natashasilverfox - Tumblr blog

natashasilverfox · 13 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 7

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda gets jealous.

Word Count: 5,676

Warnings: fluff, angst

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The soft light of early morning filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. Wanda stirred awake, the comforting presence of Y/N beside her keeping her grounded. She felt warm, her body nestled against the soft sheets, but there was still an underlying unease that wouldn't let her fully rest.

Her eyes flickered open, and instinctively, her gaze moved to Y/N. She was still asleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath. But something tugged at Wanda. She couldn’t shake the worry from last night—the blood on her sleeve, the panic that shot through her when she thought Y/N might have been seriously hurt.

Wanda’s hand slid beneath the covers, slowly, carefully, as she lifted the hem of Y/N’s shirt. Her fingers grazed over the smooth skin where the wound had been. She was expecting the pink line to be there, maybe a faint trace of scarring. But… it was gone. Like it had never existed. Y/N’s skin was flawless, not even a hint of injury left behind.

Wanda blinked, confused. Had she imagined it? No. Pietro was the same, and Y/N has super speed too.

Before she could think more about it, a voice came from beneath her, laced with amusement, though still low and sleepy.

“Buy me dinner first, Maximoff.”

Wanda’s breath caught, and her eyes widened in surprise. She glanced down to see Y/N’s eyes still closed, but the smirk on her face was unmistakable. Y/N was awake, fully aware of Wanda’s actions.

“You’re awake?” Wanda muttered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Before she could stop herself, she slapped Y/N lightly on the arm.

Y/N chuckled softly, eyes still closed, her expression teasing. “Was wondering how long it’d take for you to notice.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, shaking her head.

Y/N’s smirk softened into something more genuine as she lifted a hand, gently caressing Wanda’s cheek. “Stay,” she said quietly, her voice still laced with sleepiness. “I don’t want you to go.”

Wanda hesitated, her heart squeezing in her chest. She could feel the weight of the words—Y/N’s gentle plea, the way her thumb traced over Wanda’s skin, making her insides flutter.

But Wanda knew she couldn’t stay. She had responsibilities. She had to go back to Vision, back to the life she’d promised herself. Back to the life she thought she was supposed to have.

“I can’t,” Wanda whispered, pulling away just slightly. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I have to leave. I need to go back to Vision.”

Y/N’s expression faltered. “Right,” she said, nodding as if the words didn’t sting. “Vision. Got it.”

Wanda swallowed, the guilt heavy in her chest. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N shrugged, still keeping her eyes closed.

Wanda hesitated again, torn between what she wanted and what she thought she should do. But in the end, she leaned down to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead, lingering for a moment before she pulled away.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, barely audible, before slipping out of bed and heading toward the door.

But before she left, she glanced back once more, catching Y/N’s eyes for a fleeting second. Y/N just smiled faintly, her lips curling in a way that almost made Wanda stay. Almost.

With a final, shaky breath, Wanda stepped out into the hallway, leaving Y/N behind. As much as it hurt, she had to go back to Vision. To the life she’d created. Even if it was a life that didn’t feel like hers anymore.

As Wanda left the room, Y/N sighed, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her chest. She knew Wanda was doing what she felt she had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. She glanced at the empty doorway, then muttered softly, her voice quiet and resigned, as she had done countless times before, the words almost an instinct.

“FRIDAY, delete all the footage of Wanda coming here and leaving.”

There was a slight pause before FRIDAY's voice responded. “Of course, Y/N. All footage has been erased.”

Y/N closed her eyes, sinking back into the pillows, her mind a whirl of emotions she couldn't fully process. It felt like a betrayal, even if she understood Wanda’s reasons. Maybe someday things would be different. But for now, all she could do was wait and hope.

---

The morning light poured in through the compound’s high windows as Y/N made her way down to the kitchen, rubbing at her tired eyes. The night hadn’t exactly been restful—not with Wanda sneaking out just after sunrise and leaving a void in her chest that no amount of sleep could fill.

She shuffled in barefoot, dressed in sweats and a loose shirt, hair still a mess. The smell of coffee hit her first, and that alone almost made her smile.

“Look who’s alive,” came a teasing voice.

Y/N blinked up to find Natasha Romanoff already seated at the counter, sipping from a mug like she’d been up for hours. She looked entirely too smug for that early in the morning.

“Barely,” Y/N muttered, reaching for a mug of her own. “Didn’t know assassins were morning people.”

“Didn’t know speedsters needed eight hours of beauty sleep,” Nat shot back. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Thanks. Always great to see you too, Nat.”

Nat grinned and stood up. “Come on, sunshine. You’re sparring with me today. No powers. Just fists.”

Y/N groaned dramatically. “Why? What did I do?”

“You exist,” Natasha said sweetly, already walking toward the training wing. “Now move before I drag you there by your hair.”

“I hate you,” Y/N called, but she was already following, coffee in hand, dragging her feet.

Nat didn’t even turn around. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll love me once you land your first punch.”

Y/N snorted. “Unlikely.”

The training room was cool and quiet when they entered, save for the low hum of the lights overhead. Nat was already tying her hair back as she stepped onto the mat, barefoot and grinning like this was her idea of fun.

Y/N, meanwhile, moved slower. She stretched her arms, rolled her neck, and set her coffee aside with a reluctant sigh.

“No powers,” Nat reminded her firmly, stepping into her stance.

“I know,” Y/N said, holding her hands up. “No speed, no strength. Scout’s honor.”

Nat raised a brow. “You were never a scout.”

“Details,” Y/N muttered.

They circled each other slowly. Y/N kept her movements tight, controlled. She knew one wrong move, one slip of control, and she could hurt Nat without meaning to.

Nat launched first—quick jab, feint, then a low sweep. Y/N jumped back just in time, laughing breathlessly.

“You’re really trying to break me this early?”

“Can’t break what’s already broken,” Nat shot back with a smirk.

Y/N blocked the next hit, countered with a soft jab that Nat easily dodged. She was holding back. Every punch was lighter than it could be, slower than her body naturally wanted to move.

Nat noticed.

“You’re babysitting me.”

“I’m not,” Y/N lied.

“You are,” Nat said, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back. Y/N didn’t resist—she could’ve reversed it easily, but she let Nat sweep her legs out and land her on the mat with a thud.

“Ow,” Y/N muttered, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Nat said above her, hands on her hips. “You’ve got control. I trust you.”

Y/N sighed, still on the floor. “That makes one of us.”

Nat offered a hand. “Get up. And this time, stop being nice.”

Y/N took it, grinning. “You asked for it.”

And this time, when they went again, Y/N didn’t completely hold back. She didn’t use her speed—but her reflexes, her precision, her strength in small, careful bursts—it was enough to earn a breathless curse from Natasha after a particularly smooth takedown.

“Okay,” Nat panted, pinned to the mat with Y/N straddling her hips and grinning down. “Maybe I liked you better when you were nice.”

“I told you,” Y/N teased. “I hate mornings.”

---

After another round that ended with Nat flipping Y/N flat on her back—pure technique, no strength—both women lay side by side on the mat, Nat was breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling.

“Sometimes I envy your speed.” Nat says sarcastically seeing Y/N is not breathing heavily.

Y/N give her a side smile.

After a moment Nat starts. “So... Clint told me you guys talked.”

Y/N froze for a second before exhaling slowly. “Of course he did.”

“He didn’t break any vows,” Nat added quickly. “Didn’t even tell me details. Just said you two had a long overdue chat. About your situation.”

Y/N stared at the ceiling, the weight of the word situation pressing down harder than Natasha’s takedowns. “Yeah. Soulmate crap.”

“You could just say Wanda,” Nat said softly.

Y/N’s jaw tensed. “What’s the difference?”

Nat turned on her side to face her. “You tell me.”

There was a long pause.

Y/N finally muttered, “He said he went through the same with Laura. That they ignored the bond too. Tried to stay away from each other.”

Nat nodded. “He did. They were both agents. Thought loving each other would be dangerous. That the bond was a liability.”

Y/N’s eyes met hers. “Did it hurt? For him?”

Nat nodded again, slower this time. “A lot. Clint doesn’t talk about it much, but... yeah. The symptoms, the restlessness, the physical pain? He had it all. Same with Laura. They tried to live separate lives for almost a year. Got sicker by the week.”

Y/N was quiet for a long beat, her voice low when she finally said, “I thought maybe it was just me. That I was weak.”

“You’re not,” Nat said firmly. “This bond—it’s primal. You can’t logic your way out of it. And it’s not about weakness. It’s about connection. It’s about being meant.”

“Funny,” Y/N scoffed. “Wanda didn’t get the memo.”

Nat frowned. “She’s scared. Doesn’t make her right—but it makes her human.”

Y/N let out a dry laugh. “Right. The woman I’m supposed to be with is scared of me.”

“She’s not scared of you,” Nat said gently. “She’s scared of what it means. Of what she has to lose. Vision. The life she built.”

Y/N’s voice was almost a whisper now. “What if she never chooses me?”

Nat looked at her for a moment, then reached over and squeezed her hand. “Then I’ll help you survive that too.”

Y/N glanced over as Nat stood to grab a towel, her tone softer now. “Have you met yours? Your soulmate?”

Nat stilled for just a second—barely noticeable, unless you knew her.

She shook her head, not meeting Y/N’s eyes right away. “Not yet.”

Y/N sat up slowly. “Do you want to?”

Nat sighed, wrapping the towel around her neck. “Sometimes I think about it. What it’d be like. If I even deserve one.” She let out a dry laugh. “Pretty messed up thought, huh?”

Y/N gave her a long look. “Not really.”

Nat finally looked at her. “It’s complicated. For people like us, it always is. Soulmate or not.”

Y/N smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Guess I’m just the lucky one who met mine and got rejected.”

“Hey,” Nat said, walking back to her and crouching down. “You’re not alone in this. You got me. You got Clint. And you’ve got time.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Time?”

Nat shrugged. “Time for Wanda to stop being a dumbass.”

Despite herself, Y/N snorted.

“C’mon,” Nat said, standing again. “You owe me breakfast for letting you win that first round.”

“I definitely earned that win,” Y/N muttered, following her.

“You tripped on your own foot.”

“Still counts.”

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush in hand, unmoving. Her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, even though she had slept—for a few hours, at least. In Y/N’s arms. Again.

She hadn’t meant to stay that long. She never did.

But the second her head hit the pillow beside Y/N, her body let go. As if her nervous system recognized safety only in that space, next to that person.

And the moment she slipped out this morning, the ache started again. In her chest. In her wrist.

Wanda glanced down at it now, rubbing at the mark she tried so hard not to look at.

Y/N

Bold. Inescapable.

She’d ignored it for so long, convinced herself that it meant nothing. That what she had with Vision was enough. But it was all unraveling now, wasn’t it?

Last night, when she checked Y/N’s wound… when she yanked her shirt up like it was her right…

The intimacy of it startled even *her*. And she wanted to do is just kiss her.

And Y/N’s teasing—

“Buy me dinner first, Maximoff.”

Wanda could still hear the grin in her voice. Still feel the warmth of her hand brushing Wanda’s cheek.

“Stay.”

She had wanted to.

God, she had wanted to.

But she didn’t. Because Vision was waiting. Because she still hadn’t figured out how to blow up the life she’d built without blowing everything apart.

And yet… it already felt broken.

The reflection in the mirror blinked, and Wanda exhaled shakily. She tucked her toothbrush away, stepped out into the hall, and turned—not toward Vision’s room. Toward the common area.

Maybe coffee would help.

Maybe keeping her hands busy would silence the war in her chest.

Maybe if she didn’t see Y/N this morning, she could breathe a little easier.

Maybe.

---

The hallway opened up into the compound’s bright kitchen, and Wanda froze just before crossing the threshold.

Y/N was already there.

Hair damp with sweat, flushed from exertion. Tank top clinging to her in a way that made Wanda's thoughts scatter like birds. She was standing near the counter, laughing, tossing a protein bar between her hands as Nat leaned casually against the fridge, grinning.

“I’m just saying,” Nat said, smirking, “if you actually slowed down once in a while, I might land a punch.”

Y/N barked a laugh, teasing, “I’m not slowing down just to make you feel better, Romanoff.”

Wanda’s heart did something traitorous in her chest. That voice. That laugh. The ease in the way Y/N leaned back, joking, playful. Completely at home.

Nat nudged her shoulder. “Show-off.”

“Bully.”

Wanda couldn’t look away. The sunlight kissed the edge of Y/N’s jaw as she tilted her head back to drink from a water bottle, sweat sliding down her neck. And it was infuriating how effortlessly beautiful she looked. How magnetic.

How much Wanda missed her the second she stepped away.

She lingered just beyond view, hidden by the corner wall, her coffee plans forgotten. Watching. Wanting.

Stay, she’d asked her.

No, she’d answered.

Then why did she feel like this now?

Y/N laughed again—something Nat said, probably. Wanda didn’t hear the words. Just the way her own name suddenly popped in her mind like it had been waiting for an excuse.

She clenched her fists.

Jealousy prickled up Wanda’s spine—hot, irrational, unfair. And still, it rooted itself deep.

She should leave before they noticed her. She should. But instead, her feet moved forward.

Wanda stepped into the kitchen, her footsteps quiet but deliberate. The easy rhythm of conversation between Nat and Y/N faltered the moment she entered.

Y/N’s eyes flicked toward her instinctively. And for just a second, Wanda swore she saw something jog in them, but it was quickly masked.

“Morning,” Wanda said, tone too neutral. Her gaze locked on Y/N just a beat too long before flicking to Nat. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Nat arched a brow, definitely amused. “We were just talking about the sparring session we had a while ago. Y/N’s bruising my ego.”

Y/N smirked, grabbing her bottle again. “She means I haven’t broken anything. Yet.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened, not liking the way they were too close.

Something about the way Y/N grinned, her posture relaxed, and the way they shared a joke—it made Wanda’s blood boil. Her instincts screamed at her, a primal urge to assert something, anything. Mine.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm rising inside her. She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the way Y/N’s smile never quite reached her eyes when they met hers, but Wanda felt the pull of jealousy settle heavily in her chest.

Get it together, she told herself. She’s just messing with Nat. She’s fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

Nat, sensing the tension, said, “I’m gonna hit the shower. See you later, guys,” before winking at Y/N as she walked out, her eyes lingering a moment too long on her. Wanda caught it. And it made her blood burn hotter.

The moment Nat was gone, Wanda didn’t think. Her instincts just acted. She marched toward Y/N, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her towards the hallway, away from the kitchen.

Y/N didn’t have time to react, barely able to mutter, “What—?”

But Wanda didn’t stop until they reached the hallway, then the door to Y/N’s room. She shoved it open, pressing Y/N against the door as soon as they were inside.

The moment their eyes met, Wanda’s anger flared again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sparring?” Wanda demanded, voice low, but laced with tension.

Y/N blinked, surprised, but tried to shrug it off. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

The words, so calm, so indifferent, only fueled Wanda’s anger. Didn’t think she needed to?

“No,” Wanda bit out, her voice rising a little. “You needed to tell me. You were injured—”

“It’s healed, Wanda,” Y/N interrupted, her voice soft but confident. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Wanda’s fingers clenched into fists by her side. She wanted to scream, to demand Y/N explain herself, but instead, the jealousy bubbled over.

“It’s not okay,” Wanda spat. “When you look like that—sweaty, hot, standing in front of Nat like nothing’s wrong—it’s not okay.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”

The question hung in the air, too heavy, too real.

Wanda froze. The words were out before she could stop them.

“I’m not jealous,” she said, her tone sharp, almost defensive.

Y/N’s smirk was knowing, teasing. “Doesn’t feel like that.”

Wanda swallowed, looking away for just a moment, and then forced herself to step back. “I’m not jealous,” she repeated, more softly this time, though she couldn’t quite hide the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

Y/N didn’t back down, taking a step closer. “Are you sure?” she teased, her smirk playful, but there was something deeper beneath it. Something undeniable.

The air between them crackled with tension, the silence hanging heavy as their bonds screamed inside their minds.

Kiss her. Kiss her.

Wanda’s heart pounded in her chest. She could feel the pull—the raw, magnetic force urging her to close the distance, to let go and give in to what they both wanted. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not like this.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to her lips, and the world seemed to slow for a split second. Wanda’s breath hitched. She didn’t want to be close to her like this. She couldn’t.

She shouldn’t.

Before Y/N could react, Wanda pushed her away, her hands shaking as she did. “I… I need to go,” she stammered, her voice a broken whisper, her chest tight. Without another word, Wanda turned on her heel and rushed out of the room.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment, watching her go. She was silent, but there was a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips. So close.

She didn’t call out. She just let Wanda leave, her heart strangely full.

---

That night, Wanda found herself in her room with Vision, though she barely registered his presence. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. The kiss that almost happened. The one she’d wanted, but couldn’t allow herself to have.

Wanda laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts a whirlwind. She felt an ache deep in her chest—an ache that only Y/N could fill. But she couldn’t be with her. She couldn’t let herself. She was engaged to Vision. She had made her choice.

But it didn’t make it easier.

Vision’s steady breathing beside her was a poor substitute for the comfort Y/N had always given her. She missed the warmth, the security of Y/N’s arms around her. But she couldn’t go to her tonight. Not after what almost happened. She was scared of what it meant, of what it might have meant.

Her eyes fluttered open again, staring into the dark. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quiet her mind. And she certainly couldn’t sleep. The bed felt too big. Too empty.

Across the compound, in her own room, Y/N lay wide awake too, a small smile still tugging at her lips as she thought back to their interaction.

She wants me. I know she does.

Y/N sighed and closed her eyes, already counting down the hours until the next time she could see Wanda again. Even if it meant keeping things just a little bit broken for now.

---

It was well past three in the morning, and Wanda still couldn't sleep. The silence in her room felt suffocating, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest like an anchor. She tossed and turned, but no matter how hard she tried, the comfort she needed—Y/N's comfort—was nowhere to be found.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Wanda slipped out of her bed, her heart racing with every step toward the door. She couldn’t stay away. Not tonight. The pull was too strong, the emptiness too much to ignore.

Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her down the dim hallway toward Y/N’s room. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the door of Y/N’s room.

As she approach the bed, Y/N raised her head, clearly surprised. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight.”

Wanda hesitated, biting her lip. She hadn’t meant to let this part of her show—the part that was so desperate to be near Y/N—but here she was. She couldn’t lie, not now. Not with everything swirling inside of her.

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” Wanda admitted, voice quiet. Her gaze flicked away for just a moment, as if embarrassed by the vulnerability of the confession.

Y/N lift the covers letting Wanda in. “I figured you’d come eventually,” she said, voice soft but teasing. “Come on, I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

Wanda crawled into Y/N arms immediately sighing contentedly.

Y/N hugged her. “You okay?” she asked, voice gentle, yet with that hint of concern that made Wanda’s heart ache.

Wanda nodded against Y/N’s chest, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat a comfort as she sank further into the warmth of Y/N’s embrace. “I’m fine,” she murmured, though her voice carried a trace of exhaustion. The night had been long, her thoughts chaotic, and her guilt from earlier still clung to her like a second skin.

But now, with Y/N holding her, everything felt more manageable.

Y/N’s fingers traced soft circles along Wanda’s back, her touch slow and deliberate, as though trying to soothe away the tension Wanda didn’t even realize she was holding. "I’m glad you came," Y/N said quietly. "You know, you don’t have to hide from me."

Wanda’s breath caught at those words, and she pulled back slightly to meet Y/N’s eyes. There was no judgment there, only understanding—a kind of openness that Wanda wasn’t used to, but desperately needed.

“I’m not hiding,” Wanda said softly, her voice a little more fragile than she intended. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “You don’t have to know everything right now,” she whispered, her thumb lightly grazing Wanda’s cheek. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Wanda felt her heart swell with something tender, something dangerously close to hope. It was almost too much to allow herself to feel, but Y/N’s presence—her steady warmth—was something Wanda had begun to rely on, despite her best efforts to keep her distance.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Wanda slowly lifted her hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she cupped Y/N’s cheek, brushing her thumb gently over the soft skin. The motion was slow, careful, like she was afraid of breaking something fragile between them.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, their gazes locking. For a moment, there was no need for words. Wanda didn’t need to explain, didn’t need to apologize—Y/N understood. They always understood.

Y/N's eyes softened, and she leaned into Wanda’s touch, just the smallest hint of a smile forming on her lips.

"Goodnight," Wanda whispered, her voice hushed, the vulnerability in her words almost imperceptible but there all the same.

Y/N didn’t respond with words, just a small, affectionate squeeze of her hand around Wanda’s waist. That was enough. Enough for now.

And in the stillness of the night, with the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, they both let the world fade away.

The weight of everything else—everything uncertain and difficult—drifted into the background, leaving only the warmth of each other’s arms.

It was the kind of peace Wanda had almost forgotten existed.

And as they drifted off to sleep, there was a fleeting, quiet sense of something more—something that neither of them could quite name, but both could feel.

---

The tension between Wanda and Y/N only grew stronger in the days that followed, each moment spent together laced with an unspoken desire that neither could ignore for long. It was a quiet thing, simmering under the surface, but there was no denying it. They both wanted it—wanted each other. But Wanda… Wanda was holding herself back.

She was terrified, honestly. Terrified of what it would mean to give in, to let go of the control she clung to so tightly. She had built walls around herself for so long, and the thought of breaking them down was both exhilarating and terrifying. She could already feel the pull of Y/N, the way every little touch, every glance seemed to reach deep inside her.

But Y/N wasn’t making it easy for her.

It started with little things—small, teasing moments that made Wanda’s breath catch. The way Y/N would brush her hand against Wanda’s in the kitchen, the soft kisses pressed to the corner of her lips when they shared a quiet moment in Y/N’s room. It was playful, innocent even, but every time Y/N’s lips grazed her skin, it sent a jolt through her body.

Wanda could feel her resolve weakening with each touch, with each lingering look. And Y/N… Y/N seemed to sense it, pushing just enough to test her limits, but never enough to cross the line.

One night, as they sat in Y/N’s room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light on their faces, Wanda could feel Y/N’s gaze on her—intense, almost hungry in its quiet way.

Y/N leaned in just slightly, her lips brushing against the curve of Wanda’s cheek in a kiss so light, so fleeting, that Wanda barely had time to register it before Y/N pulled back, eyes glinting with mischief.

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t help but feel a flush spread across her cheeks. She looked up at Y/N, trying to maintain her composure, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her cool.

Y/N smirked, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on Wanda. She shifted closer, this time aiming for the corner of Wanda’s lips, a soft, teasing brush that sent a rush of heat straight to Wanda’s core.

Wanda couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her. She turned her head slightly, their lips nearly touching, but just enough to drive her crazy.

“Stop doing that,” Wanda murmured, her voice betraying her, the words coming out softer than she intended.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled. “What? This?” She leaned in again, her lips just a breath away from Wanda’s, before pulling back at the last second, just enough to keep Wanda wanting more.

Wanda’s pulse raced, and she could feel the pressure building inside her. It was getting harder and harder to fight this—this thing between them, the way Y/N made her feel so alive, so wanted.

But she couldn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to let go of everything she’d built.

Y/N, sensing the hesitation in her, just smirked again, knowing she was getting under Wanda’s skin. “You want me to stop?” Y/N’s voice was low, teasing, and Wanda felt the heat rise in her chest.

Wanda exhaled shakily, her hand resting on Y/N’s arm, trying to steady herself. “I don’t know what I want.”

Y/N’s grin softened, her gaze turning tender, almost serious. “Then let me help you figure it out,” she whispered, her breath warm against Wanda’s skin.

Wanda closed her eyes for a brief moment, torn between the pull of everything she wanted and the fear of losing control. But with Y/N so close, with the weight of her touch, her smile, Wanda couldn’t hold back any longer.

She leaned in just slightly, as if testing the waters, her lips brushing against Y/N’s in a kiss so soft, so tentative, that it almost felt like a question. Y/N responded immediately, deepening the kiss, her hand slipping to the back of Wanda’s neck to pull her closer.

And just like that, everything Wanda had been holding back came rushing to the surface, leaving her breathless, wanting more.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel scared. She just felt… alive.

The kiss was electric. It was urgent, primal, as though the entire world had disappeared around them, leaving only the heat between their bodies. Wanda’s heart pounded, her senses overwhelmed by the surge of emotions coursing through her. The bond, something that had always been a presence in the back of her mind, now consumed her entirely. Y/N’s touch was a spark to the tinder of her desires, lighting everything up in a way she couldn’t control.

Y/N’s lips pressed against hers with a tenderness that belied the fire between them, and Wanda’s hands found themselves at the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Her body moved instinctively, as if it had been starved for this connection for so long, and now it could finally feel.

Every brush of their lips sent a wave of warmth flooding through her, and she responded with equal fervor, her hands sliding down Y/N’s chest, tracing the outline of her shirt. It was a dance, a series of tiny movements that seemed to only bring them closer, the pull of their bond growing stronger, louder, as if it were calling to them both.

Wanda’s breath hitched when Y/N’s hands slid under the hem of her shirt, her touch warm and gentle against Wanda’s skin. Wanda’s body trembled at the sensation, the softness of Y/N’s hands sending her heart into overdrive. She felt good. Too good. Her hands were already sliding over Y/N’s shoulders, guiding her as they both deepened the kiss, the world outside their small bubble feeling like an eternity away.

And then, as if on instinct, Y/N’s fingers tugged at the bottom of Wanda’s shirt, lifting it slowly. Wanda didn’t register the movement at first—her thoughts hazy, clouded by the electric pull between them and the overwhelming sensation of the bond amplifying every touch, every kiss. The shirt kept rising, and before she knew it, the fabric brushed the sensitive skin of her abdomen.

No, wait.

It was like a shock to her system. Her mind suddenly snapped back to reality, and with a sharp intake of breath, Wanda pulled her shirt back down swiftly, almost too quickly, her hands trembling as she did. She stepped back, her chest heaving, as she gasped for air, eyes wide with panic.

“What the hell are we doing?” Wanda whispered, her voice trembling, more to herself than to Y/N.

She could barely focus, the desire still thrumming in her chest, but she knew she couldn’t ignore the consequences of what was happening. She was engaged to Vision. She had to stop this before they went any further.

Y/N looked at her with a mixture of confusion and hurt, as if she could feel Wanda’s hesitation, the tension pulling them both in opposite directions.

Wanda’s heart clenched as she saw the flicker of disappointment in Y/N’s eyes, but she couldn’t let herself fall any further into the temptation. She had to be strong.

“I… I have Vision,” Wanda breathed, her throat tight with the weight of the words. She took another step back, her hands gripping her shirt as if she could hold herself together that way. “This isn’t right.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, just watching her with a quiet intensity that made Wanda’s resolve waver. She couldn’t look at Y/N like this. Not with the bond pulling at her, not when everything inside her screamed to stay.

“I can’t do this,” Wanda said, her voice breaking slightly as she turned toward the door. She could still feel Y/N’s presence behind her, but she had to leave. She had to go. She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

Wanda pushed open the door with shaky hands, but before she stepped out, she looked back one last time at Y/N. Her heart ached. Her wrist burned in agony.

