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lanaroff · 2 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Last Chapter

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Fluff (finally)

a/n: the last chapter is finally here. hope you enjoy it!

The mornings in the cabin are quiet. Gentle. Golden light spills in through gauzy curtains, brushing your face as you blink awake. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no panic in your chest when you open your eyes. There’s no scream trapped in your throat. Only warmth—and Wanda.

She’s curled into you, breath soft against your collarbone, one leg tangled over yours like she’s anchoring herself to you even in sleep. You wonder if she knows how much that grounds you. How every morning with her is like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

You don’t sleep on the floor anymore.

That’s new.

You didn’t realize how significant it was until it wasn’t. You still wake up sometimes in a cold sweat, your body tight with memories you can’t control. But now, you have Wanda’s voice calling you back. Her hands, gently coaxing yours to loosen. Her love, constant, patient, never fading.

This cabin—this life—it was a gift. Tony bought the land and surprised you with the paperwork, insisting it was the least he could do. At first, you didn’t want it. You didn’t think you deserved something that good. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Wanda just smiled at you like she already saw your future blooming here.

You didn’t want to believe her. But then she started making it a home.

The walls were painted in warm colors. Soft rugs and shelves lined with books and candles filled the rooms. Wanda filled the space with comfort and magic—her magic. And you? You built her a greenhouse. Every seed planted was a promise: that you were staying. That you were healing. That this was yours. Together.

She cried the first time you brought her inside and showed her the tomatoes, the rosemary, the rows of basil you carefully tended just because she liked the way it made her pasta taste.

“You did all of this for me?” she asked, wiping a tear off her cheek.

And you told her, “Everything I do now is for you.”

She kissed you like it was the only answer she needed.

And she’s the one who gently encouraged you to try therapy.

You were terrified. You didn’t want to open those doors. Didn’t want to name the things you buried. But she held your hand and said, “You don’t have to do it for anyone else. Just do it for you. You deserve to heal.”

So you did. And it’s helped.

You’re not the person Hydra tried to break. You’re becoming someone new—stronger, softer. Someone who lets themself be held. Someone who wakes up next to the woman they love, every morning, in a house that feels like a forever.

And now it’s your birthday.

The house is buzzing with laughter and warmth. Tony and Steve are already bickering in the kitchen about who’s better at poker. Sam is spinning little Nathaniel around in the backyard while Clint tries to keep a cake from falling over. Natasha is leaning against the counter, smirking as she sips wine and throws you a wink when she sees how happy you are.

Wanda is glowing.

She made all your favorite dishes, insisting on doing it herself. She refuses to let you lift a finger. And you let her, mostly because she looks beautiful when she’s focused, her sleeves rolled up and her hair in a bun, humming to herself.

You’re holding a drink in your hand, but you’re not drinking it. You’re too busy looking at her.

She catches you staring and smiles. “What?”

You shrug, cheeks warm. “Nothing. Just… how did I get this lucky?”

She walks over and kisses your cheek. “You survived. That’s how.”

You’re just about to tell her how much she means to you when the sound hits. A deep, thunderous whump shakes the ground.

A S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier descends from the clouds, hovering low enough to send ripples through the pond behind your house. Everyone goes still. The warmth of the afternoon fades as fear claws at your spine. You stand frozen in the doorway, heart hammering, staring at the monstrous machine settling on your peaceful porch like a nightmare come to life.

But Wanda steps behind you, one hand on your back, grounding you.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m here. No matter what.”

You nod, but your throat is tight.

You walk out alone.

You don’t run anymore.

You meet Fury halfway across the lawn. He’s standing tall, coat whipping in the breeze, expression unreadable as always.

You stop a few feet away, spine straight, heart thundering.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a file. “I owe you this.”

You take it slowly. The paper feels too heavy in your hands. You open it—and your breath catches.

It’s an official pardon.

Everything cleared.

All of it.

Your name.

Your record.

Your life.

You look up at him, lips parted, unable to speak.

“Take it as a birthday present,” he says gruffly.

He turns to leave, but pauses on the ramp. “One more thing.”

And then—

Sharon.

You blink, heart slamming in your chest as she steps out of the helicarrier, wind blowing through her hair. She looks real. She is real. She’s smiling.

And your feet move before your brain catches up.

You run.

You slam into her arms, both of you laughing and crying, and the words spill out, breathless:

“How? How are you here?”

“Fury cleared my name too,” she says, eyes shining. “I’m free.”

You look back at Fury, stunned. “Thank you.”

He nods once, then disappears into the carrier. You turn back to Sharon and take her hand, pulling her toward the house.

Inside, everyone is already cheering.

She’s wrapped in hugs and warmth and laughter. Clint hands her a plate. Tony salutes her with a drink. Natasha pulls her into a rare embrace.

And then she turns to Wanda.

“I’m glad you made it,” Wanda says softly.

They hug. And something clicks.

You watch them for a moment, your brow furrowed.

“…Wait,” you say, stepping between them. “You knew?”

Wanda just smiles. And Sharon leans in with a grin. “She’s the reason I’m here.”

You don’t know what to say.

So you don’t.

You kiss Wanda instead.

Hard. Fierce. Full of everything.

And when you pull back, forehead pressed to hers, you whisper:

“I love you.”

“I know,” she breathes. “I love you too.”

And then the night goes on—with laughter, with music, with dancing. You sit beside Wanda, fingers laced, her head on your shoulder as the stars come out. There’s a bonfire crackling, stories being told, and you just keep thinking:

This is it.

This is what it means to live again.

To have a second chance.

To be loved.

To be home.

⸻

The porch glows golden in the warm afternoon light, the air tinged with the soft scent of lemon balm and sun-warmed wood. You’re nestled between Natasha and Sharon on the old rocking bench, all of you barefoot, lounging in mismatched chairs, nursing mugs of coffee—or what started as coffee and may or may not have had something “extra” slipped into it by Natasha when no one was looking.

Sharon raises an eyebrow at you over the rim of her cup. “Okay, so tell me again—how many times has Clint caught you two making out in his kitchen?”

You scoff, laughing, cheeks instantly burning. “That was one time.”

“Two,” Natasha corrects, grinning into her drink. “And one was definitely on the counter. I remember because Laura nearly dropped a plate.”

You groan, dropping your head back against the chair. “You two are the worst.”

“We’re the best,” Sharon counters, nudging your leg with hers. “Admit it. Who else gets to remind you how disgustingly in love you are every day?”

You grin despite yourself, eyes rolling. “Okay, but to be fair, I’ve earned it. I’ve been through hell. I deserve some disgustingly in love moments.”

“That you do,” Natasha murmurs, a touch more serious. She bumps her shoulder lightly into yours. “You really do.”

You’re all quiet for a moment, and it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence that only comes with people who’ve seen you at your worst and never left. Then Sharon says, “I’ve missed this. The three of us. It feels like—like we got something back.”

“We did,” you say softly. “We really did.”

Sharon glances sideways, playful again. “Still doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. I want the full update. How’s life as a woodland wife?”

You snort. “Peaceful. Domestic. Wanda’s taken over the entire house. I barely got to choose the doormat.”

Natasha laughs. “Sounds about right. Let me guess—flowers on every surface?”

“Candles too. And color-coded blankets. I don’t even know how you color-code blankets.”

Sharon grins. “She’s nesting. She’s marking her territory.”

“She doesn’t need to,” you say, and it’s meant to be sarcastic, light. But then you hear it.

Wanda’s laugh. Light and full and carefree. Floating through the screen door with the sound of Clint’s kids yelling something about marshmallows. You don’t even mean to react to it—but your chest tightens, and your throat goes soft. Your smile falters as you look toward the house, watching her with Laura near the fireplace, gently brushing hair from Lila’s face like she’s been doing it forever.

You blink once, then again.

Then, barely a whisper: “I want to marry her.”

Natasha and Sharon both still. The teasing dies instantly—not because they’re shocked, not exactly. But because they hear the shift in your voice. The way it comes from somewhere deep inside, like it’s been sitting there for a long time, just waiting for you to notice.

Natasha turns first, eyes softening. “You serious?”

You nod slowly, watching Wanda press a kiss to Nathaniel’s head as she lifts him into her lap. “I didn’t know until just now. I mean, I’ve felt it. But… hearing her laugh like that. Seeing her with the kids. I just—God, I want that. I want her. I want to build everything with her.”

Sharon’s lips part, her eyes watering. She sets her cup down gently and leans in, nudging your knee with hers again. “You’re gonna make me cry, and I’m not even drunk yet.”

You laugh through your own tears. “I’m not fixed. I’m still scared half the time. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel like I need to be perfect. I just want to start the rest of my life with her.”

Natasha reaches out, squeezing your hand. “Then you should. You both deserve that happiness. And if you need someone to help plan a lowkey, top-secret proposal, you know where to find us.”

“You’ll help me pick a ring, right?” you ask, glancing between them.

Sharon smirks. “Only if you let me make an obnoxious toast at the wedding.”

“Deal,” you whisper.

From inside, Wanda’s voice lifts again—something gentle and sing-song, telling Cooper not to jump on the couch. And you think, that’s my future right there. Chaos and comfort and soft hands cleaning fingerprints off glass and kissing away every bad dream.

And she has no idea what’s coming.

But she will. Soon.

And it’s going to be everything.

⸻

The next few days pass in a blur of quiet plotting.

You try to act normal—which, in hindsight, might’ve been your first mistake. Because if there’s one thing Wanda Maximoff is painfully good at, it’s sensing when something’s off.

It starts the day after the porch confession. You sneak off with Sharon and Natasha under the pretense of “getting supplies” from town—your first lie in months, and it burns a little as you tell it. Wanda just blinks at you with a smile, handing you a list of things she needs for dinner, and says, “Drive safe.”

The second you’re in the car, Sharon throws her legs up on the dash and grins. “Okay, so tell us—do you want classic elegance or dramatic sapphic meltdown?”

“I mean,” Natasha muses, eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror, “those are basically the same thing.”

You groan. “Can we please just focus on the ring? I’m already losing my mind.”

Sharon looks over her shoulder at you, playful and soft. “You’re nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous!” you hiss. “This is Wanda. This is Wanda. What if it’s too soon? What if I do it wrong? What if—”

“What if she cries because she’s so happy, says yes in .02 seconds, and kisses you until you forget how to breathe?” Natasha cuts in flatly.

You stare at her.

She shrugs. “Just being realistic.”

You spend hours at the tiny jewelry shop tucked into the corner of town. Natasha quietly negotiates a discount behind your back. Sharon talks you out of three rings (“Too big.” “Too flashy.” “That looks like something Tony would wear to a gala.”) until you find the one. A delicate gold band with two tiny garnets on either side of a perfectly cut emerald—deep green like Wanda’s eyes when she’s calm, glowing, full of love.

You hold it like it might break.

And then you say, “She’s gonna be my wife,” and your voice cracks.

⸻

Back at the cabin, Wanda narrows her eyes.

“I know you’re hiding something,” she says one night while brushing her teeth, pointing her toothbrush at you like a weapon.

You look up from your seat on the edge of the tub and blink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She squints. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

She leans forward, foam in the corner of her mouth. “Suspiciously weird.”

You laugh, and it’s just enough to distract her—just enough to kiss her shoulder and dodge the questions. But her eyes linger on you when you slip into bed, curious and soft and a little too knowing.

⸻

The days pass like golden hours strung together by thread. Wanda’s decorating the house with the kind of obsessive precision that makes you grin. Every curtain, every throw pillow, every framed photo—it’s home because of her. And every time she looks at you like you hung the stars, your chest aches with the sheer weight of how much you love her.

One morning, you find her dancing barefoot in the kitchen with Nathaniel in her arms, the sunlight painting them both in gold. She’s singing softly under her breath, twirling him like he’s the most important thing in the world.

You freeze in the doorway.

You already bought the ring. It’s hidden in the bookshelf behind a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit. You haven’t picked the exact moment yet.

But watching her like this—this might be it.

Then she looks over and catches you staring, and you see it—that slight tilt of her head, the knowing smile.

“You’re up early,” she says gently, still rocking.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

She walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Me either.”

Your arms wrap around both her and Nathaniel without thinking, pulling them close. The boy giggles, Wanda smiles into your neck, and suddenly the moment is too perfect to interrupt.

You don’t do it yet.

But soon.

⸻

Meanwhile, Natasha and Sharon are living for the drama.

They whisper behind closed doors, try not to smirk when Wanda walks in, and somehow rope Steve into keeping you “busy” while they set up the backyard just in case you go for a surprise proposal under the stars.

Tony sends you a text that just says:

“If you’re proposing, do it right. Fireworks. Champagne. I expect tears.”

You send him back a middle finger emoji and a heart.

⸻

One night, Wanda stands at the sink washing dishes while you dry beside her. The house smells like lemon and basil. You brush your shoulder against hers.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she says.

You glance at her. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You look at her profile—how the porch light softens her freckles, how her lips press together when she’s trying not to smile. You shake your head gently and whisper, “About forever.”

She turns her head, eyes shining like she knows.

You dry the last plate. You kiss her temple.

And in your heart, the words are already forming.

Soon.

She’s going to say yes.

⸻

You’ve never been good at planning things. Not in the way Wanda is—organized lists, hand-drawn room sketches, color-coded grocery runs. But this? This had to be yours. Not perfect. Just honest.

The farm is quiet when the sun begins to set, the kind of quiet that comes after long days and full hearts. You hear the faint sound of Clint’s tractor rumbling down the path in the distance, a lullaby of rural life. There’s a breeze in the air, warm and clean, stirring the wheat fields and brushing through the leaves of the apple tree by the fence.

You’ve chosen the small clearing near the back pasture—close enough to the house, but far enough that it feels like your own little world. You spent the whole afternoon setting it up. A picnic blanket. Pillows. A basket filled with all Wanda’s favorites—homemade bread, fresh berries, soft cheese, honeycomb from the neighbor’s hive. Her favorite wine, chilled just right. A candle in the middle flickering against the coming dusk. You even snuck some flowers from Laura’s garden—clumsy in your hands, but perfect in their simplicity.

Wanda’s been gone most of the day, running errands with Laura in town. You told her you were staying back to fix up the greenhouse. A half-truth. The greenhouse could wait.

Now you sit on the edge of the blanket, fidgeting with the ring box in your palm. Small. Velvet. It’s been in your pocket for weeks. You were waiting for the right time, and somehow, tonight whispered now.

Then, you hear her voice.

“Hey,” Wanda calls softly from behind, stepping through the gate in her soft sundress, sandals in her hand, her hair down and wild from the breeze. Her eyes land on the picnic, the lanterns, the table set for two. She stops in her tracks.

“Did you… do all this?”

You swallow, suddenly shy. “Surprise?”

Her laugh is stunned, breathy. “You made me dinner?”

“I made you a picnic,” you correct, standing up to greet her. “Which is, in my opinion, far more romantic.”

She walks closer, eyes flicking across every detail—the candlelight, the wine, the blanket, the pillows, the field behind you catching the last light of golden hour.

“You’re full of surprises lately,” she murmurs as she takes your hand.

You press a kiss to her knuckles. “I just wanted tonight to be about us. No team. No missions. No ghosts.”

Her smile falters, just for a moment, and she nods.

The two of you sit. Share food. Laugh over the way you slightly burned the bread. You talk about nothing and everything—the garden, the stubborn rooster Clint gave you, the way Nathaniel keeps sneaking cookies from the pantry. And it feels… whole. Real. Like something you never thought you’d get to have.

At some point, Wanda leans back, propping herself on her elbows, eyes tracing the stars above.

“Do you ever think about how lucky we are?” she whispers.

You turn to her, heart catching in your throat. “All the time.”

She looks at you then. Her expression softens, vulnerable and open. “I used to dream about a life like this. Waking up next to you. Cooking together. Laughing about grocery lists. I thought… maybe I’d never get it. Not after everything.”

You reach for her hand. “I used to think I didn’t deserve it.”

Wanda shifts closer, her forehead gently pressing to yours. “But here we are.”

You kiss her then. Soft. Certain. Just enough to make her sigh into your mouth like she’s been waiting for it all night.

And when you pull back, your heart starts to race.

You slip your hand into your pocket.

“I have something to ask you,” you whisper.

Wanda’s smile is immediate. Playful. “Oh?”

You nod, opening your palm to reveal the small velvet box.

And just like that—she freezes.

Her eyes widen. Her breath hitches.

You kneel on the blanket, the stars above like a thousand silent witnesses, and your breath trembles as you take the small velvet box out of your pocket. Wanda’s laughter fades into stillness. She freezes, her hand half-raised to her mouth, her eyes wide with a kind of awe that makes your heart ache.

You don’t open the box right away. You just hold it in your palm and look up at her, swallowing the lump rising in your throat.

“I didn’t know I was going to make it out.”

Your voice is rough, honest, broken open.

“There were nights in that cell where I was sure I was going to die. And I was… okay with it, almost. Because I didn’t think I deserved to live. Not after everything I’d done. Not after what they turned me into.”

Wanda’s eyes are already glassy, her hands trembling where they rest in her lap.

“But then,” you say, your voice cracking, “I would think of you. And I’d remember your laugh. I’d remember the way you smelled after a shower, or how your nose scrunches when you concentrate. I’d remember how you held me like I wasn’t broken, even before I really believed it.”

You open the box. The ring is simple. A quiet kind of beautiful—just like her.

“I didn’t survive because I was strong,” you whisper. “I survived because I wanted to come home to you. Because some part of me believed—needed to believe—that you’d still be there. And you were.”

She covers her mouth again, her shoulders shaking.

“I know I don’t say all this often,” you continue. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to get the words out. I get caught in my own head. I shut down. I disappear. But please know… everything I do—every breath I take now—is because you stayed. Because you waited. Because you loved me, even when I was impossible to love.”

A tear falls from your cheek, unashamed.

“I want you to know how grateful I am. For every second you didn’t give up. For every time you held me through the nightmares. For every look that told me I was still worth something.”

You reach for her hand and gently slide the ring onto her finger. Your hands shake. Hers are warm and damp with tears.

“I love you, Wanda Maximoff. More than I’ll ever be able to explain. And I want to spend my life trying.”

Your voice drops, soft and sure.

“Will you marry me?”

She doesn’t say yes.

She launches herself into your arms, sobbing into your shoulder, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

You hold her like she’s the very air you breathe.

Then you feel her nod against your neck, again and again, her voice muffled and cracked.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, please.”

You laugh through your own tears, wrapping her tighter in your arms. When you finally pull back, you see her looking at the ring like it’s been forged from stardust, like it holds the whole universe in a single, fragile promise.

You wipe a tear from her cheek and kiss her. Deep and slow. The kind of kiss that says we made it.

And as the night settles around you, soft and sacred, Wanda lies back on the blanket and pulls you down beside her.

You lie beside her under the stars, her fingers tracing lazy shapes over your stomach, your ring sparkling with every flicker of moonlight. The night feels suspended in time—like nothing outside this blanket and her heartbeat exists. Her breath is steady now, calm, and every now and then she glances at her hand like she still doesn’t believe it’s real.

You watch her in silence for a while, memorizing the softness in her expression, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles.

Wanda shifts closer, head tucked beneath your chin, lips brushing your collarbone.

“This is what you’ve been up to?” she murmurs, half-laughing, her voice rich with affection. “Sneaking around. Planning romantic ambushes. I should’ve known.”

You smirk, brushing your fingers through her hair. “I’ll do anything to get you to say yes to me.”

She laughs again, soft and genuine, that sound that used to feel like a dream when you were deep in the dark. “You didn’t need a picnic. I would’ve said yes if you’d asked me with a blade of grass.”

You hum. “I didn’t want ‘yes’ with a blade of grass. I wanted this. Just us. Away from everything. You deserve magic, Wanda.”

“You are magic,” she whispers, looking up at you, tears in her eyes again—but these ones are soft, overflowing, not with pain but with wonder.

You lie like that for a while—no more words, just your fingers tracing the back of her hand, the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance, and her breath against your skin.

At one point, she reaches for a strawberry from the basket, pops it into your mouth and laughs when juice runs down your chin.

You pretend to be offended. “Rude. I’m supposed to be the seductive one here.”

Wanda grins. “Babe, you cried during your proposal.”

You roll over and pin her gently, grinning. “And you loved every second.”

She pulls you down into another kiss that tastes like strawberries and laughter and promises kept. Her hand finds the ring again as if to remind herself it’s really there, that you’re really hers.

Eventually, the blanket gets a little cold and the wind brushes soft over your shoulders. You sit up, brushing the crumbs off your hands, and Wanda leans her head against your shoulder.

“Do you think…” she begins quietly, “you’ll ever want to have kids? With me?”

You glance sideways, surprised by the question—but not scared. Not anymore.

You think of how she is with Clint’s kids. The warmth in her eyes. The quiet patience. The way she makes the world safer just by holding your hand.

You nod slowly. “Honey, I would love to have mini versions of you running around our house.”

She smiles so brightly it steals the breath from your lungs.

“But until then,” you say, tilting your head to kiss her forehead, “it’s just us. And this. And our greenhouse.”

She laughs. “And the chickens.”

“Don’t forget the chickens.”

You both laugh so hard you nearly knock over the wine glasses, and Wanda catches them with a flick of red. You both pause, then collapse into each other again.

It feels like life has finally begun. Not the life you ran from. Not the one built out of ashes and scars. But the one you chose.

Together.

And tonight, under the stars and the glow of forever, you allow yourself to believe:

You deserve it.

She deserves it.

You deserve each other.

Always.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 15

Paring: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, Blood, Knives.

They had found him. The place was cold and bare, buried beneath layers of concrete and dirt, with dust coating long-abandoned consoles and rust biting at old tech. It’s not exactly the kind of place you’d expect to find the most elusive man in intelligence. But when the biometric door unlocks with a hiss and opens to reveal Nick Fury standing in front of an array of monitors—arms crossed, jaw tight—Steve knows they’ve finally reached the end of a very long trail.

Tony steps in first. “You son of a bitch.”

Fury doesn’t flinch. “Took you long enough.”

“You disappeared,” Steve says, voice calm but sharp. “You left us blind when everything started falling apart.”

“Not everything,” Fury mutters, not facing them yet. “You still had each other.”

Tony doesn’t wait. He walks straight up to Fury, slamming the thick folder Sharon had given you—the same one they showed Ross—onto the metal desk in front of him.

“Did you even read this?” he spits. “Do you know what you let them do to her?”

Fury’s eye lingers on the file. It’s already opened—he’s seen it. And he says nothing. That silence only sets Tony off more.

“She was tortured. Experimented on. Treated like an animal. And while she was out there breaking herself apart for this damn country, you were sitting here in a hole pretending to be dead again. Tell me, Fury—was it all part of your brilliant long game? Let your agent rot while you play spy games in the dark?”

Fury looks up slowly, and there’s something different in his face. Older. Worn.

“I didn’t know they’d get to her,” he finally says.

