," Natasha said. "If you don't mind. I'm trying to figure out how to drink this entire bottle of vodka before I go back."

You nodded. You wanted to say anything, but the words wouldn't come. There was too much to say, and the silence between you stretched.

Natasha fixed her eyes on the bottles in front of her, and you stood awkwardly by the doorway, your thoughts swirling.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," You began. You closed your eyes with a sigh. That's a cliche way to start. But what else could you say?

"I know," Natasha replied, her voice low and her back still turned to you.

"I just didn't want..." You trailed off.

Natasha finally looked up. Her eyes were glassy; her jaw clenched tight.

"Y/N," She sighed, her gaze flicking away. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," You shook your head. "I panicked."

Natasha let out a long breath. "I know."

You stared at her momentarily, watching as her features softened slightly.

"I didn't want to ruin things," You confessed. "Between us."

Natasha tilted her head slightly, her gaze still averted. "We're fine," she said, almost whispering.

You took a step forward, reaching out a hand tentatively, letting it rest on her arm.

Natasha's gaze finally flicked up to yours, and there was no trace of anger or frustration for a moment. Instead, she looked at you with a sad sort of understanding.

"I'm sorry," You murmured, your hand falling away.

Natasha took a deep breath and then straightened. "Let's not talk about this right now, okay?"

You swallowed, a lump in your throat. "Okay."

There was a pause. Then, Natasha finally broke the silence.

"Did you need anything else?"

"No, I—" You faltered, realizing the answer wasn't entirely true. "I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Right," Natasha said, her tone suddenly formal, as if she were talking to a stranger.

You looked down at the floor, wishing you could take back the last few minutes.

"Do I mean something to you?" She asked suddenly.

You froze. Your heart was pounding, and your palms were sweaty. "Of course you do."

"But do I matter?"

"Of course you do," You repeated.

"Then why did you push me away?"

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did," Natasha said, her voice cracking.

"Natasha, I didn't. I'm sorry. I was scared."

"So am I."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

You were silent for a moment.

"What are we going to do?"

Natasha turned away, her expression unreadable.

"Nothing," she said, her voice a whisper.

"You're the first woman I've ever cared about," You whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I don't understand what I feel. I love Sam."

Natasha took a deep breath, and for a second, you thought she might turn back to face you.

"I have to get back," She said instead. "They'll be wondering where we are."

"But I also care for you," You stopped her from walking past you. "I also know when you're upset. Usually, I'm not the one to upset you, but there's something else." You guessed.

"I'm fine," She replied, her voice stiff. "Thank you for coming over. Goodbye, Y/N."

"Wait." You reached out, catching her hand and squeezing gently.

Natasha paused, her eyes darting to your hands before meeting your gaze.

"What?" She asked, her voice quiet.

"Can we... can we just talk for a second?"

Natasha nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly as she relented. "Okay."

"Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not," Natasha sighed.

"But are you?"

"No, I'm not." Natasha ran a hand through her hair. "I'm disappointed, I guess."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted this to be different. Because I thought we were different."

"We are," you said, your voice soft.

"Then why did you say everything to me and then run?"

"Because I panicked," You replied, the words coming out more harshly than you intended.

"You're an idiot."

"I know."

"I care about you, too," Natasha said, her voice wobbling slightly.

"I'm glad."

Natasha nodded and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Natasha eyed the vodka bottle, biting her lip nervously. It was an effort not to cry; she didn't like to cry in front of people.

"I, um, I thought that I was pregnant before," She admitted, her voice slightly crackling. "I wanted to come and tell you, but we weren't talking."

"Natasha," You breathed. You knew how much it would mean for her.

"I went to the doctor," She continued. "I took a test. I had blood drawn. I waited in that room for so long only for it to be negative."

"Oh, Nat.." You couldn't find the right words, but you wanted to tell her how sorry you were.

"Which was fine," Natasha nodded to herself. "It was fine. I can't be someone's mom. I'm too unpredictable. I can never stay in one spot. I don't love my husband, but I can't leave him either. No baby deserves that."

"But a baby would love you, Natasha. It's impossible not to," You whispered.

"Maybe. But a baby deserves a better life than I could give," Natasha said.

"It wouldn't matter," You insisted.

"How do you know that?"

"Because you'd love it," You said simply.