But she had to walk away.

The bond may have drawn them together, but the choices she had made—her commitment to Vision, her past—were not so easily undone.

With a final, unsteady breath, Wanda stepped into the hallway, her steps heavy as she left Y/N behind.

---

🤭🤭🤭🤭

#Written in Our Souls #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff angst #soulmates au #wm❤️‍🔥

419 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 13 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 6

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The bond is getting stronger.

Word Count: 6,262

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood, fluff

A/N: I couldn't find a good picture. Just pretend Pietro is Y/N!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

----

Vision’s POV

Vision wakes to the soft hum of sunlight drifting in through the curtains. His gaze falls on the empty space beside him, and for a moment, his mind drifts to the quiet hours of the night. He remembers Wanda's sudden departure. Her voice sharp, filled with something he couldn’t quite understand.

She’d left without a word, just a hurried exit, and he hadn’t heard her come back. Not that he had expected her to; he knew she had been shaken by whatever dream had disturbed her, but the absence still lingers in the quiet of their room.

As he stands up from the bed, his thoughts flicker back to her leaving—just the faintest trace of cold air behind her. Her absence gnaws at him more than it should. Something’s wrong, and he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t know her as well as he thought.

He gets up slowly, pulling on a robe, and moves to the door. As he opens it, he spots her walking down the hallway, her hoodie still thrown on in haste. Her hair is a bit messy, like she had run her fingers through it too many times. And there’s something in the way she avoids his eyes that makes his chest tighten.

He doesn’t ask where she went immediately. He knows she had left to get air. But she didn’t come back.

"Wanda," Vision says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s an edge to it—a quiet concern. “Where were you last night?”

Wanda freezes for a fraction of a second, like a deer caught in the headlights. She lifts her gaze to meet his, but the look on her face is one he doesn’t recognize—strange, almost distant. It isn’t like the way she usually looks at him, and it tugs at something deep inside of him.

"I—I just needed some air," she stammers, the words not flowing as easily as she would’ve liked.

He studies her carefully, taking in every detail. He’s not blind. He knows something’s wrong.

"You didn’t come back," he presses gently, his voice soft but firm. “Why?”

Wanda looks down, as if she’s trying to find the right words. For a moment, Vision’s heart tightens in his chest, and he wonders if she’s finally going to tell him the truth about what’s been weighing on her. But then she gives him a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I was tired,” she says quietly, brushing past him toward the bathroom.

Vision watches her go, a sinking feeling pooling in his gut. He knows she’s lying. But he doesn’t push. Not yet. He wants to believe that she’ll come to him when she’s ready.

He stands there, staring at the empty hallway, feeling the cold distance that has crept between them in recent days. The air feels heavier now, more uncertain. He doesn’t understand why Wanda has been pulling away from him.

As she closes the bathroom door behind her, he turns away, letting out a slow breath, but the unease remains. Something inside him tells him that the truth is slipping further away with each passing day.

---

Wanda's POV

Wanda tosses and turns in the sheets, unable to find a comfortable position. The soft rustle of the bed echoes in the quiet room. The warmth of the blankets feels suffocating tonight, even though the air is cool. She stares up at the ceiling, her mind racing, restless, pulling her thoughts in every direction but toward sleep.

She’s not scared. Not tonight. No nightmares. But still… there’s something missing. Something that’s been tugging at her since the moment she lay down. Something she can’t shake.

Wanda slowly turns her head toward Vision, his steady breathing the only sound in the otherwise silent room. He’s fast asleep, his face peaceful. She checks him once, twice, just to make sure. His fingers are crossed on his chest as he face up, not moving at all, just the way he always sleeps.

She sits up slowly, careful not to disturb him, her legs swinging over the side of the bed. The cold floor against her feet is a stark contrast to the warmth she left behind.

The room is quiet. The night is still.

And yet, she can’t breathe.

It’s as if the walls are pressing in on her, the bond whispering, calling, reminding her of the arms that actually help her sleep—the arms of her soulmate. The only place that has ever felt like home.

She grabs her hoodie off the chair by the window and pulls it over her shoulders, the soft fabric comforting but not enough. She needs more.

Wanda glances at Vision one last time, but she knows she can’t stay here any longer. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but the pull she feels to leave is too strong. She steps quietly out of the room, the soft click of the door barely making a sound.

---

The hallway is dark, save for the low light of the moon streaming through the windows. Wanda moves with a purpose, her feet light, her heart pounding a little too fast. It’s strange, how her body knows where to go even when her mind tries to stop her.

She stops in front of Y/N’s door, her hand hovering over the handle for a moment. It’s insane. She’s never done this before. Not like this. Not when she wasn’t desperate, not when she wasn’t lost in the chaos of a nightmare.

But she’s lost now, too. Lost in the silence of the night, in the ache that pulls her closer to the only person who can soothe it.

She quietly opens the door, slipping inside with only the faintest creak of the hinges. The room is dim, the moonlight casting soft shadows over the bed. Y/N is already asleep, her breathing even and steady.

Wanda stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, watching her, her own chest tight with a mix of guilt and need. She thinks about the weight of Y/N’s arms, the warmth she hasn’t been able to get out of her mind. It’s more than just comfort. It’s a safety she doesn’t know how to explain.

Her steps are quiet as she climbs onto the bed, making sure not to jostle Y/N too much. But the moment she shifts the covers, she stirs, their eyes fluttering open.

"Wanda?" Y/N’s voice is hoarse with sleep, but there’s no confusion in their gaze. She doesn’t seem surprised to see her.

Wanda hesitates for just a moment, but then she slides closer, her body instinctively seeking the warmth of Y/N’s embrace.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispers, her voice thick with the vulnerability she’s trying to push down.

Y/N shifts to make room for Wanda, her arm already moving to pull her closer, no hesitation. “I know,” they say softly. “You didn’t have to say it.”

Wanda lets out a shaky breath, pressing her face into the crook of Y/N’s neck, letting the steady beat of her heart calm her racing thoughts. They don’t need to say anything more. The silence between them says everything.

For once, she doesn’t feel like she has to explain herself. She doesn’t have to fight it. She doesn’t have to pretend. Here, with her, it’s quiet. It’s safe.

The bond hums gently between them, alive in a way Wanda never thought she’d experience, but she knows, deep down, that she’s exactly where she’s meant to be. For the first time in what feels like forever, she lets herself relax into the comfort of Y/N’s arms, finally being able to breathe that night.

And this time, when she closes her eyes, she finally feels like she can sleep.

---

Next morning, Wanda slips out of bed while Y/N is still asleep.

She moves slowly, carefully easing herself out of her arms. The moment she’s free, Y/N’s hand twitches against the sheets—like even in sleep, Y/N’s soul is reaching for hers.

She hesitates.

But she doesn’t wake her. She doesn’t speak. She just stands for a moment in the quiet of the room, her heart heavy with all the things she’ll never say.

Then she’s gone—back through the silent hallways, hoodie pulled tight around her, bare feet making no sound.

She climbs into bed beside Vision before the sun has fully risen. He doesn’t stir. He doesn’t notice. At least that’s what she thinks.

She lies there, staring at the ceiling, and pretends she hasn’t already chosen.

---

That Night, 1:04 AM

Y/N is asleep again.

She’s tried not to think about her all day. Tried not to wait for her. Tried not to hope.

But the bond doesn’t quiet. It hums through her, low and insistent, like a song stuck in her chest.

When the door creaks open, she almost think she imagined it.

But then she’s there. In the hoodie again, barefoot again. The same as the night before.

She doesn’t knock. She doesn’t say a word.

She just walks straight to the bed and climbs in beside her like it’s the only place she’s ever belonged.

Y/N blinks up at her, groggy. “Wanda?”

She doesn’t answer. Just presses her face to her shoulder, curling in tight, like her silence is a shield.

Y/N doesn’t ask.

She just hold her. Again.

Because she knows this isn’t the night Wanda will explain. This isn’t the night she’ll stay in the morning. This isn’t the night she’ll choose her out loud.

But she came back.

And for now, that’s enough.

---

From that day on, Wanda came back.

Each night, sometime past midnight, when the compound had gone still and Vision’s breathing had evened out beside her, she’d slip from the bed like a ghost. Hoodie pulled over sleep-mussed hair, bare feet padding softly down the corridor she could walk in her sleep by now.

She never knocked. Never said a word.

Y/N would always be there—sometimes already asleep, sometimes wide-eyed and waiting like she knew Wanda would come. She never asked why. Never pushed. Never made her explain what she couldn’t.

And Wanda never stayed in the morning.

She’d slip out before dawn, returning to the lie of her life with quiet footsteps and heavier bones. She’d crawl back into Vision’s bed, cold now, distant, and lay beside him like nothing had changed. Like her heart didn’t beat for someone else.

But it had changed.

Everything had.

Because Wanda could only sleep in one place now—in Y/N’s arms.

It was the only place where the nightmares didn’t come. Where the grief didn’t suffocate her. Where the name on her wrist didn’t burn with guilt, but hummed with a comfort she couldn’t describe.

In the beginning, she told herself it was temporary. That she just needed rest. Just needed peace. But the more nights she spent with Y/N, the more her soul began to remember what home felt like.

She didn’t speak of Vision. Y/N didn’t ask.

But the silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of what they didn’t say, full of everything that passed through the bond like electricity under skin. A thousand emotions in one touch. A thousand promises in the way they held each other without speaking.

Wanda would lie there, her face buried in the hollow of Y/N’s shoulder, and let herself feel. Let herself be.

Some nights, she’d whisper, “Just one more night.”

And Y/N would always whisper back, “As many as you need.”

But they both knew.

She was already choosing.

Not out loud.

Not in daylight.

Not where it mattered yet.

But in the quiet.

In the dark.

In the stillness of midnight.

Where she could finally breathe.

Where the bond didn’t ache.

Where Wanda Maximoff could rest her head, and—for the first time in a long time—feel like she was finally home.

---

Y/N’s POV

She doesn’t ask Wanda to stay anymore.

Not because she doesn’t want her to—God, she does. But because asking makes it real. And this… whatever this is, only survives in the hush of unspoken things. In the moments between the shadows and the sunrise. In the arms she keeps running back to but never holds onto when the light comes.

So Y/N waits. Every night. Eyes open or closed, it doesn’t matter—her soul feels her before the door opens.

And she always comes.

Silent. Barefoot. Wrapped in that oversized hoodie like armor. Her hair a little messy from restless hours in someone else’s bed. But her eyes… they always find Y/N in the dark. Always haunted. Always searching.

She never says a word.

But she doesn’t have to.

Y/N shifts without thinking, makes space for her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because by now, it is. They lift the blanket. Hold her breath. Wait for the soft dip of the mattress. The familiar weight of her body curling against hers like gravity itself is dragging her into place.

Every night, she fits there.

And every night, Y/N aches with it.

Because she doesn’t hold her like a lover. Not really. Not yet.

She hold her like a secret. Like a maybe. Like a storm she know is coming but can’t run from. And it hurts—God, it hurts—to be the place she rests while choosing someone else in the daylight.

But she never pull away.

Because if this is all she gets, she’ll take it.

She’ll take Wanda’s quiet breaths against her throat. Her trembling fingers tucked beneath her shirt. The way she sighs when her body finally gives in to sleep—like she’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Some nights, Wanda clutches her wrist in her sleep, like the name written there might slip away if she lets go.

Y/N doesn’t sleep much anymore.

Not really.

But she watch.

She watch Wanda’s shoulders rise and fall. Watch the way her mouth twitches with dreams she never tells her about. She feels the bond glow faintly beneath her skin, pulsing in time with Wanda’s.

And when dawn creeps in and she slips away again, always without a word, Y/N lies there alone, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long a heart can hold someone who won’t stay.

Wondering how many nights it takes for love to become a habit.

How many goodbyes you can whisper to the same person before it breaks you.

But when night falls again…

She still wait.

Because she knows.

Eventually… Wanda will stop leaving.

And when she does—when she finally stays past the sunrise—

Y/N will still be right here.

Waiting. Always.

---

Vision’s POV

He doesn’t sleep in the way others do.

He powers down. Rests. But he is always… aware.

So when Wanda shifts beside him—again—he notices.

She’s careful. Quiet. Almost practiced now.

She thinks he’s asleep.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Her breath is shallow, controlled. Not panicked. Not like the first night, when she fled with fear in her chest and a nightmare in her lungs.

This time, she’s calm.

And she doesn’t come back.

Vision lies there, motionless, the seconds ticking silently through his mind.

The room feels colder once she’s gone.

He replays the last few days: Wanda’s silence. Her distance. Her restlessness at night and calmness only in the mornings after she returns.

He doesn't know where she goes. Only that when she does, she returns quieter. Lighter.

Happier?

He does not want to name the feeling it stirs inside him. It is not anger. Not jealousy. Those are too human, too imprecise.

It is something deeper.

Something like… knowing.

After a long pause, Vision speaks—barely a whisper, low enough not to alert anyone else.

“FRIDAY,” he says softly.

The AI’s voice answers almost immediately, cheerful but measured. “Yes, Vision?”

“Where is Wanda Maximoff?”

A pause. Not long, but just long enough to register.

“She’s resting in the library, sir,” FRIDAY replies smoothly. “Would you like me to alert her?”

Vision’s brow twitches. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

The room feels colder still.

He closes his eyes—outwardly, at least—and says nothing.

But he does not rest again that night.

---

Wanda’s POV

It’s worse now.

Not in a bad way though.

Or maybe it’s always been this bad. Maybe her wrist tingles more now that she knows what it feels like to fall asleep in Y/N’s arms.

What it feels like to be held like she belongs there.

Because during the day, when she’s not in Y/N’s bed, her body aches with the absence.

In the kitchen, she reaches for a mug at the same time Y/N walks past her to grab a snack. Their arms brush.

She flinches.

It’s so slight no one notices—but her breath stutters in her chest.

Y/N doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even stop.

But Y/N felt it too. Wanda knows she did. The pulse in her wrist jumps, wild and warm, syncing with Y/N’s for just a second before they both force it back into stillness.

She can’t focus the rest of the morning.

And during training, it’s worse.

Steve pairs them off for sparring, but Wanda can’t keep her eyes off the way Y/N moves—controlled, steady, fluid. She’s seen them fight a hundred times. She’s trained beside them before. But now?

Now she’s memorized the shape of Y/N’s hands, the rhythm of her breath, the way her shoulders feel beneath her palms when she climbs into bed at night and lets herself be pulled into Y/N’s warmth.

When they break for water, she walks past her—and their fingers brush again. Just an accident.

Just skin.

But it sets her nerve endings on fire.

Y/N doesn’t speak. But her hand stays clenched long after she’s gone.

And then, movie night.

God, movie night is unbearable.

The team is crowded together on couches and floor cushions. Wanda is curled up beside Vision, but her body tilts—ever so slightly—toward Y/N on the other end of the room.

It’s not on purpose.

Not really.

She just knows exactly where Y/N is without looking. She can feel the heat of her thigh where it touches the blanket they both share. She can feel their heartbeat, low and steady like a drum in her chest.

And when the movie hits a quiet lull, and someone laughs, and the room goes dark again—she looks.

Just for a second.

Y/N is already looking at her.

The bond tightens like a string pulled taut.

Her skin hums.

She looks away too fast, like it didn’t happen.

But it did.

And that night, when the compound is asleep and Vision’s breathing turns even, she doesn’t even hesitate before sliding out of bed and into the hallway.

She doesn’t dream anymore.

Not when she’s with her.

But the ache of the bond never sleeps.

---

Y/N’s Room

It’s just after 1AM again when the door creaks open. She doesn’t knock anymore.

Y/N’s already half-awake when Wanda slips in, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes downcast like she’s ashamed of needing this.

But she doesn’t say anything. She just shift back beneath the blankets, leaving space for Wanda—like always.

Wanda climbs in without a word.

But tonight, it’s different.

Tonight, she doesn’t stop at curling up beside Y/N. She slides closer—until her forehead brushes Y/N’s chest, until her hand finds their shirt and clutches it softly, like she’s afraid it’ll be the last time.

Y/N exhales shakily.

Wanda doesn’t speak.

She never does.

But her body says everything—how it melts into Y/N, how her breath hitches when her arms fold around her body like they’ve been waiting all day to hold her again.

She’s so careful with her.

Always so careful.

But tonight… Wanda shifts. Just slightly.

She tilts her head up, resting her nose against Y/N’s neck, her lips close enough to feel her pulse thrum beneath the skin.

And Y/N breaks.

Their hand moves.

Slow.

It trails up her back, finding the hem of her hoodie. Y/N’s fingers slip underneath—just enough to touch her bare skin. Just enough to feel the shiver that runs through her when she does.

Wanda doesn’t stop her.

She breathes in, a soft, trembling sound that’s not quite a gasp, but not far from it either.

Their palm spreads across her lower back. Gentle. Warm. Familiar.

She presses closer.

Y/N pulls her tighter, not just to hold—but to feel. The way her ribs rise and fall with each breath. The curve of her waist. The heat of her skin where their bodies meet.

“Wands,” Y/N whisper. It’s not a question. It’s not even a request.

It’s a prayer.

Wanda’s name tastes like longing in her mouth.

Wanda tilts her face up slightly. Her nose brushes their jaw.

And then—softly, without hesitation—she kisses it.

Just a press of lips to skin. Barely there. But enough to steal the air from Y/N’s lungs.

Her hand stills.

Wanda’s fingers curl tighter in her shirt.

She doesn’t pull away.

Y/N leans down slowly, her lips just barely grazing Wanda’s temple. The kiss is soft. Reverent. But Wanda stays close.

She’s not afraid.

Not tonight.

Y/N’s hand stays where it is, cradling the small of her back like she’s finally allowed herself to want Wanda out loud.

And Wanda… lets her.

She buries her face in Y/N’s neck and breathes her in.

She still won’t say it.

But the bond pulses between them—louder, stronger, almost unbearable now.

Because this?

This is the truth.

Their truth.

And Wanda isn’t ready to speak it yet.

But she’s not ready to let it go either.

---

The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, soft and pale against the walls. The world is quiet—muted, still holding its breath.

Wanda lies there, awake before the sun.

Y/N’s arm is draped around her, Y/N’s body warm and steady behind her back. She can feel the slow, even rhythm of her breath at her own neck. The way Y/N’s fingers twitched once during the night but never let go.

She hasn’t moved in hours.

Didn’t want to.

But now…

She turns slowly—careful not to wake Y/N—and watches.

Y/N is peaceful when she sleeps. The usual tension in her jaw is gone. Her lips are slightly parted, and Wanda feels it again—that strange, unbearable pull in her chest. The ache to stay.

She lifts a hand, slow and hesitant, hovering for a second before finally brushing her fingers across Y/N’s cheek.

Light.

Almost not there.

But enough.

She smooths a lock of hair away from Y/N’s face, lets her knuckles trail along her temple. Her thumb pauses at Y/N’s jaw, right where she kissed her last night.

Wanda exhales quietly.

She doesn’t understand how they got here. How someone like Y/N can still look at her like she hung the stars—after everything. After all she’s pushed and denied and run from.

Her heart clenches.

She wants to stay.

But she doesn’t know how.

So instead—she memorizes.

Then—softly, like a whisper—she leans in and presses a kiss to Y/N’s forehead.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely audible.

She slips out of bed a second later, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

She doesn’t look back.

But as she pulls the door shut behind her, her heart stays behind.

Still beating in Y/N’s hands.

---

Hours Later

The mission had scattered the team across the ruins of a bombed-out city. Intel said there were enhanced weapons caches in the underground bunkers. Hostiles were trying to retrieve them first.

Y/N moved like lightning—literally. A streak of color darting across rooftops, down alleyways, checking perimeter points before anyone else could even blink. They were fast—faster than anyone.

But today, it didn’t feel like enough.

Something was wrong.

They kept clenching their hands like they could shake off the static building under their skin. Their chest had been tight for the last ten minutes. The bond felt like it was pulling—tugging—like a magnet off-center.

“Y/N,” Steve’s voice crackled in their comms. “We need eyes on the northeast quadrant. Clint’s doing a sweep—meet up with him.”

“On it,” Y/N replied instantly.

They took off.

Their boots barely touched the ground as they blurred through the rubble. In less than ten seconds, they were beside Clint on the second floor of a half-demolished apartment building.

“Took you long enough,” Clint muttered, aiming his bow through a shattered window.

“I had to stop and tie my shoes,” Y/N said dryly, crouching beside him.

They scanned the area. Nothing moved.

But that pull in their chest was getting worse.

Clint turned his head slightly. “You good?”

“Fine,” Y/N said, jaw clenched. “Just—don’t like how quiet it is.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like when the archer gets paired with the human bullet, so we’re both having a day.”

Y/N smirked at that, but it was tight. Their fingers twitched again.

That’s when it hit.

Like a wave crashing through them.

Sudden. Cold. Dread.

Their lungs seized up. Their knees buckled.

“Y/N?” Clint turned instantly, ready to catch them if needed. “What’s going on?”

But Y/N’s eyes were wide. They didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Wanda.

The bond roared in their chest—no words, just instinct. Fear. Pain. Her.

Then they were gone.

Just a blur of speed and wind.

Clint didn’t even have time to swear.

Wanda.

The bond screams it. Not in words—but in panic. In a deep, gut-wrenching surge of instinct that makes Y/N run like their soul is on fire.

They cross half a mile of wreckage in less than ten seconds. Skid to a halt on broken concrete just in time to see Wanda surrounded by five enhanced enemies. Her powers are flaring, but she’s outnumbered. They’re fast. Smart. She’s keeping up, but just barely.

Y/N doesn’t hesitate.

Their body crashes into the nearest attacker, fist smashing into metal, sending him airborne. Another swings—a mistake. Y/N’s already behind him, pulling him down, knee to the face, crumpling his helmet.

The bond pulses with every heartbeat, like adrenaline injected straight into their bones.

They hear Wanda yell something, but they’re too locked in.

One more enemy. Blade out. Charging Wanda’s back.

Y/N steps in the way—takes the hit.

The blade scrapes off their side, drawing blood—but only barely. The cut starts closing before they even finish throwing the attacker through a wall.

Silence falls.

Wanda is staring at them. Hands still glowing red, breath shallow.

Y/N winces slightly as they touch their ribs. The fabric is sliced, but the wound is already knitting back together.

They offer her a soft grin. “You’re okay.”

She doesn’t smile back.

Instead—snap—she slaps their shoulder hard.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Y/N blinks. “Wanda—”

“Don’t Wanda me!” she growls, her voice high with panic, fury burning in her eyes. “You got stabbed!”

“I didn’t get stabbed,” Y/N replies calmly. “I got… nicked.”

Wanda steps closer, her chest rising fast. “You could’ve been killed!”

Y/N’s voice softens. “But I wasn’t. You were in danger. The bond—I felt it. I couldn’t just stand there.”

“I had it under control—”

“No, you didn’t.” The words are quiet, but firm. “They were closing in. I felt your fear. I always feel it.”

Wanda flinches at that.

Y/N reaches for her hand, not touching, just offering. “It’s stronger now. I don’t know why. Maybe because we stopped pretending it isn’t real. But when you’re scared—I know. And nothing, not orders, not strategy, not logic—nothing—could’ve stopped me from coming to you.”

Wanda’s lips tremble. “You shouldn’t risk your life like that for me.”

“But I will,” Y/N says. “Every time. You know that.”

A long pause.

The anger in Wanda’s face fades, leaving only raw emotion behind. Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry.

She doesn’t take Y/N’s hand either.

She just steps forward, rests her forehead against Y/N’s shoulder, and whispers, “You’re such an idiot.”

Y/N smiles gently, arms wrapping around her without hesitation. One hand settles at the back of her head, fingers brushing into her hair. The other presses between her shoulder blades, anchoring her to them like they’re trying to hold the sky together.

And just like that—the bond settles.

The wildfire in Y/N’s chest dims to embers. That overwhelming pull eases into something warmer. Softer. Still present, but no longer screaming. Like it’s soothed by the simple act of holding her. Like it knows she’s safe now.

Y/N exhales against her temple, their voice a murmur. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Wanda stays still for a moment—breathing in sync with them, heart finally slowing.

But then—slowly, quietly—she pulls back.

Her eyes don’t meet theirs right away. “You should go back to Clint.”

“You okay?” Y/N cups her cheek.

She looks away but nods.

They hesitate—but they go.

A streak of color disappearing into the smoke.

---

The battle winds down with the bitter, scorched taste of smoke still clinging to the air. Mission successful—but not clean. Never clean.

Hours later, the team regroups at the quinjet. The mood is quiet. Tired. Bruised.

Wanda boards last, her shoulders tense as she steps inside.

She finds Vision waiting near the med supplies, hands folded behind his back like always. His eyes scan her—quick, clinical, then lingering.

“There’s blood on your sleeve,” he says, voice calm but alert. “Are you injured?”

Wanda follows his gaze and frowns.

Left arm. A splash of red near her elbow.

She lifts it, turning her wrist. The fabric is stiff, dried in streaks. But the skin beneath is flawless.

“No,” she says softly. “It’s not mine.”

Vision tilts his head. “Whose, then?”

Wanda hesitates.

There’s no point in lying.

“Y/N’s,” she answers, voice quiet. “They got hurt. Protecting me.”

Vision blinks. His expression doesn’t change, but something in him stills. “I see.”

“It wasn’t serious,” Wanda adds quickly. Her fingers brush the blood again, and her throat tightens.

A heavy pause settles between them.

Vision’s gaze drops to the sleeve once more, then lifts to her eyes. “I should thank her then.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything. She just steps past him, settling into one of the seats near the rear, her head lowered.

Moments later, Y/N enters—slightly slower than usual, a hand pressed lightly to their side where the cut had been. Almost healed. But not quite.

Vision spots them and approaches.

“Y/N.”

They glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I heard you helped Wanda. Thank you.”

Y/N gives a modest nod. “Of course.”

Vision studies them a moment longer, then adds, “But how did you know she needed help? She didn’t call for backup over the comms.”

For the briefest moment, Y/N freezes.

Just a beat.

Then they shrug, casual. Easy.

“I was passing by. Heard the fight.”

Vision considers that. His gaze lingers like he’s searching for something beneath the words—but eventually, he simply nods.

“I see,” he says again. “Well… I’m grateful.”

Y/N just offers a small smile. “Anytime.”

They move past him, settling into their seat—close enough to see Wanda’s profile in the shadows.

She doesn’t look at them.

But she’s not crying either.

And somehow… that’s enough.

---

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, peeling back the bandage on her side with careful fingers. The cut had closed already—just a thin pink line left behind, smooth and faint against her skin. Another perk of her metabolism: fast reflexes, fast healing.

She exhaled softly, letting the bandage fall to the nightstand.

A knock came at the door.

She glanced up, surprised. “Yeah?”

The door creaked open, and Clint peeked in. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just checking in.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Did Nat send you?”