“That’s your excuse?” Sam says now, stepping forward. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“I knew something was wrong when S.H.I.E.L.D. files on her suddenly vanished,” Fury continues, ignoring the venom in Tony’s voice. “The intel she gathered—everything we had to protect her with—was gone. And when I dug deeper, I realized someone inside was rewriting history.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “You mean they framed her.”

Fury nods once. “Someone high up. Very high. Someone with enough clearance to not only access her files but alter them. Strip away every trace of the operation.”

Tony laughs bitterly. “So that’s it? You just disappear? Hide away and let her take the fall?”

“I’ve been tracking them,” Fury snaps, his voice finally breaking through the ice. “Every senator, every agency name. Someone is pulling the strings from within, and if I stayed in the open, I’d be next. They wanted me quiet. So I gave them what they wanted—just long enough to find out who’s really behind this.”

“And did you?” Steve asks. “Did you find them?”

Fury exhales, turning to one of the monitors and tapping a few keys. A screen flickers on. Photos. Redacted files. Surveillance stills. “Not all of them. But enough to start drawing lines. A name keeps popping up—General Claiborne. Tied to funding black ops, shell companies, and, conveniently, the person who gave Ross the go-ahead to pursue Y/N without a trial.”

Sam leans in. “That’s how they did it. They made it look like she flipped.”

“Because they needed a scapegoat,” Tony mutters. “And she was the perfect one.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Steve runs a hand through his hair. “You should’ve told us, Fury.”

“I couldn’t risk it,” Fury says, looking at him now. “I knew if I told you, you’d tell her. And if she knew… she’d go straight to them. She’d walk into the fire just to prove herself.”

“She did walk into the fire,” Tony says, eyes hard. “And you let her burn.”

Fury doesn’t respond.

“And then Ross,” Steve says darkly. “He didn’t believe a damn thing we said. The proof, the testimonies, the files—he called it a setup.”

Fury’s jaw clenches. “Because he’s in on it. He’s part of the cover-up.”

Tony slams a fist on the table. “You know what Maximoff did in that meeting? She threatened to tear the whole system down if they laid another hand on her.”

Fury looks up at that. Something flickers behind his eye.

“She stood between Y/N and the entire government,” Steve says quietly. “She didn’t care about protocol. About diplomacy. But you? You are a coward, you used her for your own good. And throw her at the wolves when you didn’t need her.”

Fury lowers his head and doesn’t say anything. He knows they are right. But he can’t admit it, not to them.

Tony moves closer again, quieter this time. “We need to end this. If you have any intel that can clear her name, you give it to us. Right now.”

Fury nods. “Everything I’ve got is in this bunker. Names. Contacts. Locations. I’ll upload it all.”

Steve looks at him. “You’re coming with us.”

“I will,” Fury says. “But first, we tie the noose. This goes beyond Y/N. It goes to the core of what’s left of S.H.I.E.L.D., and maybe even deeper.”

Sam looks at the screen. “Then we find Claiborne.”

“And anyone else standing in the way of clearing her name,” Tony says.

⸻

Back at the farm, the kitchen is warm, filled with the scent of rosemary and roasted garlic. The windows let in golden evening light, casting soft shadows across the counter where you stand beside Wanda, sleeves rolled up, carefully slicing carrots for the stew. It should feel like peace. Like home. But there’s something restless under your skin. You try to ignore it—try to focus on the rhythm of the knife, the feel of the cutting board under your fingers.

Wanda hums beside you, soft and melodic, something Sokovian and low. Her hair is up, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, and when she leans over to stir the pot, her arm brushes yours. You close your eyes for a second and let yourself feel it. Warmth. Familiarity. Love.

But then the knife slips.

It’s the tiniest thing. Just a slip. Just a line of red across your palm.

And the world collapses.

You don’t hear the knife clatter to the floor. You don’t hear Wanda say your name. You don’t feel the kitchen anymore.

It all fades.

The scent of rosemary is gone. The golden light from the window collapses into a flickering, sterile blue. You blink, but your vision blurs at the edges—walls melt away, replaced with icy concrete and blood-stained steel. The air thickens, colder, harder to breathe. You can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights above you. The metallic clink of chains you haven’t worn in weeks. The soft shuffle of boots echoing in the hall.

You’re back there.

You see the knife in your hand, stained red, and suddenly it’s not a kitchen knife anymore—it’s a scalpel, a tool, an extension of their hands. You look down at your bleeding palm and everything tilts. Your stomach churns. The cut—small, innocent—burns like acid. Pain flares behind your eyes, and a low whimper slips from your throat.

You’re slipping under.

You don’t even realize Wanda is talking to you.

“Detka?” she says softly. “You okay?”

Your head snaps up. Your eyes lock on hers—but you don’t see her. You don’t recognize her. You see someone wearing her face, standing in your cell, speaking in her voice. It’s a hallucination. It’s a trap. They’ve done this before—used her face to break you down.

Your breath goes shallow. Your hand tightens around the handle of the knife.

“Don’t come any closer,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I swear, I’ll use it.”

Wanda freezes, her blood running cold.

“Y/N,” she says carefully, her voice soft, terrified, “baby, it’s me. It’s Wanda. Look at me. You’re not there anymore.”

You take a step back, trembling. “No. No, this is wrong. This isn’t real. You’re not her. You’re not Wanda. She’s dead.”

She chokes on a breath. “No—no, she’s not. I’m right here. I’ve always been here. Please, baby—please come back to me.”

But your eyes are wild, lost, flicking to the corners of the room like you’re expecting someone to come in and drag you away. You can’t hear her. You can’t feel the floor beneath you, or the warmth in the air. You can’t remember the farm, or the kitchen, or her touch.

Your hand shakes, and you raise the knife, pointing it at her, voice trembling, cracked with panic. “Stop it. Stop lying to me. Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“I’m Wanda,” she whispers, tears in her eyes now, hands shaking. “Please, Y/N. Please remember me.”

You take another step back. “I don’t know who you are. The real Wanda would never be here. She’s gone. She left. She never came.”

And something in her breaks.

Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t step back. “No. I didn’t leave you. I fought for you. I died for you. I searched the world for you. And I’d do it again.”

“I don’t believe you!” you scream, the sound ragged, barely human. “You’re not her! You’re just something they built in my head to break me again. You’re not real. You’re not real.”

She’s shaking now. Her eyes burn red at the edges, not with power—but with pain. Her hands hover, helpless. “Please,” she begs, voice raw. “Please don’t do this. Please come back to me. I can’t lose you again.”

But you don’t hear her. You’re too far gone.

You’re in the cell. You’re bleeding. You’re alone.

You don’t even see Natasha enter until it’s too late.

She freezes in the doorway.

Blood on the floor. Your hand clenched white around the knife. Wanda’s trembling frame, standing inches away—her hands raised in surrender, eyes brimming with tears. Your voice cracking with panic as you scream that this isn’t real, that Wanda is dead, that none of this is real.

And Natasha—

She breaks.

You don’t see it, but Wanda does. The subtle stagger in her step. The way her eyes go wide with horror before she forces herself forward. This is not the battlefield. This is not a mission. This is you.

And she couldn’t protect you.

“Y/N,” she says softly, voice trembling with something she’s never let herself feel in front of you: grief. “It’s me. It’s Nat.”

You spin, wild and disoriented, and you point the knife toward her, too. But Natasha doesn’t flinch. She moves a step closer.

You blink at her, confused, flickering between timelines—unsure if she’s real or another ghost conjured to torment you.

You flinch at the sound.

“No—stay away—Don’t touch me!”

Natasha’s heart cracks in two. She swallows, her eyes burning, and crouches down slowly, holding your gaze.

She moves fast. Her hand wraps around the back of your neck, firm and practiced, just enough pressure to disarm, to bring you down. You try to fight, a choked cry escaping your throat, but your body gives in.

And before the black takes you, you hear her whisper:

“I’ve got you.”

Then you fall.

And Natasha—

She sinks to the floor beside you once you’re out. The knife clatters uselessly away. Your blood stains her hands as she holds them to your chest, steadying your shallow breaths. Her forehead drops to yours, and she presses her eyes shut.

Wanda collapses beside her, arms wrapped around herself, unable to stop shaking.

“I should’ve protected her,” Natasha chokes. “I promised her I would.”

“You did,” Wanda whispers, her voice barely audible. “You still are.”

But Natasha doesn’t believe it.

Not when the person she swore to protect lies unconscious on the floor, after nearly forgetting her own name.

⸻

The night is quiet.

Too quiet.

It shouldn’t feel like this—this stillness should be peaceful, comforting. But to Wanda and Natasha, it feels like a silence forged from something broken. Something spilled open that neither of them has been able to stitch back together.

You’re still asleep on the couch, breathing slow and shallow. The bandage on your hand has been redressed, and your body has stopped trembling, but your face carries the ghost of what happened. Wanda sits beside you, curled in on herself, her fingers intertwined with yours. Her eyes haven’t left your face in over an hour.

Natasha stands by the window, arms crossed over her chest, jaw tight. She hasn’t said much—not since she brought you down. Not since she watched the person she’d sworn to protect shatter in front of her.

“I almost didn’t recognize her,” Wanda whispers.

Her voice is hoarse. It’s the first time she’s spoken in minutes, and the sound of it cuts through the quiet like a blade.

“She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was the thing hurting her. She thought I was part of it, Nat.”

Natasha turns slowly, her face pale, strained. “I saw.”

“She pointed a knife at me,” Wanda says, almost to herself. “And I didn’t even care. I just wanted her to see me again. I didn’t care if she hurt me. I just wanted her to know I was real.”

The silence stretches. Natasha walks over to the kitchen island and leans on it heavily, her voice quieter now.

“I’ve seen people break before,” she murmurs. “Hell, I’ve broken before. But that… what she went through, what HYDRA did to her—I wasn’t there, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Wanda looks at her, eyes wide and red, almost glowing with emotion. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I know,” Natasha says, then shakes her head. “But that doesn’t stop the guilt. Doesn’t stop the part of me that wishes I had found her sooner. That I had ripped those bastards apart before they did this to her.”

Wanda swallows. Her voice shakes. “She’s terrified of me sometimes. Like I’m a dream she doesn’t trust. I don’t know how to reach her when she’s like that.”

“You stay,” Natasha says softly. “That’s how. You stay and you love her. Even when she can’t see you.”

They fall into silence again, both of them watching you breathe, their hearts heavy and twisted in their chests.

⸻

You stir in your sleep. The world feels foggy when you start to wake, and the first thing you see is Wanda—curled beside you on the couch, still holding your hand, her head resting against the armrest. Her lips are slightly parted in sleep, lashes damp from tears.

She looks like she hasn’t slept at all.

Your eyes sting.

Memories slam into you with cruel force—blood on your hand, the knife, her face, the fear in her voice when you didn’t recognize her. The way your voice shook when you asked her who she was. The way you almost hurt her.

A sob claws its way up your throat before you can stop it.

Wanda wakes instantly.

Her eyes find yours, and she’s on her knees beside you in seconds, brushing hair from your face, cradling your cheeks in her palms.

“Hey, hey,” she whispers. “I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I hurt you,” you gasp, choking on the words. “I didn’t recognize you. I—God, Wanda, I thought you were part of it. I thought you were just… in my head.”

She shakes her head fiercely, her hands trembling as they cup your face. “You didn’t hurt me. You were scared. You were in a place you didn’t choose to be.”

“I’m broken,” you whisper. “I don’t even know how to stop this. I keep going back there, and I don’t know how to come back sometimes. I can’t do this, Wanda. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me,” she says, her voice cracking. “You’re here. You’re trying. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

You press your forehead against hers, the tears falling freely now.

“I want to get better,” you whisper. “I want to be okay. For you. For Natasha. For me. But I’m not ready to go back. Not to the city, not to the compound. I can’t face the world right now.”

Wanda’s breath catches. “What do you need?”

You look at her then, really look at her—eyes soft with love, with heartbreak, with the kind of devotion that could level buildings. You reach for her hand and intertwine your fingers.

“I want to stay here. Somewhere like this. Somewhere far from everything. I want us to start over. I want a life with you. Just us. I want to build something with you. A place that isn’t haunted.”

Wanda’s lips part. Her eyes search yours, and you see it—the flood of emotion, the sheer weight of it.

“You want us to leave?” she breathes.

“No,” you whisper. “I want us to begin. I want to move to a farm nearby. Just you and me. I want mornings in the quiet. I want to fall asleep beside you without fear. I want to find myself again. And I want to do it with you.”

Wanda exhales, trembling, and pulls you into her arms. You bury yourself in her warmth, letting the pieces of you find something solid to rest against.

“I would follow you anywhere,” she murmurs into your hair. “If this is what you need… then we’ll build it. Together. From scratch.”

You close your eyes. For the first time in what feels like years, the future doesn’t terrify you.

You can still feel the bruises. The scars. The trauma clinging to your bones.

But in Wanda’s arms, you can also feel something else.

Hope.

A beginning.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 14

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

The ride to D.C. is quiet.

You sit in the back of the car, sandwiched between Wanda and Natasha, your hands clenched together so tightly that your nails bite into your palms. The file Sharon gave you rests in your lap like it weighs a thousand pounds. Inside it are months of her work—intel, surveillance, intercepted communications. The kind of evidence that should clear your name. That should be enough.

But you’ve seen how truth doesn’t always matter.

Wanda’s fingers graze your knuckles, her thumb brushing gentle circles into your skin. It’s the only thing keeping you tethered right now. You glance sideways and find her already looking at you, her expression soft but stormy—love in her eyes, yes, but rage too. She doesn’t want you to go in there. Not alone. Not without her.

And you’re not. She’s not letting you do this alone.

By the time you get to the federal building, your heartbeat is so loud in your ears it feels like static. You’re ushered through the cold marble halls with stern faces and too many armed guards. It’s not an official arrest. Not yet. But it might as well be.

They lead you into a sterile, windowless conference room. There’s only one person waiting inside.

General Thaddeus Ross.

He doesn’t stand when you walk in. He doesn’t offer you a seat. He barely looks up from the folder in his hands.

“This better be good,” he says, voice clipped, already full of disdain.

You sit slowly, back stiff, eyes flicking to the security camera in the corner. Wanda remains standing behind you. She’s not sitting. Not for him. She crosses her arms, eyes never leaving Ross.

You clear your throat, even though your voice is already shaking. “I came to explain—”

“I don’t want your explanations,” Ross cuts in. “I want to know how a former Avenger, one we trusted with our nation’s most classified intel, ended up feeding information to HYDRA.”

“That’s not what happened,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I was undercover. I was working under Fury’s directive.”

“Fury,” he says with a scoff. “Convenient, isn’t it? The one man who could verify your story suddenly vanishes into thin air?”

“I have proof.” You slide Sharon’s file across the table. It takes everything in you not to flinch when your fingers brush the cold metal. “This is intel gathered during my mission. HYDRA infiltrations, safe houses, names. Some of these operations have already been dismantled based on this data.”

Ross flips the folder open. His eyes skim the documents, but you already know he isn’t really reading. He’s waiting. Waiting to tell you you’re lying. Waiting to watch you fall apart.

After a long silence, he closes the file slowly. “Looks authentic. Hell, maybe it is. But I’ve seen fakes better than this. You could’ve staged all of it.”

“I didn’t—” you start, but your voice breaks, and you shut your eyes tightly.

Ross leans forward, voice low and cold. “You think a sob story and a few stolen files are going to erase everything? Your face has been on our watchlist for six months. The public wants blood. And unless Fury walks through that door with a miracle, your future’s already written.”

Something in you shatters, right there. Because you can’t bring Fury through that door. And Ross is right—without him, you’re just another ghost with a thousand secrets and no one willing to vouch for them.

You don’t notice your hands trembling until Wanda speaks.

“She’s not the one you should be questioning,” Wanda says quietly, stepping forward. “The question you should be asking is how a government you serve let this happen in the first place.”

Ross raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And who are you supposed to be? Her lawyer? Her girlfriend?”

Wanda doesn’t flinch. She steps closer to the table, placing her hands on it and leaning in just enough that Ross stiffens. “I’m the person who will burn this country to the ground if you lay another hand on her.”

“Is that a threat, Maximoff?”

“It’s a promise.” Her voice is deadly calm. “She was tortured. Left to die. She did what she had to do to survive. While you sat here playing politics, she was bleeding for you.”

You open your mouth to stop her, to say something, but the words die in your throat. Because deep down, you’re grateful. You needed someone to see it. To say it. To not pretend it was anything less than it was.

Ross doesn’t back down, but he doesn’t interrupt again either.

“You want to accuse someone?” Wanda continues. “Accuse HYDRA. Accuse the ones who planted their agents inside your system. She’s not the traitor. She’s the scapegoat. And if you don’t clear her name, if you even think of hurting her—I’ll destroy every last inch of your precious system.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Ross looks at you again, but this time there’s something almost uncertain in his eyes. “You’re lucky she’s here,” he mutters, pushing the file back across the table.

“I know,” you whisper.

He sighs and finally leans back in his chair. “I’ll review the intel. We’ll run it through our analysts. Don’t expect miracles. But if your story checks out—if it really checks out—we’ll talk about clearing your name.”

You nod, but you don’t trust it. Not yet. Not until it’s real.

Wanda places a hand on your shoulder as you both stand. “We’re done here,” she says, more to you than to him.

And you let her lead you out. You let her guide you through the building, back into the light, back into the car, where Natasha is already waiting.

You don’t speak until the door closes and the engine starts.

Then it hits you all at once.

The weight. The fear. The exhaustion.

You press your face into your hands and try to breathe, but the tears come anyway. Wanda pulls you in without a word, cradling your head to her chest like it’s the only place in the world you’re safe.

“You did so good,” she whispers. “I’m so proud of you.”

You nod, but you’re not sure you believe it yet.

All you know is this: you’re not alone anymore.

And for now, that’s enough.

That night, the farmhouse settles into stillness. The wind rustles the fields outside, and the soft hum of insects echoes just beyond the open window.

You sit on the back porch alone, the stars scattered overhead like distant promises. Natasha had slipped you a secure satellite phone before retreating to bed—“In case you want to talk to Sharon,” she’d said, her voice unusually gentle.

And you did.

You always do.

You dial the familiar code, fingers trembling slightly. When Sharon picks up, her voice is soft and warm and so deeply hers that you nearly break down.

“Hey,” she says.

Your lips twitch into a small, exhausted smile. “Hey.”

There’s a pause. Then—“How did it go?”

You sigh. “About as awful as we expected. Ross thinks I made the whole thing up.”

“Of course he does,” she mutters. “He always hated you.”

You huff a dry laugh. “He hates all of us. But—Wanda was with me. And she—God, Sharon, she lost it. For me. You should’ve seen her. She stood between me and him like she would’ve burned the whole damn building down if he looked at me wrong.”

You glance down at your hand, still faintly red from how tightly Wanda had held it.

“She said things I never thought she would. Things I didn’t think anyone would say for me. Not after everything.”

Sharon is quiet for a second, then says, softly, “You didn’t think she’d still love you.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it. “I didn’t think anyone could.”

There’s a long pause. The only sound is the wind brushing against the wooden porch rail, and your breath—slow and shaky.

“But she does,” you whisper. “God, Sharon, she loves me so much. And I love her.”

You hear the crack in your voice. You don’t stop it.

“She’s been so patient. So gentle. Like I’m something fragile she refuses to break. She doesn’t push. She waits. She sees me. She’s not scared of what happened to me. She’s not scared of the mess I’ve become.”

You feel the weight of your words, the truth of them pressing against your ribs.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper. “I wish we could all be here, safe. But—” You glance over your shoulder, back toward the house. Toward the room where Wanda is. “I think I’m in a good place right now. I think she’s helping me get there.”

There’s a smile in Sharon’s voice. “She’s always loved you like that.”

You nod again, swallowing down the knot in your throat. “I just didn’t think I deserved it.”

“You do,” Sharon says, firm now. “You do. And if Wanda’s reminding you of that… then I’m glad she’s there.”

You don’t see her—but Wanda hears it all.

You don’t hear the creak of the floorboards behind you. You’re too caught in the silence after the call, in the way your own words still echo softly in your chest. The breeze has picked up now, brushing over your skin like ghost fingers. The stars above are clearer than you’ve ever seen—bright and distant and untouchable.

Your hands are in your lap, fingers loosely intertwined. You feel hollow and full all at once.

Then you hear her.

Barefoot steps.

The soft scrape of wood under weight.

You turn your head.

Wanda stands at the edge of the porch, the moonlight catching in the strands of her hair. She’s wearing one of Clint’s old flannels, sleeves rolled up, collar open enough that you can see the soft line of her collarbone, the shadow of her heartbeat.

You freeze. Your heart stumbles.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” you say softly, voice barely more than breath.

She steps closer. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You know why.

She lowers herself beside you with quiet, deliberate ease. Her knee brushes yours. She looks out at the open fields, the dark horizon, the stars that don’t care how broken you are.

“I didn’t mean to listen,” she says.

You nod, staring at your fingers. “I didn’t mean for you to hear.”

“But I’m glad I did,” she says again—firmer now. And then she turns to you, her eyes luminous in the low light, red-rimmed but steady.

“I needed to hear that you know what I see in you.”

Your breath catches.

She lifts one hand and traces the side of your jaw with the backs of her fingers. It’s not even a touch, not fully—just a ghost of one. Like she’s asking permission without words.

You lean into it. Just barely.

“I don’t know if I deserve any of this,” you whisper. “Not you. Not this peace. Not this… life.”

Wanda’s brow furrows. “You survived hell.”

You close your eyes. “I let it change me.”

She exhales sharply—like that hurt her more than anything.

“You think I love you in spite of what happened to you,” she says, “but I love you because of all of it. Because you’re still here. Because you feel. Because even with all the darkness, you still choose to love.”

You turn your face to her, and her hand cradles your cheek now—firm and sure.

“I heard you,” she whispers. “Every word. I heard how scared you were. And how much you love me. And I just… I needed to tell you this too.”

She leans in. Her lips brush yours like they’re testing the shape of your sorrow. It’s a slow kiss, tender and unhurried, but it still makes your heart race in your chest like it’s trying to claw its way closer to her.

And you kiss her back like you mean it.

Like you’re still alive.

Like that means something now.

When she pulls back, you’re breathless.

“I would’ve burned everything down in that room today,” she murmurs. “I would’ve destroyed him. If he had looked at you the wrong way… if he’d touched you…”

You press your forehead to hers. “You scared me.”

She smiles softly. “Good. He should be scared too.”

You both laugh, just a little. Just enough.

Wanda’s thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and her voice dips into something quieter, more vulnerable.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” she says. “Not to HYDRA. Not to the government. Not to the ghosts in your head. I’ll fight them all if I have to. Every last one of them.”

You nod, tears stinging your eyes. “I’m trying, Wanda. I really am.”

“I know.” She kisses your temple, slow and warm. “I see it. Every single day.”

She reaches down with one hand and threads her fingers through yours.

“Come inside,” she says gently. “Let me stay with you tonight.”