"Love isn't enough," Natasha said. The weight behind her words unsettled you.

"Love is all you need."

Natasha let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head.

"You have no idea what I need," She said, her voice cracking.

"That's not true," You replied. "I do. And what you need is love. Love is everything."

"I need stability, y/n," Natasha said, her voice firm. "Isn't that why you ran?"

"I didn't—"

"You did," Natasha cut you off, her voice soft but unwavering. "You were afraid of getting hurt. Of getting caught. Of people knowing that you like to sleep with women."

"That's not it."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know," You sighed. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Neither do I," Natasha said, her voice softening.

"The first time we kissed, I felt like I was going to die," You confessed, your eyes fixed on the floor. "And the next time, I felt like I was going to live forever."

"Me too," Natasha whispered.

"When we kissed again, I didn't want it to end. But when we woke up, I didn't know what to say or how to act. And when I went home, I didn't know how to be with Sam. Not after that. So, I just... pushed you away. But I didn't want to. I still don't."

"So, why did you?"

"Because I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Of what it meant."

"I'm scared, too," Natasha said, her eyes filling with tears. "But I'm not running. "

"What are we going to do?" You whispered.

"We could keep sneaking around. But sooner or later, we'd have to tell someone. And that would be the end of it."

"Or we could try," You said.

"Try what?"

"To be together."

"You're married." Natasha furrowed her brows. "Last time I checked, so am I."

"I know," You whispered. "Can we just sit for a minute?" You gestured over to the couch.

"Alright," She nodded, following you.

You sat down, leaning back into the cushions.

Natasha sat beside you, her hands folded in her lap.

You turned to face her, studying her features. "You're beautiful," You said, unable to help yourself.

"I'm tired," Natasha sighed.

"Are you really?"

"Of hiding. Of lying."

"Me, too," You admitted.

"I'm sorry that I got angry with you," She began. "It's not fair of me to ask so much of you. I wasn't thinking of Claire's well-being also."

"It's okay," You reassured her. "I shouldn't have left. I just panicked."

"It's been hard."

"It has."

"Do you still want to do this?" Natasha asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Be with me. Like this. Whatever it is."

"I think so," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha studied you carefully, her green eyes softening just a little though her tension was still evident. She exhaled deeply, leaning back into the cushions beside you. “You think so,” she repeated, her voice carrying a faint trace of uncertainty.

You looked down at your hands, clasped together in your lap, the words catching in your throat. “I—I don’t know how to say it. I’ve thought about us every day since I left. I know I was wrong to walk away like I did. I just…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “I’m scared, Natasha.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded slowly. “You think I’m not? You think I don’t lie awake some nights wondering what happens if we get caught? If we hurt the people we care about?” She paused, glancing at you. “But I can’t stop thinking about you either. I can’t pretend this doesn’t matter.”

Your chest tightened at her admission, and you felt the sting of unshed tears in your eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I don’t know how to stop wanting this. Wanting you.”

Natasha reached for your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. She squeezed gently, her touch warm and reassuring.

"Tell me this is more than just sex for you?" You began. "Because, Natasha, I..."

"It is," she whispered, her gaze fixed on yours.

You swallowed hard. "I care about you," you murmured, your voice low and unsteady. "So much."

Natasha smiled weakly. "Me, too."

"You're my best friend."

"And you're mine."

"I love Sam," You began.

"And I care for Steve," Natasha replied.

"I want him. But I can't imagine losing you," You breathed, the words hanging heavy between you.

"I don't want to lose you, either," Natasha said, quiet but firm.

"So, where does that leave us?"

Natasha sighed, her gaze drifting down to the floor.

"We keep it a secret," she said. "Only for a little longer. I promise. Until we're ready."

"And when will that be?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

You hesitated.

"Are you okay with this?" Natasha asked, her voice tentative.

"I don't know," you said. Natasha nodded. You studied her face. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you," she murmured. "So do you."

You bit your lip, your gaze flickering to her mouth.

"May I kiss you?" You asked softly.

Natasha smiled faintly.

"Yes."

You leaned in slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. She kissed back, her mouth soft and warm against yours. You inhaled her scent, the smell of her shampoo filling your senses, and you sighed into the kiss, the tension in your body dissipating.

After a moment, Natasha pulled back, her gaze intense.