Clint grinned. “Nope. Came on my own.”

He stepped in, eyeing the bandage before sitting casually on the armchair near the window. The silence stretched for a beat before he spoke again—voice light, but loaded.

“So… you and Wanda. Soulmates, huh?”

Y/N stiffened.

“What?” she said, too quickly.

Clint lifted his hands. “Relax. I’m not calling a press conference.”

“I—” Y/N blinked, trying to gather her composure. “You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not.” Clint’s voice was calm, almost kind. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Her jaw clenched. “Did Nat tell you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. She didn’t have to.”

Y/N looked away, folding the used bandage slowly. “Then how?”

Clint leaned forward slightly. “Because I’ve been there. I know how it feels when you meet your soulmate. The pull. The shift. That sudden drop in your stomach when you know it’s them. I saw you leave in the middle of the mission. And then Vision said you saved Wanda—even though she never called for backup.”

Her shoulders sank. There was no point in denying it now.

Clint continued, softer, “You don’t just show up at the right place, right time, unless something deeper's guiding you.”

She nodded slowly. “We’re not together, though.”

Clint looked genuinely surprised. “Why not?”

“She chose Vision,” Y/N said. The words tasted bitter. “She got engaged to him before we met. And when she found out… she rejected it. Rejected me.”

Clint stared at her for a long time, then shook his head, baffled. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Y/N scoffed, half-smiling. “Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it.” Clint stepped closer, more serious now. “You can try to ignore a soulmate bond, but it doesn’t go quietly. You get sick. You can’t sleep. There’s a cost.”

Y/N glanced at him. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am,” Clint said simply. “Laura and I—we tried to ignore it at first. We were both agents. Stubborn, scared. We didn’t want to be responsible for the other getting hurt. We didn’t talk about it. We tried to stay apart.”

Y/N leaned in, listening.

“And it wrecked us,” Clint said. “I couldn’t sleep. Constant migraines. Laura had panic attacks, heart palpitations. We nearly broke down before we gave in. We thought we were just pushing too hard. But it was the bond. We were fighting nature.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “People never talk about that.”

Clint nodded. “Because most don’t fight it. They meet, they bond, and they follow it. It’s easy to talk about the good parts. The connection. The magic. But not the pain when you pretend it’s not real.”

Y/N’s voice was quiet. “She said we weren’t soulmates.”

Clint studied her. “Did you feel the burn when you met?”

“…Yeah.”

“And she did too?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah.”

Clint gave her a knowing look. “Then she’s lying to herself. Maybe out of fear. Guilt. Loyalty to Vision. I don’t know. But she’s not telling the truth.”

Y/N said nothing.

After a beat, Clint stepped back and gave her a small smile. “You’re not crazy. You’re not imagining it. And you’re not alone, alright?”

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Thanks, Clint.”

He winked. “Anytime, kid.”

---

Later that night

The compound was silent at this hour. Everyone else was asleep or pretending to be.

Except Wanda.

She stood barefoot in the hallway, the hem of her hoodie brushing the tops of her thighs, sleeves pulled over her hands. Her eyes were fixed on the familiar door. Y/N’s.

She usually waited longer—until past midnight, until she was sure no one would see. Sure that Vision is asleep.

The image of blood on her sleeve wouldn’t leave her mind.

With a soft breath, Wanda reached out and quietly opened the door.

Inside, the lights were off except for a soft bedside lamp. Y/N sat on the edge of her bed in a loose shirt, examining her side. She looked up, surprised, when Wanda stepped in.

“You’re early,” Y/N said gently, voice still low from rest.

Wanda shrugged as she closed the door behind her. “Shut up!” She says with her face red.

Y/N smiles. “I’m just happy!”

Wanda ignored the heat that rose to her cheeks. “I was… worried.”

She nodded toward Y/N’s side. “The wound.”

Y/N gave a half-smile. “It’s fine. My metabolism’s faster than average, remember?”

Wanda frowned. “Still.”

She stepped closer.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t flinch when Wanda kneeled between her knees and gently pulled up the hem of her shirt. She saw the pink line—healed, no sign of infection or deeper damage.

But still.

Her fingers lingered around the edge of the scar, brushing warm skin.

“I told you it’s fine,” Y/N said again, voice softer now, gaze searching her face.

Wanda didn’t answer right away.

She was too focused on the curve of Y/N’s waist, her perfect abs, the way her body radiated heat and steadiness beneath her touch. She realized suddenly how close she was. How her hand was brushing against Y/N abs, and how Y/N wasn’t moving away.

She blinked, startled by her own boldness, and let go as if burned.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, turning her face away. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Y/N said gently.

Wanda stood slowly, brushing her hair behind her ear as she looked anywhere but at her soulmate.

“I just needed to see it,” she murmured. “For myself.”

Y/N patted the bed beside her. “You still need sleep, Maximoff.”

Wanda hesitated. Then, with a small nod, she climbed in, curling beneath the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was. In this room, in this bed, next to her—it was the only place Wanda could rest.

Y/N gets under the covers and hug her from behind, making Wanda melt.

Silence fell again, broken only by the soft rhythm of their breathing. Then, slowly Wanda turns around and snuggle into Y/N neck.

Wanda’s voice came barely above a whisper.

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

Y/N smiled faintly in the dark. “I’ll try.”

And for once, Wanda closed her eyes—and slept.

---

Part 7

---

Good? 🤭🤭

#Written in Our Souls #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff angst #soulmates au #wm❤️‍🔥

338 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 13 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 5

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda continues to run from her fate. But for how long?

Word Count: 5,733

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence, a little fluff

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Y/N’s POV

After the party Y/N avoids Wanda.

She doesn’t avoid the others, but she keeps her head down. Trains when scheduled. Eats when Natasha drags her. Sleeps when exhaustion wins over the ache. But it’s a ghost of a life, a holding pattern. She isn’t really living—just existing around a wound no one else can see.

Except Nat.

She sits across from Y/N every morning, arms folded, eyes sharp. She doesn’t fill the silence. Doesn’t coddle. Just shows up. And maybe that’s the only reason Y/N hasn’t disappeared entirely.

“You’re eating,” Nat notes one morning, her tone unreadable as she eyes the half-eaten toast on Y/N’s plate.

“Barely,” Y/N mutters.

“Still counts.”

A long silence.

“She’s not okay either, you know.”

Y/N doesn’t look up. “Don’t.”

“She’s unraveling.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. “Then she should say something.”

“She won’t. You know that.”

Y/N finally lifts her gaze, voice sharper now. “Then what am I supposed to do? Keep standing there like a fucking lighthouse while she steers away?”

Nat leans in, elbows on the table. “You love her.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to let her destroy me.”

The words feel like glass leaving her mouth.

Nat doesn’t argue.

Because she knows Y/N’s right.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda sits on the rooftop.

Her fingers tug at the edge of her sweater sleeves, hiding the pulse of Y/N’s name against her skin. It still burns sometimes. Quietly. Like a whisper she tries not to hear.

She’s not sure how many people she’s snapped at today.

Bruce, when he asked if she was sleeping.

Sam, when he jokingly mentioned she was more intense than usual.

Vision, when he said he was worried.

She doesn’t want his worry.

She wants the girl whose name is on her wrist. Her soulmate. The one she was supposed to wait. And now, wouldn’t even look at her.

No.

She pushed her away. She knows that.

But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.

She thinks of Y/N’s voice—soft in the hallway that night, barely a whisper.

“I’m just a mistake, Wanda.”

The words she once said backfiring at her.

Wanda leans forward, forehead resting on her knees, arms wrapped tight around herself.

For the first time in days, her powers are still.

Because she’s too tired to feel anything except the ache that started in her chest after Y/N started ignoring her.

---

Each day without Y/N stretches longer than the last.

And each day, the lie Wanda keeps living—the one where she pretends Vision is the right choice, the safe choice—scrapes her raw from the inside out. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to be stronger. Clearer. She thought if she just committed hard enough to the path she’d chosen, the ache would fade. The bond would silence. The name on her wrist would stop glowing like an ember pressed into her skin.

But it doesn’t.

It worsens.

The more she ignores it, the more it punishes her. The name—Y/N’s name—burns now. Not gently. Not warmly. But with sharp, cutting heat, like it’s trying to remind her that something real is dying.

And Wanda is the one killing it.

She’s quieter these days. Vision tries to cheer her up by asking her on dates, or trying to cook paprikash for her. And she tries too.

---

Y/N’s POV

The worst part is: she still dreams of her.

Wanda.

She’s in everything. Every hallway. Every laugh that’s not hers. Every silence that lasts too long.

Y/N pretends she’s fine. Enough to keep up appearances. Enough to nod when Steve gives her orders. Enough to answer when Sam or Bruce ask how she’s holding up.

But the truth is, she’s unraveling too. Quietly. Elegantly. Like something made to fall apart.

Because the bond won’t let her go.

Because Wanda won’t.

Every time Y/N tries to move forward, something pulls her back. A glance in the hallway. Her voice during a mission. The whisper of her powers lingering in the air when she leaves a room.

The worst is the guilt—because Y/N knows Wanda is in pain too.

But she can’t be the one to fix this.

Not when she wasn’t the one who broke it.

So, she waits.

And waits.

And breaks a little more every time the name on her wrist pulses with a longing that will never be returned.

---

Wanda’s POV

She kisses Vision one night.

Softly. Mechanically. Like it’s written in a script.

His hands rest at her waist. Gentle. Polite.

Wanda doesn’t feel anything.

She pulls back, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. Vision tilts his head, puzzled.

“Wanda?”

“I’m tired,” she lies, backing away. “Long day.”

She doesn’t look at him when she leaves the room. Doesn’t stop until she’s behind a locked door, sinking to the floor, breathing like she’s drowning.

Because she is.

In guilt.

In want.

In a love she tried to bury and couldn’t.

She lifts her wrist. Y/N’s name is glowing again, brighter than ever.

And this time—her chest hurts so much she cries.

---

Y/N’s POV

Then one night.

It all starts as a tingle.

A small, burning pull that wakes me from sleep like a whisper too loud in the dark. I sit up, heart racing. My wrist—Wanda’s name—is glowing faintly beneath the skin, not in the warm way it sometimes did before, but sharp, erratic. Like it’s panicked.

I rub at it, wincing, then glance at the clock.

3:12 a.m.

A pit forms in my stomach.

Something’s wrong.

I swing my legs out of bed and sit on the edge for a moment, debating. My chest aches. My whole body feels tense, like my soul is bracing for impact.

Should I check on her?

She told me to stay away. She made it clear that I was a mistake. That we were. I’d spent days putting distance between us, even when every part of me screamed to do the opposite.

But this—this burning sensation, this invisible thread tugging at me in the dark—it’s not something I can ignore.

I’m halfway to the door when—

Knock. Knock.

I freeze.

A soft, shaky knock again.

And then I hear it. Breathing. Ragged, desperate.

I open the door.

Wanda collapses into me.

She doesn’t say a word. Just folds into me like her legs gave out the second she saw my face. Her arms wrap around my middle, and her head buries itself in my chest as the sobs break free.

I stand there, stunned, arms hovering awkwardly for a split second—then I wrap them around her without thinking. Tight. Like I’m trying to hold her together.

She’s trembling. Shaking so violently it scares me.

“Wanda…” I whisper, pulling her inside, closing the door with my foot. “Hey… hey, I got you, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

But she’s not okay.

She’s falling apart in my arms.

She clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to this world. And maybe, for her, right now—I am.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda doesn’t remember getting out of bed. Doesn’t remember walking the halls barefoot, or the way her vision blurred from tears.

She just remembers waking up screaming.

Vision didn’t hear her. He just remained still beside her. She doesn’t know.

But Y/N—Y/N was the only face her mind called out for. The only arms that felt safe.

Now, in Y/N’s room, Wanda curls into her like a child, like something wounded and small, and Y/N doesn’t ask questions. She just holds her.

Her heartbeat is steady.

Wanda lets herself breathe again.

For the first time since that mission… she doesn’t feel like she’s drowning.

---

Y/N’s POV

I guide her slowly toward the bed, not letting go for even a second. She clutches my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.

“It was just a nightmare,” I whisper, barely audible over her sobs. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

She doesn’t answer. Her entire body is shaking, curled in on itself like she’s trying to disappear. I sit down on the edge of the bed and gently pull her into my lap, her knees each one beside me, arms wrapped tight around my neck.

She buries her face against my chest, and the sound she makes—it’s broken. Like her soul is splintering in my hands.

I wrap my arms around her tighter, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I’ve got you,” I murmur again, and again, like a mantra. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

My fingers thread through her hair in slow, calming strokes, and gradually the sobs dull into small, stuttering breaths. Her heartbeat pounds against mine, ragged and desperate, like she’s trying to sync to something steady. Something real.

She shifts just enough to tuck her face under my jaw, her skin hot and damp against my neck. And I swear—it’s like our souls are speaking in silence.

When she finally speaks, her voice is so raw it makes my chest ache.

“I saw you die.”

I freeze.

Wanda’s hand clutches my back like she’s trying to hold me here. Her voice trembles.

“You were on a mission. And something exploded. I couldn’t reach you in time—your mark on my wrist just—” she gasps. “It burned. It burned like it was trying to stop your heart from leaving mine.”

My arms tighten instinctively around her.

“I tried to stop it. I screamed. But you were gone.”

“Wanda—”

“I couldn’t breathe. I woke up choking on it. I didn’t know where else to go. I just—I needed to see you. To feel you.”

She lifts her head slowly. Her eyes are bloodshot, cheeks streaked with tears, and all I can see is fear. Vulnerability. Love that’s bleeding and terrified.

“I’m here,” I whisper, cupping her face in both hands. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Wanda leans into my touch like she can’t get close enough. Her forehead presses against mine, our breaths tangling in the small space between us.

“You’ll always have me,” I say, voice soft and shaking. “Even if you push me away. Even if you say we’re a mistake. My heart doesn’t care. It still finds you.”

Her eyes flutter closed as a new tear slips down her cheek. I kiss it away without thinking.

She doesn’t let go.

Neither do I.

We sit there like that for a long time, just breathing the same air. Letting the silence carry everything we’re not ready to say out loud.

Eventually, she curls up against my side, fingers still tangled with mine. Her breathing slows. Steadies.

She falls asleep in my arms, soft, warm and safe.

And I stay awake, watching the rise and fall of her chest, her name burning gently beneath my skin—not in pain this time.

But in something that feels a lot like peace.

And love.

---

Wanda’s POV

Morning light filters through the room, casting a warm golden glow on the walls.

It’s soft. Gentle. The kind of light that could almost convince her everything was okay.

But it’s not.

She blinks her eyes open, her head still resting against Y/N’s shoulder. The steady rise and fall of Y/N’s chest under her cheek is comforting. Too comforting.

And that’s what terrifies her.

Wanda sits up carefully, trying not to wake her.

Y/N is still fast asleep, face peaceful in a way Wanda rarely gets to see. There’s a hand still loosely wrapped around hers, and Wanda stares at it for a long moment—like she’s memorizing the feeling. The warmth. The safety.

She hadn’t meant to come here last night.

She didn’t plan to collapse into her soulmate’s arms and cry herself to sleep like a child. But the second she woke up from the nightmare, Y/N’s name was the only thing echoing in her mind. Not Vision’s. Never Vision’s.

It was Y/N.

Just like before.

What did I do?

Her breath catches.

What have I done?

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to need Y/N like this. Not after everything she said. Not after how cruel she’d been.

She’s engaged. She has responsibilities. A future already mapped out. A life she's forcing herself to choose.

But lying in Y/N’s arms last night felt like home.

And that terrifies her more than the nightmare ever could.

Wanda carefully untangles herself from Y/N’s arms. Her movements are slow, calculated—like if she breathes too loud, the moment will shatter.

She stands at the edge of the bed, looking back at her soulmate just once.

There’s a faint crease between Y/N’s brows, like even in sleep, something inside her knows.

Wanda’s chest tightens painfully.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers under her breath.

Then she turns and slips out the door—quiet, fast, like she’s fleeing the scene of a crime.

Because in her heart… it feels like she just committed one.

Wanda walks back to her room.

Her bare feet hit the cold hallway floor, and the chill cuts through her like guilt. She hugs her arms around herself, not even sure which way she’s going. Just away.

She’s almost at the corridor that leads to her own room when she hears a voice.

“Wanda?”

Her breath catches in her throat. She turns—and there he is.

Vision stands at the corner, dressed in his usual casual morning wear. He tilts his head slightly, concerned but not suspicious.

“I was looking for you,” he says with a faint smile. “You were not in bed.”

Wanda forces a smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should have woken me.”

I couldn’t.

Instead, she says, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He walks toward her and reaches for her arm, gently. “You weren’t in the library either. I checked.”

She stiffens under his touch. “I just… needed air. I wandered for a bit. Ended up falling asleep somewhere.”

He frowns slightly. “Are you alright?”

Wanda nods too quickly. “I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”

He brushes his fingers down her arm. “I wish you’d come to me. You know I’m here, don’t you?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it.

You were never the one who could calm the storm.

Not like she did.

“I know,” she lies.

Vision gives her a small kiss on the temple, and she closes her eyes, hoping it’ll feel like something. Hoping it’ll anchor her to the choice she made.

It doesn’t.

It just makes her stomach twist.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says gently. “You should shower. You look pale.”

She nods again, walking past him with a polite smile and a whispered, “Okay.”

But as she slips into her room and closes the door behind her, she leans back against it and finally lets herself shake.

Not from the cold.

But from everything she’s trying not to feel.

---

Y/N’s POV

I wake up to silence.

No soft breathing beside me. No warmth curled into my side. Just the faint scent of her shampoo on my shirt and the hollow weight of empty sheets.

I sit up slowly, blinking away the haze of sleep.

She’s gone.

The spot where she slept is still faintly warm, but fading fast. And it’s like the moment hits me all at once—like a punch to the chest I didn’t see coming.

I run a hand down my face, trying to breathe through the ache building in my ribs.

I knew this would happen.

I told myself not to fall asleep. That if I did, she’d be gone by morning. That this wasn’t real. That last night—her arms around me, her voice shaking against my chest—was just temporary.

But knowing it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I shift to the edge of the bed, rubbing my wrist out of habit. It’s still warm where her name is burned into my skin. Not painfully. Not like before. Just… there. Like it knows she was close. Like it remembers, even if she’s already pretending to forget. The pain in my chest is less too.

I glance toward the door.

There’s no note. No message. Just absence.

The same kind I’ve felt when she looked me in the eye and said we were a mistake.

I grip the edge of the mattress, jaw clenched.

Last night, she let me in. Let herself fall apart. She came to me. Not Vision. Me.

And this morning… it’s like it never happened.

I stand up, dragging on a hoodie, trying to shake the chill that settled in my bones the moment I woke up alone. I don’t know what I expected. I guess part of me hoped… something would be different.

But it’s the same story, rewritten with softer words and sharper endings.

Still, I’d hold her all over again if she asked.

Even if she leaves every time the sun rises.

---

Wanda’s POV

She hasn’t looked at Y/N in days. Not really.

Not since that night she crept into their bed like a secret and let herself feel something she swore she’d never want.

The morning after, as she walks back to her room, she bumps into Vision who has been looking for her. And when she went to the kitchen, she slipped into his side like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t spent the night tangled in someone else’s arms.

Like she hadn’t felt peace for the first time in weeks.

Now, she lies in bed beside Vision. His presence, once familiar, now feels suffocating. He doesn’t sleep, but he rests, and he’s quiet. Kind. But utterly wrong.

Wanda stares at the ceiling.

She can’t sleep. She hasn’t, not properly, since that night.

And when she finally falls asleep, it happens again.

The dream starts quiet.

She’s back on the battlefield—scorched earth beneath her boots, smoke curling through the air like fingers reaching for something already gone. The sky is red, too red, like it’s bleeding. And all she hears is wind. No voices. No gunfire.

Too quiet.

Then she sees it: a flash of movement ahead. A familiar silhouette standing tall amidst the ruins.

“Y/N,” she breathes, relief flooding her chest.

She runs toward her, the broken ground crumbling beneath her feet. Y/N stands facing away, still and silent. Her stance is off—tense, unreadable.

“Y/N,” Wanda calls again, louder now.

Y/N doesn’t turn.

Wanda’s heart hammers. She moves closer. She reaches out a hand. “Please, look at me—”

And then she sees it.

Blood. So much blood.

It’s soaked into Y/N’s shirt, pooling beneath her, staining her fingers. Wanda’s breath catches in her throat as Y/N finally turns—slowly, painfully—and when their eyes meet, it’s like something inside Wanda splits clean in half.

Y/N is smiling, but it’s not the one Wanda knows. It’s hollow. Fading.

“You didn’t come,” Y/N says, voice soft, broken. “You chose him.”

“No—no, that’s not—” Wanda stumbles forward, clutching Y/N’s arms, trying to hold her up, to stop the bleeding with her hands, her powers, anything.

But her powers fizzle out uselessly. Like they’re gone. Like she’s nothing.

“I’m here now,” she begs. “Please, just stay with me. Please, I’m so sorry—”

Y/N shakes her head slowly. “It’s too late.”

Her knees give out. Wanda catches her, cradling her in her lap, rocking back and forth as tears blur her vision.

“You were supposed to be mine,” Wanda whispers, voice cracking. “You’re my soulmate.”

Y/N’s hand rises, brushing her cheek—gentle, forgiving.

Then her eyes go still.

And Wanda screams.

---

She wakes up with a gasp, drenched in sweat, her sheets tangled around her limbs. Her heart is a fist, pounding against her ribs.

Her hand flies to her wrist—Y/N—still there. Still glowing faintly in the dark.

Still alive.

“Wanda?” Vision sits up beside her, his voice gentle. “Are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer.

Her breath stutters. The phantom pain lingers in her chest like a bruise. The sound of Y/N’s voice—“You chose him”—won’t stop echoing.

“Would you like me to get you water?” Vision offers, his hand reaching for hers.

She flinches.

“No,” she says quickly. “No, I just… I need air.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She’s already grabbing her hoodie, already walking out the door barefoot.

---

Wanda hesitates only for a second.

Then she opens the door. Quiet. Like she did before.

The room is dark, but she knows the shape of her in bed. Knows the rhythm of her breath. The way she sleeps—curled slightly toward the wall, as if bracing for something that never comes.

Y/N shifts. “Wanda?” her voice is hoarse, sleep-soft, confused.

She doesn’t answer. Just crosses the room and climbs into her bed. She’s trembling.

And just like before, Y/N doesn’t question it. Her arms open for Wanda like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Wanda presses herself into her warmth, anchoring herself in the rise and fall of her chest.

“I saw you die again,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “In my dream. I was too late. You were bleeding and I—I couldn’t save you.”

Y/N’s arms tighten around her.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs. “I’m okay. I promise.”

But she doesn’t ask why Wanda keeps coming. Or why she keeps leaving.

And that makes it worse.

Because she should.

Wanda buries her face in her chest, fingers fisting the fabric of her shirt like she’s afraid she’ll disappear. The dream still clings to her—the blood, the silence, the way her eyes had gone still.

“I felt you slip away,” she chokes out. “And it felt like the end of everything.”

Y/N says nothing. Just holds her tighter.

Wanda’s voice breaks into a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” Y/N replies softly. “You’re scared.”

She closes her eyes. She wishes Y/N would hate her. Scream at her. Push her away.

But instead, she holds her. Gently. Steady. Like Wanda hasn’t shattered her over and over again.

And Wanda lets herself fall asleep in the arms of the person she keeps losing—even when she never lets go.

---

The next day, Wanda is having another nightmare.

The world feels wrong—distorted, blurry. Wanda can’t focus, can’t understand what’s happening around her, but she feels it, deep in her bones. There’s a weight pushing her down, suffocating her. Her heartbeat is louder than everything else, echoing in her ears.

And then she hears it.

Save her

It’s her wrist, burning in pain, as if ripping her skin open.

Wanda’s breath catches. She tries to look for Y/N, but her legs feel like they’re made of stone. She can’t move.

And then she sees her.

Y/N is kneeling, shackled to a cold metal chair, her body bruised and bloodied. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with terror. But it’s the pain in her eyes that makes Wanda’s chest tighten—the agony of someone she loves being tortured.

Wanda’s heart races. She tries to scream, to reach out to her, but nothing happens. No sound, no movement. The room is suffocatingly silent except for the echo of cruel laughter.

Then, a voice Wanda doesn’t recognize fills the space—a cold, mocking voice.

“We’ve been watching you, Wanda. You think your precious Y/N is safe? She’s nothing. A pawn in your game.”

Wanda’s breath catches in her throat. The voice continues.

“Don’t worry, though. We’ll let her live—for now.”

The voice chuckles, and the sound sends chills down Wanda’s spine.

“We know you care for her. But it seems you’ve chosen someone else, haven’t you? That thing you call Vision… He’s the one you’ve chosen. Not her. Not the one who could have stood by your side.”

The words feel like a slap to Wanda’s soul. She feels herself tremble with the weight of them. She doesn’t understand how she’s hearing this. How this could be true.

But the figure in front of her doesn’t stop.

“You don’t care enough, do you? You hurt her for him.”

Y/N winces at the words, her body wracked with pain from the torture, but she looks up at Wanda—eyes pleading, desperate for her to stop them, to save her. But Wanda can’t move, can’t reach her.

The voice smirks. “We’ll stop if you beg, Wanda. Beg for her life. But we know you won’t, because you’ve made your choice. Vision. The one who doesn’t feel like this one does.”

The HYDRA agents laugh, taunting her, their voices cutting through Wanda’s heart.

Wanda’s vision begins to blur with tears, and she watches as they turn their weapons on Y/N, ready to deliver another round of torture. The air in her lungs is too thick, like a vice crushing her chest.

“Stop!” Wanda tries to shout, but her voice is a whisper lost in the void.

Y/N’s eyes find hers, and in them, Wanda sees the hurt—the belief that she’s been abandoned. And it’s true. I chose Vision.

The world around them is suddenly quiet. The room is still, like time has frozen. Y/N’s trembling body looks up at Wanda one last time, her lips barely moving. She smiles—tired, but so loving, as if she’s trying to reassure Wanda, as if she’s trying to tell her something that Wanda can’t hear.

Then, in an instant, the figure standing over Y/N moves with brutal precision. A cold blade flashes across the air.

Y/N’s body jerks violently, and Wanda watches in horror as the blade cuts across Y/N’s throat. The blood splashes onto the floor, pooling around her. Y/N’s eyes flicker with shock and pain before they slowly go blank, and her body goes still.

Wanda’s heart stops. Time starts again, rushing back to her like a tidal wave, and she screams out in agony, but her voice is swallowed by the silence.

---

Y/N’s POV

Somewhere deep in her sleep, Y/N jerks awake with a sharp, breathless gasp. The room is too quiet. Too still. But it’s the pain—the deep, gut-wrenching pain—that’s the first thing she feels.

Wanda.