You nod again, and let her lead you inside—like she always does. Not dragging. Not pushing. Just walking beside you.

Later, when the farmhouse has gone quiet, when the lights are off and the sheets are pulled up. The only sound is the chirping of crickets outside the window and the slow, steady rhythm of Wanda’s breathing beside you in bed.

Or… was beside you.

You lie there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The sheets are soft. The pillows smell like her. Everything is safe. Everything is fine.

And yet your chest feels like it’s caving in.

The weight is too much.

You move quietly, slipping from the bed like a whisper. The wood floor is cold beneath your feet, but it grounds you. It’s familiar in a way comfort never quite is.

You settle on the floor beside the bed, pulling a pillow down with you. Your knees curl up to your chest. Your back rests against the edge of the mattress.

And just as your body begins to settle into that familiar ache of exhaustion, you hear movement above you.

The sheets rustle. A deep breath. The creak of the bed frame.

You turn your head, confused, just as Wanda climbs down beside you. She’s carrying a pillow in one hand, a folded blanket in the other. She doesn’t say anything at first, just starts arranging them on the floor with practiced ease.

Your eyebrows draw together, voice quiet, rough. “What… what are you doing?”

She settles down beside you, blanket pulled halfway over both of you, and lies on her side, facing you. Her hand finds yours beneath the covers. “I’m going to sleep.”

You stare at her.

There’s no edge to her voice. No judgment. No pity.

Just a simple truth: I’m going to sleep. Here. With you.

Your chest tightens. “You don’t have to do this.”

She shrugs. “I know.”

“But the bed’s more comfortable.”

“I know.”

You hesitate. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Her voice is firm now, but gentle. “I want you to feel safe. And if this is where you sleep, then this is where I’ll be.”

And just like that, she shifts a little closer, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders, tucking it behind your back like she’s done it a thousand times.

You watch her.

She’s really doing this. No hesitation. No dramatics.

Just her. Just Wanda.

And it breaks something open inside you—something soft and aching and full of gratitude.

You scoot closer. Not thinking. Just feeling.

You wrap your arms around her and bury your face into the curve of her neck, holding her tightly. Desperately. Like you might fall apart if you let go.

She exhales shakily and wraps her arms around you just as tight, her fingers stroking the back of your head.

The silence between you stretches long and warm.

You whisper into her skin, “It’s just for tonight.”

She laughs softly, low and full of affection. “Sure it is, sweetheart.”

You smile.

And for the first time in so long, the dark doesn’t feel like it’s trying to swallow you whole.

Because she’s there.

And you don’t feel alone anymore.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff angst #y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wlw #y/n y/l/n #wanda maximoff x fem reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fanfic

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 13

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

The apartment in Helsinki was quiet.

Not peacefully so—never peacefully—but quiet in that dense, heavy way that comes after long nights of difficult conversations and broken sleep. The rain from earlier had slowed to a drizzle, misting against the windowpanes and casting dim, gray shadows across the floor. The scent of damp pavement filtered in through the barely cracked balcony door. Somewhere outside, the city stirred—car tires hissing through puddles, a distant siren echoing faintly through the alleys. But here, inside the apartment, time had slowed to something fragile. Tense.

You sat curled up in the corner of the worn-out couch next to Sharon, the blanket wrapped tightly around you despite the warmth in the room. Your fingers gripped the fabric like a lifeline, knuckles white. Across from you, Wanda entered the room, eyes darting to you more than she wanted to admit.

She hadn’t slept much—not really. Not since she found you.

Her mind wouldn’t stop racing. The image of you crying into her shoulder the night before. The way you trembled when she touched you. How your lips had tasted like salt and fear. How your body had responded to her but your eyes had stayed distant, like they were reaching for something she couldn’t touch.

And now, seeing you sitting beside Sharon again—close, familiar, comfortable in a way you hadn’t been with her—had cracked something raw open inside her. Something she’d buried for too long.

You weren’t the same. You were home, but not.

And that truth terrified her.

Natasha stirred first from the hallway, yawning softly. She didn’t miss the way Wanda’s posture tensed the moment she saw you on the couch. Or the flicker of pain that crossed her face when Sharon leaned in and touched your arm gently, whispering something that made you offer her a rare, small smile.

It wasn’t anger Natasha felt. It was heartbreak.

She saw you—saw all of you—and she knew, in her gut, what had happened. Even if you hadn’t told them. She had seen it before. The aftermath. The pieces. She didn’t need the full story to understand what HYDRA was capable of.

Still, she had questions. And so much fear she hadn’t said aloud.

She crossed the room and spoke with a softness that surprised even herself. “Sharon, you wanna help me get breakfast started?”

Sharon looked at you for a beat—checking in, silent communication passing between you—then stood. “Yeah,” she said simply. “Sure.”

You watched her go, your heart squeezing with every step she took away.

Wanda didn’t move. Not at first. But as soon as the two disappeared into the kitchen, she crossed the room slowly and knelt on the floor in front of you.

“You weren’t in bed this morning,” she said, gently.

You flinched.

“I didn’t sleep much,” you muttered.

“Why not?”

You looked down at your hands. “I just… couldn’t. That’s all.”

Wanda’s jaw tensed. “You left. After what we shared last night, you left. And now I see you here, and it feels like you’re pulling away again.”

Your breath caught. Shame coiled in your gut.

“I’m not pulling away from you,” you whispered.

“Then what is this?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t angry—just tired. Wounded. “Are you regretting it? Us?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. No. I meant what I said. I’m glad you’re here. I’m—God, Wanda, you feel like home. A home I didn’t know how much I missed until I had it back.”

Wanda’s expression softened, her eyes glimmering. “Then come back with me.”

You blinked at her.

“To America,” she said. “The team is falling apart. Tony’s spiraling. Fury’s gone. The press found out about you being a double agent, and the whole world is turning itself inside out. They need you.”

“I can’t—” you started, voice cracking.

“Yes, you can,” Wanda insisted, leaning in. “We’ll protect you. They don’t know what really happened. We can fix this—”

“You don’t get it!” The outburst came before you could stop it. Your hands trembled. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, Wanda. You keep talking about going back, but back to what? That life? That version of me? She’s gone. And if she’s not, I—I don’t know if I want to find her.”

Wanda sat still, the pain in your voice slamming into her chest like a punch. She didn’t speak, letting you breathe.

“I’m tired of pretending I’m fine,” you whispered. “I’m not. And I don’t want to burden anyone with that.”

“You’re not a burden,” Wanda said. “You’re the person I love.”

You closed your eyes. “You say that now. But you don’t know what they did to me.”

Wanda reached for your hand, hesitant. Her touch was light. Careful. “I don’t have to know everything. But I want you to let me try. Just… let me in.”

You hesitated—then gave a tiny nod. Just enough to make her exhale.

Before either of you could say more, the sound of footsteps returned. Sharon stood at the threshold, quiet.

You looked up at her. “Can we talk?”

Wanda gave you space. She always did.

⸻

You and Sharon stood on the balcony, the cold air hitting your skin like a balm.

You folded your arms over your chest. “They want me to go back.”

“I figured.”

“It’s chaos over there. They need me.”

Sharon leaned against the railing, watching your face. “But you’re not ready.”

“No.” You swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

Silence fell between you again.

“I don’t want to leave you,” you admitted. “Not when you’re the only person who knows how to help me.”

Sharon’s lips curved in a soft, sad smile. “I know.”

Your throat tightened. “And you can’t come with me.”

She shook her head. “Not unless I want to end up in a cell.”

That joke—soft and bitter—landed heavy in your chest.

Sharon turned toward you. “Look, you’ve been through hell. I saw you at your worst. Held you when you screamed in your sleep. But Wanda… she’s the one you love. Even now.”

You didn’t answer.

“She wants to be there for you. Let her. Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s not perfect. Because I can’t be what you need anymore. Not if it means keeping you from healing.”

Your voice cracked. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Sharon stepped closer. “But you’re not alone.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll go.”

Sharon smiled, but her eyes were glassy. “Then go. But don’t forget I’m still here if you ever need me.”

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around her, holding on tighter than you meant to.

She held you back just the same.

From inside, Wanda watched the embrace, her heart aching.

And across the room, Natasha stood at the window, jaw clenched.

She didn’t know how to help either. But she would try. She’d find a way.

Because for the first time, it wasn’t about missions or loyalty.

It was about you.

And the people you were slowly learning to come back to.

Even if you weren’t ready yet.

You were trying.

And that was enough.

⸻

3 days had past since you left Helsinki. You sit in the passenger seat of the black SUV, eyes fixed on the dirt road ahead as the trees thin and the open fields of Clint’s farm come into view. Your fingers twist anxiously in your lap, and your breath feels shallow, like your lungs can’t quite fill. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Natasha places a hand on your shoulder from the back seat, grounding you.

“We’re here,” she says gently.

Wanda sits beside you, silent but present, her hand resting just close enough to yours that the heat of her skin wraps around your fingers without touching. She doesn’t reach for you—she never does unless you initiate. But she’s there. Always.

You open the door slowly, boots hitting gravel as you step out into the spring air. The breeze carries the scent of earth and wildflowers, the distant sound of children laughing. Clint’s kids. You pause. It feels like you’re walking into someone else’s memory, someone else’s life. You used to laugh here too.

Your hands tremble.

You swallow hard and lift your gaze.

They’re waiting for you.

Tony’s the first to move. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares. Like he’s seen a ghost. Like you’re a ghost. The lines on his face are deeper, the light in his eyes a little duller than you remember.

And then he’s hugging you.

“I thought you were dead,” he breathes into your hair. His voice cracks. “Jesus, kid. I thought you were fucking gone.”

You don’t hug him back—not at first. Your arms are stiff by your sides until something inside you breaks and you grip the back of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Tony pulls back to look at you, and there’s so much grief in his face, but there’s warmth too. That older brother warmth that used to make you feel safe. “You don’t apologize for surviving, got it? You hear me?”

You nod, but it doesn’t stick. It doesn’t feel like surviving. It feels like floating. Like you never really came back.

Steve steps forward next. He’s quiet—he always is when he’s hurting. His hand clasps your shoulder, steady and strong.

“It’s good to have you back,” he says, and even though he smiles, there’s something restrained behind it. Like he’s already preparing for the hard part. You can see it in his eyes.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He just gives you a short nod and a look that says he understands too much and not enough all at once. Sam smiles at you softly, gently, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he speaks too loud.

Clint walks over with Laura, and their kids stay back near the porch. It’s a strange kind of welcome—quiet, reverent, a family greeting someone who used to be one of their own. But everything is different now.

You stand there under the afternoon sun, surrounded by people who used to be your world, and all you want to do is run.

You feel Wanda’s hand slip into yours.

It’s the smallest thing, but it holds you together.

They usher you inside, the warmth of the farmhouse wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. Familiar. Safe. But heavy.

You sit down at the kitchen table. The same one you remember from movie nights and late-night whiskey-fueled debates. Wanda sits beside you, her thigh brushing yours. Natasha takes the seat on your other side. You feel surrounded. Protected. Trapped.

Tony pulls out a tablet, swiping through news reports and data while Steve leans forward.

“Fury’s gone,” Steve says without preamble. “Vanished. Hill’s been trying to contact him for weeks. Last communication was encrypted—whatever he was working on, it was high clearance.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” your voice cracks, raw from disuse.

“We mean no one knows where he is,” Natasha says, voice low. “No traces. Like he disappeared off the grid entirely.”

“And without him,” Tony chimes in, “we have zero proof that you were acting under orders. And with the leak…” He sighs, swiping the screen toward you.

It’s your face. Splashed across a news broadcast. “Double Agent: Avenger Turned Traitor?” The banner screams in red. Your stomach lurches.

“Public thinks you’re Hydra,” Sam says gently. “And the government wants to make an example out of someone.”

“They want me,” you say, numb.

“They want to silence you,” Wanda says, voice hard. “They want to erase you.”

Steve leans in again. “I’ve arranged a meeting. General Ross. He’ll hear your side. With the right approach, we might be able to convince him to clear your name, or at least buy time until we locate Fury.”

You nod slowly, even as your pulse races. The room is too small. Too loud.

“We’ll protect you,” Clint says firmly. “You’re not alone in this.”

And that’s when Sam—kind, always-gentle Sam—leans forward just a little and says, “Can I ask… what happened to you?”

Your mouth goes dry. Your vision blurs at the edges. Every breath you’ve taken since stepping foot on this farm feels like it’s crashing down on you all at once.

“I—” You try to speak, but your throat closes. The sound of your heartbeat drowns everything else out.

Wanda’s hand tightens around yours.

“She doesn’t have to talk about it,” she says quickly, her voice calm but firm. Protective. “Not if she’s not ready.”

All eyes turn to her. You expect judgment, but find none. Only quiet understanding.

Your chest heaves as you try to breathe, blinking back the tears stinging behind your eyes. You can’t talk. Not about that. Not yet.

Wanda turns to you, her voice softer now. Just for you. “I’m here, detka. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

You look at her, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself see her. Really see her. The way her eyes have dark circles from sleepless nights. The way her jaw clenches when someone brings up Hydra. The way her thumb brushes yours in soft, silent promises.

She never left you. Not really.

And somehow, the world doesn’t feel quite as cold anymore.

After the intense conversation inside, you step out onto the back porch of Clint’s farmhouse, seeking solace in the crisp evening air. The sun is beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the expansive fields that stretch beyond the property. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets provide a soothing backdrop, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within you.

As you descend the wooden steps, the familiar creak beneath your weight evokes memories of simpler times spent here. Your eyes scan the yard, landing on a small figure near the stables. Nathaniel Barton, Clint’s youngest, is diligently scooping feed into a bucket, his tiny hands gripping the handle with determination. The sight tugs at your heartstrings; you’ve known him since birth, and his innocent presence offers a brief respite from your internal storm.

Approaching quietly, you call out, “Hey, Nate.” He turns, eyes lighting up with recognition and joy.

“Auntie Y/N!” he exclaims, dropping the scoop and running toward you. He wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly. You kneel to his level, returning the embrace, the warmth of his affection momentarily melting your apprehensions.

Pulling back slightly, he looks into your eyes, his expression turning inquisitive. “Why were you gone so long? We missed you.”

His innocent question, devoid of the weight and judgment you’ve come to expect, catches you off guard. For once, the inquiry doesn’t feel like an anchor dragging you down. You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully.

“I had to go away because some bad people did some bad things to me,” you begin, your voice steady but soft. “I was hurt, and it took me a while to get better. But I’m here now, and I’m trying to be okay.”

Nathaniel’s small hand reaches for yours, squeezing it gently. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says earnestly. “I missed you.”

A genuine smile breaks across your face, the first in what feels like an eternity. “I missed you too, buddy.”

He beams, the simplicity of his joy a balm to your weary soul. “Wanna help me feed the horses?”

Nodding, you follow him to the stable, where the earthy scent of hay and the gentle nickers of the horses envelop you. Nathaniel chatters about each horse, introducing them as if for the first time, and you listen intently, allowing yourself to be immersed in the mundanity of the moment. For the first time in a long while, the weight of your past doesn’t press so heavily on your shoulders.

Unknown to you, Wanda stands on the porch, arms wrapped around herself as she watches you in the backyard with Nathaniel. There’s something soft in her gaze—something achingly gentle, but behind it, a storm is quietly churning. Laura Barton steps out beside her, her presence calm, warm like the evening breeze. She leans against the railing, her eyes also settling on the scene before them.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile like that since she got back,” Laura says softly, nodding toward you and Nathaniel. “It’s good to see.”

Wanda doesn’t respond right away. She just exhales, long and quiet, her eyes never leaving you.

“I almost forgot what her smile looked like,” Wanda murmurs. “It’s been so long.”

Laura turns to her, studying her carefully. “And you? How are you really holding up, Wanda?”

Wanda hesitates, and Laura doesn’t rush her. They’ve known each other long enough for silence to be comfortable—long enough for grief to feel familiar.

“I’m…” Wanda trails off. “I’m trying.”

Laura tilts her head, her voice gentle but grounded. “I know what trying looks like. I also know what drowning looks like. And you look like someone trying not to sink.”

Wanda’s lips press into a thin line. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and for a moment, she doesn’t speak.

“She’s not the same person I lost,” Wanda finally says. “And I’m not the same person who lost her. But I still love her, Laura. God, I love her so much it hurts.”

Laura nods slowly. “I know you do. And I know she loves you. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What are you worried about?” Wanda asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That maybe you’re both trying to save each other when neither of you has the strength to save yourselves yet,” Laura replies, her eyes gentle but unflinching. “And I’m not saying that to doubt you. I’m saying that because I care about both of you.”

Wanda blinks, and her shoulders tremble slightly. She looks away, toward you, and for a moment she doesn’t say anything. But Laura waits. She always has.

“You know, after Pietro died, this place—it felt like the only place I could breathe,” Wanda finally says. “You and Clint, your kids… you made me feel like I still had something to come back to. Like I still mattered.”

Laura’s eyes soften further. “You do matter, Wanda. You always have.”

Wanda turns to face her, eyes glassy. “She’s the only person I ever imagined building a life with. The only person I ever wanted to have a future with. I used to think about us growing old together, having kids, maybe even ending up here on a farm like this.”

Laura smiles faintly. “That doesn’t have to be a dream.”

“I know,” Wanda whispers. “But right now it feels so far away. She’s here, but she’s still somewhere else. And every time I look at her, I see how much she’s lost.”

“And how much you’ve lost,” Laura adds gently. “You’re grieving too, Wanda. Maybe not for the same reasons—but it’s still grief.”

Wanda nods slowly. “Sometimes I think… if I had chosen Vision, maybe life would’ve been easier. Safer. He would’ve taken care of me.”

Laura raises a brow. “And yet, you didn’t.”

“No,” Wanda says, her voice breaking into something raw. “Because even if it would’ve been easier… it wouldn’t have been real. Not like this. Not like her. Even now—no matter how hard it gets—I would still choose her. Every time.”

Laura places a hand over Wanda’s. “Then hold on to that. Hold on tight. Because it’s going to get harder before it gets better. But if anyone can make it through that storm together… it’s the two of you.”

Wanda nods, looking back at you in the yard—your arms wrapped gently around Nathaniel, your smile something fragile but real. And for the first time in a long while, she lets herself believe it.

⸻

The room is quiet.

It’s the kind of silence that feels like it has weight—like it’s pressing down on your chest with every second that ticks by. Wanda’s already climbed into bed, curling beneath the blanket in that familiar way you used to love watching. She looks peaceful in the low light, like the chaos of the world has stopped at the edge of the quilt. You haven’t moved from where you’re standing, a foot or so away from the bed, frozen like if you breathe too loudly, everything might break.

“You okay?” Wanda’s voice is gentle, already fading into the hush of sleep.

You nod, even though she can’t see it.

You lie. “Yeah.”

You get under the blanket beside her because it’s what you’re supposed to do. Because for a moment, you want to pretend that you’re whole. That you can do this. That maybe sleep will come without bloodstains behind your eyes or the sound of your own screams echoing from a past you haven’t escaped. Wanda turns on her side to face you, her eyes heavy but still open. Her fingers find yours under the covers.

You squeeze them—just a little.

She leans forward and kisses you. Soft. Warm. Like a memory you didn’t know you still had. And for a moment, you kiss her back with everything in you—all the pain, all the silence, all the love you haven’t been able to say out loud.

“I love you,” she breathes against your lips, forehead pressed to yours.

You close your eyes. “I love you too.”

And God, you do.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Fierce. Your heart is still bleeding, your soul still cracked wide open, but you know this one thing: you love her. It’s the only truth you haven’t lost.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers, already slipping toward sleep. “You’re home.”

But when her breath slows beside you, your own chest tightens.

You wait.

Five minutes.

Ten.

You watch the way her body rises and falls, and you envy her for the calm she’s found, even if it’s just temporary. The blanket feels like it’s smothering you. You can’t stay. Your skin’s too tight, your heartbeat too loud, and that old feeling starts to rise again—panic, fear, shame, all tangled in the same impossible knot.

So you slip out of bed.

You don’t even make a sound. You’re good at that now—moving like a shadow, not a person.

The floor is cold under your palms as you lay down, curling into yourself the way you did for months in concrete cells and dark corners. You hate that it feels familiar. You hate that part of you still finds safety here. That it feels more right than lying next to her.

But then the memories come.

The ones you’d been holding at bay all day—the weight of hands on your body, the crack of bones, the taste of blood, the voice in your head that told you it was your fault. It all hits you at once, like a wave you never saw coming. You squeeze your eyes shut, press your fists into your chest, try to breathe through the scream that’s trying to crawl out of your throat.

You don’t hear her wake up.

You don’t even notice the bed creak.

But then, you feel it.

Wanda shifts to the edge of the bed—so slowly, so carefully—and you feel her hand reach down, searching blindly. Her fingers slide across the floorboards until they find yours.

She doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t ask you to come back to bed.

She just… holds your hand.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And that breaks you.

Because it’s not some grand gesture. It’s not a speech or a question or a fix.

It’s her saying, I see you.

It’s her saying, I’m here.

You don’t deserve it—not after what happened, not after everything you still can’t say—but you squeeze her hand back like maybe, just maybe, you want to believe it. That you can be held without being broken. That someone still knows how to reach you.

Wanda doesn’t let go.

And somehow, in that silence—on the floor, with her fingers wrapped around yours—you finally breathe.

Not fully.

Not freely.

But it’s something.

And that… is enough for tonight.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

Text

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 12

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warning: Mention of torture, PTSD, Nightmares, SMUT.

The walk back from the little Chinese restaurant down the street should have been nothing. The cold wind brushing against your skin felt familiar now, part of your daily life in hiding. You held onto the paper bag of takeout tightly, shoulders hunched, head low. But the unease started halfway home.

The sensation of being followed crept up your spine—sharp, suffocating. You turned corners faster, heart pounding. Every shadow looked like a threat. Your leg still ached with every step, not fully healed, but adrenaline pushed you through. You burst through the apartment door, nearly collapsing as Sharon jumped from the couch.

“They found us,” you gasped. “Hydra. I know they did. We have to go. Now.”

Sharon was already moving. “Where? Did you see anyone?”

You nodded, panicked. “A van… two blocks back… I don’t know—I just—I know it’s them, Sharon.”

She grabbed the bag from your hand and set it aside. “Alright. Breathe. Just breathe, okay? I’ll check the hallway.”

But before she could move, heavy footsteps echoed outside the door. You flinched, backing toward the kitchen, heart leaping into your throat.

The knock on the door wasn’t violent. It was soft. Controlled.

You reached for the small blade hidden in the drawer behind you.

But when Sharon cracked the door, she froze. You saw her shoulders tense before she fully opened it.

And then you saw her.

Wanda.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Time didn’t exist. Reality bent. You blinked once. Twice. But she didn’t disappear.

Wanda Maximoff stood there, in the doorway, eyes glassy with disbelief. Her chest rose and fell like she hadn’t taken a full breath in months.