"Natasha, I need to tell you," You breathed. "I really think-"

"Am I interrupting?" Wanda questioned as she stepped further into the house.

You jumped, startled, and quickly broke away from Natasha, turning to see her standing by the entrance with an unreadable expression.

"Hey," Natasha greeted, her tone calm and casual as if nothing was amiss. "Sorry, Wanda, we got a little wrapped up in girl talk."

"Oh, that's okay," Wanda smiled politely.

"What's going on?" You asked, trying to regain your composure.

"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure the two of you were okay."

"Yes, we're just fine," Natasha said, nodding.

Wanda's eyes lingered between the two of you for a moment, her smile still in place, but there was a flicker of something unspoken behind her calm expression. "Okay," she said finally. "Just wanted to check. Everyone's getting ready for cards, and Sam said we shouldn’t start without you.”

You nodded, your voice shaky as you replied, “Thanks, Wanda. We’ll be right there.”

Wanda nodded and stepped back toward the door, but not before her gaze landed on Natasha again. “Don’t keep us waiting too long,” she said lightly, her tone teasing but carrying a subtle undertone you couldn’t quite place. With that, she turned and disappeared through the door, leaving you alone again.

Natasha exhaled softly, running a hand through her hair. “That was close,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to her, your heart still racing. “She knows, doesn’t she?”

Natasha gave a faint shrug, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Wanda’s smart. She probably has suspicions but won’t say anything unless she’s sure.”

You chewed on your lip, anxiety creeping in. “Maybe this is a sign that we must be more careful.”

“Or maybe,” Natasha said, her voice firm but gentle, “it’s a sign that we need to stop pretending we don’t matter to each other.” She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against yours. “What do you want to do?”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering toward the door where Wanda had just left. Then, you looked back at Natasha.

"I don’t know what this is supposed to look like,” you admitted. “But I know I want to figure it out—with you.”

Natasha’s expression softened, and she gave a slight nod. “Then let’s take it one step at a time,” she said. “No rushing, no overthinking. Just… us.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you let her words settle over you. “Okay,” you whispered. “One step at a time.”

Natasha held your gaze for a moment longer, then stood, her hand lingering on yours as she pulled you gently to your feet. “We should get back before Wanda starts playing detective,” she said with a slight smirk.

---> next part

[olsenmyolsen]

imgonnagetyouback

master list . dark master list

If I said best song on TTPD, then what???

MCU (Female Reader X Wanda Maximoff)

Summary: You and Wanda Maximoff used to be something, but now that you're with Natasha Romanoff, Wanda can't stand by and let it happen.

Word Count: 1.4K

Content: Pissed Off Wanda, Manipulation, Cheating(?)

Wanda hated seeing you with Natasha.

She hated how the redhead whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you cooked dinner. She hated seeing how Natasha's arms held you tight after a mission. Wanda mostly hated how she looked at you. When Wanda truly looked at you. Wanda could see the pain hidden behind the glare.

Wanda hates how you treated her and how she treated you in return.

On top of that, she regrets calling it off too early. But now she hates the idea of you with someone else.

The images of you and Natasha are driving her crazy.

So, as she stands in front of her mirror in a white shirt and a lilac short skirt that fits her like skin, she smiles.

She's gonna get you back.

You're no better than a man when you see the way Wanda glides into the kitchen for breakfast. The body-hugging skirt leaves little to the imagination while making your mouth dry.

Wanda feels your gaze on her as she keeps her back to you. Using her magic to grab a bowl and spoon for cereal, keeping a laugh inside as she hears your thoughts.

You look away when she turns around but look right back up with a spoon clatters against the hardwood. You go red when you see Wanda bent over, picking up the spoon.

The color of her panties matches the skirt.

"Hey!" Natasha's voice makes you jump as she enters the kitchen with a smile. Wanda finishes gathering her cereal in the meantime. She knows this part of her plan worked just by how hard you're trying to keep your focus on Natasha and not Wanda and her body. "You woke up before me. That never happens!" Natasha makes a casual joke that you give a half-hearted chuckle at. "Yeah, just wanted an early start today, I guess."

Wanda takes one last look at you before she leaves the room. Your eyes catch her green ones, and you just about stop breathing when she winks at you.

"You're mine."