It crashes into her like a wave, raw and unrelenting. The physical pain is excruciating, but the emotional ache that follows is worse. She can feel it like an open wound. Wanda’s grief. Her regret. Her sense of abandonment. It rips through her like a razor, and for a moment, Y/N can’t breathe.

She sits up in bed, heart hammering in her chest, sweat pooling on her forehead. Her hands clutch the sheets, her eyes wide with confusion and terror. What was that? What happened?

But she can’t answer her own question. All she knows is that Wanda’s pain is bleeding into her own, and it feels like it’s suffocating her—drowning her in something far darker and deeper than physical torment.

Y/N presses a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself, but the ache is relentless, unforgiving. Her wrist burns with the mark of their bond—the name Wanda written there.

—

Wanda’s POV

Wanda jerks awake with a gasp, heart racing, breath shallow. The nightmare still grips her like chains—Y/N’s screams, the blood, the mocking voice of HYDRA echoing in her head:

“You chose him. So we’ll spare him.”

She shoves the blanket off and stumbles out of bed without a glance at Vision. Her hands are trembling, her legs unsteady, but she doesn’t stop. The walls of the compound feel like they’re closing in as she moves down the hall in a daze, pulled by instinct—by the thread that connects her to the only person she needs to see.

She reaches Y/N’s door.

No hesitation this time.

She pushes it open—and her breath catches in her throat.

Y/N is sitting up in bed, clutching her chest, her face twisted in pain. Her skin is damp with sweat, her eyes wide and glassy.

“Y/N,” Wanda panics, the dream too vivid in her mind.

Y/N looks up, their eyes meeting. “Wanda…” she whispers, her voice rough. Before she can continue, Wanda is grabbing her face and checking if she’s okay.

Before either of them can think, Wanda’s already crossing the room, hands on Y/N’s cheeks, scanning her face like she needs proof she’s real—alive. That she’s here.

“You’re burning up,” she mutters, brushing sweat-damp hair back. “Are you in pain? Is it your chest? Where does it hurt?”

Y/N winces faintly but leans into her touch. “It’s okay,” she says, though her voice betrays the effort it takes.

But Wanda isn’t reassured.

“No, it’s not okay,” she snaps, voice pitching higher. Her hands run over Y/N’s arms, her shoulders, searching desperately for injuries. “You’re sweating—you’re breathing too fast. Your heart—your heart feels wrong.” Her fingers hover helplessly over Y/N’s chest, terrified to touch too hard, terrified not to touch at all.

Panic coils tighter and tighter around her ribs. Her mind is screaming at her—you’re losing her, you’re losing her, do something, save her—

“I need to get Bruce—I need to get Tony—you’re not okay, you're not healing right, we need to call someone—”

“Wanda—” Y/N tries again, but Wanda barely hears her.

Her power flares without warning, making the lamps in the room flicker wildly. The air crackles with raw magic as her body vibrates with terror she can’t contain. It feels exactly like it did in the nightmare—helpless, useless, too slow to stop it.

“I can’t—I can’t lose you,” she chokes out, voice breaking apart into jagged pieces. “I felt it, Y/N. You were dying. You’re dying and I’m just standing here—”

“Wanda,” Y/N says again, louder this time, pushing through the pain to grab her wrists, anchoring her.

Their eyes lock.

Wanda freezes, trembling, her magic surging uselessly under her skin.

“Breathe,” Y/N whispers, like she’s trying to catch her through the storm. “Please, Wands. Just breathe with me.”

Wanda’s chest heaves. It feels impossible, like her lungs have forgotten how. But Y/N’s hands are solid and real, wrapping around hers, grounding her.

“In and out,” Y/N murmurs, voice low and steady. “You’re here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly—painfully—Wanda forces a breath into her burning lungs. Then another. And another.

The crackling air around them starts to calm. The lights stop flickering.

But Wanda’s hands stay clutching Y/N’s like she’ll never let go again.

Then, as her breathing starts to even out, the panic gives way to something deeper. Something worse.

Guilt.

“I felt it. I felt you. What happened?”

The sight of her like that—hurting because of her—makes Wanda freeze. Then panic seizes her all over again.

“I—I’m sorry,” Wanda stammers, stumbling into the room. “It was a nightmare. They had you. HYDRA. They said they’d spare Vision because he was the one I chose, and then they—” Her voice breaks, and her legs give out.

Y/N is already shifting, reaching for her.

Wanda collapses into her arms, shaking violently. “I couldn’t stop them. I was screaming and they just—they just laughed. And then they—” Her voice dies into a choked sob.

Y/N wraps her arms around her, wincing slightly from the residual echo of pain, but holds her tight. “It wasn’t real,” she murmurs. “I’m right here. You found me, remember?”

“But you felt it,” Wanda whispers, horrified. “I hurt you through the bond.”

“No. I felt what you feel. Not what you dreamt about. And I’m okay now,” Y/N says softly. “You're okay now. We’re both okay.”

Wanda clutches her tighter, burying her face in her neck. “I thought I lost you. It felt real. Like I was already too late.”

“You’re not too late,” Y/N says, kissing the top of her head gently. “You came back.”

Wanda nods against her skin, unable to speak.

And this time, when they lie down, it’s not Wanda crawling into Y/N’s arms—it’s both of them pulling each other close. Holding on. Not letting go.

---

The Next Morning — Y/N’s Room

The light is soft when Wanda stirs. Pale golden, barely filtering through the curtains. It brushes over her face, warming her skin just enough to make her blink awake.

She’s not in her room.

Not in Vision’s bed.

The warmth she feels… it’s not artificial or distant. It’s alive.

Y/N.

Her breath catches as memory floods back—the nightmare, the way she ran through the halls like she was drowning, the moment she burst into Y/N’s room and found her already awake, clutching her chest with a pained expression.

And now… this.

She opens her eyes—and Y/N’s already looking at her.

Her face is close, closer than it should be, like they’d never let go. There’s a slight crease on her cheek from the pillow, and her lips are parted just enough to suggest she’d been watching Wanda long before she woke.

“Morning,” Y/N whispers, voice raw. Gentle. A little shaken.

Wanda doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. She just looks at her, letting the reality sink in.

She stayed.

And Y/N didn’t ask her to leave.

The moment feels too fragile to speak into. Too sacred.

Y/N’s hand is already there—resting lightly on Wanda’s back, like it had stayed there the whole night. Not possessive. Just present. Grounding. Real.

“Did you sleep at all?” Wanda asks, voice barely audible.

Y/N nods, slow. “Only after you did.”

Her chest aches at that. “You felt it,” she whispers. “The nightmare. What I felt.”

“I felt everything,” Y/N says quietly. “It tore through me, Wanda. I thought something was happening to you.”

Wanda closes her eyes for a second, guilt crawling up her throat. “I didn’t mean to pull you into it.”

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies. “I was already there.”

Silence stretches again, but it’s different this time. Warm. Familiar. Full of things neither of them have found the courage to say aloud.

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Wanda admits, her voice even softer now. “Not once. It was quiet with you.”

Y/N doesn’t smile. Her eyes just soften, a sorrowful kind of knowing in them that makes Wanda’s throat tighten.

“Maybe your soul finally found its way home,” she says. It’s not a line. Not meant to make anything easier. It’s just the truth.

Wanda wants to cry. Or kiss her. Or both. But she does neither.

Instead, she lifts her hand and brushes her fingers along Y/N’s wrist. She doesn’t need to look at it to know her name is there. She can feel it—burning, steady, alive.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Y/N meets her gaze, no judgment in sight. Just quiet understanding.

“I know,” she says. “Me too.”

Wanda breathes in. Deep. Full.

And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself stay in it.

Not the guilt.

Not the fear.

Not the life she’s pretending to live.

Just this.

Her.

The bond.

---

Part 6

---

A little fluff for the pain 😁

#Written in Our Souls #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff angst #soulmates au #wm❤️‍🔥

392 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 13 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 4

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda continues to run from her fate. But for how long?

Word Count: 6,930

Warnings: angst

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Y/N’s POV

The morning sun filters through the thin curtains, casting a soft light across the room. I wake slowly, my body heavy, my mind still foggy with sleep. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then, reality comes rushing back.

I turn my head, and there she is. Wanda. Her face is peaceful, her eyes closed, her breath soft and steady. She's still in my arms, her body curled into mine, her head resting on my chest.

My heart skips a beat as I take in the sight of her. This is the closest I've ever been to her, and it feels like my soul is singing. I want to stay like this forever, just holding her, feeling her breath against my skin.

When I realize, my hand is caressing her cheek and I can’t help but smile when she snuggles more into my body. And at that moment, I wish I could wake up beside her for the rest of my life.

I can’t contain myself and when I realize, I had buried my nose into her hair.

Floral

Her scent is a mix of roses, orchid, and a hint of bergamot. It’s not too sweet but addicting.

I see her hand is grabbing my shirt while she sleeps and I find it adorable. I caress her hand and I remove it delicately from my shirt, and that’s when I see it.

Y/N

It’s my name. She has my name on her wrist. The proof I’ve been trying to find that we are actually soulmates.

I subconsciously rub my name on her wrist with my thumb and I hear her gasp.

She stirs alert, but as soon as she sees me she smiles softly and caress my cheek.

“Good morning” I whisper and that seems to have snap her out of something because the next second she pulls away and cover herself with the blanket.

“Why are you in my bed?” She asks blushing.

“You had a nightmare last night…I just wanted to make sure you were okay” I tell her calmly.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped” I add.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Did your wrist tingle when I touched it?” I ask her because of how she woke up when I rubbed the name on her wrist.

“How did you-?!” She starts to ask me but soon realize

“It’s my name” I give her a weak smile. Completely far from the smile I gave her when we first met. When I was happy to finally find her.

“Th-that doesn’t mean anything” her tone is cold. And just like that the pain was back.

“Because you are engaged” I look down at my hands trying not to cry.

Wanda doesn’t reply. The silence stretches, but this time it feels hostile—sharp, dangerous. Her eyes are fixed on the blanket pulled up to her chin, like it might shield her from this moment. From me.

I wait. Maybe part of me still hopes she’ll say something soft. Something honest.

Instead, she lifts her gaze slowly, and it’s like the warmth is gone.

“So what?” she says flatly. “Yes, it’s your name. But just because we are soulmates I was supposed to wait for you? I was supposed to leave everything to be with you?”

Her words hit like a slap. I blink, stunned. “I… I… No, I… I mean-.”

She laughs—but it’s sad and pained? “You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through”

“Then, let me know you. Let me be here.” I ask

Wanda shakes her head. “No. It’s a mistake.”

The breath leaves my lungs all at once. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” she snaps. “I have to mean it. Because if I don’t, then everything I’ve built, everything I’ve told myself, falls apart.”

I nod, even though I feel like I might collapse. “Right. Got it.”

I turn toward the door, heart in pieces, but stop just before leaving.

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to, Wanda,” I say quietly. “You can pretend this is all some mistake. But your soul knows mine. And one day, that truth will be louder than your fear.”

“I’ll shower first” I lock myself in the bathroom before she can say something.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda watches as Y/N walks out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. The sound is deafening in the silence that follows.

Her heart is pounding in her chest, but it’s not from the rush of adrenaline she’s used to on missions. No, this is a different kind of fear. The kind that makes her feel small, weak, and lost.

She’s left alone in the room, staring at the space where Y/N had just been. The bed feels cold now. Empty. The warmth from before is gone, replaced by a hollow ache in her chest.

She shouldn't have said those things. She knows she shouldn’t have. But the words came out anyway, like poison slipping from her tongue without warning.

Wanda wraps her arms around herself, hugging tightly, as if trying to hold herself together.

What did she expect? To just give in? To surrender herself to this bond, to Y/N, just because it’s written in the stars? In their souls? She can’t. Not when so much of her life has been out of her control. Not when she’s spent so long fighting for stability, for purpose—only for it all to be thrown into chaos by the presence of someone who are too late. Not when she’s already promised herself to someone else.

But even as she thinks this, the words echo in her head: Your soul knows mine.

Her throat tightens. She hates how true that feels. How undeniable it is.

“No,” she mutters to herself, shaking her head. “This is… this is just a mistake. I’m not… I’m not supposed to feel this way.”

She pushes herself off the bed and stands in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her eyes are red-rimmed from the tears she didn’t allow herself to shed. She barely recognizes the woman in front of her—lost, confused, hurt.

She hadn’t meant to lash out. But the more Y/N pressed, the more she wanted to scream. To push away the person who could take everything from her, even if they didn't mean to.

---

NO ONE’s POV

The mission was a success. But the silence between Wanda and Y/N was deafening. They hadn’t exchanged a word since what happened in the morning. The air between them was thick with tension, so heavy that even the the others noticed when they arrived.

Natasha and Clint were waiting for them when they got back, but it wasn’t hard to tell that something was off. Clint, ever the observant one, gave them a glance, but it was Natasha who immediately picked up on the shift.

She watched as Y/N stormed toward her room, her movements sharp, her face a mask of frustration. Without saying a word, Natasha excused herself from Clint’s watchful eye and followed Y/N down the hallway.

When Y/N entered her room, she slammed the door behind her, her frustration too much to contain. She pressed her palm to her chest as the pain hit again, sharp and familiar.

“Not again,” she muttered, trying to breathe through it. But the tightness in her chest only intensified.

Unable to hold it in, Y/N lashed out in anger. She kicked her bed, and with her enhanced strength, the heavy frame went flying, crashing against the wall with a loud bang.

“What the hell, Y/N!” Natasha’s voice rang out from the door.

Y/N froze, chest still tight, the frustration growing. She turned slowly, guilt already creeping up. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a sigh. “What happened? Did you and Wanda fight or something during the mission?”

“Nothing,” Y/N murmured, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“It’s not nothing when you kick your own bed to the wall, Tony is gonna kill you!” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “And if you think I didn’t realize something was going on between the two of you, you’re very stupid.”

Y/N stayed silent, biting her lip, the weight of everything pressing down on her.

Natasha stepped forward, a more serious expression on her face. “You two know each other before the Avengers, right? And don’t deny it this time.”

Y/N hesitated, heart pounding. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone this, but Nat’s eyes were unrelenting. After a long beat, she sighed, her hand shaking slightly as she lifted her shirt to reveal the name on her wrist. Wanda’s name.

Nat’s eyes widened. “Omg. You two are soulmates?! But… but she’s engaged!”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, clutching her chest harder, feeling the pressure build up.

Nat’s gaze softened as she took a step closer, her sharp eyes noticing how Y/N pressed her hand to her chest. “Is that why you always seem to be in pain? Is this… about the bond?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her breath shaky. “I don’t know. I never heard of anything like this. The bond doesn’t… it’s not what I expected.”

She sank down onto the broken bed, feeling the weight of her words settle over her like a blanket she couldn’t shake off. The pain in her chest was unbearable, like her heart was being squeezed by invisible hands.

Nat leaned against the door frame, her arms still crossed, but her expression softening. “So, you’re telling me, you’re soulmates with Wanda… and you’re both completely avoiding it?”

Y/N shot her a tired look. “What else is there to do, Nat? She’s engaged. She can’t just… leave everything for me.”

“She’s not just going to forget about you, Y/N. You two were meant for each other.” Natasha’s voice softened. “But I’m guessing Wanda isn’t as ready for that reality as you are.”

Y/N’s chest ached even more, the pressure building until it felt like it might tear her apart. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold it together.

“I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if I can live like this.”

Y/N flops back onto the broken bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, the ache in her chest still unrelenting. She covers her eyes with the palm of her hand, trying to stop the tears. But it’s useless. They come anyway, falling in silent streams down the sides of her face.

“I always imagine how she would be. How she would look like…how her smile would look like…how her voice would sound when calling my name…” Y/N whisper as her tears just flow.

“All I want is just for her to be happy,” she whispers through shaky breaths, the words breaking as they leave her lips.

The tears fall faster, each one like a tiny shard of glass piercing her heart. She can’t stop them. She can’t stop feeling like she’s drowning in a sea of things she can never have.

Wanda—her soulmate—was never meant to be hers. Not like this. Not when she’s already given her heart to someone else.

Y/N wants to be selfish. Wants to scream and demand that Wanda see her. That she choose her. But she won’t do that. She can’t do that to Wanda.

The guilt is suffocating. She wants to scream at the universe, at the cruel twist of fate that bound them together when there was no room for her in Wanda’s life. Not now. Not when Wanda was already engaged to Vision.

The pain in her chest intensifies with every thought. It’s not physical anymore—it’s emotional, an all-consuming ache that leaves her raw, exposed, and hopeless.

“I just want her to be happy,” she says again, her voice thick with tears. “Even if it’s not with me.”

Natasha stands still, watching Y/N, her arms uncrossed now. She walks over to the bed, sitting down next to her, though she doesn’t touch her. The silence stretches for a moment, as Nat considers her next words carefully.

“You deserve happiness too, Y/N,” Nat says softly. “But you can’t keep sacrificing your own for someone else’s. That’s not love.”

Y/N lets out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Love? Is it love if she doesn’t even want me?”

“Wanda doesn’t get to choose this,” Natasha says. “Neither do you. But it’s clear as day—you both feel it. And if you keep running from it, it’s only going to hurt more.”

Y/N nods weakly, wiping her tears away, but the pain won’t go away. It’s still there, sitting heavily in her chest.

---

Wanda's POV

Wanda walks into her room, the weight of everything still pressing on her chest. Her mind is a blur of emotions, none of them making sense. She’s barely aware of Vision standing by the door, his presence a gentle reminder of the life she’s supposed to be living.

“Wanda?” Vision’s voice is warm, concerned. He takes a step toward her, his brow furrowing as he watches her carefully. “How was the mission?”

She forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It was fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Vision steps closer, the soft hum of his voice attempting to fill the space between them. “You don’t look fine. Something’s wrong.”

She shakes her head quickly, not wanting to explain, not wanting to face the truth herself. “It’s nothing, really. Just... tired.”

Vision doesn’t seem convinced. He reaches out, his hand landing gently on her shoulder, the touch warm and reassuring. His hands have always comforted her—always made her feel safe. But today, everything feels off.

She stiffens, the strange sensation crawling up her spine. His touch, once a source of peace, now feels foreign. There’s no comfort in it, no connection. It’s like a cold weight settling over her chest. She forces herself to stand still, to keep her expression neutral, to pretend it doesn’t bother her.

But it does. It bothers her more than she can explain.

Vision notices the shift in her. His hand lingers on her shoulder, and she fights the urge to pull away. He tilts his head, his glowing eyes filled with concern. “Wanda? What is it? You’re not yourself.”

She wants to scream. She wants to tell him everything—about Y/N, about the bond, about the way her soul aches when she’s not near her soulmate. But she can’t. Not when everything she’s worked so hard for is slipping away.

“I’m fine, Vision,” she says, the words slipping out cold and flat. “Really. Just… tired.”

She avoids his gaze, her chest tightening, as if a heavy weight is pressing down on her. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she can’t pretend anymore. She can’t pretend that her world isn’t shifting beneath her feet, that her heart isn’t tugging in a direction she doesn’t want it to go.

When Vision steps closer, wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to pull her into an embrace, she freezes. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t move. His arms feel… strange. His touch is too much, too familiar in a way that feels wrong.

Wanda’s heart races as she stands there, trapped in his embrace. It’s not the same. It’s not the same as last night, when she had fallen asleep in Y/N’s arms, feeling her heartbeat, hearing her breath. That had felt natural. Right. But this… this is nothing but a reminder of what she’s losing, what she’s sacrificing.

She can’t bring herself to pull away. She can’t be cruel, not when Vision is trying so hard. But everything inside her is screaming to get away, to go back to what felt real, to what is real.

“I… I’m just going to rest,” she says quickly, pulling out of his arms. “I need some time alone.”

Vision looks hurt, his brow furrowed as he takes a step back. “Wanda, if something’s wrong—”

“I just need to be alone,” she repeats, her voice strained. She doesn’t wait for a reply before she turns and walks away, leaving Vision standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his face.

She shuts the door behind her, pressing her back to it, her breath coming out in shaky gasps. She feels guilty. She feels confused. And worst of all, she feels lost.

---

NO ONE’s POV

In the days following the mission, Y/N became a ghost.

She still trained. Still attended briefings. Still wore the same calm expression she always did. But the light in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by something quieter. Hollow. Her usual laughter was gone, her presence no longer grounding—it was like she was just… floating. Drifting through the compound like she didn’t belong.

No more banter during meals. No more showing up at training early to try to spar with Wanda. She avoided the common areas when the team gathered. If Wanda walked into a room, Y/N would find an excuse to leave.

Steve noticed first. He said nothing, but he started showing up to the gym at the same odd hours Y/N did, watching her push herself like she was trying to outrun something.

Then Sam brought it up during a late-night debrief.

“Anyone else feel like the air’s been sucked out of the room lately?”

Natasha exchanged a glance with Clint.

“You mean Y/N,” Clint said flatly.

“She’s pulling back,” Sam added. “From all of us.”

Natasha didn’t respond. She just stared at the table, her jaw tight.

Bruce looked up, confused. “Is she okay? Did something happen on the last mission?”

“She and Wanda haven’t spoken since,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t think they’ve even made eye contact.”

That made heads turn.

Wanda, sitting at the far end of the table, pretended not to hear. Her face was unreadable, but her grip on her coffee mug tightened just enough for Natasha to catch it.

Something had happened.

And no one was saying it out loud.

---

Y/N’s POV

I train until my muscles scream and my lungs feel like fire. It's the only time I don't feel the ache in my chest.

I dodge every strike the simulation throws at me, sweat dripping down my temple, my knuckles raw. It's like if I can just keep moving, keep hitting something, I won't think about the look in her eyes when she said it was a mistake.

I throw another punch, harder than I need to, and the simulation sparks out. I broke it. Again.

"Shit," I mutter, stepping back.

I can feel eyes on me before I even turn around.

“You’re going to run yourself into the ground,” Steve says from the doorway.

I grab a towel and wipe my face. “Better than standing still.”

He walks in slowly, hands in his pockets. “You don’t talk to anyone anymore.”

“I talk.”

“Not really.”

I shrug. “Didn’t realize I owed anyone a conversation.”

He watches me for a beat, then says, “Y/N… I know something happened. I want you to know that you can tell me things. You are part of the team now. You are family.”

That almost breaks me. I look away.

He doesn’t push further, “just think about it. We here if you need us” then, he leaves me to the silence.

I sigh and start to punch the punching bag.

---

Wanda’s POV

She feels it. The silence. The shift in the air that follows her like a shadow.

Y/N doesn’t speak to her anymore. Doesn’t look at her. If they happen to cross paths in the hallway, Y/N’s footsteps speed up like she’s running from something. From her.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t—after all, this is what Wanda wanted, right?

But every time Y/N walks out of the room, it feels like a thread snapping inside her chest.

And today, at the debriefing, when Clint mentioned her name—“You mean Y/N”—Wanda felt the heat rush to her face. Not from embarrassment. From guilt.

Because she knows why Y/N is pulling back. She knows it’s her fault.

She stares into her coffee, pretending it tastes like anything but regret. Pretending she doesn’t feel Natasha’s eyes on her from across the room. Pretending her hands aren’t trembling just slightly.

She hears Steve say it:

“She and Wanda haven’t spoken since.”

And her stomach sinks.

But still, she says nothing. Because if she speaks, it would mean admitting too much.

Later, in her room, Wanda sits cross-legged on the floor, staring at her wrist.

Y/N. The name is still there. Of course it is.

She presses her fingers against it, hard enough to leave a mark, hoping for something. A spark. A sign. Anything to make this easier.

But all she feels is the echo of what could’ve been.

---

That evening, when she walks past the gym and hears the heavy thud of fists against a bag, she knows exactly who it is.

She peeks through the glass just for a second. Y/N is drenched in sweat, pounding the punching bag like it did something personal. Despite the circumstances, the scene makes a shiver run through her spine straight to her lower belly. She sees Steve leans in the doorway snapping out of the trance she just had. He is watching Y/N with something close to worry on his face. They talk. Wanda can’t hear the words—but she sees the way Y/N deflates, the slump of her shoulders.

She looks… broken.

Wanda tears her gaze away before Y/N can see her watching.

She turns down the hall, faster than necessary, trying to ignore the burning behind her eyes.

Because this is what she asked for. This is the distance she put between them. And now?

Now she’s drowning in it.

---

Y/N POV

The door to Y/N's room flew open with the grace and force of a tactical breach. Natasha Romanoff didn’t knock. She never knocked.

Y/N barely looked up from where she sat on the edge of her new bed, shoelaces half-tied, wearing the same hoodie she’d been living in for the past three days. Her eyes were hollow, dull. Sleep-deprived. There were dark circles that hadn’t been earned from missions — just a war in her own head.

“I’m not in the mood, Nat.”

“That’s cute,” Natasha deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. “It’s almost like you think I’m giving you a choice.”

Y/N sighed and dropped her gaze. “I’m serious. I just… I don’t want to see anyone right now.”

“Well I want to see you somewhere other than this self-pity crypt you’ve locked yourself in. So you’re coming to the party.”

Y/N scoffed bitterly. “Why? So I can fake a smile while my soulmate who rejected me walks around in the arms of the microwave she’s supposed to marry?”

Natasha pushed off the frame and walked in, unapologetic, tossing something soft at Y/N — a black, sleek button-up. “No. You’re coming so you remember that you’re alive. That you’re you. And that no one — not even Wanda Maximoff — gets to take that from you.”

Y/N stared at the shirt in her lap, unmoving.

Nat crouched in front of her, voice softer now. “I know it hurts. I know what it feels like to have your whole world shift under your feet. But you’re not going to fix it by hiding in here, training till you collapse, and skipping meals. Plus, you stink!”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “You’ve been spying on me.”

“You make it easy when your shower schedule is nonexistent.”

That earned a small, reluctant smile from Y/N. The first in days. Natasha saw it and pounced, smug.

“There she is,” Nat said, standing and tossing Y/N a pair of dress pants and a tie from her closet. “C’mon. Go shower and put these on, we’ll sneak vodka into the punch and make bets on which intern pukes first.”

“I really don’t—”

“Not a request,” Nat cut in. “You get ten minutes. Be downstairs or I’m dragging your sulky ass out in whatever you’re wearing now. Hoodie and all.”

Y/N blinked at her, then looked down at her hoodie — the one with soup stains and threads unraveling at the cuff.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Nat grinned. “And I’ll make sure FRIDAY plays your playlist on loop in the common room while I do it. The sad one.”

Y/N groaned and flopped back onto the bed, but this time, there was no protest. Just a whisper of a sigh and a tug at the hem of the hoodie, fingers curling with decision.

“…Five minutes,” Y/N mumbled.

Nat was already heading to the door. “That’s the spirit. You’ll thank me when you’re dancing.”

“I hate dancing.”

“Good. Means you’ll drink faster.”

---

Wanda’s POV

Tony’s parties were always the same — loud music, dazzling lights, and enough champagne to fund a small country. The tower's main floor buzzed with energy, laughter echoing off marble and glass. Everyone who was anyone was there. But none of it mattered to Wanda.