Behind her, Natasha appeared. Your oldest friend. Her lips trembled slightly when she saw you. She didn’t say a word—just stared, like she wasn’t sure if you were real either.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. You stumbled back, dizzy. “What day is it?” you whispered to Sharon. “Where are we?”

“Hey, hey,” she said, walking toward you, her hands raised. She knew you were on the verge of losing grip with reality and you were trying to ground yourself. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”

You didn’t hear her. Your eyes never left Wanda. You were trembling, your entire body shaking like it was fighting to collapse. You didn’t trust what you were seeing. How could she be here? How could she be real?

Wanda stepped inside slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal.

“Y/N…” Her voice broke at your name.

You covered your ears. “Stop. Please. Stop.”

Sharon moved in front of you protectively. “Give her space,” she said, low, firm.

Natasha walked in and closed the door behind her, but her eyes never left you. Her best friend. Her sister.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, even though she wasn’t sure you really were.

Wanda’s eyes flickered between you and Sharon. The way Sharon reached for you. The way you leaned into her, trusting her. It was subtle, but devastating.

Wanda’s heart cracked. Sharon had been the one to hold you. To help you breathe when you couldn’t. To calm your shaking hands and wrap your broken bones. Wanda had missed it all.

“You hid her,” Wanda said sharply, turning to Sharon. “You knew where she was this whole time.”

“I saved her,” Sharon shot back. “You don’t know what she’s been through.”

“You kept her from me!”

“She wasn’t ready!”

“Enough!” you yelled. The room fell silent. “Please… just stop fighting.”

Sharon walked over and touched your shoulder gently. “You’re safe, Y/N. I promise.”

You nodded numbly, the tears already forming. “I need to lie down.”

You left them there in the tension and retreated into your room.

The door clicked softly behind you as you disappeared into the bedroom, leaving behind a silence so heavy it nearly drowned the room.

Wanda was still frozen, her chest heaving, her eyes locked on the door you had just walked through. Natasha stood close by, stunned and pale, her fingers twitching slightly with the tension coursing through her. And Sharon—Sharon stood in the middle of the living room, guarded, arms crossed over her chest like a barrier, her stance defensive.

Wanda was the first to speak, her voice low, venomous, shaking with suppressed rage and heartbreak. “Why didn’t you bring her back?” she asked, stepping forward. “Why didn’t you come to us? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sharon’s jaw tensed. “Because she wasn’t ready. She was barely surviving, Wanda.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” Wanda snapped, her voice rising. “You don’t get to keep her away from us. From me.”

“She didn’t want to go back!” Sharon shot back, just as fiercely. “Do you think it was easy? Do you think I didn’t try to convince her?”

Natasha stepped between them, raising her hands. “Stop. Just stop. We’re all angry, but this isn’t helping.”

“No,” Wanda hissed, her voice cracking. “I want to know. You were with her. All this time. And you said nothing. Why? What are you even doing here, Sharon? Playing hero again? Or is it something else?”

Sharon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not playing anything, Wanda. I’m not the one who abandoned her when she needed someone.”

“Don’t,” Natasha said, sharp now. “Don’t put that on her.”

“I’m not!” Sharon exhaled harshly, dragging her hand through her hair. “Look, I know how it looks, okay? I know how this hurts. But you don’t understand what she’s been through. What she still goes through. Every single night. Every time she hears a door slam or footsteps outside.”

“What happened to her?” Natasha’s voice cracked as she asked the question, stepping closer. Her eyes were wet now. “Please. I need to know.”

But Sharon only shook her head. “It’s not my story to tell. You have to understand… she’s not the same. She’s not ready for this—any of this. All I could do was help her breathe. Help her sleep. Help her eat. Help her survive.”

“She’s my person!” Wanda’s voice was nearly a sob now, her pain erupting with every word. “You think I didn’t want to help her? You think I haven’t been breaking apart for five fucking months wondering if she was alive? Wondering if she was cold, if she was scared, if she was in pain? She’s my home!”

Sharon’s face softened then, her anger fading just a little at the edges. “I know,” she whispered. “And I never tried to replace you. She talked about you. Even when she was half-conscious, even when she was screaming in her sleep. She never stopped loving you.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, her hands trembling. “Then why does it feel like she’s not mine anymore?”

“Because she’s not anybody’s right now,” Sharon said. “She’s still trying to find herself.”

Natasha watched the exchange, her stomach twisting with nausea. The apartment smelled like antiseptic and cold takeout and—faintly—blood. Your blood. She had seen the bandages, the haunted look in your eyes. You’d always been like a sister to her, and now you were… someone else. Someone shattered. Someone who looked at her and didn’t know how to say “hi.”

“She looked right through me,” Natasha said quietly. “Like I was a stranger. Like we never knew each other.”

“You’re not,” Sharon replied gently. “She just… forgot what safe feels like.”

The room went quiet again, the tension thick with grief and love and everything left unsaid. Wanda turned toward the door you had gone through, her expression softer now, full of raw emotion and something like hope trying to bloom through the pain.

“I need to see her,” Wanda said.

Sharon didn’t argue this time. She just nodded, stepping aside.

And Wanda, with her heart in her hands and her breath stuck in her throat, walked slowly to your door and knocked.

The door creaked open, slowly, softly—like a breath held too long and finally exhaled. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clasped tightly together, knuckles white from the pressure. Your body still ached in places you hadn’t even realized were hurt. But that pain dulled in comparison to the one burning in your chest.

You didn’t look up when you heard her footsteps.

You didn’t need to.

You felt her—like a ghost walking back into the house of your soul. Heavy with love. Heavy with everything.

Wanda stood just inside the doorway, her heart in her throat, afraid to breathe, afraid that if she blinked, you would vanish again. Her hands trembled at her sides.

“Y/N…” she said your name like a prayer. Broken. Fragile. As if her voice alone might shatter you.

You finally looked up.

And your eyes met hers.

Everything inside you caved. The dam cracked, broke, drowned you.

You couldn’t speak. Your throat burned, your lungs felt too tight to hold air. Her face—so familiar and yet distant. Her eyes—so full of love and grief and disbelief. You felt like you were staring into a dream you’d had every night for the last five years, one that had never ended the way you wanted.

“I thought I lost you,” she whispered, stepping closer, her breath hitching. “I thought—”

You stood abruptly. “Am I dreaming?” Your voice came out cracked, rough, like it hadn’t been used in years. “Tell me this is real, Wanda. Tell me you’re really here.”

She nodded, eyes already glassy. “I’m here. I’m here, detka.”

Your knees buckled and you would’ve fallen had she not caught you in her arms.

The contact burned.

It hurt—God, it hurt to be touched again.

And still, you clung to her like your life depended on it. Because it did.

You buried your face into her neck and inhaled, her scent grounding you in a reality you weren’t sure you could believe in. “I missed you,” you said, barely audible. “I missed you so much, it killed me.”

She held your face between her hands and pulled back to look at you. Her thumb ran gently across the purple bruise on your cheek, down to the thin scar beneath your jaw. Her expression crumbled. “What did they do to you?” she asked, voice trembling.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Your silence said enough.

Her tears spilled over. She pressed her forehead to yours. “I should’ve found you sooner. I should’ve never let you go in the first place.”

“You didn’t let me go,” you whispered. “I… I left. I was stupid. I was scared. I didn’t think I deserved to come back.”

Her grip tightened. “You always deserved to come back. You still do.”

You looked away.

You couldn’t meet her eyes anymore.

Not when she was looking at you like you were still whole.

Not when she didn’t know how ruined you really were.

“I’m not who I used to be, Wanda,” you whispered. “You’re loving a memory. That person’s gone.”

“I don’t care who you are now,” she said, voice stronger. “I love you. Now. Broken or not.”

She leaned in, but she didn’t kiss you. Wanda’s breath hitched when your forehead met hers, your trembling frame leaning into her like a prayer. It was quiet for a moment—so quiet that the rise and fall of your shallow breaths was the only sound between you. Her hands stayed at her sides, motionless. She didn’t dare move first. She didn’t want to scare you off the way the world had done far too many times.

But you—your fingers ghosted over hers.

And that was enough.

Wanda exhaled shakily, and when you leaned in, just barely, she met you there. Your lips brushed hers like a whisper, hesitant and fragile. The kiss was soft at first, cautious. Not like the desperate, breathless passion she’d imagined a thousand times while searching for you—but like something aching. Something bleeding and raw and sacred.

Your hand reached up, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of her neck. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and Wanda groaned softly against your mouth. Her hands rose, slow and reverent, finding your waist, gripping through the thin fabric of your shirt like she was afraid you might vanish again if she let go.

You felt it all—how much she missed you. How much she needed you.

And God, you needed her too. So badly it hurt.

The kiss deepened again, tongues brushing, lips parting, heat flaring in your chest as her mouth began to move against yours with more hunger, more urgency. She tasted like longing. Like grief. Like home. Your home.

Wanda shifted, rising up from her knees and gently easing you back until your spine met the mattress behind you. You let her, even as your muscles tensed slightly beneath her. Her body hovered above yours—close, but not pressing. Her hand came up to cup your jaw, her thumb stroking your cheek as she kissed you again, and again, and again, softer each time.

“Are you sure?” she breathed, her voice low, trembling. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”

You nodded, your lips swollen, breath shaky. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Wanda kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the hollow of your throat. Her hands explored, slow and reverent, ghosting over the outline of your body through the clothes you hadn’t removed. She didn’t question it. She didn’t push.

But when her fingertips slipped beneath the hem of your shirt—just barely—you tensed, instantly.

“Wait,” you whispered. Your hand caught her wrist gently, but firmly. “Please… don’t.”

She froze immediately. Her eyes lifted to yours, wide and open and careful.

“Okay,” she said softly, brushing her nose against yours. “Okay. I won’t.”

You blinked, and the sting behind your eyes burned. “I just… I can’t.”

“I know,” she said, and she did. “You don’t have to.”

Still fully clothed, you pulled her down again, anchoring her to you with shaky arms. Wanda kissed you deeper this time, with a kind of desperation that had her hips slowly rolling against yours. She wasn’t touching skin—just moving over you, around you. You arched into her, matching her rhythm, gasping against her lips as the heat between your legs built quickly from the pressure and friction alone.

You hadn’t felt this way in so long. Hadn’t let anyone touch you. Hadn’t trusted anyone enough. But this… this felt like something breaking open in your chest.

Wanda’s kisses trailed down your neck as she ground her hips gently against you. Her breaths came in short, soft moans against your skin. Her fingers threaded with yours, anchoring your hands to the bed.

“You’re still mine,” she whispered, her voice thick and broken.

“I never stopped being yours,” you gasped.

The friction was intense. Raw. You moved against each other like you were remembering how. Like you were clinging to each other in the dark. Your legs wrapped around her waist as she kissed you hard, and your body arched up, chasing the feeling, your release building from the slow, steady rhythm between you.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered into your mouth, her voice trembling. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Your breath hitched, then broke into a soft cry as you came—still fully dressed, still holding her like she was the last real thing in the world. Wanda followed seconds later, gasping into your neck, her body shaking above you as she clung to you like she might fall apart if she let go.

The room went quiet again.

Just the sound of your breathing. Your hearts beating in sync.

Wanda laid her head against your chest, still wrapped around you, and for the first time in years, you felt warm. Held. Alive.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

Because she was still here.

And you were still hers.

⸻

The apartment was too quiet. Too still. Too clean. Too soft.

The bed creaked beneath you as you shifted for what must have been the hundredth time. The mattress—plush and warm—felt suffocating, like it was swallowing you whole. You couldn’t sleep. Every time your eyes began to flutter shut, the darkness swallowed you into memories you couldn’t escape from. Screams. Pain. Steel tables. The wet slap of blood on concrete. The sterile chill of metal shackles around your wrists. You gasped, sitting up abruptly, breath shaky, skin clammy.

No. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not here.

You quietly got up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders as you slipped out of the room. Wanda was fast asleep in the other bed, her breathing steady, unaware of the storm unraveling inside your chest.

You tiptoed past her, afraid that if she opened her eyes and looked at you—really looked at you—she’d see just how broken you were.

The night air hit your face like a balm when you stepped out onto the small balcony. The pavement below still glistened from earlier rain, streetlights painting streaks of golden light against the wet ground. It was the only thing that felt real. Tangible.

And then you heard her voice.

“You okay?”

You turned to find Sharon standing in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing that oversized hoodie she always wore when she was worried. You offered a half-hearted shrug and looked back at the city.

She joined you in silence, leaning on the railing beside you. “You couldn’t sleep.”

You shook your head. “The bed’s too soft.”

Sharon frowned. “That’s why you always sleep on the floor?”

“I don’t like going too deep into sleep,” you muttered, not meeting her gaze. “It’s worse when the nightmares hit me fully under.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just watched you, as if seeing through every word you didn’t say.

“They’re not used to this version of you,” she said finally, voice gentle. “Wanda. Natasha. They don’t know how much of you was taken.”

You flinched at the sound of Wanda’s name. “They shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“You think you can keep it hidden?” Sharon asked quietly. “You were barely standing when they walked in. You looked like a ghost.”

You pressed your lips together. “I don’t know who I am to them anymore. I don’t know who I am to myself.”

Sharon’s voice cracked slightly. “I’m scared for you.”

You finally looked at her.

“I’m scared that they’ll take you away, and I’ll never see you again. That you’ll go back there, to that world, and disappear again. I’m scared you’re going to fall apart and no one will see it coming. Because I know what it looks like now. And I see it in your eyes every day.”

“I don’t want to go back there either,” you admitted, voice raw. “I don’t know how look at them anymore. At Wanda. I don’t know what is real anymore.”

“She loves you.”

“I know,” you whispered, “And I love her. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

Sharon sighed, stepping closer, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “You don’t trust her.”

You didn’t answer right away. “I don’t trust anyone. Not really. Not after everything.”

Silence stretched between you.

“Are you ever going to tell her?” she asked quietly. “What they did to you. Everything?”

Your throat closed. “I don’t know how.”

“Do you plan to go back?” she asked, voice steady despite the tremble in her fingers. “To the compound. To that life. To her.”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

Sharon didn’t try to persuade you. She didn’t tell you what to do. She just stood there beside you, giving you what no one else had been able to—space to breathe.

“I wish the world would just stop for a minute,” you whispered. “Just… stop. Just stop spinning for a second so I can catch up.”

“You don’t have to catch up,” Sharon said softly. “You just have to learn how to keep surviving. And If you need to leave to learn how to do that, then I’ll let you go.”

You nodded, lips trembling, and looked out at the night again. The silence stretched between you comfortably this time.

But inside, the war raged on. Between what was and what is. Between the you that had once loved freely and the you that now only knew how to flinch.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 11

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst, Blood, Kidnapping, Torture

The cold had seeped into your bones.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, fogging up the air in the dimly lit room. Every part of you ached—throbbed—with a pain so deep it made your head spin. You could barely move.

Your leg was the worst. You could tell it was broken, the sharp, burning pain every time you so much as shifted was enough proof. Your head wasn’t any better—blood had dried at your temple from where you hit the ground during your escape. A concussion. Maybe worse.

You knew you needed to leave. That HYDRA wouldn’t stop hunting you. But your body wasn’t listening.

The abandoned house was silent except for the howling wind outside, rattling the broken windows. You had found it by sheer luck after ditching the stolen car. It wasn’t much—half the roof was caved in, the walls were damp with years of decay—but it was shelter. It had to be enough.

You pressed your back against the wooden floor, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, your breaths shallow.

You weren’t going to make it far on your own.

Then you heard it.

A noise.

Someone was outside.

You forced yourself to sit up, swallowing a cry of pain as fire shot through your leg. You gritted your teeth, dragging yourself across the room until you reached the wall where you had stashed a rusted knife from the kitchen.

The door creaked.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

They found me.

You held your breath, your grip tightening on the knife. Shadows shifted outside the boarded-up windows, footsteps crunching against the frozen ground. You counted them. Just one.

They tried the door.

Locked.

A pause. Then—

CRACK.

The wood splintered as they kicked it open.

You didn’t think. You just lunged.

Your injured body screamed, but survival was louder. You slashed blindly, your vision blurred, your mind frantic. A hand caught your wrist, twisting the weapon from your grasp. You kicked, thrashed, tried to fight—

“Jesus, Y/N! It’s me!”

You froze.

Sharon Carter.

You blinked, your chest heaving as she pushed you back slightly, hands raised. You barely registered her face—her blonde hair was darker than before, her expression one of pure shock.

Your ears were ringing. Your mind was still stuck in the fight.

But your hands were empty now. The knife was gone. And Sharon was standing there, watching you.

And then you spoke, your voice hoarse.

“Who sent you?”

She frowned. “No one sent me.”

You didn’t believe her. You couldn’t believe her. “Fury did, didn’t he?”

Sharon shook her head. “No. I’m alone.”

Your breathing was uneven, your body still tense as if waiting for the next attack.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. turned their back on me, the government too. I have nothing to do with Fury.”

You wanted to believe her. But you didn’t trust anything anymore. Not people. Not safety. Not yourself.

Sharon’s eyes softened.

And that’s when you saw it. The way she looked at you.

Like she didn’t recognize you.

Like she was staring at the ghost of someone she used to know.

“…You look like hell,” she muttered, crouching down beside you.

You let out something between a laugh and a cough, body slumping against the wall. “Feel like it too.”

She reached out, her fingers hovering over your bruised wrist. “Jesus, Y/N, what did they do to you?”

You didn’t answer. Because if you did, you weren’t sure if you’d stop talking. Or if you’d even survive the weight of it all.

Instead, you whispered, “I don’t trust you.”

Sharon nodded, as if she expected it. “Then don’t. But you need my help. And whether you like it or not, I’m getting you out of here.”

You hated that she was right.

So you let her.

But you didn’t let your guard down.

Not even for a second.

———

The quinjet’s engines hummed low, cutting through the silence of the frozen landscape below.

Wanda stood at the edge of the jet, fists clenched, every part of her screaming to move faster. To land now. Because you were here. She felt you. That raw, undeniable pull that told her she was close.

The moment Tony touched down, she didn’t wait. She was out the hatch before anyone could stop her.

The house loomed in the distance—abandoned, ruined, barely standing against the harsh wind. The windows were shattered, the walls darkened with age and decay. It was the kind of place that had been forgotten by time.

But not by you.

You had been here.

Natasha followed close behind Wanda, her gut twisting the closer they got. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

The moment they stepped inside, the smell hit her.

Blood.

So much blood.

The air was heavy with it, thick with the metallic scent that made Natasha’s stomach turn. Her boots stuck slightly to the floor as she walked forward, the ground stained dark with something she already knew the answer to.

It was yours.

And there was so much of it.

Her chest tightened. She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat, forcing herself to keep moving.

Steve and Sam swept the perimeter, weapons drawn. Tony stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. But Natasha… she felt it. That deep, sickening weight in her gut.

Something happened here.

Something horrible.

Her eyes scanned the room—the shattered furniture, the signs of a struggle, the unmistakable marks of someone who had been dragged across the floor. It was a scene of pure desperation.

And then—

A sound.

Not a voice. Not footsteps.

Just a sob.

Natasha turned.

Wanda was on her knees.

Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the dried blood, the evidence of suffering. She didn’t need to say a word—her pain was loud enough without them.

Natasha’s heart cracked at the sight.

“Wanda…” Her voice was gentle, uncertain.

“She was here,” Wanda whispered, her voice shaking.

Natasha swallowed. “I know.”

“She was alive.” Wanda’s fingers curled, her magic sparking at her fingertips. “But now she’s gone. Again.”

Natasha crouched down beside her, pressing a hand against Wanda’s shoulder. She felt the way the witch was trembling.

“She’s still out there,” Natasha murmured. “We’ll find her.”

Wanda let out a sharp, bitter laugh, her hands tightening into fists. “That’s what we said last time.”

Natasha didn’t have an answer.

She wanted to believe what she was saying. She needed to believe it. But the uncertainty was suffocating.

She had known you since you were young. She had trained beside you, fought beside you, bled beside you. You were her best friend. Her sibling in every way that mattered.

And now, you were just… gone.

The sight of your blood on the floor made her stomach churn. She wanted to believe you had gotten away. That you were out there, fighting to survive. But what if you weren’t? What if this time—this time—you weren’t coming back?

She couldn’t live with that.

And neither could Wanda.

Wanda’s hands gripped the stained floorboards as she whispered, “I can’t do this again, Nat.”

Natasha’s breath hitched. “Wanda…”

“I just got her back,” Wanda choked out, tears slipping down her face. “I had her. She was right there. And now…” She shook her head, her voice breaking. “I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

Natasha’s throat felt tight.

“She’s alive,” she forced herself to say. “I know she is.”

Wanda turned to her, eyes glistening, searching. “How can you be so sure?”

Because she had to be.

Because she refused to believe the alternative.

Natasha placed a hand over Wanda’s, squeezing tightly. “Because if she wasn’t, I would feel it.”

A silent understanding passed between them.

A bond built on shared pain, shared hope.

Natasha had always been your protector. And Wanda… Wanda was your home.

And neither of them were ready to let you go.

Tony cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. “Come on,” he muttered, stepping forward. “We need to get out of here.”

Wanda didn’t move.

Neither did Natasha.

But the world didn’t wait for grief.

So, with one last lingering glance at the bloodstained floor, they stood.

And they left.

But the ache in their chests stayed.

———

The safe house was small, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t cozy, but it was safe. That was the best Sharon could offer you.

You barely made it inside before your legs gave out. Sharon caught you, keeping you upright as she half-dragged you to the couch. You hated how weak you felt. How you had to rely on someone else just to stand.

The house smelled like dust and old wood. The air was dry, the cold still clinging to your skin even after leaving that abandoned hellhole behind.

Sharon didn’t speak much. She just moved—locking the doors, checking the perimeter, making sure you were safe before finally coming back to you.

She tossed a bag onto the table. “There are clothes in there. The shower works, but the water’s freezing. It’s the best I can do.”

You just stared at her.

You didn’t trust her.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Sharon noticed. The way you stayed rigid, the way your fingers twitched like you were ready to fight her at any second. She sighed, shaking her head.

“I’ll give you space,” she muttered, walking away.

You didn’t thank her.

You weren’t sure you even could.

⸻

Later that night Sharon sat at the small kitchen table, absently cleaning one of her knives.

She was watching you.

Not in a way that was obvious. But she noticed things. The way you moved, or rather, didn’t move. How you sat stiffly on the couch, your body curled in on itself like you were bracing for another hit.

The bruises on your skin were ugly—deep purples and blues, some fresh, some old.

But what got to her the most was your leg.

You were barely eating, barely drinking. But that leg… it needed to be taken care of.

She stood and walked toward you. “Let me see it.”

You stiffened. “No.”

“Come on,” she pushed. “I’m not gonna let you get an infection. Let me wrap it.”

“I said no.”

Sharon sighed, kneeling in front of you. “Look, I get that you don’t trust me. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re injured. Either I help you, or you end up losing that leg. What’s it gonna be?”

You hesitated.