The following week, Stark is throwing a party for god knows what the occasion was, but it doesn't matter. You need something like this for one reason or another.

(Wanda and Wanda.)

So, as you walk with your arms linked with Natasha's, you find all eyes on the two of you. Natasha is dressed in a strapless thigh-high slit silver dress. You opted for an all-black tux that Natasha couldn't wait to tear off you later.

And you with her dress.

You smiled and kissed her cheek while she made small talk with colleagues, and you felt the burn of green eyes on you.

Wanda was stewing across the party, in a tight black dress that complimented your tux better than Natasha did. You and Natasha looked stunning.

She hated it.

So, with her mind on autopilot, Wanda downed the remainder of her glass and kept her burning desire trained on you.

After days of teasing, Wanda didn't feel close to accomplishing her goal. So, with misguided judgment, she rolled her tongue over her lips and found herself standing in the garage.

A golf club in her hand.

Luxury cars that Tony spent too much money on never to drive were the first pieces of machinery Wanda saw before she walked further and further down that aisle.

A loud click bounced off the walls with every step of her heels. Until. Wanda finally stopped in front of your bike.

Wanda remembers times when you'd spend all day with this stupid junk—fixing it up and taking it for a spin, being too loud and careless. God, Wanda hated it. But she also loved it because it made you happy.

But Wanda did at some point, too.

A memory of her arms wrapped around you while you sped around the compound plays out.

Wanda unconsciously screams and takes a swing, hitting the headlight right in the middle of the bike. Glass spraying around her. With a gasp, Wanda takes a step back, surprised by her actions, before she grips the club harder and swings for the fences.

39 times.

Wanda had a date a few weeks after Starks party. Your bike was totaled, and Wanda had another date.

You couldn't fucking believe it.

You felt like you had been going crazy with Wanda lately. She was gone one minute and was always around the next, in short skirts or revealing tops. Wanda was there. She acted friendly, and then, in a second, she couldn't stand you.

You couldn't make heads or tails of what was happening.

Was she getting me back?

One way or another?

You sighed as you sat down on your bed at the compound. Natasha was gone on a mission, and even if you wanted to talk to her, you couldn't really do it about Wanda.

You would be lying if you said you didn't miss Wanda at times when Natasha wouldn't get your jokes or how her and Wanda's idea of nights in were different.

On top of that, you missed Wanda's touch. You hate to say it, but you miss feeling her skin under your hand or hearing her whispered sighs escape through her lips.

You groan and lift up from the bed. You head down to the gym to distract yourself. It's empty when you get there and by the time you're finishing up. Yet, with your headphones in and your back to the door. You don't hear Wanda enter the room.

Wanda had listened to your thoughts repeatedly for the last two hours. She had smiled wide and touched herself briefly as your frustrated moans left you. She knew how close she was to getting you back.

So, as you hummed to your music, Wanda gently walked towards you.

You stopped and turned around when red magic surrounded the equipment you were using. "Wanda?" You questioned as you paused your music. She was wearing a black sports bra and bike shorts.

But god, did they stick to her like glue.

"Hi Y/n." Wanda moved closer. "What are you doing here?" You asked after swallowing your nerves and trying to keep your eyes from roaming her body. "Just thought I'd get a workout in before my date," Wanda said with a wide smile that upset you. Wanda's words were making you think twice about what happened between the two of you.

But one thing was for certain.

Her date could never do the things I could.

Wanda raised an eyebrow at that and stepped closer to you. "You've told your friends you hate me, but you love me just the same." You remained stoic even if your lips moved slightly. "Come on. Y/n.." Wanda practically moaned as she stepped closer again with a smirk. Bringing her hand up to your body and dragging her index finger from your chin to your breast.

Only stopping when you grabbed her.

"We tried the whole bygones will be bygones thing," Wanda said as she lifted her eyes from your sweaty and toned body to your beautiful eyes. Eyes she missed, looking at her with softness and lust. "I've tried harder than you." You said, making Wanda roll her eyes.

She was playing a game.

"I don't see what if done wrong," Wanda questioned. "I see the whispers in your eyes, baby. You want me." You dropped Wanda's hand and shook your head. Your thoughts descending into actions of you taking Wanda right here and now mixed with Natasha and her broken heart. "You're poison." You speak with your face inches from Wanda's. "I'm poison either way." Wanda's words cut through you easily.