She stood near the bar, nursing a drink she hadn’t really touched, pretending to listen as Vision spoke beside her about some new energy signature he'd discovered during their last mission. Her eyes, though — they wandered. Always wandering.

Then the air shifted. She knew Y/N was there. Her wrist told her.

Natasha strolled in first, looking effortlessly lethal in red, smirking like she’d just pulled off a small heist. And trailing behind her—

Wanda froze.

Y/N stepped into the room, shoulders square beneath a fitted black jacket. The black button-up underneath was open at the collar, hinting at skin and strength and everything Wanda hadn’t stopped thinking about, no matter how hard she’d tried.

Their hair was tousled in that careless way that only looked effortless on them. And when they scanned the room, there was something new in their expression — quieter, colder. Like a part of them had shut off.

Wanda’s heart did something strange. Twisted. Ache and heat, all tangled up in one breath.

“You look pale,” Vision noted beside her, gently. “Are you alright?”

Wanda blinked, tore her gaze away. “I’m fine,” she said too quickly.

Across the room, Natasha nudged Y/N toward the crowd with a smug little smile, then disappeared into the sea of people — her mission, apparently, accomplished.

Y/N moved through the space like a shadow, offering half-smiles, polite nods, but not really being there. They refused every drink handed to them and brushed off small talk with ease. Wanda couldn't stop watching.

And then Y/N looked up — eyes locking with hers across the room.

It was barely a second. A heartbeat. But it was enough.

The last time Wanda had seen Y/N, they were breaking in front of her — quiet devastation hidden behind forced composure. But this? This Y/N was unreadable. Polished and distant and hurting in a way Wanda could feel but couldn’t touch.

She looked away first.

Because the guilt in her chest burned hotter than the wine on her tongue.

---

Y/N's POV

Y/N leaned against the balcony railing, half-hidden from the crowd inside Tony’s latest party. The city lights sprawled beneath the tower, and the music thumped faintly behind her, but nothing could shake the heaviness pressed into her chest.

Coming here had been a mistake. She knew it the second she saw her across the room. She was already looking. But after few seconds she looked away.

Typical.

“You gonna keep sulking out here like a ghost, or can we pretend you’re still alive?” Natasha’s voice cut through the air, dry and sharp, but warm in that big-sister way she always carried when Y/N needed it most.

Y/N sighed. “Took you longer to find me than I expected.”

“Had to give you five minutes of brooding. Anything past that and I start charging.”

She stepped up beside her, flicking her wrist to reveal two shot glasses already filled. “Come on, speedster. Drink.”

Y/N raised an unimpressed brow. “You know it doesn’t work. I burn through this stuff before it hits.”

“That’s why I brought the good stuff.” Nat handed over the glass anyway. “Just humor me.”

Y/N sniffed it. “This isn’t the thing that made Clint cry, right?”

“No, this is the stuff that made Tony cry.”

“…oh.”

They clinked glasses, and Y/N downed the shot in a blink. It tingled for a second — warm, pleasant — but nothing. Her body processed it faster than a regular heartbeat.

“Told you,” Y/N muttered.

Nat rolled her eyes and pulled out a silver flask like it was Excalibur. “That’s why I asked Thor for backup.”

Y/N stared. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Nope. Just trying to get you to stop being a sad puppy for five minutes. Now drink.”

Y/N hesitated — but Nat raised a brow, that silent challenge written all over her face.

“Fine,” she muttered, taking the smallest sip.

Holy. Hell.

Fire bloomed in her chest — not painful, but bright. Sharp. Electric. Like lightning had kissed her insides. For a moment, everything slowed down — she slowed down — and her vision steadied, her thoughts quieted.

“…okay,” she said, blinking. “That’s new.”

Nat grinned. “There she is.”

Y/N takes a proper gulp this time, before they wandered back into the party, Nat’s arm slung lazily around Y/N’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before they joined Sam by the bar, and Thor showed up again with a fresh keg and a booming voice.

Fifteen minutes and a few sips later, Y/N was planted on a couch, shaking with laughter. Sam had just done the worst Steve Rogers impression she’d ever heard, and she couldn’t stop giggling.

“He said what?” Y/N gasped, clinging to the pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to the planet.

Sam put a hand on his heart. “‘This fit is low-key fire, fam.’”

“No, shut up,” Y/N wheezed. “You’re lying. He didn’t.”

Nat was laughing too, perched on the arm of the couch and sipping from her flask. “We have the security footage. It’s going in the vault.”

Y/N leaned her head back, finally exhaling. The tension in her chest had loosened — not gone, not really, but dulled. For the first time in what felt like forever, the silence in her head wasn’t so loud. She felt… okay. Just for a moment.

From across the room, something prickled. A shift in the air. Y/N glanced up — and caught Wanda staring.

Their eyes met.

And just like that, the warmth cracked.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda is still looking at Y/N with a glass of wine in her hand that she’s barely touched.

Y/N is tucked into the couch with Sam and Natasha. There’s laughter, bright and easy, rolling out of her like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Sam’s just said something stupid — probably one of his Steve impressions — and Y/N is giggling, of all things. Cheeks slightly flushed, head tipped back, that smile that makes Wanda warm spread across her face.

Something inside Wanda twists. Not in anger. Not quite.

She takes a sip of wine to hide the way her hand trembles.

But then Sharon Carter steps into the frame, like a glitch in Wanda’s vision — cutting across the crowd, making a direct line for Y/N.

Of course.

Of course Steve brought her. And of course Sharon zeroed in on Y/N like she’s the most interesting thing in the room. Because she is.

Wanda watches with growing unease as Sharon leans in, laughing too loudly at something — and then rests her hand on Y/N’s arm like they’re suddenly old friends. Y/N, sweet as ever, smiles back. A little shy. A little awkward. But she doesn’t step away.

Sharon’s hand trails down Y/N’s arm. Lingers on her bicep. Fingertips pressing in. Playful. Familiar.

Mine.

The word crashes through Wanda’s head before she even realizes it.

And then—pain.

She gasps, nearly dropping her wine glass as a burn flares beneath her sleeve. It’s not heat. Not really. It’s the bond — the soulmate bond — screaming.

Y/N’s name pulses under the cuff of her sleeve, glowing faintly against her skin.

She’s mine.

Vision who has been babbling beside her notice something’s wrong. “Wanda, are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer him.

“Wanda?”

Still, she doesn’t take her eyes off Sharon — who is now brushing imaginary lint off Y/N’s shoulder like they’ve known each other for years.

“I’m fine,” she mutters.

But her voice is too tight. Vision knows it. “You’re clearly not. Perhaps we should—”

“I said I’m fine.”

Her voice cuts sharper this time. And even Vision looks surprised at her.

But Wanda doesn’t hear him anymore.

Her magic buzzes beneath her skin. Her pulse roars in her ears. She sees it — the way Y/N tries to subtly step back, like she’s trying to be polite without encouraging anything. But Sharon just leans in more.

And then…

She touches her again.

That’s it.

Wanda’s grip tightens. The wine glass shatters in her hand with a crack, red liquid dripping with the blood down her fingers. Startled gasps echo nearby, but she barely notices. Red mist coils at her fingertips, magic flaring out like smoke without her realizing.

She’s already walking.

The crowd parts for her without question, sensing the storm brewing in her wake. Sharon turns just in time — her expression faltering the second she sees Wanda’s face.

Y/N rises slightly from the couch, surprised. “Wanda?”

But Wanda doesn’t look at her.

Her gaze is locked on Sharon, her voice low and ice cold. “Hands. Off.”

Sharon blinks, startled. “I—what?”

“I said—don’t touch her.” Magic crackles in her palm like fire licking at her skin.

“Wanda, what are you doing?” Y/N asks, stepping forward. She reaches for Wanda’s arm gently — just to calm her, to ground her.

The second their skin connects, the storm stills.

Not completely — but enough. Enough that Wanda can breathe. She looks at Y/N’s eyes, and she feels calmer. But when Sharon speaks again it flips.

Sharon’s eyes flick between them. Her lips curl. “Seriously?”

Wanda’s eyes are sharp, dangerous. “Walk. Away.”

Vision finally reaches them, voice hushed but urgent. “Wanda, please. What are you doing?”

Wanda just ignores him.

Sharon scoffs but does walk away, eventually — with an eye roll and one last look over her shoulder.

The tension in the room slowly begins to melt. Music stirs back to life. Conversations resume.

But Wanda stays still, hand trembling, magic curling faintly from her fingers. Y/N stands closer now, visibly shaken, watching her with something soft and confused in her eyes.

Wanda turns her head away, chest rising and falling too fast.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Y/N’s voice is gentle. “Wanda”

But Wanda just walks away.

Her hand still burns — not from the glass, not from the magic — but from the name carved into her skin, glowing brighter than it has in weeks.

Y/N.

---

Wanda’s heels click softly against the corridor floor as she moves away from the party, trying to keep her breaths even, her expression composed. Her fingers are still damp with wine, red streaks trailing like veins down her skin, but she doesn’t stop. Not until she’s back in the quiet of her room, the door clicking shut behind her.

She exhales sharply. Leans against the door. Closes her eyes.

Her hand is still burning.

It’s pulsing again — like it knows she’s close, knows she’s unraveling. Wanda presses her palm over it, like she can smother the ache. She can’t.

There’s a knock.

She freezes.

“Wanda?”

Vision.

Of course.

She waits. Maybe he’ll go away.

Another knock, followed by his voice, soft and careful. “May I come in?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before moving to open the door.

Vision steps inside, concern etched into every line of his synthetic features. His gaze immediately drops to her hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he says gently, stepping closer. “You shattered a glass in front of everyone. Your magic was—Wanda, you lost control.”

She flinches at the word. “It was nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

Wanda turns away, walking toward the small sink in her bathroom. She runs cool water over her hand. Watches the wine and blood swirl together and disappear down the drain.

Vision lingers in the doorway. “Was it… Sharon?” he asks after a beat. “You seemed… upset when she was speaking to Y/N.”

The faucet squeaks as Wanda shuts it off harder than necessary. “It’s not important.”

“Wanda—”

She spins to face him. “I said it’s not important.”

Vision blinks. His voice drops. “You’re clearly in pain.”

That makes her pause. Just a second. Her eyes flicker toward him, and she almost—almost—tells him the truth.

But she can’t.

So she breathes in slowly, composes herself, and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I just overreacted,” she says. “I’m tired. I need sleep.”

Vision watches her. She can tell he doesn’t buy it. But he nods anyway. “I can stay with you.”

“I need to be alone. You can go back to the party.” Wanda says without looking at him.

He hesitates… and then leaves without another word.

The door shuts behind him.

Wanda exhales again. Alone.

She peels back her sleeve slowly and looks down at the name on her wrist. It’s still glowing. Still burning.

Y/N.

Even now, after all this time, after all her trying — it’s never stopped. Never dulled.

She brushes her thumb over the letters. Closes her eyes.

And for just a moment, she lets herself whisper the truth

“She’s mine.”

---

Y/N’s POV

Y/N barely hears the music.

Not when her eyes are still locked on the spot where Wanda disappeared.

Not after seeing the red curling around her fingers, the wine and blood mixing like something out of a bad dream.

She should’ve gone after her sooner.

But Vision did.

And Y/N… she waited. Waited long enough to breathe. To think.

To feel that sharp, low tug inside her chest — not magic, but something deeper. Older. Bone-deep.

She doesn’t remember walking upstairs. Only that the hallway is too quiet when she gets there, and Vision is just stepping out of the room. He pulls the door closed gently behind him, his expression unreadable.

Before he sees her she hides, and once he’s gone, she approaches the door.

Then she knocks.

Softly, twice.

Nothing.

“Wanda?” she calls gently.

Silence.

She presses her palm to the door like that might somehow bridge the distance. “It’s me.”

Another pause. Then: “I just want to check your hand.”

Still nothing.

Y/N waits… until the lock clicks.

And the door opens.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda hesitates before unlocking the door.

She should’ve ignored the knock. Let it pass like all the other things she’s tried to bury.

But then she heard the voice.

Y/N.

And something inside her cracked — something fragile she’d been holding together by sheer will.

Now, the door creaks open, and there she is — eyes soft, worry carved into every line of her face.

Wanda can’t look at her for long.

She turns away, wordless, walking back inside and leaving the door open behind her. Y/N steps in quietly, closing it with a gentle click.

The silence settles thick between them. Still. Heavy.

Y/N speaks first. “You didn’t let anyone help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Wanda murmurs, but the words are brittle. Fragile. A lie she no longer believes herself.

Y/N moves closer. Her hand reaches out, gently taking Wanda’s injured fingers in hers.

Wanda flinches—not from pain, not really—but from the tenderness. The way Y/N touches her like she matters.

Y/N’s thumb brushes lightly over her wrist, just above the soulmate mark still hidden beneath Wanda’s sleeve. The glow softens under her touch. The burn eases. Recognizing her.

Wanda swallows, throat dry.

Y/N gently opens her palm, revealing the cut—still bleeding.

“It’s fine,” Wanda says stubbornly, her voice low.

“You’re bleeding,” Y/N says softly. “It’s not fine.”

She starts cleaning the wound with delicate precision, her touch light but steady. Wanda watches her work in silence, torn between the instinct to pull away and the aching need to stay right there.

A pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, Y/N speaks again. “Why did you do that?”

Wanda doesn’t have to ask what she means.

Her jaw tightens. “She touched you.”

Y/N looks up, startled by the sharpness in her tone.

“She touched you like she had the right,” Wanda breathes, trembling. “She doesn’t.”

Silence.

Y/N studies her, eyes searching.

Then, quiet and careful: “And you do?”

Wanda meets her gaze, raw and open. The storm is still there—but it’s not rage. It’s fear. Hunger. Longing.

“Yes,” she whispers, before she could process what she said. “I do.”

She doesn’t look away.

And Y/N doesn’t speak.

She just finishes wrapping Wanda’s hand, movements slower now, softer somehow.

Wanda watches her—every motion, every breath. The calm in her presence. The way she makes everything stop spinning.

As Y/N ties the last bit of gauze, her fingers brush once more over Wanda’s wrist, where the soulmate mark pulses happily beneath the skin.

Then she whispers, barely audible:

“I’m just a mistake, Wanda.”

She gives a weak smile, and turns.

Before Wanda can stop her, she’s gone.

And the room, somehow, feels colder than it did before.

Wanda stares at the door. The ache in her chest is new. Sharp. And suddenly she can’t breathe.

Is this what Y/N felt?

And for the first time, she feels it:

The hollow space where Y/N should be.

---

Part 5

---

hehe🤭

#Written in Our Souls #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff angst #soulmates au #wm❤️‍🔥

475 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 13 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 3

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda is scared.

Word Count: 3,535

Warnings: angst

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Wanda’s POV

She’s here.

My soulmate.

Y/N.

The name burned on my wrist, glowing softly beneath the fabric of my sleeve like it had been waiting its whole life to feel this exact moment.

God. She was… she was nothing like I expected. She looked stunned, like she’d just found air after drowning. And her eyes—those eyes—locked on me like I was her whole universe.

For a split second, I let myself feel it. The connection. The warmth. The way the world just… stopped.

But then reality hit.

I’m engaged.

To Vision.

Everyone in this room knows it. I can’t do this. I can’t.

So I ran.

I turned on my heel and left before my voice could betray me. Before my hands started shaking. Before the name on her wrist could prove what I already knew was true.

Because if I let myself stay, even for one second longer…

I would’ve said her name.

And I would’ve never been able to stop.

So, I run. I run to my room where I share with Vision.

I slammed the door of my bedroom behind me and pressed my back against it, like I could somehow keep everything out—the truth, the panic, her.

But it was too late.

My wrist was still burning. Like it was begging me to acknowledge her. Screaming at me through skin and bone and soul that she was here. That she was mine.

I yanked up my sleeve. There it was—Y/N.

Still glowing. Still undeniable. Still everything I’ve ever wanted but I thought I would never have.

“I’m engaged,” I whispered into the silence, like saying it out loud would make this easier. Like it would stop the ache curling up from my chest into my throat.

Vision.

He’s kind. Gentle. He treats me like I’m fragile glass and makes me feel like I’m safe. He helped me when I was lost, when the world hated me, when I hated myself.

I said yes to him because it made sense. Because he was there. Love was supposed to be a choice…right?

But now that she’s here…

Now that I’ve seen her face…

Now that I’ve felt that—

It doesn’t feel like a choice anymore.

It feels like gravity. Like a force pulling every part of me toward her without permission. Like something ancient and raw and true. Like I know her from a long time ago.

And I’m terrified.

I can’t breathe.

My heart won’t slow down.

My fingers are shaking and there’s a lump in my throat that won’t go away.

Because I saw the way she looked at me.

Like she knew.

Like she’s been waiting too.

And I ran.

God, what if I broke her?

What if that moment—that beautiful, perfect moment—was everything she dreamed about, and I just… destroyed it?

What if she never forgives me?

I curled up on my bed, pulling my knees to my chest as the burn in my wrist dulled to a deep, pulsing throb. It felt like heartbreak before anything even started.

I tried to block it out.

Tried to remind myself of what I had.

Of what I chose.

But the truth was louder than any excuse.

I met my soulmate today.

And I ran away.

---

Few hours later.

I felt her coming before I heard the knock.

Like the air shifted. Like something inside me reached out without permission.

My heart was pounding so loud I was afraid she could hear it through the door. My wrist still ached—still burned—from the moment I saw her.

Y/N.

I whispered her name in the dark after I ran. Just once. Just to hear how it sounded in my mouth.

And now she’s outside my door.

I freeze. Maybe if I don’t move, she’ll go away. Maybe I can pretend this isn’t happening. But then the knock comes again—soft, hesitant.

She’s here.

Of course she is.

I take a breath and open the door.

And there she is.

She looks nervous, hopeful… beautiful. She’s glowing in a way that has nothing to do with the hallway light. And when her eyes land on mine, I feel the burn in my wrist intensify like it’s answering her.

God, help me.

“Hi,” she says, and the sound of her voice makes my chest ache.

Then she lifts her wrist.

My name. Bright and undeniable. Staring right back at me.

“You’re Wanda, right?” she asks, smiling like this is a dream come true.

For a second—I let myself feel it. I let myself wonder what it would be like to reach out and trace her name on my skin. To say yes and never look back.

But then the guilt creeps in. The panic. The crushing reminder of what I’ve done.

Of who I promised myself to.

Of Vision.

I shut it down. I shut everything down.

She starts to say it: “You’re my soul—”

I can’t let her finish.

“No. I’m not. Sorry.”

She looks stunned. Hurt.

She tries again, asking about the burn, asking to see my wrist. I can see how desperately she needs this to make sense. How much it’s costing her to stay calm.

And the worst part?

She’s right. My wrist is burning. It’s screaming.

But I lie anyway.

“No. It’s not your name.”

I see her break a little. And it kills me.

She’s trying so hard to understand. She’s not angry. She’s just confused. And I could fix it—I could just tell her the truth.

But if I do…

If I let myself fall into her, I’ll never come back.

So I raise the wall higher.

“Is that all?” I ask, cold and distant, like I didn’t dream of her face long before I ever saw it.

“Welcome to the team. Good night.”

I shut the door before she can say another word.

And then I sink to the floor behind it.

I can still feel her standing there. The silence on the other side is louder than any scream.

My hand presses against the wood, like it wants to reach for her. Like it doesn’t understand why I’m pushing her away.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

She probably hates me now.

But maybe that’s better than letting her love me and breaking her even worse.

---

The next morning

I was waiting for Vision as I always do.

Steve comes through the doors first, and Vision is right behind him, pristine as always despite having been away for days. Bucky trails just a step behind, nodding politely to the agents who greet them.

I’m already in the hallway when they arrive.

Vision’s smile widens the second he sees me, and I try to smile as I always do, but today feels different.

“Wanda,” he says warmly, moving closer.

The smile still doesn’t reach my eyes, but no one seems to notice.

He kisses me—just a soft, familiar press to my lips. I let him. I smile afterward because that’s what’s expected. Because I need things to look normal.

Even if nothing feels that way anymore.

Especially after last night.

Especially after her.

And again, I feel her before I see her.

Her name immediately burning like an ember under my skin. I don't need to look to know she’s entered the room. My heart gives me away long before my eyes do.

But when I do look, I see the exact moment her world breaks.

She saw when he kissed me.

I see her flinch like she’s been hit.

She looks pale, unsteady. Her mouth opens like she might say something—but no words come out. Natasha’s talking to her, but I know Y/N can’t hear her. She’s staring at me like she doesn’t recognize me anymore.

And it hurts.

God, it hurts.

I pretend I didn’t see it. Pretend I didn’t notice her heart shatter on the floor in front of all of us. I force myself to look away before I crumble.

I tell myself this is for the best.

But I feel sick.

Then I hear Steve’s voice introducing us.

“…and that’s Vision—Wanda’s fiancé.”

I stiffen.

And when I finally look back at her—she’s already looking away.

She’s the one who looks away.

My chest tightens.

It’s what I wanted, right?

To push her away until she didn’t want to stay?

Then why does it feel like I’m the one being left behind?

---

Training

They’re testing her today. Seeing what she can do.

Y/N.

I shouldn’t be watching, but my eyes keep drifting back—like I’ve lost control of myself and my body’s still searching for what I told it to forget.

Super strength. Super speed. She moves like a storm in human form—fast and sharp, yet careful. Controlled.

She ends up paired with Steve toward the end. He doesn’t hold back—not completely—and I see her stumble once after a particularly strong hit. She shakes it off like it’s nothing, flashes a grin, but I can tell it rattled her.

I look away before she can catch me watching.

But the bond hums beneath my skin anyway. Quiet. Present. Like it’s waiting for me to stop pretending.

I don’t.

That Night, the team gathers later in the lounge. Movie playing. Pizza boxes open on the table. Clint’s already teasing Y/N about something when I walk in, and she’s laughing softly, hand pressed to her ribs.

“Steve’s punches are no joke,” she says with a smile.

He apologizes and she waves him off. “Just a bruise,” she assures.

I don’t know why my stomach twists at that. Why I can’t stop looking at the way she holds her side like it hurts more than she’s letting on.

I force myself to sit beside Vision. He rests his arm over the back of the couch. I lean into it out of habit.

Y/N’s on the floor with the others, but not once does she look back at me.

And that bothers me more than it should.

---

The dreamless sleep doesn’t help. I wake up tired. Float through my morning routine in a haze that no amount of cold water or coffee can fix.

When I finally make it to the common room, Vision’s already there. He hands me a fresh cup of tea and makes a comment about the weather. I laugh—at the words, not the feeling.

Then the door opens.

And I feel it.

Her.

The shift in the air. The magnetic pull I’ve tried to drown every second since she arrived.

I don’t look up. I can’t.

But I feel her.

I can feel her pause at the threshold like something slammed into her the second she walked in. I hear her shuffle toward the coffee machine, her movements slower than usual, like she’s dragging herself through something invisible.

She sits far—too far.

And that hurts in a way I hadn’t expected. Like I’ve been tethered to something all this time, and the cord just… snapped.

But what was I expecting?

I shut the door on her. Lied to her face. Let her watch me play house with the man I promised to marry.

I keep my eyes on my mug, nodding when Vision says something about the lab.

I don’t dare look across the room.

Because if I do… I’ll want to go to her. And I don’t get to want that.

---

For the next months, I see her try.

She doesn’t have to say it—I feel it in the way she slows her steps near me. The way her eyes linger a little too long when we pass in the hallway. The way her voice, when she speaks, is soft. Hopeful.

She’s trying.

To talk to me.

To be near me.

And I hate myself for how I keep shutting her out.

---

“I liked your throw during training today,” she says as we pass one another.

I don’t stop. I don’t look at her. I keep my voice flat. “Thanks.”

Because if I let it be anything more, I won’t be able to stop myself from turning around.

I feel her behind me—just for a second longer than necessary—then she’s gone. And I tell myself it’s better this way.

---

Hallway, midday.

She catches me as I leave, towel still clutched in one hand, sweat cooling on my skin.

“Hey,” she says. Her smile is tentative. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to spar sometime. You’re quick on your feet.”

God, she’s trying so hard.

And I… I can’t.

“I already train with Natasha,” I say without looking at her.

I keep walking. My chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion.

Why do I feel worse every time I push her away?

---

In the kitchen, late at night.

It’s just us. Everyone else is asleep. I hear her before I see her—the clink of ceramic as she sets her mug down. She’s sipping tea, like she belongs here.

And maybe she does.

But I don’t.

“You have trouble sleeping too?” she asks, voice gentle, hesitant.

I freeze in front of the fridge, fingers tightening around the container I just pulled.

I don’t want to lie. But I also don’t want to give her false hope.

So I offer the smallest piece of truth I can give.

“Not really,” I say, still facing the fridge.

I leave before she can say anything else.

I feel her eyes on me the entire way out.

---

Outside on the balcony.

The sun’s setting and everything’s too quiet. Vision is downstairs, reading. The others are spread out. I came here for air. For space. To breathe without pressure coiling in my chest.

Then I hear her steps.

“Pretty out here,” she says behind me.

I don’t turn.

“I wanted space,” I say, not unkindly.

There’s a pause. I know she’s waiting to be invited. I know she’ll go if I ask her to.

“I can go—”

“Then go.”

It comes out too fast. Too sharp. I didn’t mean it like that. But I also… did.

Because if she stays, I’ll break. If she stays, I’ll reach for her. And I made my choice.

I don’t turn around, but I hear her leave.

And for a long moment, I let myself hurt.

Quietly.

Alone.

Because I deserve it.

---

Right before a mission debrief.

The conference room is loud with casual chatter—coffee mugs clinking, chairs scraping, familiar voices weaving in and out of focus. I stay off to the side, arms folded tightly, pretending to be invested in the mission file in my hands.

But I’m not. I’m just trying to hold myself together.

Y/N is walking toward me.

I don’t need to look. I feel her.

Her presence hits before her words—warm, careful, heavy with hope.

“Be safe out there today,” she says gently, a soft smile in her voice. “If you need backup—”

“I’ll be fine.”

I cut her off. I meet her gaze, just for a second. Just long enough to see the hurt flicker behind her eyes.

Then I turn my back to her.

Because if I don't, I might change my mind.

Because her voice softens something in me I’ve been trying to keep hard.

Because every time she tries, it gets harder to lie to both of us.

---

Three Months Later

It should’ve gotten easier by now. But it hasn’t.

I’ve watched her crumble a little more every day.

She thinks I don’t see it. But I do.

The way her laugh is thinner now. The way she eats less. Sleeps less. The way her hand keeps drifting to her chest like something inside is tearing.

But she hasn’t said a word. Not to me.

Vision is kind. Constant. He believes in our engagement, in the path we were given. He looks at me like I’m something worth loving. And part of me wants to hold onto that. The certainty. The safety.

But when I see Y/N... I feel everything I try to ignore.

My chest tightens, but not with pain—with guilt. With longing. With a thousand "what ifs" clawing inside my ribs.

I hear her laugh with Natasha, and my stomach twists.