You hated this.

Hated being in this position.

Hated that she was right.

Reluctantly, you shifted, letting her pull up your torn pant leg. She sucked in a breath at the sight of your swollen ankle, the deep bruising running up your shin.

“Jesus, Y/N…” she whispered.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet her eyes.

She worked quickly, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she wrapped the bandages. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

As she worked, she said, “You need to rest.”

“No.”

Her hands paused. “You don’t have a choice.”

You pushed her away, glaring. “I need to go back.”

Sharon frowned. “Go back where?”

“The compound.” Your voice was firm. “I need to find Wanda.”

Sharon scoffed, leaning back on her heels. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

You clenched your jaw. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand.” Sharon’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air. “You go back now, and you’re leading Hydra right to Wanda’s front door. You think they don’t already have people watching the compound?” She shook her head. “They’d be waiting for you. And if they can’t get you, they’ll get her instead.”

Your stomach twisted.

No.

You couldn’t risk that. You wouldn’t risk that.

But… you needed her.

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sharon’s face softened, but only slightly. “You survive.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t even know how to do that anymore.”

Sharon didn’t have an answer for that.

Because looking at you now—the hollow eyes, the weight of exhaustion dragging you down—she realized something.

You weren’t the same person she once knew.

You weren’t the sharp, quick-witted agent she had trained with back in the S.H.I.E.L.D. days. That person was gone.

The person in front of her now was broken.

And she didn’t know if you could ever come back from it.

⸻

At night the nightmares came like they always did.

You thrashed under the thin blanket, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Your body was trembling, drenched in sweat, fists clenched so tightly your nails bit into your palms.

Flashes of pain. Of screams. Of cold metal slicing into skin.

Of Hydra’s laughter.

Of Wanda’s voice, calling your name, always just out of reach.

You woke up with a strangled gasp, your body jerking upright as you choked on air.

Your hands flew to your chest, pressing against your ribs as you struggled to breathe.

You were alone.

No Hydra agents. No restraints.

But the fear didn’t leave.

It never did.

You pressed your shaking hands against your face, biting down on your lip to keep the sobs from escaping.

But it didn’t work.

The tears came anyway.

Hot. Silent.

You missed her.

You missed her so much.

Her warmth. Her touch. The way she looked at you like you were something good.

But you weren’t.

Not anymore.

You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking, trying to quiet yourself.

Because there was no one left to hear you.

And even if there was…

You weren’t sure anyone would.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 10

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst, Torture, Sadness

The compound was eerily quiet at night, but Wanda was awake—again. Sleep had become a distant memory, an inconvenience she no longer had time for. Instead, she sat in the dimly lit common room, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, from staring at endless reports, tracking dead-end leads, and scouring every possible trace of where you could be.

Five months. Five months since you vanished. Since you were stolen from her again. Since her world collapsed all over again.

She felt like she was suffocating. The same crushing emptiness that consumed her five years ago had returned, only this time, she refused to let it win. This time, she wouldn’t let you become another ghost haunting her past.

A heavy sigh broke her from her thoughts. “Wanda.”

Steve’s voice was soft, careful. He stepped into the room, his expression full of concern. He had tried to talk to her before, tried to make her rest, but she had shut him out every time.

“You need to sleep,” he said, crossing his arms. “Pushing yourself like this won’t bring her back any faster.”

She clenched her jaw. “If I stop, even for a second, I lose time. And I can’t afford that.”

“Wanda—”

“I’m not giving up on her.” Her voice was sharp, her grip tightening on the mug until it cracked. “Not now. Not ever.”

Steve exhaled through his nose. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do.” He took a step closer. “But if she saw you like this—if she knew you were destroying yourself—do you really think she’d want this?”

The words stung, but she ignored them. “I don’t care what she’d want,” she murmured. “Because I know what I want. I want her back.”

A new voice interrupted. “At what cost?”

Wanda turned, and there stood Vision. His golden eyes studied her with the same knowing look he had given her five years ago. The last time she had been drowning in grief.

She exhaled sharply, setting her shattered mug aside. “This isn’t your concern, Vision.”

“But it is.” He took a step forward. “Because I have seen you like this before. I have watched you fall apart, consumed by pain, by anger. And once again, it is because of her.”

Her fingers curled into fists, red energy sparking at her fingertips. “I love her.”

“I know.” Vision’s voice was quiet. “And I love you. That is why I cannot watch you destroy yourself again.”

Wanda swallowed hard, shaking her head. “You don’t understand.”

Vision studied her carefully. “You are drowning.”

“I have made my choice,” she whispered, voice trembling.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the engagement ring. The one she had carried with her for weeks, unsure of what to do with it.

She held it out to him, her heart aching as his expression fell.

“I choose her.”

Vision hesitated before reaching out, his fingers closing over the ring. He stared at it for a long moment before looking back at her. “I tried to save you.”

“I don’t need to be saved.” Wanda inhaled shakily. “I already found my reason to live.”

And she would not lose you again.

⸻

You had lost count of the days.

Time was meaningless in the darkness of your cell. The only measure of its passing was the rhythmic opening of the heavy door, the arrival of pain, and the moments of fleeting unconsciousness that followed.

At first, you thought it was Fury. It had to be. Another cruel manipulation, another test, another punishment. So you had taunted them, thrown out sharp words like knives, hoping to get under their skin.

But then they laughed.

“We know who you really work for,” one of the men sneered, gripping your jaw with bruising force. “Did you really think you could fool us forever?”

HYDRA.

The realization sent a cold wave of terror through you. They knew. They knew.

Panic clawed at your chest, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You had been through hell before. You could get through this.

But as the days bled together, as the pain grew sharper and your body weaker, the fight in you began to fade.

They weren’t trying to break you for information. They weren’t trying to turn you.

They just wanted to watch you suffer.

And they were enjoying it.

Your body was a canvas of bruises, cuts, burns. Your wrists were raw from the restraints, your voice hoarse from the screams you had long since stopped trying to hold back. Your powers were useless, suppressed by whatever hellish technology they had forced onto you.

And for the first time in years, you were afraid.

Not of death. You had flirted with that possibility too many times to count.

No, you were afraid because—for the first time in a long time—you wanted to live.

You wanted to see Wanda again. You wanted to tell her the things you had been too much of a coward to say. You wanted to fix things.

But you didn’t know if you would ever get the chance.

A sharp kick to your ribs forced a strangled gasp from your throat, jolting you from your thoughts. You barely had the strength to lift your head, blinking through the blood and sweat as the man looming over you smirked.

“Still breathing?” he mused, tilting his head. “Good. We’re just getting started.”

You closed your eyes, steeling yourself.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

But you weren’t ready to die. So you waited for the night to come. Your body was failing you. Every movement sent sharp waves of pain through your limbs, every breath burned in your lungs like fire. But none of it mattered.

Tonight was the night.

Tonight, you would either escape—or die trying.

For months, you had endured their cruelty. You had learned their patterns, memorized their rotations. You had stolen whatever you could—tiny, insignificant things they didn’t think you’d notice. A loose nail from the chair they tied you to. A sharp piece of metal from the floor. You had hidden them, waited for the right moment.

And it was finally here.

Your wrists were raw and bloodied as you worked the sharp metal against your restraints, your hands shaking from exhaustion. The pain blurred your vision, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The moment the cuffs snapped, you nearly sobbed in relief.

But you had no time to waste.

You crept toward the door, your breath shallow as you listened. Footsteps in the distance. A guard pacing.

Wait.

Now.

You moved fast, slamming the stolen nail into the man’s neck before he could react. He gurgled, his body twitching before slumping to the floor.

Your hands were slick with blood as you took his gun, your heart hammering in your chest. The alarms hadn’t gone off yet. You still had time.

You ran.

The halls blurred together as you moved, your body protesting every step. You didn’t know how far you had to go, didn’t know if you would make it—but you had to try.

The first shot rang out behind you, missing your head by inches. You ducked, firing blindly as you threw yourself through a doorway.

Your hands were still trembling as you tightened your grip on the stolen gun, pressing yourself further into the shadows of the storage room. Your heart pounded against your ribs like a war drum.

The voices were getting closer. They knew you were here.

Move.

You darted out before they could see you, keeping low as you rushed down the dimly lit corridor. The sirens were blaring now, red lights flashing violently against the cold concrete walls. You had minutes—maybe seconds—before the full force of HYDRA came down on you.

You turned a corner and nearly ran into another guard. He reached for his gun, but you were faster. You slammed the stolen weapon into his temple, sending him crumpling to the ground.

There was no time to think.

You kept running, your bare feet slapping against the cold floor, your body screaming in protest. The exit was near—you could feel it.

And then you saw it.

A garage filled with HYDRA vehicles.

Your salvation.

With the last of your strength, you sprinted toward the nearest car, your breath ragged. You forced the door open, throwing yourself inside. Your fingers fumbled with the ignition—hot-wiring a car wasn’t new to you, but with your hands shaking and your vision blurring from exhaustion, it felt impossible.

“Come on, come on…”

The roar of the engine was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

Then came the gunfire.

Bullets ricocheted off the metal as you slammed your foot onto the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement. The force of the acceleration nearly sent you flying into the windshield, but you didn’t stop.

The gate was closing ahead of you.

You pushed harder.

The vehicle crashed through the metal, sending sparks flying as you burst onto the road. Your breath hitched, your hands gripping the wheel so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

You had done it.

You were free.

But where the hell were you supposed to go?

—

You had been driving for hours.

The roads twisted and turned, leading you deep into unfamiliar territory. You had no idea where you were—only that you were far from HYDRA’s grasp. For now.

Your body was shutting down, exhaustion and pain clawing at you like wild animals. You needed to stop.

So when you spotted a small, abandoned village in the middle of nowhere, you took your chance.

The car rolled to a slow stop outside a crumbling house. It was barely standing, the windows shattered, the roof caving in. But it was shelter.

Dragging yourself out of the car, you stumbled inside. The air was thick with dust, the floor creaking beneath your weight. You collapsed against the wall, your body finally giving in.

You were safe.

But not for long.

They would come for you.

You needed to contact Wanda, but you had nothing. No phone. No way of reaching her.

And for the first time in years, you were truly alone.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 9

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warning: Angst, Kidnapping, Torture

The first thing you register is the cold.

It creeps into your skin, gnaws at your bones, settles deep into the very core of you like ice. The second thing is the pain—an aching, burning pain that pulses through your body in sharp, unrelenting waves. Your head pounds, your limbs feel like lead, and when you try to move, metal digs into your wrists. Shackles.

You’re restrained.

Your breath hitches as you force your eyes open. The room is dim, barely illuminated by a single flickering bulb overhead. Concrete walls, steel bars, the faint scent of iron—blood. You’re in a cell.

Fury.

Of course.

A bitter scoff escapes you as you lean your head back against the freezing wall, blinking against the haze clouding your mind. You should’ve known. You had stormed into his office, thrown everything in his face, told him you were done. And now you’re here, locked away like an asset gone rogue.

“Real mature, Fury,” you rasp, your voice hoarse, throat dry. You shift, testing the restraints, but a sharp sting shoots up your arms, stopping you in your tracks. “Is this your way of keeping me on a leash? Locking me up like some kind of—”

A laugh.

Not Fury’s.

Your stomach drops.

A slow, amused chuckle echoes through the cell, followed by the sound of heavy boots against concrete. A figure steps into the weak light, their presence alone sending a shiver down your spine.

And then you see it—the symbol stitched into their uniform. The emblem that has haunted your nightmares for years.

Hydra.

Your blood turns to ice.

“Fury?” The man sneers, tilting his head as if entertained by the very thought. “Oh, sweetheart. You think S.H.I.E.L.D. put you here?” He leans in, his breath hot against your face. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Your heartbeat is a war drum in your chest.

No. No, no, no—

Your mind races, trying to piece together how this happened. How they found you. How they took you without you even realizing it. You were just at your parents’ graves, barely getting the chance to breathe. And now—now you’re here. In their hands.

You try again to summon your powers, to feel the familiar energy crackling beneath your skin, but there’s nothing. Just emptiness. As if a part of you has been severed.

“You—” Your voice is weaker now, breathless with panic. “How?”

The Hydra agent smirks. “Oh, we have our ways. You didn’t really think you could just disappear, did you? That we’d just let you walk away after what you did?”

Your stomach twists, bile rising in your throat.

They know.

They know everything.

“You worked for us once,” he continues, pacing slowly. “Before you ran off to play hero with the Avengers, before you turned your back on the hand that fed you. But we know the truth, don’t we?” His smirk deepens. “You’re not a hero, Y/N. You never were.”

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Go to hell.”

“Already there, darling.”

And then pain.

White-hot, blinding pain as electricity surges through your body. You don’t even realize he’s holding a device until it’s too late, until the shock tears through you, seizing your muscles, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You bite down hard on your lip, swallowing the scream that claws its way up your throat.

Don’t give them the satisfaction.

But it doesn’t stop. The voltage increases, your body convulsing against the restraints, the air punched from your lungs as agony sears through every nerve ending.

And when it finally stops, when the electricity dissipates and leaves you gasping, shaking, barely holding onto consciousness, the agent crouches down beside you.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, tilting his head. “That’s just the beginning.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

You don’t beg. You don’t plead.

You won’t break.

But God, you’re scared.

For the first time in years—real, gut-wrenching, paralyzing fear grips you. Because this isn’t just about you. It’s about what comes next. It’s about Wanda.

You can’t die.

Not here.

Not now.

Not when you haven’t told her—haven’t told her how much she still means to you.

Not when you haven’t had the chance to hold her one last time.

The Hydra agent rises to his feet, satisfied with the damage done. “Get comfortable,” he says with a smirk. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

The door slams shut, and you’re left alone in the suffocating silence.

And for the first time since you walked away five years ago… you don’t want to die.

⸻

It was late, and the compound was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled deep into Wanda’s bones, that made her feel as though something was wrong. She stood in the kitchen, her fingers wrapped around the handle of a steaming cup of tea, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling clawing at her chest.

Natasha sat on the counter across from her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed slightly. She had been watching Wanda since they sat down, and finally, she broke the silence.

“I haven’t seen Y/N all day,” Natasha said, voice measured but laced with something unspoken—concern.

Wanda tensed.

“She’s probably off doing something reckless,” she muttered, bringing the mug to her lips, but not drinking.

Natasha tilted her head. “I don’t know, Wanda. She didn’t look like she was in the mood to disappear last night. And I checked her room earlier—she wasn’t there.”

That made Wanda pause. Her fingers tightened around the ceramic, and she felt her heartbeat quicken.

“The last time I saw her was this morning,” she admitted, voice softer now. “We woke up together. We talked.”

Natasha raised a brow. “And?”

Wanda sighed, staring down into her tea like it held all the answers. “And I missed her.”

The words felt heavier than she expected. Saying it out loud made it real. Made it something she couldn’t take back.

Natasha didn’t say anything at first, just nodded as if she understood something Wanda hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Then, before either of them could speak again, the door to the kitchen swung open.

Fury.

Wanda’s body reacted before her mind did. Her fingers went slack, and the mug of tea slipped from her hands, shattering against the floor.

He didn’t even look at them.

He walked in like he belonged there, Maria Hill at his side, his expression unreadable as always. But it didn’t matter. Wanda could feel the weight of everything he had done—the pain, the manipulation, the destruction.

He had used you. He had broken you.

And now he had the audacity to show his face here.

“You—” Wanda’s voice came out sharp, venomous. She took a step forward, her eyes already glowing red, her hands clenching into fists. “How dare you show your face around here after everything you’ve done?”

Fury finally stopped walking. He turned, his expression still neutral, as if he didn’t care. As if none of this mattered.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said.

But Wanda wasn’t letting him walk away.

With a flick of her wrist, he was thrown backward, slamming into the ground with a force that rattled the walls.

Maria took a step forward, but Fury held up a hand, stopping her. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking up at Wanda with something between amusement and irritation.

“You better watch yourself, Maximoff,” he warned, voice low. “I can put you in a cell for that.”

Wanda scoffed, stepping closer, the air around her humming with power. “Try it.”

Her eyes burned red, her hands crackling with energy.

Natasha was up in an instant, grabbing Wanda’s arm, trying to pull her back. “Wanda, don’t.”

“He deserves it,” Wanda hissed, still glaring at Fury. “For everything he did to Y/N.”

“Enough.”

The voice boomed through the room, and everyone turned to see Steve standing in the doorway, his expression hard, his jaw clenched. Behind him, Tony, Bucky, and Clint stepped in, all of them looking just as furious as Wanda felt.

Before anyone could react, Tony stormed past Steve, straight toward Fury, and without hesitation, threw a punch.

The sound of his fist connecting with Fury’s face echoed through the kitchen.

Fury barely flinched.

Steve was on Tony instantly, grabbing his arm, pulling him back. “I said enough.”

Tony shook him off, seething. “No, you know what? I’m done with this. I’m done with him walking in here, treating us like we work for him, like he didn’t completely ruin Y/N’s life.” He turned back to Fury, pointing a finger at him. “Whatever twisted game you were playing with her? It’s over. You leave her alone. You hear me? Or I swear to God, I will burn every bridge you have left.”

Fury exhaled slowly, then straightened his jacket. “I didn’t come here to fight,” he said. “I came here to tell you that Y/N is MIA.”

Silence.

For a moment, the room felt frozen in time.

Wanda’s chest tightened.

“What?” she whispered.

Fury barely looked at her. “An agent inside HYDRA confirmed it. They have her.”

The world tilted. Wanda could barely process the words. She just had you. You were just here.

How could she lose you again?

Tony scoffed. “Bullshit. You expect us to believe that?”

Fury shrugged. “Believe what you want.”

“You did this,” Tony accused, stepping forward again. “You’ve been pulling her strings for years. If she’s missing, it’s because of you.”

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” Fury said. “I came here as a courtesy.”

“Courtesy?” Wanda finally spoke, her voice shaking. “You want to talk about courtesy?”

Her hands were trembling at her sides. She could barely breathe, barely think.

Fury didn’t say another word. He simply turned on his heel and walked out, Maria following close behind.

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving behind nothing but destruction.

Wanda stood there, staring at the door, her heart hammering against her ribs.

You were gone.

And she had never felt more powerless in her life.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 8

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst, Kidnapping

The weight in your chest only grew heavier as you left Natasha’s room. No matter how much you tried to make things right, the darkness inside you never lessened. There was one more thing—one more person—you had to face.

Fury.

You stormed through the compound, your pulse pounding in your ears. Every step felt heavier, like you were walking straight into your own execution. Maybe that’s what this was. Maybe you were finally handing yourself over to the inevitable.

When you reached Fury’s office, Maria Hill was standing outside, arms crossed as if she had been expecting you.

“Think twice about what you’re about to do,” Maria warned, voice calm but firm.

You let out a hollow laugh. “I haven’t thought twice about anything in years.”

Maria sighed, looking at you like she could see straight through the cracks, through the barely held-together pieces of who you once were. “Then at least ask yourself if this is really what you want.”

You held your gaze. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

You pushed past Maria, barely hearing the agent curse under her breath before stepping aside.

You slammed the door behind you.

Fury didn’t even flinch. He sat at his desk, flipping through some files as if you weren’t even there. As if you weren’t ready to set the whole damn room on fire.

“What now?” Fury asked, not even looking up.

You clenched your fists. “I’m done.”

That got his attention. He finally lifted his head, one brow raising. “Done?”

“Yes. Done.” Your voice shook with something between rage and exhaustion. “I made a mistake. I betrayed everyone I ever cared about. I lost my team, my friends, five years of my life. And somehow, despite all of that, you still found a way to use me.”

Fury’s expression didn’t change, but there was a shift in the air, a silent warning.

“You knew I had nothing left, and you took advantage of that,” You continued, stepping closer. “You turned me into your personal weapon, day after day, mission after mission, and I let you. Because I thought maybe—maybe—if I kept going, I could make up for what I did.” Your breath hitched. “But I can’t. And I won’t keep trying.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “So if you want to kill me, imprison me, or make me disappear, go ahead. Do whatever the hell you want. Because I have nothing left to lose.”

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper now. “I already lost her.”

Silence.

Fury watched you, unreadable as ever. But you didn’t wait for a response. You turned on your heel and stormed out before the weight of your own words could crush you.

Maria was still outside. She didn’t stop you as you passed, didn’t say anything at all. Just watched you go with something close to pity in her eyes.

You didn’t care.

You were finally free.

Or at least, that’s what you told herself.

After leaving Fury’s office the pain was still there. For a moment you let yourself wonder as you walked around the busy streets of New York, wondering if your life would have been easier if your family had been around. You wonder if you would have met Wanda. If you to would have fallen in love. Maybe you would have been the one she was going to marry, not him. You wonder and wonder, and ended up in the only place that despite everything never changed.

The cemetery felt colder than you remembered. Maybe it was just you. Maybe it was the weight in your chest, the exhaustion in your bones. Or maybe it was the way the world had dulled over the years, ever since you lost them.

You walked slowly, almost hesitantly, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. The headstones looked the same—solid, unmoving, untouched by time. Unlike you. You had been shaped, broken, and rebuilt over and over again. And somehow, you were still there.

You crouched down, tracing your fingers over the names carved into the stone. The familiar sting behind your eyes started immediately, but you blinked it away. You had done enough crying. Or maybe not enough.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Silence. Of course, there was always silence. But it didn’t matter. You talked anyway.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admitted, exhaling shakily. “I just… I feel like I’ve been running for so long. Running from this, from myself, from everything I don’t want to face.”

Your throat tightened, and you let out a breathless, humorless chuckle. “I thought revenge would make it better. I thought if I made them pay, if I did what I was supposed to do, then maybe—maybe I’d feel different. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so… lost.”

You shook your head, your fingers curling against the stone. “But it never worked. I kept going, mission after mission, death after death, and it didn’t bring you back. It didn’t fix anything. I just got better at pretending. At convincing myself that if I stayed in the dark long enough, I wouldn’t have to feel anything at all.”

Your hands trembled. You weren’t sure if it was from the cold or from the emotions clawing their way out of you.

“I met someone,” you said, your voice softer now. “Wanda. You’d love her. She’s everything I’m not—kind, warm, good.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. “I love her,” you admitted, the words feeling heavier than they should. You had been holding them in for so long, keeping them locked away like they were dangerous. “She makes me feel like I’m more than my past. Like I’m worth something. But I messed up. I hurt her. And I told myself it was better this way—that she was better off without me.”

You let out a shaky breath, running a hand down your face. “But standing here, talking to you, I realize how stupid that is. I’ve spent so much time punishing myself, pushing away the people who love me, because I thought I deserved to be alone. Because I thought if I let myself have something good, I’d just lose it. That’s what always happens, right?”

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “But I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

You exhaled, gripping the cold stone like it was the only thing grounding you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For everything. For losing myself in revenge. For wasting so many years hating instead of living. I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

You hesitated before finally allowing herself to say what you had been too scared to admit. “I want to be happy,” you whispered. “I want to find a way to be happy, even if I don’t think I deserve it yet. Because I think… I think that’s what you would’ve wanted for me.”