She'll always be around whether she taints your thoughts and actions or keeps to herself. Wanda will always be there.

"You have someone." You say, but Wanda laughs. "You have someone, too."

You should leave, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

Wanda smiles before she pulls you forward and collides your lips with hers. A simple thing turns into a heated make-out session that leaves both breathless.

And yet Wanda pushes you away when you reach for her shorts. "I need to get started on my workout." She says with a breath between each third word. You shake your head and try again, but Wanda stops you. "Oh, honey..." Wanda coos. "You didn't think it would be that easy. Did you?" You stare at Wanda as she clicks her tongue. "I always have the upper hand, Y/n."

Wanda then looks outside as a Quinjet flies by. You're too busy scanning Wanda's face.

"Looks like she's home," Wanda says as she turns back to you. "And don't worry, I won't say anything." Wanda shrugs before turning away, leaving you standing still as your fingers touch your lips. Still a taste of Wanda. "Oh, and Y/n."

You pull your eyes to her.

"I'm gonna get you back."

dividers by @/benkeibear

[ficfield]

The Great Dad Bake-Off

Request: I know this is silly, but… can we have Chris trying his best to bake a cake? It could be for one of his kids!

Daddy Chris 

It was 7:12 a.m when Chris decided he was going to bake his daughter’s first birthday cake himself. 

Not order it. Not pick one up from the bakery two blocks down. Not ask anyone for help. 

No. this was his mission. A declaration of pure, unshakable, dad love.

Lyra was turning one today, and Chris was determined that her first cake would be made from scratch by his own two hands, despite the fact that the last thing he’d baked was a frozen pizza, and even that had come out suspiciously crunchy.

Noah, perched at the kitchen counter in his Batman pyjamas, looked on with a five-year-old’s mix of awe and deep concern. “Daddy… are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Chris, sleeves already dusted with flour and a smudge of cocoa on his cheek, gave his son a confident (read: mildly panicked) smile. “Totally. Cake is just like… a sweet, fluffy sandwich. Right?”

Noah blinked slowly. “That’s not how Mommy makes it.”

“Well, Mommy is a wizard. I’m more of a… cake knight.”

Noah didn’t look convinced. But he resumed munching dry cereal from his hand like popcorn at a movie.

Chris was reading the ingredients out loud to keep himself on track. “Okay. Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Baking powder. Vanilla. Butter. Milk.”

He lined the items up on the counter like a man about to perform a magic spell, only his wand was a suspiciously new electric mixer still in the box. He squinted at the recipe (a photo he had taken of a handwritten index card from his mom, which had a coffee stain on the measurements).

One egg cracked beautifully into the bowl. The second egg… not so much.

“…Do eggshells add crunch?” he muttered, fishing out shards with a spoon.

“Dad, are you making crunchy cake?” Noah asked.

“No! I mean, no. No crunch. Just… texture.”

By the time the batter was poured into the pans (unevenly), and the oven preheated (eventually), Chris was covered in flour, there were two kinds of sugar in the batter because he hadn’t realized they weren’t the same thing, and the cat had walked through a small puddle of spilled milk and left footprints across the tiles.

But somehow, somehow, the cakes came out golden. Lopsided, but golden.

Chris beamed like he’d just won “The Great British Bake-Off.” He let them cool (after sticking his finger in one to “check”, twice), then moved on to frosting.

The frosting was pink. Lyra loved pink. He may have used a bit too much food colouring because it was less “soft pastel” and more “neon flamingo,” but it was pink. And it was slathered across the cake like a toddler with finger paint.

He even wrote her name across the top in wonky letters with the icing pen: “HAPPY 1st BIRDAY LYRA!!”

The “birthday” was missing a “th” and the “1st” was backwards.

Still.

Noah stood beside him, peering up at the finished masterpiece. “It looks like a birthday volcano,” he said in awe.

Chris looked at it, hand on his hip. “Yeah. But like… a cake volcano. That’s cool, right?”

Noah gave a solemn nod. “The coolest.”

And when Lyra woke from her nap and was placed in her highchair, Chris brought out the cake, lit a single candle, and sang loudly (and slightly off-key), watching her eyes widen with wonder.

She smashed her tiny hand into it and squealed.

A success. A perfect, messy, frosting-smudged, dad-made success.