I see her eyes dim when I enter a room, and I want to scream.

But I can’t stop pretending now. I’ve dug the hole too deep. I made my choice. I pushed her away.

---

I walk into the kitchen the next morning and instantly regret it.

Y/N is there. She’s sitting beside Sam, picking at a bowl of cereal like it might bite her.

She looks pale. Exhausted.

Sam nudges her with concern, and she forces a smile. But even from across the room, I see the way her shoulders slump, like the weight of simply being awake is too much.

My hand brushes Vision’s briefly as I pass him. It's meant to be comforting. Familiar. But it doesn’t feel like anything. Not anymore.

And then I see her wince.

She doubles over slightly, and I freeze. What happened? And just for a moment. I wanted to rush to her side.

But I look away before she catches me staring.

Because I don’t want her to see the guilt in my eyes.

---

Later that night, I stare at myself in the mirror.

I trace my fingers over the name glowing faintly on my wrist—Y/N.

I hate how much comfort it gives me.

Because I don’t deserve it.

Because she’s the one suffering.

Because every time she looks at me, like maybe there’s still a chance, I take that hope and crush it.

And I don’t know how much longer either of us can take it.

---

She’s sitting with Natasha after sparring. I watch her from the corner of the mat, hidden in plain sight. She holds her side like it aches, but she doesn’t complain.

Natasha’s talking to her, concerned. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see the stiffness in Y/N’s shoulders, the way her hands clench.

She’s in pain.

I’m worried. I didn’t know what was happening to her. Is it me who is causing it?

That made me scared.

Terrified I’m the one breaking her.

---

Three days. That's how long this mission was supposed to last. Just a few days, in and out. Simple. But nothing feels simple anymore.

I can’t even look at her without the ache in my chest getting worse. The mission is important. I know it is. But the whole time we’ve been here, I can’t stop thinking about her.

Y/N is right beside me. We’re on a mission together, working under disguise, but the silence between us feels like a weight I can’t lift. I only talk to her when I need.

I try to focus on the task at hand, but every time I hear her voice, every time she moves in my direction, it feels like something is pulling at me—dragging me under.

We’re in a motel room for the night. A small, dimly lit room that’s supposed to give us some rest. But there’s no peace in it. No relief.

My body is screaming at me to go to her. To let her hug me. To let her touch me.

But I can’t. I can’t let myself feel this. I can’t let myself fall.

---

I don’t know when it happens. One second, I’m drifting in that space between sleep and wakefulness, and the next, I see Pietro dying all over again.

Then, I scream.

It’s sharp, just like I did when he died. I don’t even recognize my own voice. I’m gasping for air, my hands scrambling for something—anything to hold onto. But there’s nothing.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. It’s like I’m trapped in that damn day, and the walls are closing in, squeezing the life out of me.

And then, I feel her.

Her arms. Her warmth. Y/N’s voice calling out to me, grounding me in the chaos.

“Wanda?” Her voice is hoarse, full of panic, but calming at the same time. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Her hands are on me, pulling me against her. My body is stiff, shaking with fear, but when I feel her arms wrap around me, I don’t want to pull away. I can’t.

Her body against mine feels like the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

She holds me tight, whispering softly, “You’re safe. You’re okay. You’re here with me.”

The sound of her words soothes something inside me. Her chest rises and falls with every breath, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe again. I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s happening.

But in her arms, the fear fades. The tightness in my chest disappears.

Her hands move gently, stroking my back, calming me. I don’t want her to stop. I don’t want to let go.

I don’t know what this is. I don’t understand it. But for the first time in days, the ache inside me finally lessens. The suffocating pressure lifts, and I feel something that I can’t name. I feel okay.

Her touch is everything I’ve needed. And for once, I can relax. For once, I don’t feel like I’m falling apart.

---

Part 4

---

Next part fluff or angst again? 😆

#Written in Our Souls #Wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff angst #soulmates au #wm❤️‍🔥

413 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 13 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls - Part 2

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N is thrilled to see Wanda. But Wanda is not.

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: angst

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Y/N’s POV

"Alright, I don’t know what’s going on, but, Welcome to the team, Agent Y/N!”

I hear Tony Stark say that, but my head barely registers it. All I can think is—I finally found her. My soulmate. My Wanda. The burning on my wrist is still warm, like a brand confirming what I already know in my heart.

She’s beautiful. God, she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

I tried to go after her, to say something—anything—but she was gone before I could take a single step in her direction. And then the rest of the team surrounded me. Questions. Greetings. Jokes I was too dazed to respond to. The moment passed. She disappeared.

I hope I didn’t imagine the look on her face. The way her eyes widened. The slight parting of her lips. She felt it too. She had to.

I grip my wrist, still burning with her name.

Wanda.

I replay the moment over and over in my head as the team gives me a tour of the compound. I nod, I smile, I thank them—but I’m not really here. Not fully. A part of me is still standing in that room, staring at the girl I’ve waited for my entire life.

But something’s off.

If she felt it too, why did she leave?

“I’m Natasha Romanoff. I’ll show you to your room.”

Natasha’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Nice to meet you, Natasha. I’ve heard a lot about the Black Widow,” I say, shaking her hand.

She gives me a brief smirk and leads the way. A moment later, she throws a glance over her shoulder, brows raised, curious.

“So… how do you know Wanda?”

I force a smile.

“I don’t,” I answer carefully. “We’ve never met before.”

She pauses—just for a second—but I catch it.

“Huh,” she mutters, then continues. “Could’ve fooled me. You two looked like you’d seen ghosts—or something else.”

I chuckle softly, though it sounds hollow. “First-day nerves, maybe. Meeting the Avengers isn’t exactly casual.”

She doesn’t respond, but I feel her watching me from the corner of her eye.

When we reach the guest quarters, she opens the door.

“This’ll be your room. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” I say, stepping inside.

Nat lingers a moment longer. “If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.”

I nod politely. “Appreciate it.”

Once the door shuts, I finally exhale. My heart is still racing.

I glance down at my wrist, where the name Wanda glows softly against my skin. Still warm. Still real.

I whisper to myself, “I should’ve asked Natasha where Wanda’s room is…”

“It’s at the end of the hall, miss,” a voice replies, making me jump.

“Who’s there?!” I spin around, hands raised instinctively.

“My name is FRIDAY. I’m Mr. Stark’s AI assistant. I’m here to help with anything you need,” the voice says calmly.

“Cool,” I whistle. “So, Wanda’s room is at the end of the hall?”

“Yes. Would you like me to notify her that you’re coming?”

“No… it’s okay. I won’t go. Not yet.”

“Alright. Call me if you need anything,” FRIDAY replies.

I wanted to go. My legs ached to move. But I wasn’t sure. She didn’t look thrilled when she saw me. Still, she’s mine. My Wanda. My soulmate. I want to see her again. I want to know more about her. I wanna see her again…

“Fuck it,” I mutter, throwing the door open and heading straight for her room.

I pause in front of her door, heart hammering. My palms are sweaty, but I knock before I can change my mind.

Seconds feel like minutes—then she opens the door.

Everything stops again.

“Hi,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. I can’t stop smiling. She’s breathtaking.

“You’re Wanda, right?” I ask, holding up my wrist with her name glowing across it.

She looks at it, and I swear I see her eyes light up for a split second—but just as quickly, the spark vanishes.

“You’re my soul—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“No. I’m not. Sorry.”

“But… my wrist is burning. Yours too, right?” I glance at her wrist. It’s covered.

“No. You’re not,” she says again, firmer this time.

“Can I see it? Please? Your wrist—it has my name. Y/N. I know it does.”

She flinches. I see her flinch.

But then she lies. “No. It’s not your name.”

I don’t understand. My wrist pulses just being near her. Every cell in my body screams she’s the one. But she keeps denying it.

Is it a mistake?

Is she scared?

Am I not what she imagined?

“Is that all?” she asks, snapping me out of my daze.

“Welcome to the team. Good night,” she adds coldly—and shuts the door in my face.

The slam feels like a punch to the chest. I stand there for a few seconds before forcing myself to walk back to my room.

Maybe she just needs time… I think.

---

The Next Morning

At breakfast, Natasha offers to introduce me to the rest of the team—those who just returned from a mission.

But when we reach the shared living area, I freeze.

A red-faced man peck Wanda’s lips and she smiles at him.

Suddenly, the world tilts.

My lungs forget how to work.

My chest tightens painfully.

Was I shot? Are we under attack?

My ears ring. I can’t hear a thing Natasha’s saying.

All I can see is Wanda… smiling. At him.

“Y/N!” Natasha calls sharply, bringing me back.

I blink, breathing uneven.

“Are you okay? You look pale,” she says, concerned.

Everyone’s looking at me. Even Wanda.

But when I meet her eyes, she quickly looks away.

“I’m fine. Just… uh, hungry,” I lie with a forced smile.

“So, what were your names again?” I ask, turning to the others.

“I’m Steve. This is Bucky. And that’s Vision—Wanda’s fiancé,” Steve says.

Fiancé.

The word makes me nauseous.

“Fiancé. I see,” I say, forcing a smile.

I glance at Wanda again. Our eyes meet.

But this time… I’m the one who looks away.

“Well, nice to meet you all. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go shower before training,” I mutter, slipping out as calmly as I can.

---

The second I shut my door, I bolt to the bathroom and throw up everything I ate.

My body shakes. My head spins.

This isn’t what a soulmate bond is supposed to feel like.

This hurts.

This burns.

Is this what it feels like to be rejected by your soulmate?

Now I understand.

That’s why she said no.

She’s engaged.

And I have no idea what to do.

I stay for a while in my room, trying to calm my fast heartbeat.

---

The training was more about me. They wanted to know my powers and what I am capable of.

My powers are super strength and speed, so they made me pair with Steve in the end.

I tried not to look at Wanda during the practice. But I should’ve known that it was impossible when your body is looking for your other half.

Thanks to that I got some punch from Steve which I think might bruise.

---

That night, my chest was painful.

The team wanted to know me better so everybody were gathered, but the pain in my chest was a little annoying.

As I rub my ribs, Clint asks me if I was alright, and I joke that Steve’s punches were a little heavy. He apologize which I say it was just a bruise.

But when I went to check on the mirror in my bathroom, there were no bruises on my body.

Maybe it just didn’t bruise

The Next morning I wake up breathless.

Not from a nightmare. Not from panic.

Just… breathless.

Like my lungs forgot how to work overnight.

I sit up slowly, rubbing at my chest. The dull ache is back. Not sharp—yet—but enough to make me wince when I stretch too far.

It’s probably nothing. Just fatigue. Stress. Maybe the training wore me out more than I thought.

I drag myself out of bed, pull on my clothes, and head to the common room where most of the team is already having breakfast.

She’s there.

Wanda.

Sitting beside Vision, leaning slightly into him as she laughs at something he says. Her hair is still damp from a shower, tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She looks… soft this morning. Calm.

Untouchable.

The second I step into the room, the pain spikes.

Like someone tied a rope around my ribs and yanked.

I falter for just a second, but force a smile and grab a cup of coffee, pretending I didn’t almost fall over.

I take the seat farthest from her.

Steve’s talking about scheduling training rotations. Natasha’s chiming in with jokes about who’s most likely to break something this time. I nod when I’m supposed to. I laugh when they laugh.

But I don’t hear any of it.

Because Wanda doesn’t look at me. Not once.

And I can feel her.

Even across the room, I feel the absence of her attention like a knife between my ribs.

---

I decide to try to be friends with her. And see where it will take us.

So, I try to talk to her again.

Nothing heavy. Just something small.

“I liked your throw during training today,” I offer as we cross paths in the hallway.

Wanda barely glances at me. “Thanks.”

Her tone is clipped. Dismissive.

I keep walking, pretending it doesn’t feel like another nail in my chest.

But I should continue to try.

So, I try again.

---

Hallway, midday.

I catch her coming out of the training room, towel slung around her neck, cheeks flushed from exertion.

I clear my throat. “Hey… I was wondering if maybe you wanted to spar sometime. You’re quick on your feet.”

She doesn’t even stop walking. “I already train with Natasha.”

Right. Of course.

I nod, even though she’s already halfway down the hall.

The pressure in my chest stays long after she’s gone.

---

In the kitchen, late at night.

It’s just the two of us. Everyone else is asleep. I’m leaning against the counter, sipping tea I don’t even want.

She walks in and moves straight to the fridge.

“You have trouble sleeping too?” I ask gently, voice low so I don’t scare her off.

Wanda pauses. Her back to me.

Then, without turning around, she says, “Not really.”

She grabs what she needs and leaves.

I stay frozen, blinking down at the mug in my hand, like I forgot how it got there.

The ache beneath my ribs tightens like a coil.

---

Outside on the balcony.

The sunset’s casting orange streaks across the compound. Wanda’s alone, arms folded, staring out at the trees.

I approach quietly. I don’t want to push her—just… try.

“Pretty out here,” I say softly.

She doesn’t look at me. “I wanted space.”

“I can go—”

“Then go.”

Her voice isn’t sharp. Just tired. But it cuts deeper than any blade.

I nod once, swallowing thickly, and back away.

I don’t sleep that night. The pain in my chest wraps around my lungs like barbed wire.

---

Right before a mission debrief.

Everyone’s scattered, settling into their seats, sipping coffee. Wanda’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, not looking at anyone.

I take a breath, walk over, my heart thundering. One more try.

“Be safe out there today,” I say, managing a smile. “If you need backup—”

“I’ll be fine.”

She cuts me off, her eyes finally meeting mine for the briefest second.

Then she turns her back to me, walking away without another word.

This time, the pain hits hard.

A sudden throb in my chest that steals my breath. I press my hand to my heart, pretending I’m just adjusting my gear. Pretending I’m fine.

But something’s wrong. I know it now.

This isn’t just heartbreak.

This is my soul breaking.

And my body knows it too.

---

It’s been three months since I joined the Avengers, and the pain in my chest just got worse.

It’s harder to sleep.

Lying down makes it worse—like gravity is pulling all the pain into one spot just under my heart.

I curl onto my side, pressing my fist to my chest, teeth clenched.

I keep telling myself it’s just training. Maybe I tore something. Maybe it’s a pulled muscle. Maybe I’m sick. Maybe—

But it’s only like this when she’s near.

Only like this when I hear her laugh with him.

---

I sit beside Sam at the kitchen counter. I haven’t eaten a full meal in two days.

He frowns as he watches me stir the same bowl of cereal for the third time.

“You good?” he asks, nudging me with his elbow.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Just… not feeling great. Think I caught something.”

“Heartburn?” he jokes.

I give him a hollow laugh. “Something like that.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wanda enter the room. Her hand brushes against Vision’s as they pass each other.

The pain comes back—tight, raw.

I double over slightly, masking it as a cough.

“You sure you’re okay?” Sam asks again, concern flickering now.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Just need some air.”

Back in my room, I rip off my shirt and stand in front of the mirror again.

Nothing.

No bruises. No burns. No visible reason for why I feel like I’m being crushed from the inside out.

I press my palm flat to my chest and close my eyes.

Wanda’s name still burns on my wrist.

Her soul still calls to mine.

And mine is starting to scream.

---

During one of the trainings Natasha approaches me. We’ve become friends during the three months I stayed here.

“You okay?”

Natasha’s voice pulls me from the edge of a wince. I hadn’t even realized I was clutching my ribs again. The ache had become background noise—something I’d grown used to ignoring. Or trying to.

“I’m fine,” I say too quickly, forcing a smile. “Just a stitch. Probably slept wrong.”

Nat doesn’t look convinced. She never does.

She tosses me a water bottle and sits beside me on the bench outside the training room, elbow resting on her knee, gaze fixed on the mat.

“I’ve seen you do that a lot,” she says, casual like we’re just talking about the weather. “Hold your side. Flinch when you think no one’s watching.”

I go still.

“You sure it’s not a heart thing?” she adds, finally glancing at me. “Because I know the signs, Y/N. You’ve looked like you’re about to pass out more than once.”

I try to laugh it off. “Thanks for the concern, Mom.”

“Don’t deflect.” Her voice is soft, but her eyes are steel. “I’m serious.”

I take a slow breath, chewing on my lip.

“I don’t know what it is,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper. “It started small. Little pinches in my chest. Tightness. I thought it was stress, or maybe Steve’s punches catching up to me.”

Nat nods, letting me talk.

“But it’s getting worse,” I continue.

“Have you talked to anyone? Medical?”

“I went once,” I say. “They didn’t find anything wrong. Heart rate was elevated, but nothing dangerous. They said maybe anxiety.”

“But it’s not just anxiety,” Nat guesses.

I nod. “But it’s okay. Maybe I’m just not used to the new routine” I chuckle.

Although Nat doesn’t buy it, she doesn’t push it either.

And I am glad for that. I haven’t told her about Wanda and I possibly being soulmates.

---

Three days.

That’s how long this mission was supposed to last. Simple, straightforward—at least that’s how the briefing went. But I never expected it to be this difficult. Not with her. Not with Wanda.

We’ve been on missions before, sure, but this was different. This time, it’s just the two of us. We’re under disguise, trying to blend in. No one else to watch our backs.

And honestly? I don’t think I can take it. She ignored me the whole day. Only talking when necessary.

The worst part is that we need to share a room for the night. The air in the motel room feels too thick every time I breathe, suffocating me with the tension between us.

She barely looks at me. She keeps to herself, speaking only when absolutely necessary. Her words are short, clipped, like she’s afraid to say too much. But we’re not here for small talk. I can’t afford to think about it, but I can feel the pull every time she’s near me. Every time her voice breaks the silence, it’s like a hot knife in my chest, burning me.

I close my eyes, trying to relax. I can’t, though. The pain is always there, a tightness in my chest that never goes away. Every time I move, I feel it, like something is pressing down on my ribs, cutting into me.

Wanda’s soft breathing beside me doesn’t help. Her presence feels like a constant reminder of what my soul wants, but I can’t have. I try to roll over to my side, but the pain intensifies.

I grip the blanket, squeezing my eyes shut, just trying to sleep.

---

I’m not sure how much time has passed when it happens.

I hear Wanda scream.

It’s a high, sharp sound—nothing like the calm voice I’ve gotten used to. It pierces the stillness of the room, pulling me straight out of the haze of sleep. I shoot up in an instant, heart racing in my chest. The sound echoes in my head as I turn toward her.

She’s thrashing, her hands clawing at the air, eyes wide open but unseeing, tears flowing freely down her face. She’s trapped. Trapped in something I can’t see.

I don’t even think. The instinct is immediate, overwhelming. Without hesitation, I throw the blanket off and move to her side.

“Wanda?” I say, voice hoarse with panic. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Her eyes dart around, unfocused. I don’t care if I’m crossing some line—if this is too much. I pull her into my arms, wrapping her tightly against me, holding her close.

The second she’s against me, her body stiffens in shock. But then, slowly, she stops struggling. Her breath hitches in and out, her hands trembling, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Wanda,” I whisper again, softer this time, “You’re safe. You’re okay. You’re here with me.”

She doesn’t respond, but after a moment, I feel her relax. Her body stops shaking, and her breath becomes more even, less frantic. Her head presses into my chest, and I gently stroke her back, my hands moving instinctively, soothing, calming.

The sound of her sobs dies down, and the tension in her shoulders finally loosens. Her body feels like dead weight against mine, but I hold her tighter, not wanting to let go.

And in that moment, something inside me clicks. The ache in my chest—the constant pressure, the burning that’s been gnawing at me for weeks—fades away.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe. I can feel my heart slowing to a normal rhythm. The pain is gone.

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the way she feels in my arms, just perfect.

I don’t understand it. I don’t know what happened. But for the first time in weeks, I’m at ease.

I lay there for what feels like an eternity, just holding her. And as the minutes pass, I finally allow myself to close my eyes, the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath my palm the only thing that matters.

For the first time in days, I sleep.

---

Part 3

---

This is Part 2. Ready for the next part?

#Written in Our Souls #wm❤️‍🔥#wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff angst #soulmates au

509 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 13 days ago

Text

Written in Our Souls

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: In a world where soulmates are marked with their destined partner’s name on their wrist, Wanda Maximoff always dreamed to meet hers. But what if life is too hard on her, making her give up on it. Will it be too late when she finally meets her soulmate?

Word Count: 4,309

Warnings: angst, romantic, and a little tragic.

Note: I had this idea and I needed to write about it. I plan to make more parts of it, but I am not sure how long it will be. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda first learned about soulmates from her mother back in Sokovia. Her mother had told her about two souls who were destined to meet.

"Why do you have Papa's name on your wrist, Mama?" Little Wanda asked as she traced the name with her fingers.

"That's because your papa and I are soulmates, sweetheart," Iryna replied with a soft smile.

"Soulmates?" Pietro asked, curious.

"Yes, soulmates. Soulmates are two people whose souls are meant to meet. They will always be there for each other and love each other deeply," Iryna explained.

"Like the way you love me, Mama?" Wanda asked innocently.

Iryna chuckled. "No, sweetheart. It's stronger than that. Your papa is my soulmate, and we love each other *very* much."

"Is that why you're married?" Pietro asked.

"Yes. That's why we're married." Iryna gently ruffled Pietro's hair.

"Why don't my wrists have a name? Pietro's doesn't either." Wanda showed her empty wrist.

"That's because you’ll only know when you turn sixteen. On your sixteenth birthday, a name will appear on your wrist. When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you'll know who it is," Iryna explained.

"So, I won’t know who my soulmate is until then?" Wanda asked, disappointment in her voice.

"That's right, sweetheart," Iryna smiled.

"Cool!" Pietro said, his attention already elsewhere. "I’m hungry," he blurted out, making Iryna laugh.

While Iryna and Pietro continued their conversation, Wanda kept gazing at her wrist, wondering when the name would appear.

---

Wanda's 16th Birthday

Wanda had been eagerly waiting for this day for years. Her sixteenth birthday wasn’t just another day—it was the day the name on her wrist was supposed to appear, the day she would finally know who her soulmate was. Even after everything that had happened in Sokovia, the loss of her parents, and the chaos she had endured with Pietro, there was a small part of her heart that still clung to the belief in the soulmate bond her mother had told her about.

She and Pietro shared the same birthday, so their celebrations were always intertwined. But this year felt different. It was a birthday they wouldn’t be able to celebrate with their parents. There was no cake, no presents, and no laughter echoing through their childhood home. But it was a night they’d still find something to celebrate—something they couldn’t see, but something they both longed for.

The winds howled outside, a stark reminder of the storms they had weathered together. Yet inside, they had managed to find shelter in the abandoned building they had claimed as their temporary haven. There was warmth in the air, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the unease that lingered in Wanda’s chest. She sat cross-legged on the dusty floor, staring down at her wrist, watching for any sign of the name she had dreamed about for so long.

Pietro sat nearby, already distracted by the cramped quarters. His eyes flickered across the space, darting from one corner to another as he kept fiddling with the old television they had found in a corner of the room. He wasn’t as invested in the idea of soulmates as Wanda, but the concept fascinated him nonetheless.

“Hey, Wanda, look at this!” Pietro called out to her, though his attention was clearly divided. He gestured to the static-ridden screen. "Maybe we can finally catch something good on this thing."

Wanda barely registered his words. Her thoughts were consumed with the waiting, the anticipation that was growing stronger as the night wore on. She could still hear her mother’s voice in her head from all those years ago, when she explained the concept of soulmates to her and Pietro.

“On your sixteenth birthday, the name will appear on your wrist. When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you will know who they are. It will be a bond you cannot ignore.”

Wanda could still feel the soft warmth of her mother’s hands on her shoulders, the way she’d smile so fondly when she spoke of her father, her own soulmate. It was a fairytale Wanda had always believed in, even if it seemed far too perfect to be true. But what if it wasn’t? What if, like her mother said, the name would truly appear when it was time?

But time felt like it was standing still. Every moment, every second seemed to drag on as Wanda clutched her wrist, the bare skin tingling, yearning for something. Her heart beat faster now, each pulse filling her with growing excitement mixed with a tinge of nervousness. She wanted to believe.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp, tingling sensation on her wrist—a warmth, a gentle pressure. Wanda’s breath caught, and she looked down, her pulse quickening.

Y/N.

The name appeared, written in soft, curling letters across her skin.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her fingers tracing the letters delicately as she tried to take in the moment. It was real. It was finally happening.

She had never heard of anyone by that name before. The feeling inside her—something deep and primal—told her this was the one. The soulmate she had always wondered about, the one her mother had promised would come into her life. But who were they? Where were they? And when would she meet them?

As her fingers lingered on the name, she felt a slight brush against her skin—the gentle touch of her twin, Pietro. She hadn’t even noticed him move closer.

“What does it say?” Pietro asked, his voice filled with curiosity, though he was still half distracted by the television.

Wanda instinctively pulled her wrist back, covering it with the sleeve of her jacket. She felt a rush of embarrassment, a strange unease, even though there was no reason to hide it. It was just the name of the person she was meant to be with.

“I… I don’t know them,” Wanda said softly, her voice tinged with a sense of disappointment. She tried to focus on her brother, but she couldn’t shake the fluttering in her chest. “The name that appeared is… Y/N.”

Pietro shrugged, not quite grasping the significance. “So? It’s just a name. You haven’t met them yet, right? Maybe it’s someone out there in the world.”

“Maybe…” Wanda murmured, still staring at her wrist, trying to imagine who Y/N could be. Was it someone in Sokovia? Someone she’d meet in the future? There were so many possibilities, but none of them felt real until she met them.

Pietro suddenly grinned, showing Wanda the wrist of his own arm. “Mine says ‘Crystal.’ Still don’t know her either,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Wanda glanced at his wrist. He wasn’t wrong. The name Crystal shimmered faintly on his skin, but he didn’t seem as affected by it as she was. To Pietro, it was just another oddity in the world, another mystery to solve or ignore. He was more concerned with finding something edible than pondering soulmates.

“Do you think we’ll ever meet them?” Wanda asked softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“Who knows?” Pietro said nonchalantly, picking at his sleeve. “Maybe one day. But I’m not worried about it.”

Wanda couldn’t quite understand how her twin could be so carefree about the idea of soulmates. She had spent her entire life dreaming of this day, and now that it had arrived, it was as if the universe had sent her a message she couldn’t decode.

That night, as the storm outside raged on, Wanda couldn’t sleep. She lay on the thin mattress, her wrist pressed to her chest, staring at the ceiling. The words *Y/N* were burned into her memory, etched into her skin. She tried to imagine who they were, what they would be like, and how her life might change when their paths crossed. But for now, all she could do was wait.

---

As the years goes by and the war still happening in Sokovia, the Maximoff twins felt helpless. So, when Hydra came to them with promises of power—promises of revenge against those they felt had wronged them—their initial resistance crumbled. Hydra had their own agenda, but they knew how to prey on the broken, the vulnerable, and the angry.

Wanda and Pietro were not exempt. They had lost their family. They had watched their country crumble beneath the weight of international politics and war. Now, Hydra offered them the means to fight back—abilities beyond human limits, the chance to make a difference. It wasn’t much of a choice. The twins signed on, each carrying their own burdens, seeking to right the wrongs that had been done to their people.