The wind blew past you, rustling the trees, sending a chill down your spine. For a moment, you let yourself imagine that it was them. That they were here, listening, forgiving.

You stood up slowly, your body still heavy, but your heart just a little lighter. You looked at their names one last time, inhaling deeply before standing up.

You took a deep breath, running a hand over your face. You had said what you needed to say. The weight in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it felt… lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, you could finally start letting go.

You turned away from the graves, ready to head back. The compound wasn’t home, but Wanda was there. And right now, you needed Wanda more than anything.

But as soon as you stepped onto the quiet road leading back, tires screeched against the pavement. Your body tensed immediately, instincts kicking in. A black van skidded to a stop right in front of you, blocking your path. Before you could react, the doors swung open.

It all happened too fast.

Hands grabbed you. You fought. You fought like hell. Your fists connected with someone’s face, a satisfying crack ringing through the air. But there were too many of them. You reached for your powers, for the chaos bubbling inside you.

A sharp, numbing sensation shot through your veins, making your vision blur. Something was suppressing your powers. Some kind of tech. You gritted your teeth, panic clawing at your throat as you struggled harder.

“Get the hell off me!” you snarled, twisting, kicking, desperate.

A hard strike to the side of your head sent you staggering. The world spun, you strength slipping away.

No. No, not like this—

You barely heard the sound of the van doors slamming shut before everything went dark.

—

Wanda sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the fabric of the sheets absentmindedly. It had become a habit, waiting for you to come back.

After everything that had happened, after all the things said and unsaid, she had assumed—hoped—that tonight, you would stay. That you would sleep next to each other like you had the night before, tangled in warmth and familiarity.

She needed you. She hated admitting it, but she needed you.

But as the hours passed, the realization settled like a stone in her stomach.

You were not coming back.

Wanda clenched her jaw, looking at the empty space beside her. She felt foolish. Of course, you would leave. That’s what you always did. Even when you were there, a part of you always felt so far away.

Maybe you were out there, throwing yourself into another mission, chasing death like it was the only thing you were meant for. Maybe you were drinking, trying to silence the voices in your head. Maybe you were running again, running from Wanda, from the truth, from everything you were to each other.

Wanda bit her lip hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was useless. The ache in her chest grew and grew until it broke through, spilling over in quiet sobs. She curled into herself, gripping the sheets where you should have been.

“I hate you,” she whispered into the empty room. “I hate you for making me love you this much.”

But it wasn’t true.

She still loved you. She always would.

And that’s why it hurt so damn much.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 7

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

The soft glow of morning filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. You blinked slowly, your body heavy with exhaustion, but something warm and familiar anchored you in place.

Wanda.

You didn’t know how you ended up there. Sure you remember seeking for Wanda’s comfort after the events of the night before. But you didn’t recall, and never assume, that you would end up in bed with Wanda.

She lay beside you, still lost in sleep, her face relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in years. Her breath came slow and steady, her lashes resting against her cheeks.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

You just watched her.

It was muscle memory, the way your body recognized Wanda’s warmth, the way waking up next to her felt like a life you once had—one that had slipped through your fingers.

And for a moment you let yourself remember the old days, when waking up next to her was as normal as breathing. You remember how much you loved wrapping your arms around her. How the whole world disappear when you two snuggle in bed laughing together, stealing kisses and saying sweet nothings to each other.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, staring at Wanda, memorizing the way the early light made her look almost ethereal.

Then, without waking, Wanda shifted, instinctively seeking out for you in her sleep. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close with a sleepy sigh.

Your throat tightened.

Slowly, Wanda started to stir. Her fingers curled against your side, her breathing changed, and then, she blinked her eyes open.

“Y/N…” Her voice was thick with sleep, but there was something else in it, too. Something raw.

You hesitated for just a second before pulling her close, pressing Wanda’s head against your chest.

“I don’t know if I should,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “but I missed this so much.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping your shirt tightly. Her body started to tremble, soft sniffling filling the quiet space between them.

“I can’t lose you again,” Wanda whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t care what happened, I don’t care what you did, I just—I can’t lose you.”

You shut your eyes, inhaling sharply.

Wanda pulled back slightly, looking up at you, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You hesitated, but Wanda’s gaze held you, steady and patient.

“I didn’t think I deserved to,” you admitted finally. “Didn’t think I deserved you.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed, and you felt the need to keep going before the words got stuck in your throat.

“I—” You exhaled shakily. “Hydra made me do it, Wanda. I thought I was just eliminating a target. I followed orders like I had been trained to, like I had done a thousand times before. But then I found out who she was.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, but she didn’t interrupt.

“She was Fury’s daughter.” You let out a bitter, broken laugh. “And I didn’t even know. Not until I saw the aftermath. Not until I realized exactly what they made me do.”

The words felt like poison spilling from your lips.

“I wanted to go back to you. I almost did.” You inhaled sharply. “But I couldn’t, Wanda. Because I deserved everything that happened after. I deserved to lose you, I deserved to suffer. I told myself you were better off without me, that you would move on, that you’d find happiness without—”

You broke off, your voice cracking under the weight of it all.

Wanda was silent for a moment, just looking at you, like she was seeing all the shattered pieces you had been trying so hard to keep together.

Then, her expression softened.

She reached up, cupping your face with both hands. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

You tried to look away, but Wanda wouldn’t let you.

“You were forced to do that,” she said, voice firm. “You were manipulated and used, just like Hydra has done to so many people before you.”

You shook your head. “But it doesn’t change what I did.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wanda admitted, eyes filling with something deep and raw. “But it also doesn’t mean you deserved to be alone.”

“When you didn’t came back to me I thought you had died. I really believe it, because I thought that everything was perfect . And in my head there was no reason for you to decide not to come back.” Wanda continued. You just lay there and listen carefully knowing she was opening her heart to you.

“But now, I see how wrong I was. How blind I was. I don’t judge you Y/N. How could I? You were just trying to survive, and I’m sorry I failed to see it.” She said as she caressed your face.

That was it.

The breaking point.

Without warning, your chest caved in. The weight of it all, the sleepless nights, the loneliness, the constant ache—it crashed over you, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

You started crying.

Not the silent kind. But the kind that shook your entire body, that made it impossible to breathe, that cracked something deep inside you.

“I’m so tired, Wanda,” you choked out. “I just—I miss you so much. I just want to stop feeling like this. I just want everything to be normal again.”

Wanda didn’t hesitate.

She wrapped her arms around you completely, pulling you close, whispering softly against your hair.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You sobbed into her shoulder, clinging to her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

Wanda held you, running her fingers through your hair, pressing soft kisses against your temple.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised, voice fierce through the softness. “I don’t care what it takes. You’re mine, Y/N. And I’m not letting you go.”

You didn’t say anything.

She just held onto you.

For the first time in years, you didn’t feel alone.

⸻

After getting ready for the day, you took a deep breath, trying to settle the weight in your chest. The conversation with Wanda had drained you, but there was still one more thing you needed to do.

You needed to talk to Natasha.

You had avoided it long enough. Natasha had been kept in the dark about so much, and you knew you owed her answers—owed her an apology.

Your feet felt heavier than they should as you made your way to Natasha’s room. You hesitated only for a second before knocking.

A few seconds passed before the door swung open, revealing a surprised Natasha.

You barely had time to register the look on her face before Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re still here?”

You frowned. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I checked your room last night. You weren’t there, so I assumed you left on another one of your missions.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach. Of course, Natasha would think that. That was all you had done for years—run off without a word, disappear without a trace.

“Can I come in?” You asked.

Natasha hesitated for only a second before stepping aside. You walked in, letting the familiar space settle around you. You had spent countless nights in this room, talking about everything and nothing with the one person who always had your back.

And now, you were here to fix what you had broken.

Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

You exhaled slowly. “I should’ve told you everything a long time ago. I should’ve—” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry, Nat. For shutting you out. For leaving. For everything.”

Natasha’s expression softened, but her voice remained firm. “Why didn’t you tell me? Out of all people, I would’ve understood.”

You clenched your jaw. You had known this question was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to answer.

“That’s exactly why,” you admitted. “I didn’t want you to understand.”

Natasha blinked, her brows pulling together.

“I didn’t want anyone to justify what I did. I didn’t want sympathy, or forgiveness, or understanding. I wanted to suffer. I deserved to suffer.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you forced herself to keep going. “That’s why I didn’t say anything, Nat. That’s why I left. Because I couldn’t let you—or anyone else—make me feel like I wasn’t the monster I had become.”

Silence settled between them.

Then, Natasha shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”

You huffed out something close to a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

A beat passed before Natasha reached over, squeezing your hand. “You don’t deserve to suffer, Y/N. And you’re not a monster. You did what you had to do to survive. I get it.”

You felt something loosen in your chest at those words.

You nodded slowly. “I’m ready to have my best friend back. If—if you still want that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You really think you can get rid of me that easily?”

Relief flooded you s a genuine smile broke across your face. “God, I missed you.”

Natasha grinned. “Missed you too.”

For the first time in years, things felt right between you two.

But before you could get too sentimental, you cleared your throat. “One thing, though.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Oh boy, here we go.”

“I need you to stay out of the whole Fury situation.”

Natasha’s expression darkened slightly. “Y/N—”

“I mean it.” You held your gaze. “I know you want to help, but I need to handle this on my own.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, clearly fighting the urge to argue. But after a moment, she nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay out of it.”

You smirked. “Good girl.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Don’t push it.”

And just like that, both of you slipped back into the easy rhythm you had always had. You cracked a few more jokes, teasing each other like old times, and for a little while, it almost felt like the years of distance had never happened.

Almost.

But for now, it was enough.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 6

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst, Blood

Wanda paced back and forth in the dimly lit room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The weight of what she had just learned sat like a stone in her stomach, and she could feel her pulse drumming in her ears. You had left for a reason. And Vision knew more than he had ever let on.

She didn’t bother knocking. The door to Vision’s quarters slid open with a quiet hiss, and she stormed in. He was seated at his desk, hands folded in his lap, but when he saw her expression, he stood immediately.

“Wanda?” His voice was calm, but she could see the tension in his synthetic face.

She swallowed hard. “You knew.”

Vision blinked. “Knew what?”

Her fists clenched. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You knew about Y/N. You knew about what she was doing while she was gone, didn’t you?”

He hesitated. It was slight, but she caught it.

“Wanda—”

“Don’t. Don’t say my name like that. Like I’m overreacting. Just tell me the truth, Vision.”

His expression faltered, and for the first time in a long time, he looked truly conflicted. “Yes,” he admitted finally. “I knew about the missions.”

The words hit her like a slap. A sharp, painful blow to the chest.

She took a step back, as if putting distance between them would make it easier to breathe. “You knew,” she whispered, voice shaking. “You knew she was out there, doing—God knows what—for Fury. And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know the motive, Wanda,” he said, almost desperate. “I only knew that she was taking assignments. That she was—active.”

Active. That was one way to put it. Out there, bleeding, killing, losing yourself more and more with every mission. And all this time, he had known.

“You let me believe she abandoned me,” Wanda said, voice barely above a whisper. “You let me hate her.”

Vision’s jaw tensed. “She hurt you, Wanda. She left you. I didn’t want to bring you more pain.”

She let out a bitter laugh, tears stinging her eyes. “More pain? Do you have any idea how much it hurt to lose her? And now I find out that the person I trusted most was keeping things from me too?”

Vision stepped forward, reaching for her, but she shook her head. “No. I can’t do this right now.”

“Wanda—”

“I need to think.” She sucked in a breath, trying to steady herself. “I need to think about everything. About us.”

His shoulders sagged. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” She met his gaze, and he could see the raw pain behind her eyes. “I need time.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She turned on her heel and walked away, feeling like the floor beneath her was crumbling with every step.

⸻

The safe house was silent. The kind of silence that stretched out for miles, where the wind barely whispered through the trees. You liked it that way. No distractions. No reminders of what you had lost.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. Your body ached, exhaustion sinking into your bones, but you couldn’t sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw her. Wanda. The team. Natasha. The ghosts of your past clawing at you from every direction.

Your phone buzzed. You didn’t have to look at the screen to know who it was.

Fury.

You let it ring once. Twice. Then, with a sigh, you answered.

“I need you to take care of something,” his voice came through, sharp and clipped as always. “A target.”

Of course. You knew this would happen. It was the only thing you were good for now.

You didn’t want to go. But you went anyway.

The mission was a blur. You were reckless, sloppier than you had ever been. There was no precision, no control—just raw, desperate violence. You didn’t care what happened to you. You didn’t care about the bruises, the blood, the way your body screamed in protest. You finished the job. That was all that mattered.

And when it was over, you were still empty.

———

You should have gone back to the safe house. But instead, you found yourself standing outside Wanda’s door.

Your hands were shaking when you knocked.

Wanda opened the door, and her breath caught in her throat.

You looked wrecked. Blood smeared across your skin, bruises darkening around your eyes, your clothes torn and stained. You swayed slightly, barely able to hold yourself up.

Wanda’s heart twisted.

Before she could say anything, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around Wanda and burying your face against her shoulder.

Wanda froze, but only for a second. Then, instinct took over, and she held you.

You trembled in her arms, gripping her like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

Wanda closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against the top of your head.

She didn’t say anything.

She just held you.

Because right now, that was all you and Wanda needed.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 5

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warning: Angst, Pills

You leaned against the wall of you darkened room, staring at the screen in front of you. Your hands, which once trembled with purpose, were now steady, almost mechanical. You had to do this. There was no other choice. Not anymore. Fury's orders were always absolute, even when they made you feel like you were losing yourself.

The mission briefing was succinct—no details were given beyond the basic information. Just a name: InterCorp, a tech company that had once been a key ally to S.H.I.E.L.D. A company that had funded many of their operations during the height of their war against Hydra, helped with technology upgrades, and assisted in various missions across the globe. They had been instrumental in the fight against the very enemies that you had vowed to destroy. But now, InterCorp had somehow become a target, labeled as a liability by Fury. A threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s image, or worse, a threat to national security.

Your heart twisted as the cold, sterile words on the screen flashed in front of you: "Eliminate all key members. Do not leave anyone alive. No witnesses."

Your throat tightened as memories flooded your mind. InterCorp wasn't just another faceless corporation. You had worked with them those the first years you started to work for Fury. Before Wanda, before all the mess that your life had become. Fury wanted you to infiltrate, to become one of them, so you did. You had fought alongside the people in that organization. You had made friends there—friends who had helped you when you were at your lowest, when S.H.I.E.L.D. was just a shadow of what it had once been. And now... now, you were supposed to destroy them. Wipe them out without hesitation.

The faint sound of footsteps outside your door brought you out of your reverie. A knock echoed softly. You barely registered it before the door opened slightly, revealing the shadowy figure of Nick Fury. His single eye gleamed in the dim light, unwavering as he took in your silent form.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice low, unreadable.

You didn't respond immediately. The silence between them stretched on, heavy with unspoken words. Fury wasn't a man who needed small talk; he was a man of action. But for a brief moment, just a brief moment, you saw something flicker behind his eyes. Something cold.

"I don't have a choice," you finally muttered, your voice breaking slightly, betraying your inner conflict. "Do I?"

Fury's expression remained impassive, as always. He took a step into the room, his large frame casting a shadow over you.

"You've never had a choice, Y/N," Fury said, his voice gruff, but with a hint of something almost—comforting? Or was it control? "You know how this works."

You nodded slowly, your gaze dropping to the floor. Of course, you knew. You knew all too well. Fury had never given you a choice.

"What's the play?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Fury's jaw clenched, and he took another step closer. "I'll get you in. You'll take them out. That's all you need to know."

You nodded, swallowing hard, the weight of the mission pressing down on your chest like a boulder. You didn't ask questions anymore. Fury had taught you not to.

As you followed him down the hallway of the compound, your mind raced. InterCorp had been more than just a funding source for S.H.I.E.L.D. They had been part of the team. The same team you had fought for. The same team you had once believed in. The same team that had helped dismantle Hydra.

But Fury had decided they were expendable. They had become a threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operations, a risk that had to be eliminated, regardless of the relationships that had been built over the years. They were collateral damage now.

The mission was already set in motion. Fury had made sure of that. There would be no turning back. No questions asked.

They reached the hangar, where a jet stood ready for their departure. You felt your stomach twist. You had never been a stranger to taking down enemies, but this... this was different. This wasn't some nameless target. These were people who had helped you, who had trusted you, who had fought beside you. And now she was supposed to kill them.

"Get in," Fury's voice cut through her thoughts, and without another word, you climbed into the jet.

The silence inside was deafening. you closed your eyes, leaning back in your seat, trying to focus on the task at hand. There was no room for hesitation. There was no room for regret.

But then, just as the jet began to lift off, a thought lingered at the edge of your mind. Was this the mission? Was this what Fury had been preparing you for all these years—breaking you down until you no longer saw the difference between friend and foe? Were you just a weapon now? A tool with no purpose beyond executing orders?

Your hands clenched into fists. You had to push that thought away. You had to.

When they arrived at the base, Fury's instructions were clear. In and out. No mercy. You knew the targets—high-ranking officials in InterCorp. The mission brief was simple: eliminate the heads of the organization, leave no trace, no survivors. You knew what you had to do, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

As you made your way through the building, taking out guards, eliminating obstacles, you could feel it—the crushing weight of every step. The memories of your time with InterCorp flashed in front of your eyes with each passing moment. You could almost hear their voices, their laughter, their trust in you.

And then there they were—the leaders of the company, the very people you had once called colleagues. Even if it was all fake. They didn't even know you were there, didn't even realize their end was coming. But you knew. And you had to end it.

The first shot rang out, and then the second. Your hand was steady, but your heart was shattering.

Fury's orders were always final, but this—this was something you could never forgive yourself for. And deep down, you knew this wasn't the last time you would be asked to betray those you cared about.

Later that night, back at the compound, you entered your room, shutting the door behind you. The mission was complete. The targets were eliminated. And yet, you felt more broken than ever.

Fury had been right, in a way. You had never had a choice. And now, there was no going back.

———

You stared at the small vial of medication on your bedside table. It was something Fury had given you for the pain, for the nightmares. The nightmares of the faces you had seen on that mission. The faces of the people you had once worked with, now gone.

Your heart raced as you reached for it. But then, just before you could swallow the pills, the door to your room opened without warning.

Standing in the doorway was Natasha Romanoff, her expression unreadable, but the concern in her eyes unmistakable.

"Y/N..." Natasha's voice was barely above a whisper.

You froze. For the first time in a long time, you felt seen. You felt exposed.

But even as Natasha stepped closer, you couldn't bring herself to explain. You couldn't let anyone in, not even Natasha—especially not Natasha. Fury had made sure of that.

"I'm fine," You said, your voice trembling, but you quickly masked it with a cold, indifferent tone. "I have work to do."

Natasha didn't move, didn't back down. Instead, she just stared at you—saying everything without words.

You stared at the small vial of pills in your hand, your thumb tracing the edge of the glass. You could hear Natasha's voice behind you, but it felt distant, muffled by the storm raging in your chest.

"You can't keep doing this, Y/N," Natasha said softly, her voice laced with concern, but there was no escaping the conviction in her tone. "You're not fine. Whatever this is, you're not okay. We can talk about it, but you have to let someone in."

Your gaze remained fixed on the vial. You didn't have an answer. You didn't have anything left to say. The silence between them stretched thin, but Natasha wasn't backing down.

"Y/N," Natasha continued, her voice growing firmer. "I've seen you shut everyone out. I've seen the way you've been looking at the team. Hell, I've seen the way you look at me. You're not even the same person anymore. You were gone for five years, and you came back like a completely different person. What happened?"

Your grip tightened around the glass vial, your knuckles turning white. You didn't want to do this. You didn't want to talk about it. But Natasha kept pushing, her persistence like a needle that kept piercing through the walls you had carefully built.

"I don't need to talk," You said, your voice colder than you intended. "There's nothing to talk about."

But Natasha wasn't backing off.

"Yes, there is. There's everything to talk about," she pressed, her eyes unwavering. "I've been watching you, Y/N. I've seen the way you've been spiraling, and I know something's wrong. You're not just 'fine.' This isn't just about some mission, is it? This is about you. You're carrying something—something heavy. And you're trying to shoulder it alone. But you don't have to."

You felt the weight of those words sink into your chest. You were suffocating under the pressure. Your fingers trembled, and for the first time in a long while, you didn't feel in control.

"I'm fine," you lied, your voice unsteady. "Just let it go, Natasha."

"No," Natasha's voice was sharp, a hard edge to it now. "I'm not letting it go. Not until you tell me what's going on. You used to trust me. We used to be able to talk about everything. What happened to that, huh? Why can't you let me in?"

Your head snapped up, your eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and desperation. "Because I'm dangerous, Natasha," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "You don't understand what I've done. What I've become. If I told you, you wouldn't look at me the same way. You wouldn't look at me at all."

"You don't know that. You're not the same person you were before, but you don't have to be alone in this," Natasha argued, her voice quieter now, but still intense. "Please, talk to me."

Your mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts, memories, and pain. You had tried to bury it all—the truth, the guilt, the shame. But it was rising to the surface, threatening to choke you.

"I don't want to talk," you snapped, your voice rising with a sudden outburst. "I don't want anyone's pity, and I don't want anyone's judgment. I've made my choices, and I have to live with them."

You turned quickly, your frustration boiling over. Without a second glance at Natasha, you walked toward the exit of the compound, your footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. You couldn't stay here anymore. You couldn't face anyone—not yet. The weight of everything was too much to bear.

But Natasha didn't stop. She followed, her voice trailing behind, insistent. "Y/N, don't do this. Please. I know you. You're not this person. You don't have to keep running. You can talk to me."

As they passed through the common area, heading toward the exit, your steps faltered. The weight of Natasha's words pressed against you, and for a moment, it felt like your legs couldn't move forward.

“Y/N!” She said.

“Drop it Natasha!”

“Why are you so afraid?!” Nat screamed. “Y/N!”

But then, without warning, the floodgates opened.

"I'm Hydra Natasha. Is that what you want to hear? I work for them. I have been working for them for the past 10 years.!” You snapped, your voice breaking. Your words hung in the air, loud and raw.

The room fell dead silent. Everyone who had been sitting around the table, ready for dinner, froze. Tony, Steve, Wanda, Sam, Bucky—all of them. They turned to look at you, stunned into silence by the words that had just escaped your lips.

Bucky's eyes narrowed in confusion and disbelief. He opened his mouth, his voice strained. "What do you mean you're Hydra?"

You stood still, your body stiff with the weight of their gazes, their shock. You could feel the eyes of your teammates, your friends, burning into you, each one processing the words in their own way.

You took a deep breath and spoke, your voice shaking but steady. "I am a part of Hydra. I joined them. My parents died in an explosion when I was a kid—collateral damage, they called it. The government couldn't care less. So, I joined Hydra. To take them down. To make them pay for what they did to my family."