In the early days, the experiments weren’t so bad. The twins were subjected to the brutal training and manipulation Hydra was known for, but they believed in their cause. They believed they could change things, even if it meant sacrificing parts of themselves along the way.

Then came the experiment with the scepter. The Mind Stone. It was the final piece that would make them unstoppable—at least, that’s what Hydra promised.

Wanda gained powers, and it was then that she began to see things. The Mind Stone had changed everything, but not in the way they had hoped. While Pietro thrived with his new speed, Wanda’s powers took a darker turn, feeding on her anger, her grief. She could manipulate minds, conjure illusions, and bring chaos to life with a thought.

But despite everything, Wanda clung to one thing—the belief in the soulmate she’d always dreamed of. In the back of her mind, she clung to the memory of her mother’s words: “You will meet your soulmate when the time is right. When you do, you’ll feel it in your heart. The name on your wrist will burn, and you’ll know.”

But that belief was beginning to fade.

Hydra’s experiments and manipulations had broken something inside of her. Her mind became consumed with chaos. She felt no peace, no calm—only an ever-growing storm inside her. The people she was supposed to trust—the ones who promised to help her fight for Sokovia—were nothing more than puppeteers, controlling every move, every thought. In Hydra’s cold, sterile labs, she felt the weight of her powers but no joy, no fulfillment. She was a weapon, not a person.

And it was in that environment that Wanda began to lose all hope in the idea of soulmates. She couldn’t understand how something as pure and beautiful as soulmates could exist in a world that had given her nothing but suffering. The idea of a destined partner, someone whose name would appear on her wrist to guide her through life, felt like a distant, naive fantasy. Her heart was breaking from the inside, and no one, not even a soulmate, could fix that.

Her anger grew, and her resentment toward the world intensified. The name on her wrist, Y/N, had long since ceased to be a comfort. It was a reminder of something she could never have. She began to resent the idea that there was someone out there meant for her, someone who was supposed to be her other half. It felt like a cruel joke.

---

It wasn’t just Hydra’s influence that broke her spirit—it was the death of her brother, Pietro, that truly shattered everything.

When Ultron was born—the twisted creation that should never have existed—everything spiraled out of control.

Wanda had tried to stop him, together with the Avengers. The world was at war, and Sokovia—her home—was at the center of it. As Ultron began his destruction, Wanda saw her country being torn apart once more, and she felt helpless. The anger that had burned in her chest for so long erupted, but it was not enough.

Then came the moment she would never forget—when Pietro threw himself in front of one of the avengers to protect them. It was too late to save him, and as Wanda felt her brother dies, she felt something snap deep within her.

Her brother, her twin, her protector—gone. The one person who had always been by her side, who had shared her pain, her anger, and her dreams—was dead. In that moment, Wanda’s grief became an all-consuming black hole. She didn’t just lose Pietro; she lost any hope she had left. If the universe had a plan for her, it was cruel. If soulmates existed, they certainly weren’t for her.

Wanda’s heart shattered, and the idea of soulmates—the very thing that had once offered her a glimmer of hope—became a bitter, painful reminder of everything she had lost.

How could she still believe in a soulmate when her brother was dead, when her country was destroyed, when she had nothing left but the wreckage of her past? How could she trust in the idea of a perfect match when nothing had turned out the way it was supposed to?

And yet, deep down, buried beneath all the chaos and the hurt, a small part of her still wondered if *Y/N*—the name on her wrist—was out there, waiting. But the thought was fleeting. Because the world had already shown her that destiny was cruel, that love was a fleeting illusion. And she had no place for either.

---

In the aftermath of Sokovia’s destruction, Wanda was left broken, a shell of the person she once was. Her grief over Pietro’s death consumed her, and the very concept of soulmates—something that once held so much meaning for her—had been shattered along with her home and family. But even in the midst of her pain and anger, a quiet, unexpected connection began to form, one that she couldn't ignore, even if she tried.

It began with Vision.

At first, Wanda didn’t know what to make of him. He was a creation—born from the Mind Stone and created by Tony Stark. An artificial being, a machine, with human-like qualities and a presence that was both calming and unsettling. She couldn’t understand how to feel about him. To Wanda, the Mind Stone had been the source of so much pain—the catalyst for Hydra’s experiments, for the chaos that had consumed her life. So when she first saw Vision, the last thing on her mind was finding comfort in him.

But there was something about him. Something different.

Vision wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t a weapon, not in the same way she had become. He wasn’t fueled by rage or revenge. There was a quiet gentleness to him, a wisdom that far surpassed his mechanical origins. His connection to the Mind Stone, the very same force that had torn her world apart, gave him a strange understanding of her—something Wanda couldn’t quite explain. Was it because he had the stone which gave her powers? She didn’t know.

The first time they spoke alone, it was at the Avengers’ compound. Wanda had been avoiding the team, retreating to the quiet corners of the compound where she could brood and mourn in peace. Vision had approached her with no agenda, no need to fix her or tell her to "move on," like so many others had. Instead, he simply sat beside her, his voice calm, unhurried, as if he understood the weight of her silence.

“I know you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Vision had said, his tone almost soothing. “But you are not alone.”

Wanda had looked at him then, truly looked at him, and for the first time since Sokovia’s fall, she didn’t feel completely lost. There was something in his eyes—something genuine. No judgment, no expectation. Just understanding.

Over the next few weeks, their interactions grew more frequent. Vision didn’t speak to her out of obligation; he sought her company because, in his own way, he wanted to be there for her. He wasn’t like the others on the team. Tony was often wrapped up in his own projects, Steve and Natasha were too focused on the mission, and Clint had his own family to think about. But Vision? He was always there, always patient, always present.

Wanda began to find solace in their conversations. Vision never pushed her to reveal more than she was comfortable with. He understood that grief wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight. Slowly, he helped her find moments of peace again. When she sat with him, he wouldn’t ask about Sokovia or her powers or the loss of her brother. He would just talk about things—philosophies, thoughts on existence, the nature of humanity. The Mind Stone had granted him immense intelligence and perception, but it was his kindness and openness that helped Wanda heal.

But it wasn’t just the deep conversations or the quiet companionship. There was something else—an almost magnetic pull, a connection that she couldn’t explain. Wanda had always felt something strange whenever Vision was around. It wasn’t the same as the pull she had once hoped for with her soulmate, but it was real. It was an undeniable connection, one that lingered in the air whenever they were near each other. She felt it when they would train together, when they would share a brief moment of silence, when she looked into his eyes and saw something that resembled understanding—something familiar and safe.

Wanda tried to deny it at first. She tried to push away the feelings that slowly began to grow inside her. After all, Vision wasn’t human. He was an artificial being, a construct of the Mind Stone and Tony Stark’s technology. How could she possibly—?

---

But then came the day when everything changed.

They had been sent on a mission together, and afterward, when they returned to the compound, they found themselves alone in a quiet room. The others had dispersed, lost in their own tasks, but Wanda and Vision remained. She was still exhausted from the mission, but when she looked at him, she found herself speaking more openly than she had in days.

“I never thought I’d find comfort in a creation,” Wanda admitted softly, her voice almost a whisper. “But there’s something about you that… makes me feel less alone.”

Vision turned toward her, his expression unreadable, though she knew he was listening. He was always listening.

“I am not truly like you, Wanda. I have no true identity, no past,” Vision said. “But I believe the connection we share is real. Even if it is not the same as what you expected.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. She wanted to tell him that she had never expected anything like this—this slow, growing bond between them. She had spent so long mourning what she had lost, but now she was beginning to see that there was something worth holding on to again. Something she could never have predicted.

“We’re not so different, you know,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Both created in the image of something greater, but still… searching for meaning. For connection. For something that makes sense.”

Vision’s gaze softened, and for the first time, she saw him not as a machine, but as something else—someone else.

“I understand more than you think, Wanda,” he said. “I, too, search for meaning. But what I have learned is that meaning is not always found in what we expect. Sometimes it’s found in the simplest things—the quiet moments, the people who offer you their trust without needing anything in return.”

And in that moment, Wanda realized the truth. There was something deep and real between them, something she couldn’t ignore any longer.

The next few months were a quiet comfort for Wanda. She had learned to accept that the universe wasn’t going to give her the perfect soulmate she had once imagined. But Vision was something different. He had become a refuge for her—a steady, reliable presence in a world that had left her behind. And in his presence, she began to believe in the possibility of healing, not in the fairy tale way she had once hoped, but in a more grounded, more human way.

Vision had become her comfort, and as time went on, she found herself relying on him in ways she hadn’t thought possible. He was no longer just a creation. He was a person—a person who understood her pain, her fears, and her struggles.

So, when Vision asked her to marry him, Wanda said yes.

---

It had been a month since Wanda had said “yes” to Vision’s proposal. The days were still full of uncertainty, as their relationship blossomed quietly amid the chaos of their lives. But, for the first time in a long while, Wanda felt at peace. She no longer felt the crushing weight of her past. She was healing—slowly, but surely—and she had Vision by her side, supporting her with every step.

It was an ordinary morning at the Avengers compound, and Wanda had just finished a training session. She wiped the sweat from her brow, tired but satisfied with her progress. As she walked toward the common room, she overheard Tony and Steve talking about the arrival of a new recruit. The conversation was light, but there was a certain buzz in the air—everyone seemed to be curious about this new addition to their team.

“Come on, Fury. Just tell us her name,” Tony was saying, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed as he grinned mischievously.

“Her name is none of your business until she’s here,” Fury shot back, his gruff voice barely masking his amusement. “But you’ll know soon enough.”

“I’m sure she’s going to be just as entertaining as the rest of us,” Clint said with a chuckle, tossing a bag of chips to Sam, who was sitting nearby.

Wanda paused at the door, intrigued but not entirely invested. She had her own thoughts to sort through. Her engagement to Vision still felt surreal at times—her past haunted her, and there were moments when the reality of what she had agreed to overwhelmed her. But every time she saw Vision, those doubts started to fade, and the warmth between them only grew stronger.

Before Wanda could enter, there was a sharp knock on the door. Fury, ever the taskmaster, didn’t hesitate. He rose and opened the door, and standing in the doorway was a woman—tall, confident, with an air of quiet authority that seemed to immediately capture everyone’s attention. Her Y/H/C hair framed her face in soft waves, and when her eyes scanned the room, they locked with Wanda’s in a way that made the world around them fade to nothing.

For a heartbeat, Wanda forgot how to breathe.

The air shifted between them, electric and undeniable. Wanda felt her heart skip, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time—the same kind of pull she had once felt toward the name that appeared on her wrist when she turned sixteen.

“Everyone,” Fury said, his voice cutting through the stunned silence, “this is Agent Y/N Y/F/N. She’s our new recruit. Welcome her to the team.”

Y/N smiled, but it was more than just a polite gesture. There was something deeper in her gaze, something that made Wanda’s pulse quicken. It was as if they had known each other for years, but Wanda couldn’t place it.

Wanda’s wrist, where the name—the name she had long since stopped thinking about—was faintly burning, as though it had been waiting for this moment. Wanda instinctively rubbed her wrist, a tingle of warmth spreading through her skin.

And then, without breaking eye contact, Y/N spoke, her voice soft but firm: “Wanda…”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The others exchanged glances, but neither Y/N nor Wanda could look away from each other. Wanda’s heart was racing now, her mind reeling with disbelief. It was as if time itself had frozen.

Wanda’s wrist burned again—hotter this time—and her mind flashed back to the childhood memory of her mother’s voice, explaining what a soulmate was.

“When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you’ll know who it is.”

The moment the words echoed in her mind, it was as if everything clicked into place. This was it. This was the person her mother had spoken of all those years ago. Y/N was the one her heart had been waiting for—this woman, this stranger who now stood in front of her, was the one whose name had appeared on her wrist all those years ago.

Wanda's breath caught in her throat, and for a brief, terrifying moment, her world seemed to crumble. She was engaged to Vision, the one who had been there for her when she felt completely lost. How could this be happening? She thought she would never meat her soulmate.

Y/N gaze never wavering from Wanda’s. She was doing the same thing—rubbing her wrist, the same fire in her touch, confirming what both of them knew.

Wanda felt numb.

The words felt stuck in her throat, a swirl of emotions flooding her heart. She had never imagined that this would happen—never imagined that the universe would present her with a choice so complicated, so fraught with the past she was still trying to escape.

The room was still silent, everyone watching the exchange with confusion. Tony, sensing the tension, cleared his throat, trying to steer things back to normalcy. “Alright, I don't know what's going on, but, Welcome to the team, Agent Y/N!”

But Wanda barely registered his words. She felt like she was in a dream. She had been given a choice, one she didn’t know how to make. Her heart felt heavy, torn between the future she had begun to build with Vision and the soulmate she had been waiting for all her life.

---

Part 2

---

This is part 1. Let me know what you think about it.

#Written in Our Souls #Wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x vision #soulmates au #wm❤️‍🔥#wanda maximoff angst

651 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 16 days ago

Text

Secrets One Shot

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Lena Luthor x Reader

Tags: Werewolf!Reader, Fluff, Humor, Dog, Date Night

Taglist: @owloftheshadows

You were just as normal as any person. Well…as normal as any person with a major secret. You were kind of a werewolf, and in addition to sprouting ears and a tail every full moon, you also had another ability. While you were human, you had the ability to communicate with dogs. Just dogs though. It doesn’t work on anything else, which you found out that one time you tried to talk to a squirrel, and everyone thought that you had lost your mind. It was tough to pretend you were a regular person when in actuality, you weren’t. It was even harder to open up to someone when you had to hide something that was now a part of you. And that’s what you were doing to Lena now.

Keep reading

#Lena luthor x werewolf!reader #supergirl fanfic #werewolf!reader #reader has the ability to communicate with dogs

237 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 18 days ago

Text

A Feline Connection: New Friends

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Widow makes some new friends with some of the other pets in the Avenger Compound.

A/N: This is a side story set after the events in A Feline Connection series. Please read the series first to understand the characters involved.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2294

The elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing the Avengers compound common room bathed in late afternoon light. Natasha steps out, only to slow to a stop at the sight in front of her.

She blinks.

“What…are you two doing?”

Her voice slices clean through the low murmurs of effort and dogs snuffling. Across the room, Yelena looks up casually, far too casually for someone currently gripping a pair of flailing legs.

“Natasha. Hey.”

She says it like she’s not bracing herself under the full weight of Kate, who is halfway jammed into an overhead vent.

From inside the metal crawlspace, Kate’s muffled voice echoes, “Is that your sister?”

“Kate Bishop, stop moving,” Yelena snaps, adjusting her grip as one of Kate’s boots kicks near her face.

A dramatic sigh follows from above.

“Why am I always the one that ends up in the vents?”

Natasha crosses her arms, her brow arching.

“Yes, why are you in the vents?”

“She’s looking for Barton,” Yelena replies dryly, her tone flat with sarcasm.

Deciding to not waste any more of her time fishing for answers, Natasha turns slightly as if to leave.

“Yelena!” Kate’s voice rings out in betrayal. “Tell her!”

With a sigh, Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Fine. We were feeding Fanny and Lucky when this random cat launched out of the vents and snatched up Sriracha.”

Natasha frowns.

“Who’s Sriracha?”

“My guinea pig,” Yelena answers as Kate chimes in at the same time, “Her guinea pig.”

Yelena jerks her chin toward the vents.

“The cat took her and disappeared back into the ducts. So now we’re tracking it. Fanny caught the scent.”

Natasha glances toward the two dogs nearby.

Fanny, Yelena’s akita, stands poised beneath the vent, tail wagging and nose twitching furiously. She lets out two sharp barks, as if confirming her assignment.

Meanwhile, Lucky, Kate’s golden retriever, sits a few paces behind, happily chomping on kibble, occasionally glancing up at the chaos with curious interest.

“A black cat?” Natasha asks, though her tone already carries the weight of knowing.

Yelena nods.

“Yeah. Slipped in like a ghost.”

A soft hum escapes Natasha as she starts pacing slowly around the room, her gaze now sharp, scanning shadows and corners.

Yelena gives Kate one last boost until the archer disappears fully into the vent. She dusts her hands off and plants them on her hips, eyeing Natasha.

“Thought the Avengers had better security than this,” she mutters. “Letting stray cats sneak in.”

Natasha doesn’t miss a beat.

“And yet you let her get away after she stole from you.”

That makes Yelena pause, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Her?”

Before Natasha can answer, Kate’s voice calls from above.

“Hey! I think I found—wait…no, hold on—”

There’s a scrape of metal, and then Kate reappears in the vent opening, arms dangling awkwardly. She drops something.

A sleek black collar hits the floor with a light clatter. The gold tag glints under the ceiling lights.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yelena mutters. “The cat ditched her collar? What kind of Mission Impossible—”

Natasha chuckles, folding her arms as she stares at the discarded collar.

“Looks like your tracker got played.”

Fanny barks proudly, nudging the collar before circling Yelena, tail wagging harder at her apparent success. Yelena groans in disappointment but tosses the dog a treat anyway. Fanny snaps it up mid-air with practiced ease.

“Hey, help me down!” Kate calls, now dangling halfway out of the vents again.

As Yelena moves to assist her, Natasha’s steps take her silently toward the far side of the room. She rounds the back of one of the black couches and pauses.

At first glance, there’s nothing out of place, just plush cushions and empty space.

But Natasha knows what to look for.

She leans over slightly and peers down.

There, nestled in the center of the couch, is a compact bundle of sleek black fur. Still. Silent. Perfectly blended.

Natasha reaches out, fingers gently scratching behind a pair of flattened ears.

“You’ve been caught, Widow.”

The cat doesn’t move at first. Then, one gleaming eye peeks open, surveying her surroundings. The second follows when she sees her, and Widow lets out a quiet meow in greeting.

Natasha smirks.

“Don’t act cute. Where’s the guinea pig?”

The cat yawns theatrically, then glances away.

“Widow,” Natasha warns again, voice dropping in gentle reprimand.

With what can only be described as a feline eye-roll, the cat shifts, uncurling to reveal the trembling form tucked beneath her paws.

With a soft thanks, Natasha carefully lifts the guinea pig.

“Sriracha!” Yelena gasps, rushing forward with her arms already extended.

She takes the guinea pig from Natasha, cooing over it in a soft stream of Russian, pressing it to her chest like a lost child finally returned.

Natasha returns her attention to the feline, giving Widow one last scratch behind the ears.

“You’re not supposed to steal anymore, you know,” she mutters.

Widow purrs at her touch, entirely unrepentant.

Kate lands beside them with a grunt, brushing off her sleeves. Her gaze flicks to the couch.

“Wait—she was here the whole time?”

Natasha grins.

“Of course. She always likes hiding in this spot.”

Yelena narrows her eyes at her sister, suspicion blooming. Then her eyes widen, the pieces clicking together.

“No way,” she says, pointing a dramatic finger. “Are you a cat person? Since when?”

Natasha shrugs one shoulder, her lips twitching as she turns her head toward Widow, who is completely unfazed by the attention, licking a paw and grooming her face with practiced indifference.

“Since I met her,” Natasha replies quietly, gaze softening before calling the feline.

“Widow.”

At the sound of her name, the cat perks up. Ears flick, tail curls lazily, and in one smooth motion, she hops onto the back of the couch. She pads along its edge with practiced ease before stopping just beside Natasha, stretching out a paw to lightly tap, then persistently swat at her jacket pocket.

Natasha chuckles, already reaching inside.

“Alright, alright.”

She pulls out a small, half-empty tube of cat treats and unscrews the cap with a practiced twist. As soon as she opens it, Widow lets out a pleased trill and nuzzles Natasha’s fingers.

Yelena gapes, hands thrown up.

“You carry treats? You carry cat treats? Who even are you?”

Natasha just smiles, offering the tube to Widow, who immediately starts delicately munching from her hand.

“She’s feeding the thief,” Yelena mutters, scandalized. “Your cat’s a literal thief.”

Natasha snorts, brushing her knuckles gently along Widow’s back.

“Well, technically…” She tilts her head. “She’s not completely mine.”

Kate raises a brow.

“Okay, wait. Then whose cat is she?”

Before Natasha can answer, a thunk echoes softly from above.

Heads snap upward just in time to see a vent grate slide open on the opposite side of the room, closer to Natasha’s side.

A figure drops down smoothly, landing in a low crouch before rising in one fluid motion.

You dust your palms against your thighs and casually stop the ticking stopwatch on your wrist, glancing at it with a playful hum.

“That,” you say, voice wry and amused as your eyes lift to meet theirs, “would be me.”

Widow immediately perks up at the sound of your voice and leaps from the couch back to your shoulder with ease. She clambers into your arms, purring loudly as you scratch under her chin and kiss the top of her head.

“Beat me in again, huh?” you murmur to her with a proud smirk. “That’s twice this month.”

Natasha moves closer, the edge of her smile warmer as her hand finds its way to the small of your back. The other still holds the treat tube, which she now offers gently toward Widow, where she’s nestled against your chest.

Without needing to speak, you adjust your stance slightly, giving her better access to Widow, now curled comfortably in your arms. The cat perks up the moment she smells the treats again and eagerly resumes nibbling from Natasha’s fingers, her tail flicking with smug satisfaction.

“Hey,” Natasha murmurs, her voice low and quiet, the kind of tone she only ever uses with you.

You smile, eyes soft as you lean in and press a gentle kiss to her cheek, just near the corner of her mouth.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, just as quietly.

A beat of silence passes between you until Yelena’s voice cuts through the moment with her usual bluntness.

“…Okay. I get it now,” she says flatly, eyes narrowed. “That’s why you’re a cat person.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue.

Kate perks up.

“So what were you doing in the vents anyway?”

You glance upward toward the open panel where you dropped down, then back to them with a casual shrug.

“Oh, I was just breaking into the Compound.”

Both Kate and Yelena go still, alarm flashing across their faces.

You grin slightly and hold up a hand in quick reassurance.

“As a security test. For Stark. He hired me and Widow to audit the new surveillance nodes. I have… experience getting around defenses.”

Kate lets out a breath, relaxing. Meanwhile, Yelena squints at you like she’s piecing together your unspoken words.

“You mean you’re a criminal.”

“Yelena,” Natasha says sharply, though there’s no real heat behind it, just a warning note of protectiveness.

Yelena lifts her chin, hugging Sriracha a little closer. The tiny guinea pig burrows deeper into her hoodie as if sensing the tension.

“What? It’s true. That cat’s a thief too.”

As if on cue, Widow lets out an indignant meow and squirms in your arms, clearly offended.

You chuckle and release her gently. She drops to the floor, tail flicking, and struts right past Kate and Yelena with clear sass.

She picks up her discarded collar from the ground with her teeth, and without glancing at the other two, she pads back toward Natasha.

Natasha chuckles and kneels down, her fingers deftly reattaching the collar around Widow’s neck.

Widow chirps in appreciation and rubs affectionately along Natasha’s legs before disappearing behind the couch like a satisfied shadow.

You shake your head with a soft smile, then glance at the others.

“I like to think of us as reformed thieves,” you say lightly. “Trying to walk the straight and narrow. Or…mostly.”

Before anyone can respond, a low whine cuts through the air. The group turns toward Lucky, who’s pacing by his food bowl, throwing distressed glances between it and Kate.

You follow his gaze, then stifle a laugh.

Widow is perched beside the bowl, calmly eating from it with zero shame.

“Widow, no,” you chide gently. “No stealing.”

The cat pauses mid-chew and lets out a grumpy meow, then saunters away from the bowl and hops up onto the counter, beginning to groom herself as if she hasn’t just committed a full-blown food heist.

“Sorry,” you say to Kate with a sheepish look. “We’re still working on the whole...morals thing.”

Kate waves it off, petting Lucky’s head to calm him.

“All good. I mean, Yelena’s an ex-assassin, and I still have to stop her from killing people sometimes.”

Yelena scoffs loudly.

“Please. When have you ever stopped me?”

“There was that time in Prague—”

“Oh, that was barely—”

The two of them quickly spiral into a familiar back-and-forth, their voices overlapping with indignation and dramatic finger-pointing.

You watch them intently in amusement until you feel Natasha’s hand slowly drift from the small of your back and slide down to find yours, drawing your attention. She intertwines her fingers with yours, her grip light but deliberate.

You turn your head to meet her gaze.

She’s already watching you with that fond, barely-there smile that always catches you off guard, no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

“Are you doing anything later?” she asks softly, thumb brushing along your knuckles.

You hum, swinging your joined hands slightly.

“After I finish debriefing Stark? Widow and I were planning a little stakeout.”

Natasha lifts a brow, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

“Do I need to stop you again?”

You roll your eyes and nudge her gently with your shoulder.

“It’s for a new apartment, not a heist.” You lean in closer and tap her nose. “Relax, Miss Black Widow. No need to suit up and be a hero.”

Natasha chuckles, leaning into the gesture.

“What about being a simple woman who wants to take her girlfriend out to dinner afterward?”

You laugh softly, catching the way her eyes linger on your lips for a beat too long. Then you lean in and press a kiss to them—a quick, affectionate thing that still manages to make her hand tighten around yours.

“You,” you murmur against her smile, “are anything but simple.”

She grins at that, then lifts your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles, gentle and deliberate.

“I just need to find someone to watch Widow,” you add, glancing around.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Natasha says, tilting her head with a knowing look as she nods toward the chaos still unfolding across the room.

You turn to see Yelena and Kate still mid-argument, hands flailing, voices rising with theatrical frustration. Meanwhile, at the counter, Fanny and Lucky are both perched on their hind legs, paws braced against the edge, watching intently at the feline.

Widow sits at the center like she owns the place. Poised, elegant, and completely unbothered. She lets out a lazy meow, swatting at either dog if they dare get too close, while one paw rests protectively atop a very bewildered Sriracha, who is somehow curled at her side like a prize.

Natasha follows your gaze, her smirk tugging wider.

“I think she’s made a few new friends to keep her company.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Decided to revisit for fun and ended up finishing one of the side stories. Thank you for reading!

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat, @escapereality4music, @caspianalexander007, @henkermen, @xxnaiaxx, @alyssa-bessse, @alianovnasposts, @mrsriovidal, @thelonewriter247, @azaleavolkova, @tiffthemarvelnerd

#a feline connection #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x reader #nr🕷️🕸️#widow the cat 🐈‍⬛#yelena belova #kate bishop

290 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 19 days ago

Text

But I have so many.

#yelena belova #marvel art #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts spoilers #white widow #the void #yb🕸️#past regrets

6K notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 5 months ago

Photo

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Tony - Steve - Bucky

· Twitter · Kofi (also shop) ·

#sam wilson #falcon #captain america #marvel art

2K notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 5 months ago

Text

“Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it.”

— Maya Angelou

#life quotes #maya angelou #poetry #literature #motivation

11K notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 5 months ago

Text

Some random agent dude: Do you like your coffee like you like your men, tall and dark?

Natasha: No, but I do like my coffee like I like my women: sweet, strong, and able to keep me up all night.