There was a pause—a long one. No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock, grappling with the weight of your revelation.

Tony was the first to break the silence, his voice cutting through the tension. "And that's it? That's why you've been acting like this? You were a kid when it happened, Y/N. You're not a part of Hydra anymore. Why the hell is Fury pushing you like this? What's he making you do?"

"I... I did more than just join Hydra," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "During a mission... I was ordered to take down a building. There was a daycare inside. I didn't know... but Fury's daughter was there. She was only three. And I... I killed her. I didn't know, but I killed her."

Your eyes welled with tears as you choked on the words, but you forced herself to keep going.

"I betrayed my country. I betrayed all of you. And I've been doing off-the-books missions for Fury ever since. He's been using me as his puppet. I do what he tells me to, no questions asked. Because I owe it to him.”

“Why?” Asked Sam.

“Because he didn’t kill me. He should have, but he didn’t. And as you see… i’m not stuck on a hole either. But there’s a price to pay, and this is mine.” You said trying to convince yourself that it was all justified.

Steve's expression darkened, and he stepped forward, his fists clenched. "So you work for the same damn organization we've been trying to stop? You've been killing people for them? And all this time, you didn't tell us?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. The rage inside you flared, but so did the guilt.

"I didn't have a choice, Steve," you snapped, stepping forward. "I didn't have a choice. And you—you of all people have no right to judge me for doing what I had to. You betrayed your country too, remember? You broke records, broke the rules, to find Bucky! You weren't exactly playing by the book either."

The room went silent again, Steve's expression tightening with the weight of your words.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, the anger, guilt, and pain mixing in a cocktail too bitter to swallow. You couldn't stay there anymore. You couldn't stand looking at them like this.

Wanda stood frozen in the doorway, her heart beating painfully in her chest as your words crashed over the room. Every sentence, every revelation, felt like a weight pressing down on her ribs, suffocating her. The truth was out now. You had been Hydra. You had betrayed them all.

But there was something more to it—something that twisted deep inside Wanda's gut. The girl she loved, the one who had been the light in her life through all the darkness, had been holding this secret alone. You had carried this burden, this guilt, this pain, without saying a word. And Wanda hadn't known.

As the words tumbled out of your mouth, Wanda felt as though her heart was being torn from her chest. Every word felt like a dagger, each one driving deeper into her skin, into her soul. She wanted to reach out, to stop you, to tell you that you didn't have to carry it all alone anymore. But Wanda couldn't speak. She couldn't find the words.

The revelation that you had been part of Hydra was earth-shattering. That wasn't the part that crushed Wanda. It was the part where you spoke about killing Fury's daughter, the innocent three-year-old girl who had been nothing but a casualty in a war that was never hers to fight. Wanda watched as your voice cracked, watched as the weight of your own actions pushed you to the brink of breaking.

You were broken already, weren’t you?

Wanda's chest tightened, and her hand instinctively reached for her heart, as if trying to hold it together. Her mind flashed to the times she had spent with you—the quiet conversations, the late-night talks, the moments where you two had laughed and shared your deepest fears. All of those moments felt so distant now, like they belonged to someone else.

But the worst part was the guilt that gnawed at Wanda. She had seen the changes in you, had felt the distance growing between you two. But she never questioned it, never pushed you to talk. Wanda had thought she was giving you space. She had assumed that it was just a phase—something that would pass, that you would eventually open up and everything would be okay again.

But it wasn't okay.

And Wanda had been so blind.

She should've known. She should've noticed the signs—the way you avoided them, the way she pushed everyone away. How could she have missed it? How could she have missed the person she loved falling apart in front of her?

Wanda closed her eyes, feeling the tears she had been holding back for so long finally beginning to sting her eyes. The guilt was overwhelming. She could've been there for you. She should've been there for you. She should've seen the pain behind your eyes, heard the silent pleas for help that were there, if only Wanda had looked closely enough.

But she hadn't. And now, you were breaking into a thousand pieces in front of them, and Wanda had no idea how to put you back together.

Everyone else in the room was silent, their faces pale, shocked. Bucky's eyes were wide, as if he couldn't comprehend the truth that was standing before him. Steve's expression was tense, his jaw clenched in frustration. Tony's face was unreadable, but Wanda could see the hurt in his eyes. He had lost you too.

And then there was Sam, who stood off to the side, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes dark with disbelief. They were all hurting, but no one was hurting more than Wanda.

She had known you like no one else. You had shared your vulnerabilities, your secrets, your dreams. Wanda had trusted you. She had trusted you with her heart. And now, to know that you had been carrying such a heavy burden—alone, in silence, out of fear or shame—felt like a betrayal.

But it wasn't a betrayal. Not from you.

Wanda's chest tightened as she realized that you had been forced into this situation. You had been used. You had been manipulated by Fury, just like she had been manipulated by Hydra. But Wanda hadn't been there for you. She hadn't seen what Fury had done to you, what he had turned you into.

When you left, the room seemed to collapse around Wanda. The silence was deafening, and she found herself unable to move, unable to speak. All she could do was stand there, frozen, watching the woman she loved walk away, your back turned, leaving everyone behind.

"Are we just going to let her walk away like that?" Tony's voice cut through the stillness.

"I..." Wanda's voice faltered as she tried to speak, but no words came out. She felt like her throat was closing, like the tears were choking her. "I... I should've seen it. I should've known. I... I didn't—"

Bucky's voice was soft, almost mournful. "None of us saw it, Wanda. Don't blame yourself."

But she couldn't stop. She couldn't stop the guilt that was pouring in like a flood. She had promised you that you two would get through things together. She had promised you she would be there. And now, she felt like a stranger to the woman she loved. The woman who was falling apart.

Wanda's hand flew to her mouth as the sobs wracked her body. She wanted to run after you, to pull you back, to hold you, to make you understand that you weren't alone. But deep down, Wanda knew that you didn't want anyone to come after you—not yet.

The team stood around her, looking at the door where you had disappeared, but Wanda felt completely alone. There was so much left unsaid between both of you, and Wanda wasn't sure if you would ever let her back in again.

The weight of everything—the lies, the secrets, the betrayal—pressed down on her chest until it was hard to breathe. She had lost you. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, she had lost you. And no amount of apologies or explanations would ever fix that.

In the end, Wanda had failed you. And now, all she could do was wait—wait and hope that you would come back, that you would find the strength to face the truth, to face yourself.

But deep down, Wanda knew that it was never going to be that easy.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 3

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst

Prologue. Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

The days stretched on, each one feeling heavier than the last. Y/N had become more of a ghost than a person within the compound. She spoke only to Fury and Maria, keeping herself locked away in her room when she wasn't on mission. She had grown distant from the team, and the absence of her usual presence left a noticeable void. Where once she had been a lively part of the group, now there was only silence. She didn't talk to anyone, not even Natasha. The same quiet isolation that had taken root in her heart after that night with Wanda seemed to be consuming her completely.

And Wanda... she hadn't spoken to her either. There was no need. What was there to say? Everything had changed in a moment, and it seemed that silence was the only thing that could fill the gap between them.

That day, the team had just returned from a mission. Y/N hadn't been on it—she had "something to take care of" according to her, but no one had asked too many questions. It had become a regular excuse. Instead, she had been given a solo mission by Fury, one she completed alone, without the usual fanfare or team discussions.

Back at the compound, as everyone gathered in the common room, the conversation turned to Y/N.

"I've never seen her like this," Tony said, leaning back in his chair, a look of mild concern crossing his face. "Always with Fury, always in her room. She's a shadow of herself, and it's... unsettling."

Steve gave a quiet nod, but it was Wanda's silence that was the most telling.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "What's going on with you two? You've been kind of quiet, Wanda. You used to talk to her all the time. You think she's okay?"

Wanda just shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't. She doesn't open up to me anymore." Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of something buried beneath it—hurt, maybe? But that was impossible to tell. She had a million thoughts racing through her mind, but Vision's presence kept her from expressing any of them. He was a constant shadow, and as much as she tried to ignore it, his presence lingered.

Tony didn't seem convinced. "That's strange. She and you... you were close, right? It's just not like her to shut everyone out. I mean, I'm not exactly a shrink, but when someone starts hiding away like that... something's up."

Wanda was quiet again, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. She wanted to say something—anything—to explain her feelings. To share her concern for Y/N. But it wasn't just about Y/N anymore. Wanda had her own things to grapple with, things that had nothing to do with the team. Vision had become her anchor, but the guilt she carried about moving on from Y/N hung heavy in her heart. She couldn't shake it.

"I don't know," Steve said softly, his gaze never leaving her glass. "It's all... strange. And it feels like something's broken."

Natasha, who had been sitting in the corner of the room quietly listening, shifted in her seat. She could feel it—her instincts, sharper than most, were telling her that something was going on with Y/N. Something more than just the obvious withdrawal. And the fact that no one seemed to be pushing her for answers was only making Natasha feel more unsettled.

"I can't shake the feeling that something's going on," Natasha muttered, her voice low but intense. "She's pulling away from everyone. From me, from all of us. I just don't buy it. I don't buy that it's all just because of missions."

Tony and Steve exchanged looks, but didn't respond. They all knew that Natasha's instincts were rarely wrong.

"Maybe we should just give her space," Bucky suggested, though there was a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.

Natasha shook her head. "No. This isn't just space. This is something else."

And so, the conversation died down, the weight of their concerns hanging in the air, but unspoken. It was clear that everyone felt the change in Y/N's demeanor, but no one quite knew what to do about it.

Later that night, after the others had gone to bed, Natasha couldn't sleep. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. Y/N had been absent from the mission, withdrawn from the team, and she hadn't even come to talk to her about it. Natasha had always been there for her, always been able to get through to her. So why now?

She heard the soft sound of the door opening, followed by the quiet click of it shutting. Y/N had returned from her mission. Natasha didn't wait another second. She got out of bed and walked into the hallway, stopping just outside of Y/N's door.

She knocked, then opened the door slightly.

"Y/N?" Natasha's voice was gentle but firm. "We need to talk."

Y/N froze, standing just inside the room, her back to Natasha. The usual walls were in place, the ones that kept Natasha from reaching her. But Natasha wasn't about to let this go.

"What's going on with you?" Natasha asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "You've been avoiding everyone. You've been avoiding me. This isn't just about missions. It's more than that. You can't keep hiding like this."

Y/N's shoulders tensed. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to have this conversation. But Natasha's piercing eyes were too much for her to ignore.

"I'm fine," Y/N said, her voice flat. "I just needed some time to take care of things. It's nothing."

Natasha's face hardened. "Don't lie to me. Don't shut me out. I'm the last person you need to hide things from."

Y/N swallowed hard, and for a moment, she felt a pang of guilt. But it was fleeting. She wasn't ready to open up. Not yet.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for leaving you in the dark."

Natasha shook her head, frustration creeping into her voice. "You don't get to apologize like that. Not after everything. I don't care if it's about the mission, Y/N. You could've come to me. You could've told me what was really going on."

Y/N's jaw tightened. "I couldn't. You wouldn't understand."

Natasha stepped forward, her voice rising. "What do you mean I wouldn't understand? I am the person who would understand. I would've been there for you, Y/N. I always have been. But now you're just pushing me away. You can't do that. You can't just leave me behind like that."

Y/N felt the anger bubble inside her. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I wasn't here, but I'm telling you, you need to let this go. I can't risk jeopardizing my mission by getting distracted."

It hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She could hear the finality in Y/N's tone, the cold distance in her words. She had been right all along—something was going on. But what was worse was that Y/N was pushing her away for something she wouldn't even explain.

"No," Natasha said softly but firmly. "You don't get to push me away like this. You don't get to pretend like I don't matter. I need to know what's going on, Y/N. We need to know. Don't shut us out anymore."

But Y/N just shook her head, her expression hardening. "I'm sorry, Natasha. I can't do this right now. I need to keep my focus."

With that, she turned and walked to her desk, refusing to look back. Natasha stood there for a moment, her heart heavy in her chest, before slowly retreating to the door.

As she left the room, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong—and that Y/N was too far gone to help.

But she wouldn't stop trying.

Not yet.

Two days had passed, and things had only gotten worse. You had become a shadow of yourself, even more withdrawn and distant than before. Whatever Fury was making you do was clearly taking its toll on you, both physically and mentally. Tony couldn't stand seeing you like this. It was one thing to see you isolating youself from the team, but to watch you deteriorate so completely—it was breaking him.

You hadn't smiled in days, barely spoke unless you had to, and every time Tony tried to reach out, you pulled away. He had been there for you through thick and thin, had been the closest thing to family you had. The memories of your time together felt like echoes now—memories of a time when you were whole, when you were his little sister, always ready to joke, to fight beside him, to challenge him. But now, all he saw in your eyes was an emptiness that made his chest ache.

The worst part? You eeren't talking to anyone. You had stopped talking to Natasha weeks ago, and she wouldn't even look at Wanda anymore. Her life had become a series of solo missions, ones Fury assigned her, ones that pulled her further away from everyone. Tony couldn't take it any longer. He had to find out what was going on.

It was late, and the compound was quiet. Most of the team was asleep or off on their own business, but Tony was pacing the hallway, his mind spinning. He couldn't let this go. He needed answers. And the only person who might know anything was the one pulling all the strings—Nick Fury.

Tony stormed into Fury's office without knocking, slamming the door behind him. Fury didn't even look up from his desk, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard in front of him, as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"You know, I'm getting pretty damn tired of this," Tony said, his voice sharp. Fury's calm demeanor only made him more agitated.

Fury glanced up at him briefly, his expression unreadable. "Tired of what? You've been running around with your tech, Stark. What's got your panties in a bunch now?"

"Y/N," Tony said, his voice rising. "What the hell is going on with her? She's falling apart, and you're just letting it happen. I can see it, Fury. We all can. You're dragging her down a path she doesn't need to go on. What the hell are you making her do?"

Fury's face hardened, his posture stiffening as he leaned back in his chair. "I don't know what you're talking about. She's handling things her way. She's doing what needs to be done."

Tony took a step forward, fists clenched. "No, she's not. She's not the same. She's been isolating herself, barely sleeping, barely eating. Hell, she looks like she hasn't seen the sun in days. And you're the one doing this to her. Whatever mission you've got her on, whatever you've got her wrapped up in, it's killing her."

Fury's eyes flashed with irritation, but his tone remained cold. "You don't know what's going on, Stark. So, unless you want to stay out of it, I suggest you do just that."

"Don't give me that crap, Fury," Tony shot back, the words practically flying out of his mouth. "I know you. You always have some hidden agenda, some reason for everything you do. I've seen how you work. You don't just drag people through this kind of shit without a reason. And I'm done pretending it's for the greater good."

Fury stood up slowly, his eyes narrowing. "You better watch your mouth, Tony. You don't want to go down that road with me."

"Or what, Fury? You'll shut down the Avengers? You'll throw us all out?" Tony's voice dripped with sarcasm. "That'll work well. Maybe we can all join Y/N in isolation while you play whatever game you're playing."

Fury's lips twitched in irritation, his voice lowering to a dangerous level. "You don't know the half of it, Stark. If you want to keep pushing, I can make sure you're not around to worry about it anymore. I'll shut this whole thing down—Avengers, SHIELD, everything. You can't handle it, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming despite the tension. "Oh, I see. It's that serious, huh? For you to get this worked up? Something tells me whatever this is—it's real deep, Fury. And you don't want anyone digging too far. Well, guess what? I'm not dropping this. Not now. Not ever. You know me better than that."

Fury's gaze darkened. "I'm warning you, Stark. Don't push me. You don't want to find out what happens if you do."

Tony shook his head, his usual cocky smile still present. "Oh, I already know. You shut things down, and you lose. So, how about this: You tell me what's really going on with Y/N, and I'll stop poking around. You don't tell me—well, I'm not just gonna sit around like the rest of them. This is bigger than you're letting on, Fury. And you know it."

There was a long pause as Fury stared at him, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a heavy sigh, Fury spoke, his voice low. "You think you know it all, Stark. But you don't. I'm not telling you a damn thing."

Tony didn't flinch, but his mind was already racing. He had known Fury wouldn't give him an answer. But the fact that Fury was acting this way—defensive, angry, more so than usual—meant one thing. Something was going on that was bigger than anyone could understand.

"Fine," Tony said, turning to leave. "But mark my words, Fury. I'm not going to stop until I figure this out. Y/N deserves better than this. And I won't let you ruin her. Not this time."

As Tony walked out of the office, his mind was buzzing with questions. Fury's behavior confirmed it—something was terribly wrong. And whatever it was, Tony was determined to find out. For Y/N, and for the sake of everyone else.

He had lost her once already. He wouldn't let it happen again.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 4

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst

Prologue. Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3.

a/n: I posted two chapters in a row because chapter 3 felt a little bit empty of content. Comments are more than welcome! <3

The cold glow of the night's light barely illuminated the common area as you sat at the table, surrounded by piles of mission reports, data, and a stack of unfinished tasks. Your mind was miles away from the paperwork, consumed by a storm of emotions you could barely keep contained. You were used to working through the pain, but today, everything felt different.

It was a low hum of mechanical steps that drew your attention to the doorway. You didn't need to turn to know it was Vision—his presence was always a quiet storm in itself. He didn't speak at first. He just stood there, observing her as you continued to write, your fingers shaking just slightly.

"Y/N," Vision finally said, his tone cold, unyielding.

You didn't respond. You couldn't bring herself to look at him, especially not now. Not after everything that had happened. After all the things you had been running from, Vision was the last person you wanted to deal with.

"You're still here," Vision's voice was sharp, his words biting through the silence. "After everything, you're still here."

You clenched her jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. You could feel the anger rising in her chest, the burning need to defend herself—but you knew this conversation would go nowhere good. It had never been good with Vision. Not since he and Wanda became close again.

"I don't need this," you muttered, not looking up, your hand still hovering over the tablet, though your thoughts were miles away.

"Wanda doesn't need you here, either," Vision said, stepping closer, his gaze unwavering. "Not anymore."

Your heart skipped a beat. You finally looked up, meeting his cold, unfeeling gaze. "What did you say?" you asked, your voice dangerously low.

Vision's expression hardened. "I mean you've done enough. You've hurt her enough. She doesn't need to be dragged back into this." His words were deliberate, each one hitting harder than the last.

Yor heart pounded in your chest, your breath quickening. "You think I've hurt her?" you shot back, standing up abruptly, your hands curling into fists. "You think I hurt her? You think I'm the one who did that?"

"Yes," Vision's voice was sharp, each word punctuated with cold certainty. "You've broken her. She's suffered for years, waiting for you to come back. And now, all you've done is leave her questioning whether or not she should have ever believed in you. It's time you face the truth, Y/N. Wanda's moving on, and you need to leave her be. She deserves someone who can give her the future she's always wanted."

You felt the weight of his words like a stone sinking deep in your stomach. "You think she deserves you?" you snapped, your powers beginning to crackle in the air, the electricity around you flaring slightly as you fought to keep control. "You think you're better for her than I am?"

"I don't think," Vision said coldly, his voice now laced with disgust. "I know. Wanda chose me. You didn't give her the chance to choose you. You left, Y/N. You left her to pick up the pieces of herself."

Your chest tightened, the anger and hurt threatening to overwhelm you. "I never told her to wait. I never promised her I'd come back. I couldn't," you said through gritted teeth.

Vision took another step forward, his eyes narrowing with determination. "But she doesn't need you now."

The words felt like daggers, twisting in your heart. You wanted to scream at him, to lash out. But the voice in the back of your head—the one that was slowly swallowing your whole—was whispering that he was right. Maybe he was right.

"I'm not backing off, Vision," You spat, your fists trembling. "You don't get to tell me what to do. You don't get to decide who she needs. You're just afraid of me, afraid that I can still reach her, that she still wants me—"

Vision's voice sliced through you like a knife. "You're the one who's afraid. Afraid that she'll realize she's better off without you. I'm not the one who's been running. She doesn't love you anymore. She can't love you after everything you've done."

You recoiled at his words, your stomach twisting. It felt like a punch to the gut. Every word he said cut deeper than the last.

"She chose me the day she said Yes when I asked her to marry me." Vision continued, his voice steady, cold, final.

"You don't get to tell me that Wanda's better off with you." Your voice was steady, but the energy around you crackled with rage. "You don't get to tell me that I'm the one who's broken her. That's not your decision to make."

Vision's eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion, but then, without warning, he stepped toward you, his face inches from yours. "Then what will you do, Y/N? Will you continue to drag her down with you? Will you keep telling yourself that you're still what she needs, when all you've ever done is hurt her?" His voice was dangerously soft, and each word landed like a blow.

That was it.

With a guttural roar, You unleashed her powers, sending a surge of electrical energy at Vision. The blast hit him square in the chest, sending him skidding back, his synthetic body absorbing most of the force, but the sheer power of the strike left him momentarily stunned.

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" You yelled, your eyes burning with a fire you hadn't felt in so long. "You think I don't know what I did to her? You think I don't live with that every day? But you don't get to decide what's best for her, Vision."

Vision, recovering quickly, glared at you with a quiet intensity."You let her wait for you, let her believe in you. And all you've done is destroy her. Now it's my turn to protect her from you."

With that, Vision reached out, his hands glowing with a soft energy that pulsed in the air around him. He shot forward, creating a field of energy that pushed you back, but you weren't going to back down.

"You can't stop me," You growled through gritted teeth, your powers flaring once more as you reached out with both hands. A bolt of pure energy shot forward, crashing into Vision's energy field, causing an explosion of sparks that lit up the room.

The walls began to tremble from the force of their clash, and the sound of cracking metal filled the air as the two powers collided, each fighting for dominance. Your chest was heaving with every breath, your mind spinning with confusion, anger, and heartbreak. You knew you couldn't let him win this fight. You couldn't let him make you feel like you weren't worth fighting for, not again.

But Vision was relentless.

He shot a wave of force straight at you, sending you flying backward into a wall, the impact rattling your bones. The breath was knocked out of you, but before you could recover, Vision was on top of you, pinning you to the floor with a force you couldn't fight against. His eyes were filled with a cold, unfeeling determination.

"This is the reality, Y/N," Vision's voice was quiet, but each word was like a dagger. "She's chosen me. She doesn't need you. You've hurt her enough, and now it's time for you to leave her. She deserves a life without you dragging her down."

Your, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, gritted your teeth, feeling the weight of his words like a crushing blow. But you weren't going to let him break you. Not now, not when you still believed in what you once had.

With a final, furious scream, you gathered every ounce of strength left in you and forced your power out in a desperate push, knocking Vision back with a blast so intense that it shattered the nearby glass. Vision staggered, visibly shaken, but he regained his composure almost immediately, his eyes now glowing brighter, his body rigid.

"I'm not leaving, Vision," You said, your voice shaking with fury, but there was a deep pain underneath it. "And you can't make me."

That's when the team began to stir. The noise from the fight had roused the others. Tony, Steve, Sam—they all arrived in the hallway, having heard the commotion.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Tony yelled, his eyes widening at the sight of the destruction in the common area. "Y/N! Vision! Stop this, now!"

Steve stepped forward, a sense of urgency in his voice. "Y/N, stop! This isn't you!"

Your breathing was erratic, your body still trembling with the intensity of the fight. Your eyes locked onto Vision's one last time before you spoke through gritted teeth.

"You don't get to tell me what I'm worth. And you don't get to decide what Wanda deserves."

But before Vision could respond, Wanda appeared in the doorway, her face pale, eyes wide with confusion and hurt. She didn't understand what was happening—she didn't know where the girl she loved had gone, or why the man she was about to marry was fighting for her like this.

"Vision! What are you doing?!" Wanda's voice trembled, a mixture of fear and heartbreak cutting through the air. "Stop! Stop this now!"

And that's when everything froze.

You and Vision were held by the team. Tony and Sam had managed to restrain you, while Steve was doing his best to keep Vision from moving forward. But it was Wanda, standing there in the doorway, who shattered the silence.

Your eyes were wild with emotion. "What?! Are you jealous that I used to fuck your soon-to-be wife?!" you screamed at Vision, your words cutting through the room like a blade. It wasn't rational. It wasn't fair. But in that moment, the anger and the pain were overwhelming, and you didn't know how else to lash out.

Natasha, with quick reflexes, moved toward you, grabbing you and pulling you away from the chaos. She was furious, but there was something broken in her gaze as she guided you out of the room.

"What the hell, Y/N?!" Natasha hissed, her grip tightening on your arm. "You can't just say things like that. You think that's gonna fix this?"

You looked at her, your face a mask of anger and despair. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Natasha. I just—I don't know what's real."

As Natasha led you out of the room, leaving the team to deal with the aftermath of the destruction, Wanda stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes darting between the mess and Vision. Her heart ached with every word, every action, every scream.

She wanted to fix everything. She wanted to reach for you, to tell her that she still loved you. But the brokenness, the weight of everything you two had been through, felt too heavy to overcome.

And so, as the door clicked shut behind them, Wanda was left standing alone in the doorway, lost in a sea of confusion, pain, and unanswered questions.

The night dragged on, but you didn't feel it. It was as if the very passage of time had slowed, your world reduced to an aching blur of regret and loss. The bottle of whiskey in your hand had long since emptied, but the numbness it promised was elusive, leaving only raw emptiness in its wake. The thoughts spiraled, faster, deeper—tugging at you until you could barely breathe beneath their weight. The fight with Vision was still fresh, his cruel words haunting you, echoing in your mind like a broken record.

"I don’t deserve to be loved," you whispered to yourself, your voice hoarse, barely audible over the storm raging in your heart. "Wanda doesn’t deserve this... she deserves someone whole, someone strong. Not... this."

But the ache in your chest wouldn't cease. You wanted to forget. To forget everything—the missions, the lies, the pain. And most of all, you wanted to forget the woman you once loved. But that was impossible. Wanda was always there, always in the back of your mind, her image haunting every corner of your fractured soul.

Just as your thoughts began to drown you again, a soft voice cut through the darkness. "Y/N?"

Wanda's voice was gentle, barely a whisper, but it was enough to make your heart seize. Your body stiffened at the sound of it, but you didn't move, not even to look at her. You couldn't face her. Not now. Not like this.

Wanda's footsteps echoed in the stillness of the room as she approached. You could hear her breathing, could feel the concern and tenderness in the way she moved toward you. You couldn't understand it. After everything, after how you'd left, after how you'd hurt Wanda, how could she still care?

You felt Wanda’s hand on your shoulder, and despite yourself, you flinched. The touch was so familiar, so warm, but it hurt too much. Every inch of your body screamed to pull away, to hide, but Wanda was there, her voice soft, breaking through the haze that clouded your mind.

"Look at me, Y/N," Wanda said quietly, her words filled with a desperation you’d never heard from her before.

Slowly, almost painfully, you lifted your eyes, bloodshot and glazed with tears. You had never felt more broken in your life, and seeing Wanda like this only made it worse. The pain in your heart intensified as you saw the concern on Wanda’s face, the love that still lingered there despite everything.

"Wanda..." your voice cracked as you spoke, barely more than a whisper. "I’ve ruined everything. I ruined us. I’m broken. You’re better off without me."

Wanda shook her head, her face soft with the kind of sorrow that made your heart shatter. "No, Y/N. You're not broken. You’re just lost. And I know you don’t believe it, but you can find your way back."

You let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. "I’m beyond saving, Wanda. I’ve hurt too many people. I’ve hurt you. Just let me go."

But Wanda wasn’t listening to the words you were saying. She couldn't. Because even through the pain, through all the broken pieces of your past, there was still a part of Wanda that needed to be near you, that still loved you.

With a careful hand, Wanda helped you to your feet, steadying you when your legs nearly buckled under your weight. You barely noticed as she guided you down the hall, the only sound filling the air was the soft rhythm of her steps beside you.

She helped you into your room, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated as you fought to keep your head up. You felt the cool air of the room as she eased you onto the bed, her gentle hands stripping away your boots and slipping you into the comfortable sweatpants you'd once loved to wear after a hard day—just like when things were easier, before everything fell apart.

Her touch was gentle, soothing, as if she was still trying to protect you from the wreckage of your own mind. You could barely keep your eyes open as she tucked you into bed, the familiar scent of her lingering in the air.

As you lay there, exhausted, on the edge of consciousness, you heard Wanda’s voice again, softer this time, like a prayer.

"I missed you," she whispered, brushing a tear away from your cheek, her fingers trembling as she wiped away the traces of your pain. She leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "I missed you so much..."

The words were whispered in a broken, aching tone, like a confession of everything left unsaid, everything left undone. And as you slipped into the dark embrace of sleep, Wanda stood there, watching you, her heart torn in two. She still loved you. But the road to fixing you, fixing what you had been, was so much harder than she ever thought.

And for a moment, as she stood there, her heart aching, Wanda wondered if she could ever let go of the love she had for you. Could she watch you destroy yourself and do nothing? Or would she always be tied to you, bound by the weight of everything that had come before?

With one last, lingering look, Wanda turned and left the room, her steps slow, hesitant. She wasn’t sure where to go from here. She wasn’t sure what was left for either of you anymore.

But one thing was clear. The woman she had once loved was breaking, and she couldn't stand to watch it any longer.

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 2

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Warnings: Angst Prologue. Chapter 1.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft clink of glass against the counter as you poured yourself another drink. The sharp burn of alcohol helped numb the ache in your chest, though it was only temporary. You stared at the glass, the amber liquid swirling in lazy circles, your mind a thousand miles away. The lights in the compound had dimmed, and the world outside seemed to fall away with the evening, leaving you in a kind of suspended grief.

It was supposed to be temporary.

You kept repeating it to yourself, over and over, like a mantra. The mission had been long, and you'd been told it would take time. Five years wasn't supposed to be forever. But it was. And in those five years, Wanda had moved on. She was about to marry Vision.

You slammed the glass down harder than you meant to, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You thought you had a future with her. You thought you could come back and pick up where you left off. But now it was just this—her, standing next to Vision, so sure of her decision, while you were left in the dust.

The memories were still there, haunting. The way Wanda's laughter had filled every corner of your world. The feel of her hand in yours as you walked through the streets together, the warmth of her embrace that made everything else feel insignificant. You remembered how she would look at you, like you were her entire world.

But that was gone now.

As you swallowed the bitter taste of your drink, you let your mind wander back to the past, to the soft brush of her lips against yours, the way her touch had sent warmth coursing through your veins. How everything felt like it had been meant to be—until it wasn’t.

You could hear the faint echo of laughter in your mind, a ghost of a time when things had been simple, when love hadn’t been this complicated, this painful.

But now she was about to marry someone else. Vision. The thought felt like a punch to the gut, over and over again.

Your fists clenched as the anger bubbled up. How could she move on so easily? Was everything you had, everything you shared, just... erased? How could she be so sure, so certain about him? About this future that was supposed to be yours? It was like a dam breaking inside you, the fury rising and threatening to overtake everything else.

"How could you do this, Wanda?" you muttered to the empty kitchen. "How could you just forget me?"

You took another drink, the burn only slightly dulled by the alcohol. Your head was spinning, your heart aching, and all you wanted was answers—answers you weren’t sure you’d ever get.

But as you poured yourself another glass, the feeling of being watched crawled over you.

You froze.

In the doorway stood Wanda, her figure illuminated by the dim hallway light, her expression unreadable as she watched you, her eyes intense and full of something you couldn’t place. It took you a moment to register that she was standing there, and when you finally looked at her, your breath caught in your throat. The way she was looking at you—it wasn’t with warmth or comfort. It was something different. Something uncertain.

She didn’t speak at first, but the silence between you was charged, thick with unspoken words. You could feel the weight of everything—every unasked question, every lingering glance, every moment lost to time. It was all pressing on you, and it hurt more than you were ready to admit.

Finally, Wanda broke the silence. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice quiet but sharp, almost accusing.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. The words stuck in your throat, choked by the anger and sadness you’d been bottling up ever since you saw her with Vision.

It stung.

"I came back because I was supposed to," you said, the words bitter on your tongue. You turned away from her, gripping the counter tightly. "I came back because I thought you’d be here. Thought we would be here."

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze never leaving you, her brows furrowing in confusion. "And now you’re here," she murmured, her voice cracking slightly. "But why? Why now? After all this time?"

"Because I had no choice!" you snapped, spinning to face her. "I didn’t leave because I wanted to, Wanda. I didn’t leave you because I chose to. I was gone because I was forced to be. You don’t think I wanted to be with you? To come back to you? To come home?"

Wanda winced, stepping back, as though your words had physically struck her. "You don’t understand," she said, her voice strained like she was barely holding it together. "I thought you were dead. I thought you were never coming back. I couldn’t—" She cut herself off, swallowing the rest of her words.

"You couldn’t what?" You took a step forward, the anger rising in your chest again. "You couldn’t wait for me, Wanda? You couldn’t wait for the one person who said they’d come back for you?"

The words felt harsh as they left your mouth, and you instantly regretted them. But you couldn’t stop. The grief and anger were overwhelming.

"I never moved on," Wanda whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "I couldn’t. I—I tried, but every day, all I thought about was you. You were the one I couldn’t forget. But I didn’t know if you were still out there, Y/N. I didn’t know if you were alive."

You stared at her, your breath coming in sharp gasps. "And then what? You just... let go? You just forgot? Because I was gone?"

"I didn’t forget," Wanda whispered, her voice breaking. "But I couldn’t live in the past. I had to move forward. I had to survive. And I found comfort in Vision. I—I’m sorry, but that’s the truth."

You felt your heart shatter again, the pieces scattering across the floor. "Comfort?" You laughed bitterly, wiping at your eyes as tears you didn’t realize were there started to fall. "That’s what I was to you? A memory you could forget when things got too hard?"

Wanda flinched, her face contorting with guilt. "It wasn’t like that," she said quietly. "But you don’t understand. I needed to move on. I needed to find a way to keep going. And... and I thought you were gone forever. I thought you left me."

Your chest tightened, the hurt squeezing the air from your lungs. "I didn’t leave you, Wanda. I didn’t. I tried. I tried to come back."

The room was heavy with your words, the silence thick with all the things that had been left unsaid for too long.

Wanda’s eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought she might say something—anything—to make it better. But instead, she just looked at you, a glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

"I know," she said quietly. "I know you didn’t leave me on purpose."

"Yet, you moved on. From all the people you chose him. I guess I was too fucked up for you." The anger inside your chest started to rise, and you couldn't control the words that came from your mouth.

"Fuck you Y/N! You keep telling yourself you had no choice, but what about me?!"She said the words burning inside of her, you swear that you had never seen her like that. "What about me Y/N!? You said two goddamn weeks and you were gone for 5 whole years. Not a single call or letter, NOTHING! And what was I supposed to do? You did this to us, not me, it was all you."

You opened your mouth to say something more, but the words felt like they were too much. You were too broken, too hurt. And Wanda... Wanda was just as lost as you were.

The gap between you had only grown wider, and no amount of words would ever be able to close it.

"You don't get to judge me for trying to fix what you broke."

As you stared at each other, the reality of it all settled in—you were both so broken, so far from the people you had once been, that you weren’t sure if there was any way back. Not now. Not after everything.

"You are right. My bad."

As you turned away, the weight of everything pressed down on you with a suffocating force. Your mind screamed at you, but your body refused to move any faster as if every step you took was a betrayal. The words you had just spoken—*“You’re right. My bad”—*they felt hollow, empty like the last fragile thread of hope had snapped in an instant.

You had said them, trying to end the conversation, trying to walk away from the unbearable weight of it all. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t Wanda who had failed. It wasn’t her who had left everything to drift and rot while she fought to survive. It was you. You had been the one to vanish. You had been the one who disappeared without a word, without a promise that you could keep.

And now, standing in the hall, each step away from her felt like an assault on your very soul. You couldn't even look her in the eye anymore. How could you? How could you look at the woman you loved, the woman who had waited, and not blame yourself for everything?

You had failed her. You had failed her in the worst possible way. Not because you chose the mission over her—no, that would have been too simple. You had failed her because you never gave her the choice. You never allowed her to wait. You didn’t come back when you promised you would. You let her wonder, let her mourn, let her move on because you were too damn stubborn to admit that time had passed, that things changed.

Everything had changed, and you hadn’t been there to help her hold on to the parts of herself that had made her whole. You weren’t there for her when she needed you most. You couldn’t even give her the decency of saying goodbye before you disappeared into the abyss.

And now, five years later, you were standing in the ruins of everything you had once believed was a future. And she—she was standing with someone else, someone who had been there for her when you couldn't be. You had no right to be angry, no right to demand anything. She had every right to move on. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault that she had a life now, a life that didn’t include you.

You were broken. So utterly, completely shattered. Your heart was a crumpled, empty thing inside your chest, torn apart by guilt and regret. You didn’t know who you were anymore, not without her. And now you had to watch her be with someone else—someone who wasn’t you. It hurt more than anything else could.

The tears were hot and fierce now, and you didn’t try to stop them as they slid down your face. What right did you have to feel this way? You didn’t deserve her. You didn’t deserve to be anywhere near her, not after what you’d done.

Every step you took away from her felt like a thousand miles. Your heart ached with every movement, and the thought of turning back—to face her again—felt impossible. The pain was so much. So crushing.

"You are right," you whispered to yourself, the words tasting like ash on your tongue. My bad. You had said it in the heat of the moment, a desperate plea for the argument to end, for the situation to just stop hurting for a second. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. It wasn’t just your bad. It was so much worse than that.

You had taken five years of her life and thrown it all away. You had broken both of your hearts without even realizing it. And now, you were left alone in the wake of your destruction.

You reached the door to your room, but your legs were weak. It felt like the floor was moving beneath you, and you had no idea how to stay upright. It was like you were drowning in the weight of everything—everything you had lost, everything you had failed to keep.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, and it felt like the world had fallen apart. She was gone. She had moved on. And it was your fault.

Everything was your fault.

And for the first time in five years, you didn’t know if you’d ever find your way back to your old self.

Tag list: @seventeen-x @womenarehotsstuff

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff angst #y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wlw #y/n y/l/n

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

Text

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 1

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Prologue.

Warning: Angst

The world felt different. The air had a strange heaviness to it, thick with time and the weight of years lost. The city had changed, not just in its physical structure but in the way its people moved—like everyone was trying to adjust to something they didn’t fully understand. It had been five years. Five years since the mission. Five years since the last kiss, the last touch, the last promise whispered between you and Wanda Maximoff.

You had never imagined that you wouldn’t return to her. The mission had been long, but the time away was always supposed to be temporary. You told yourself you’d be back. You had to be back. And now you were.

Stepping into the Avengers compound for the first time in half a decade, the familiar walls seemed foreign. The faces around you were different, older, their eyes holding more secrets than when you’d left. You nodded to a few familiar faces, but nothing felt the same. Not the same as it had been when you left, when everything was easier, when you were just… together.

It was supposed to be temporary. But nothing ever is.

You had been briefed, but the words they’d said to you didn’t truly hit you until now. “She’s about to marry Vision,” Fury had said as you arrived, like it was something casual, just a fact of life. But those words were like a punch to the gut.

Wanda. About to marry Vision.

The thought clung to you, echoing in your head, refusing to leave. Your heart pounded in your chest, a rhythmic reminder that the life you thought you were coming back to didn’t exist anymore.

It was like the floor had dropped out from under you.

Your breath hitched, your hands shaking as you tried to make sense of it. Five years. Five long years of separation, and she had moved on. That reality hadn’t hit you yet—not until this moment.

You wandered the halls of the compound like a ghost trying to find the briefing room, each step carrying you deeper into a nightmare you didn’t know you were walking toward. The old familiar places—the sparring rooms, the kitchen, the common areas—felt empty like they had all been forgotten. Even the air was different, colder, somehow.

And then you saw them.

Wanda was standing in the hallway, her hair flowing like fire in the low light, her posture elegant and composed. She was talking to Vision, her fingers gently touching his arm as she spoke. The sight should have been comforting, a sign of the life she had made for herself, but it wasn’t. The way Vision stood close to her, so casual in his affection, stung in a way you didn’t expect.

You should have been prepared for this moment. After all, the mission had been long. You knew the world didn’t stop spinning while you were gone. People changed. They moved on.

But seeing them together—seeing Wanda like that, about to marry him—it shattered you in a way you hadn’t been ready for.

But they didn't saw you, and you kept it that way.

Moments later, you entered the meeting room where Fury was briefing the remaining Avengers. The room went silent the moment you entered. Eyes locked onto you, faces frozen in disbelief. Five years of absence. Five years of presumed death. You could feel the weight of their stares—their shock, their confusion. Everyone was silent.

Except for Natasha.

"Where the hell have you been?" Natasha’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence with razor-sharp accusation. "Everyone thought you were dead. Do you have any idea what we’ve been through? What she has been through?" She was seething, every word laced with hurt and frustration.

You flinched but didn’t respond. Natasha was always the first to speak her mind, but there was no mistaking the anger in her eyes. She was angry at you for abandoning them. For abandoning Wanda. And maybe she had every right to be.

“Calm down, Natasha,” Tony’s voice was much quieter but still firm, as if sensing the tension in the room. He looked at you, his face softening. “It’s good to see you back. We didn’t know what happened to you. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

"Please," Steve added with a steady voice, though there was a lingering look of concern in his eyes. “We’re just glad you’re alive.”

But the truth was, none of them knew the real reason you were back. They had no idea what you’d been through in the past five years. None of them knew the story behind your disappearance—the Hydra supersoldiers you’d discovered, the brutal battles you fought. They didn’t know what you had sacrificed just to be standing here.

None of them knew about Wanda. About the promises you’d made.

As Fury began his briefing, you barely registered the words he said. Hydra was still a major threat, you had discovered three super-soldiers they’d brainwashed, and there was more work to be done. But none of it mattered. Not when your mind kept circling back to that image of Wanda, standing next to Vision.

What did she think of you now? What had happened to the woman you loved?

Then, without warning, Wanda walked into the room "Sorry we are late." She said as she entered the room with an apologetic look on her face. But soon that face turned into a completely different thing. She was seeing a ghost, and she was not sure if everyone was seeing the same thing. You were there. The person she loved. The person she thought she had lost forever. The person she had mourned night after night for 3 whole years.

"Wanda…" you breathed, a whisper escaping your lips before you could stop yourself. Your voice cracked, betraying the grief you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until now.

She was frozen, her eyes locking onto yours. For a split second, there was a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken. But then it faded, replaced by something else—something more distant. The familiar warmth that used to light her eyes whenever she saw you was gone.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, her gaze shifted slightly, and she gave a small, almost apologetic smile. "You’re back," she said, her voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Relief? Guilt? Regret? She didn’t sound surprised, which only added to the pit in your stomach.

"Yeah," you replied hoarsely, trying to keep your voice steady. "I am."

There was a long silence between the two of you, an uncomfortable pause where neither of you knew how to bridge the gap that had formed. Vision stood next to her, stoic as ever, but you could see the tension in his posture. He knew. He had to know.

“Vision,” you said, turning to him with a forced smile. "It’s good to see you."

"Likewise," Vision replied with a polite nod, but you saw the way his eyes flickered toward Wanda. He didn’t say anything more, but the air between the three of you was thick with unspoken words.

Wanda’s gaze flickered back to you, and for a moment, you swore you saw something—something deep and familiar. But it was gone before you could register it fully. She smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile you give someone when you don’t want to hurt them but know that you already have.

"How’ve you been?" Wanda asked, her voice soft, though there was an edge to it. "We weren’t sure… I didn’t know when you’d be back."

"I’m still adjusting," you said, struggling to keep your emotions in check. "It’s been a long time. Five years is a long time."

Her expression faltered for a second, and you saw a flash of something—maybe guilt, maybe regret—pass through her eyes. But it was quickly masked. "I can’t imagine," she murmured. "But we all had to… adapt, didn’t we?"

You could hear the weight of those words, the implication hanging heavily in the air. We all had to adapt.

You wanted to ask her—did she miss you? Did she ever think about the life you had built together, or had she simply let go, buried you in the past like some forgotten dream? You wanted to scream at her, to demand answers. How could she just move on like this? How could she marry someone else when she had promised—

No. Don’t go there.

You shook your head slightly, the self-control slipping away.

Vision stepped forward then, his voice breaking through the tension. "Wanda, perhaps we should give her some space."

Wanda nodded softly, her eyes never leaving yours.

"Yeah, I think that’s a good idea," you said quietly. And with that, both Vision and Wanda left the room, leaving you standing there, trying to piece together the fragments of a life you had thought you could come back to. But that state of trance was broken by a harsh voice.

"What did you expect?" Natasha asked, her voice full of anger and sadness. She was happy to see you again, but a part of her felt betrayed that you were alive and you never told her. She needed to understand why you were gone for so long. Why you couldn't come back? Why this mission was so important that you kept yourself away from your family for 5 whole years? "She thought you were dead. We all did. And you just come back as if nothing had happened?"

"You have no idea what happened Nat." You said with a scared look on your face. A part of you was mad that things had not stayed as you left them. But was there really someone to blame other than you?

"Don't give me that bullshit Y/N!" She said as she grabbed her things with such fury that you swear that she could break them. "You should've stayed dead."

And with that, she left the room.

You didn’t know what you had expected to find when you returned, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. You couldn’t stomach the thought of facing Wanda, of seeing the woman who once meant everything to you standing by another man’s side. Or facing Natasha, who could even see you in the eye. From all the Avengers, you thought that maybe she could comprehend what you had done. The mission comes first, you were both taught. But, they were all hurt, and you were to blame.

"Ugh! That was hard to watch." Tony said, trying you lighten the mood. "Just give them time kid, I'm glad you are back."

Everyone left the room and you were left standing in the aftermath, wondering if there was any chance of finding your way back to your old life.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff angst #y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wlw #y/n y/l/n

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