Some random agent dude: What?

Clint: What?

Maria: What?

Natasha: You all hear me.

#natasha romanoff incorrect quotes

2K notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 5 months ago

Text

The 26th of December

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count 4k

You first met at the Shield base. She was ahead of you in the cafeteria line.

Natasha was alone. You’d never seen her before and you guessed she was a new agent. She was slightly jittery. She held herself unnaturally still but her eyes darted around the room. Barely noticeable, but you caught it.

Her red hair was tied back in two perfect braids, her pale face was fresh except for dark shadows under her eyes. You stood next to her in the line, holding a plastic tray and feeling like a school-child all over again.

Natasha held an apple in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Her grip made the plastic crackle.

‘You know, it’s not so bad here.’ You mused aloud after a minute, enjoying the way her head whipped around at the sound of your voice.

Her breath hitched and then she regained herself. You watched her expression move immediately from panic to calm. You took note of the emotional control. Not a typical rookie agent.

‘Maybe for you. They’re training me with Robin Hood.’ She answered after a beat.

‘Oh.’ You pretended to consider. ‘Well then, I guess you’re fucked.’

Her answering laugh rasped through you like an electric current.

You ended up sitting at the same table,whilst you ate. Natasha was a mix of conflicting signals. Her smile was easy but it rarely reflected in her eyes. Her shoulders were loose, but her posture was stiff.

She ate her apple slowly. You tried to make small talk between bites of your own meal. You started to hear the trace of a Russian accent in her short responses.

Natasha was down to the apple core before she told you anything about herself. Even then, it was just fragments. She’d made a deal with Agent Barton, she’d held up her end of the bargain, now she was here.

You didn’t press for more details. You didn’t think you could.

Instead, you pushed your plate to the centre of the table and gestured to the untouched fries.

‘Well.’ You said lightly. ‘Maybe this ridiculous place can be your home.’

Natasha’s lips twisted into something too complicated to be a smile.

‘I don’t think I know what home is.’

You glanced at her hand, sneaking to grab a fry. You grinned.

‘Don’t worry.’ You promised. ‘It’s not that complicated.’

Conversation with Natasha was like trying to fill in a blank sheet of paper. Sometimes, you felt like your threw conversation topics into the air, trying to guess what she wanted to talk about.

It was easy to spend time with her. Despite different routines and training, you made a habit of eating together.

The habit became easy.

Every mealtime, you found yourselves together at the same time and same place.

Through her first months at Shield, you watched Natasha’s demeanour change.

Her smile became easy with others. She didn’t tense up in crowds anymore. When your friends came occasionally to sit at your table, she always seemed to welcome the company. You couldn’t tell for sure if she liked them but she never seemed to hesitate when she found herself in a group.

She definitely preferred socialising with you there. You knew she’d declined a few bigger get-togethers with other agents.

You thought maybe she liked that you’d known her so long. Longer than anyone except Agent Barton.

Her eyes sparkled whenever she started talking about an inside joke between the two of you. If people were around, she’d meet your gaze daring you to share the story behind it.

Your mind still lingered on what she’d said about home, on the first day that you'd met her.

You wondered what she thought about it now.

Every so often, you’d catch the mask slipping. A wince after training, when she sat down at the table. A worried expression that smoothed itself immediately into an easy smile. A momentary stormy look aimed at nothing in particular.

The shadows that lingered under her eyes, darkening and fading with a cyclicality that worried you.

Sometimes, she’d steal a piece of food from your plate and give you a look too fatigued to be playful.

It was after one of those looks that you invited her back to your rooms at the Shield base.

You had to finish some work, you told her, but you’d like the company anyway.

It felt obvious, like a natural next step that should’ve happened months ago.

You couldn’t help lighting up inside when she said yes.

That evening you typed on your laptop from the sofa, enjoying absentmindedly Natasha's exploration of your space. Her casualness was undercut by tiny hesitations.

She wandered in and out your kitchen like she was on a guided tour, you heard muffled noises and knew she was rustling through your rarely used spice rack. She wandered back through to your living room, and you tried not to smile obviously when she touched the edge of your fluffy rug experimentally with her foot. She studied the cushions on your sofa and the house plant by the door. You watched her finger trail down the spines of several books on your bookshelf.

Every time she moved on from something, you waited for her to finally settle. To sit next to you on the sofa, to switch on the TV, or start to talk.

It was when you heard the rubber duck squeak in your bathroom, that you finally understood. Why would she know how to make herself at home?

‘Natasha.’ You called, looking up from your laptop screen. Natasha’s head popped around a doorway.

You smiled automatically and watched her match it with a smile of her own.

‘You know, you can do whatever you want here’ You told her, tone light but still serious. ‘Mi casa es tu casa.’

Natasha rolled her eyes. You knew then that you’d been too forward. You’d acknowledged her discomfort but she hadn’t wanted you to see it in the first place.

You didn’t feel sorry. You meant what you said. You rose from the sofa to make you both some coffee.

You touched her shoulder with absentminded affection as you walked past. Natasha went still at the action. You turned before you entered the kitchen, wanting to double check if the touch was okay.

You watched Natasha smile secretly down at the ground. She lifted her head, feeling your gaze and rolled her eyes again. Her smile only got stronger.

You walked into the kitchen feeling lighter than air. When you returned five minutes later, Natasha was sitting cross legged on your floor.

She gave you a small smirk when you handed her the coffee mug. You sat on the sofa, just to the side of her. You watched silently as she ripped blank pages out of one of your old notebooks. Her fingers worked deftly as she made snowflakes, origami shapes and chains of paper dolls.

You watched her with a mix of awe and something undefinable. You thought about home. How the definition of it was starting to change for you too.

After some time, you couldn’t help but reach over, picking up the red biro pen that was lying on the coffee table. Natasha startled then relaxed readily, when you moved to sit beside her. She watched as you messily coloured in the hair of the nearest paper doll. The bright red was almost obnoxious.

Natasha elbowed you lightly when you scribbled ‘Romanoff’ on the doll’s dress.

When Natasha left, you hung the paper dolls above the TV.

Agent Barton told you about Natasha’s dilemma before she did. You’d never spoken before but when he caught up with you in the hallway, he addressed you by your first name. It took you a moment to realise that he knew exactly who you were. It turned out, Natasha talked a lot about you.

Natasha’s annual vacation time was mandatory and had to be taken, but she hadn’t booked any of it. Clint didn’t need to explain why. You’d known Natasha for nearly six months now and she’d never spoken about anyone except the people she’d met since joining Shield.

Clint lay the problem out matter of factly.

Natasha had nowhere to go and she didn’t seem to want to leave.

It was the easiest solution you’d ever come up with.

You found Natasha in weapons training. She was easy to spot with her usual red braid falling down between her shoulder blades. Her arms were raised as she aimed a gun. Ears covered and focus exact.

She still spotted you almost immediately.

You waved awkwardly as she lowered her gun and removed her ear defenders.

‘What are you doing for Christmas?’

Natasha’s head tilted. At first, you thought she hadn’t understood the question. It took a second, before you realised that she didn’t understand why you were asking. She thought it was obvious that she didn’t have plans.

‘Maybe we could rent a place for the vacation time.’ You suggested. ‘We could go somewhere snowier than here.��

Natasha watched you for a long moment and then you watched her lips life into a small smile.

‘I like snow.’ She said at last.

The next few weeks passed slowly. A new anticipation crept into your life. You rented a cabin in the middle of nowhere for the holidays. In theory, it was the perfect background for an idyllic snowy Christmas. Trees surrounded it on three sides, it was one step away from a true nature retreat.

When you described the vacation home to Natasha. She’d just nodded seriously, like you were giving her a rundown of details for a future mission. You tried not to let her reaction worry you, she was relatively quiet for the rest of the day.

The next day, Natasha joined you for breakfast with obvious intent. Before you'd had time to say hello. Natasha asked you about the clothes and other essentials you were planning to pack. You found yourself head first into a detailed conversation, full of follow up questions about things like the capacity of your car trunk.

It was then, as she nodded seriously to each of your answers, that you realised. Natasha didn't know what to expect.

The realisation made you feel a sudden sense of responsibility and freedom. Natasha had no expectations for what the holiday could be. But she'd still said yes. It was a good feeling to be trusted.

You observed her sitting across the table. Natasha chewed her lower lip as she thought about her next question. Her fork spun thoughtlessly against her plate.

You realised, that everyone in this place knew either Agent Romanoff or the Black Widow.

You were the only one who knew Natasha.

Natasha cleared her throat awkwardly, her voice came out quieter and she leaned forward slightly.

‘Could we?’ She hesitated. ‘Should we bring fairy lights? Would that be festive?’

You’d never smiled harder in your life.

‘Yeah.’ You agreed enthusiastically, reaching over to pause her fork mid-twirl. ‘That would be amazing.’

You’d once sat opposite a blank page but now Natasha was a watercolour.

The vacation time came at last and together you drove away from the Shield base full of anticipation.

Natasha was silent, her focus turned to the world passing outside the car window. You fiddled with the radio and tried not to overthink her quietness.

Just over an hour into your drive, you realised that her eyes were sparkling. Another quick glance over to her and you saw the small smile hidden on her lips.

You let some of your excitement trickle back in. You switched the radio to Christmas music and watched her hand quietly tap against her thigh.

Natasha was your best friend. She was starting to become your family.

You felt your heart squeeze with a new happiness when you heard her deep intake of breath as you drove up to the cabin. The wooden exterior was framed with a thousand golden fairy lights. You’d called the rental agency and asked for a favour. You hadn’t been able to resist.

You watched Natasha’s expression as she stepped out of the car. For the first time, any trace of uncertainty was forgotten. Her wide eyes filled with curiosity and excitement.

Her foot crunched on the frozen ground and her eyes shot to the snow covered forest floor with a muted joy. You laughed and her gaze found you instead. Her red hair was loose and long, she’d combed out her braids during the car ride. It framed her face prettily.

Natasha rolled her eyes at your expression but then she started to smile widely.

You held up a finger in a silent request for her to wait a minute before you hurried to the trunk of your car. You fished in your bag for a few moments and retrieved a pair of festive felt reindeer antlers.

Your face hurt from smiling so hard as you walked back and fixed the pair of antlers onto Natasha’s head. Natasha’s bare fingers reached up and traced the soft material. Her expression was undecided and then it relaxed into another bright smile. For the first time, your heart pounded nervously at her proximity. You’d never seen someone look so beautiful. Natasha moved her head and the bells on the antlers tinkled.

‘Come on.’ You murmured, another persistent smile tugging at your lips. ‘You’ll get cold.’

The next few days were illuminating. It became clear just how embedded Natasha’s lifestyle was, as you watched her invent and stick to a new regimented schedule. There was something fascinating about how naturally she followed a routine, even with no real pressure to keep it.

Early morning runs, chopping wood for the stove, yoga, completing stolen work assignments, reading spy novels, undertaking thorough research into unusual topics.

Your schedule was something different. Unlike Natasha, you reverted immediately to a more relaxed way of life, happily shaking off the Shield agent lifestyle.

You woke later in the day, always after the sun had decidedly risen. You scrounged breakfast from the fridge. You let any passing whim decide your day’s activity. A stroll to find a nearby frozen lake, a sudden urge to make gingerbread.

You realised soon enough that Natasha’s busy schedule was really paper thin. It only took an invitation and she was eager to join yours instead. She told you all about her spy novel when she joined you on your rambling walk to find the frozen lake. She told you about trying to run in the snow outside as she helped with the icing for your gingerbread house.

That was the other thing that you were starting to notice about Natasha. You’d known her for nearly a year now. You knew you liked her company. You could tell she liked yours. You realised that every minute you spent together only made you want a thousand minutes more.

On the third morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee. You opened your eyes readily, you’d been moments from waking up at your usual time anyway. Natasha cleared her throat and you startled before seeing her standing awkwardly in the doorway. She was holding two mugs of coffee, clearly unsure.

You smiled automatically at the sight of her. Natasha’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled too. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and she was wearing green winter pyjamas, straight from a cheesy catalogue.

‘Morning.’ You yawned as you sat up.

‘Morning.’ She echoed, handing you the coffee.

‘You’re the best.’ You mumbled happily, taking a sip.

You felt Natasha hesitate, trying to decide if she should leave. You patted the bedspread beside you. It was an easy invitation. Natasha curled up in the space next to you, hands cupping her mug.

‘I like your pyjamas.’ You said with a smirk.

‘Shut up.’ She said dryly, but you could tell she was pleased.

‘Very festive.’

You drank coffee in silence for a few minutes and then you started to talk.

At first it was light things, another book she’d just read, how cold it was that morning.

Then the conversation shifted. She started to tell you real things.

Pieces of childhood. The way the tree branches bowed over the walls of her childhood home. The deep chill of Russian winters. Her favourite American Christmas movie. Where she’d been when she first saw it.

You thought about all the light talking she’d been doing this vacation as you passed your days together. You wondered if she’d been trying to find the courage for this. With every smile or nod from you, the words kept coming from Natasha. Difficult things. Happy memories that lived with an undercurrent of sadness.

You felt a lump in your throat listening to her, wishing you could explain how much you liked hearing her talk like that. How much you liked her.

It was all special.

That Christmas Eve, you suggested a drive to the nearest town for supplies. Natasha looked confused but she only smiled and agreed. She didn’t mention your full kitchen pantry and stacked fridge, already full to the brim with enough ingredients for a full Christmas dinner.

This time, she didn’t stare out the car window for the journey. Instead, she played with the radio dials until she found a Christmas song to sing along to. Her quiet singing made your chest tight with an overwhelming kind of feeling.

You pulled up outside a second-hand store. Natasha looked even more confused as she read the sign on the store. You dragged her in with you to pick up the order that you’d called ahead to see if they had in stock.

In the car, Natasha held the DVD of her favourite American Christmas movie like it was her first ever present.

You only pulled the car over one other time. The very last Christmas tree left in the parking lot beside the small hardware store was cheap and hard not to take pity on.

Together that afternoon, you adorned the tree with some fairy lights taken from the outside porch and for the rest of the evening, Natasha made paper decorations. You put on an old CD of Christmas music that you'd found, before sitting next to Natasha and starting one of the spy novels that she'd already told you the entire plot of.

As she made the decorations, Natasha began to sing again.

You didn’t swap presents on Christmas Day.

Natasha had asked you about that weeks before and you’d promised her not to worry.

It started like the days before it, Natasha walked into your room with her usual quiet hesitation and two mugs of coffee. She started grinning when she saw you, sitting up and ready with the pair of reindeer antlers already on your head.

She gave you your mug and curled familiarly into the space beside you.

‘What do you want to do today?’ She asked, the question feeling completely natural after the last week.

You turned your head towards her and watched Natasha try not to laugh when your antler’s tinkled.

‘I want to see the best Christmas movie that you’ve ever seen.’

Natasha's eyes closed when she smiled in response. Her head rested gently against your shoulder.

Spending a day with Natasha was the easiest way to spend a day.

It was a good Christmas.

Natasha nudged your door open on the morning of the 26th of December. Your last vacation day. You were already awake; she offered you your coffee before she started to speak. You held your breath in anticipation when she cleared her throat nervously.

‘I wanted to say thank you.’ She said carefully. ‘For letting me come here.’

She stood awkwardly at the foot of your bed. She was still wearing her festive pyjamas and you thought that they might be your favourite thing in the world. Her hair was tied back in its usual long braid. She chewed her lower lip and you watched her eyes try to dart nervously before she focused them on you.

‘Natasha.’ You tried to find the right words, cupping your hot mug. ‘You’re my favourite person in the world. You don't have to say thank you. It wouldn't feel like home without you.’

That was the moment. When the last piece clicked.

You watched Natasha walk slowly around your bed. You watched her place her coffee mug on the nightstand. You felt the bed shift as she crawled into the familiar space beside you.

Her thumb brushed your cheek when she kissed you. Her touch was warm from the coffee mug.

She tasted like home.

Things fell apart slowly and then all at once.

You returned to the real world.

Natasha’s training had been becoming more specialised for a long time. Director Fury’s plans for her became clearer and more intentional. Her time was less her own.

You were careful never to push. Natasha became more distracted, her eyes held their secret exhaustion again.

You cherished her when she was there. The first time an additional training session ran through your usual time for dinner, you didn’t let yourself be upset.

That evening, you heard a knock on your door and knew it was her. Natasha's tired eyes were worried and full of unspoken guilt. You pulled her towards you with a feeling of sudden urgency and happiness that came from the simplicity of seeing her standing there.

You kissed her for a long moment and Natasha met your lips with eager relief. Then, you led her to your sofa, ignoring her protests as you insisted on trying to find enough food in your rarely used kitchen to constitute a meal for her.

She slept in your bed that night, curled familiarly into the space next to you. You listened to her steady breathing and knew that you loved her in a way that wouldn’t change.

Her missions got longer. Natasha was trusted with more. She saved more lives with each mission and you watched her start to forgive herself for the things she could barely say aloud.

You did your best to accept that Natasha might choose a future that didn’t include you so easily. She was exceptional, in her kindness, bravery and skill.

You knew Natasha could feel the impending future too. The busier she became with work, the more effort she made to spend every other moment with you.

You felt like a pocket of steadiness in her world of chaos. You knew it was a privilege.

You can't always hold onto your home.

Natasha was given a long-term undercover mission. When she told you about it, you felt a horrible sinking in your chest. It was a feeling that you’d been anticipating.

You knew what her job meant and you knew her talent at it.

All you could really think about in that moment was that she’d clearly been crying. Her shaky breathing stuttered as she tried to tell you the news.

You wondered if you knew her so well, or if she wasn’t trying to hide at all from you anymore.

You hugged her tightly and tried to absolve her of her guilt.

She was going to miss your next Christmas.

You kissed her forehead and told her that you loved her. Natasha tangled her fingers with your own. She squeezed your hand tight. She kissed the back of your hand softly.

The next day, you walked her to the airstrip. You felt unnaturally still as you tried to stop your chest from heaving with a loss it could already feel.

Before she walked onto the jet, Natasha turned around. Her small, awkward wave echoed your own. You watched her braids hit her back as she turned again and walked onto the aircraft.

Months passed.

You lived a strange empty life.

You didn’t remember the world before Natasha, you still expected to see her at every mealtime.

Christmas day arrived.

You decorated your small plastic tree with the paper dolls that had hung above your TV for nearly two years. You watched a Christmas movie that was someone else's favourite.

On the 26th of December, you got a phone call. It was Clint and it was the middle of the night. You were in your car before he’d finished talking.

Home is the place that you are loved.

You found her about a mile from the Shield base, it was just past midnight.

Natasha was walking along the side of the river with her hood up, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights.

She noticed you almost immediately. She came to a stop, eyes wary and shoulders braced.

You gave a small, awkward wave and she remembered herself.

She moved toward you, pace quick.

When she reached you, her head pressed desperately against your thick winter jacket.

You kissed the soft fabric of her green hood and held her tight.

The sound of the river and the shaking of her cries.

Home was in the sound of the river and the shaking of her cries.

#natasha romanoff x shield agent!reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff comfort #black widow x reader #nr🕷️🕸️

572 notes · View notes

natashasilverfox · 5 months ago

Text

So sad to see the series go but loved reading all the shenanigans!💕

A Feline Connection Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Goodbyes are always hard, but sometimes they’re necessary. Natasha understands that better than most.

Warnings: light angst, light fluff

Words: 2239

Natasha tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket, her boots making soft taps against the floor as she walks slow circles around the lone table in the small, stark visiting room.

On the surface of the table, Widow mirrors her movements, her tiny paws following her in smaller, deliberate circles as if mimicking her pacing.

From his spot near the door, Tony groans dramatically, his patience clearly worn thin. He throws his head back against the wall with a loud sigh.

“Oh my god, stop moving! You two are making me dizzy.”

Natasha pauses mid-step, turning to fix him with a flat, unimpressed stare.

Widow, as if in solidarity, halts her pacing and copies Natasha’s expression, letting out an annoyed yowl aimed directly at him.

Tony points a finger at the cat, his tone exasperated.

“Hey! Don’t you start with me, furball. Do you know how many strings I had to pull to even get you in here?”

At his gesture, Widow suddenly collapses onto her side with a pitiful meow, tilting her head to Natasha with what could only be described as a dramatic cry for help.

Natasha smirks at the feline’s theatrics, scooping her up and cradling her against her chest. She strokes her sleek fur, her voice soft but playful.

“Is Tony bullying you again?” she asks.

Widow chirps in response, nuzzling against Natasha’s arm.

Tony gasps, mock outrage written all over his face.

“I didn’t even touch her!”

Widow lets out another exaggerated meow and burrows herself further into Natasha’s embrace.

Groaning, Tony throws his hands up in exasperation.

“You know what? I’ll just wait outside,” he grumbles, storming out of the room with a huff.

The metal door creaks closed behind him, leaving Natasha alone with the feline perched contentedly in her arms. The room falls quiet for only a moment before the other door on the opposite side creaks open.

Natasha’s breath catches as you step through, your eyes meeting hers the instant you lift your head.

The guard with you unlocks your cuffs before nodding curtly to Natasha and exiting, leaving the two of you alone.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Finally, you break it, your voice soft.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Natasha replies, her tone matching yours.

Widow wriggles in Natasha’s arms, leaping to the floor and sprinting toward you with an excited chirp. She circles your legs a few times before hopping into your arms when you crouch to greet her.

“It’s good to see you too, Widow,” you murmur, running a hand over her fur as she purrs loudly in response.

You glance up at Natasha, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“They allow pets to visit criminals now?”

“After an extensive search, yes,” Natasha replies dryly, a playful glint in her eyes. “But in this case, technically, she’s not visiting a criminal anymore.”

Confusion flashes across your face as you stand, cradling Widow.

Natasha steps closer, pulling a folder from her jacket and handing it to you.

You open it, skimming the documents inside.

“It’s an updated ruling on your case,” Natasha explains. “Parole with the possibility to reduce your sentencing time.”

Your head snaps up, surprise written across your features.

“How did you manage this?”

Natasha crosses her arms, leaning against the table.

“I told them how you helped me take down the weapons deals and explained how much of your recent actions were…influenced by someone else.”

Your expression tightens at the mention of Whitney, but you keep your gaze steady.

“She’s still causing trouble, isn’t she?”

“She’s under tight surveillance now,” Natasha assures. “Whatever connections she’s trying to pull to get her out of this, I’ll make sure they don’t reach you or Widow again.”

A small, grateful smile crosses your face as you stroke the cat absently.

“What about everything else I’ve done?”

Natasha shrugs lightly.

“Most of the victims dropped their charges. I guess they didn’t want to return the insurance money they got after you stole from them.”

“Typical,” you scoff, not surprised by the actions of the wealthy people you’ve always targeted.

“And as for the facilities and buildings…” Natasha smirks faintly. “I may have convinced the owner to let it go.”

You laugh softly, the sound incredulous.

“Well, I’m glad Stark’s not one to hold a grudge.”

“Oh, don’t mistake it for that,” Natasha says with a small chuckle. “His ego’s still bruised, but I think he’s impressed more than anything.”

The room falls silent once more, the only sound being Widow’s soft purring. The feline seems entirely at ease, her warmth a small comfort in the charged quiet.

You tilt your head slightly, studying Natasha with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“So…what’s the catch?” you finally ask, breaking the silence.

Natasha arches a brow. “Catch?”

You sigh softly, your voice cautious as you clarify.

“Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?”

Understanding the weight behind your question, Natasha takes a step closer. Her posture relaxes, her gaze softening as she considers her response.

“A long time ago,” she begins, her voice quiet but firm, “when I thought there was no way out of the life I was living, someone gave me a second chance.”

She reaches out, her fingers brushing gently over Widow’s fur, the motion grounding her. Natasha’s eyes meet yours again, and a small, earnest smile graces her lips.

“So that’s all this is,” she continues, her voice steady and sincere. “Just a second chance. What you do with it is entirely up to you.”

For a moment, you simply watch her, the sincerity of her words settling heavily in the air between you. The faint tension in your shoulders eases as you realize she’s serious—no ulterior motive, no hidden agenda.

Tilting your head with a faint smirk, you decide to challenge her words lightly.

“And if I decide to go back to being a thief?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha’s lips twitch into a slight smirk of her own as she straightens her posture and crosses her arms.

“Then I’ll have to stop you,” she replies without missing a beat, her tone teasing but underpinned with a playful warning. “Being a hero and all.”

A quiet laugh escapes you at her response, soft and genuine, but the humor fades as your gaze drifts down to the cat in your arms. You run your fingers gently along Widow’s fur, your thoughts growing heavier.

When you speak again, your voice is barely above a whisper.

“And if I decide to leave?”

The question hangs in the air, the vulnerability in your tone pulling at something in Natasha’s chest. She hesitates for a brief moment, the thought of you leaving tugging painfully at her heart.

But she steps closer, her hand reaching out to gently tilt your chin upward, lifting your gaze to meet hers. Her eyes are steady, unwavering, as she offers a reassuring smile.

“Then I’ll always cherish the memory of the thief and her little black cat who stole my heart.”

Your breath catches at her words, her sincerity cutting through the lingering doubt.

For a moment, time seems to pause, and the world around you fades away, leaving only the undeniable connection between you.

A soft huff escapes you, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude. Shaking your head lightly, you murmur in admiration.

“You really are something else, Miss Black Widow.”

Natasha’s smile lingers, soft and bittersweet, even as she watches you board the shuttle to leave the prison a short time later.

Widow presses her tiny face against the glass, her golden eyes watching Natasha intently. In response, Natasha raises a hand in a small wave, her gaze lingering on you and the feline until the vehicle pulls away.

Even after the shuttle disappears from view, Natasha remains standing, her heart heavy yet resolute. She knows she’s done the right thing, giving you the freedom to choose your own path—even if it means you’re no longer in her life.

Tony’s arrival beside her breaks her reverie, his expression equal parts amused and curious.

“I can’t believe, after all that, you didn’t get the girl,” he quips, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, Nat, next time you’ve got a crush, I’ll give you some tips. They’re foolproof.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, brushing his hand off as she turns toward the car that’ll take them back to the compound.

“Let’s go,” she says, her tone firm but calm. “We’ve still got work to do.”

Tony follows her, grumbling under his breath, but Natasha doesn’t hear him. Her mind is already returning to a life of training and missions, even as the faint echo of your parting smile lingers in her thoughts.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The seasons have changed since that day months ago, the vibrant green giving way to winter’s icy embrace. Barren trees stand silent and still, their branches dusted with frost, while a fresh layer of snow blankets the ground.

The world moves on, but some things remain the same.

Natasha’s breaths puff visibly in the cold air as her steady footsteps crunch against the frozen trail.

As usual, running and training is still her method of escape, a way to clear her mind and soothe her thoughts.

Today, her pace slows as she nears a familiar spot.

She stops by the same tree she had stood beneath all those months ago, her hands resting on her hips as she catches her breath.

The world around her is silent except for the faint wind rustling through the branches above. The chill of the morning air feels sharper here, but it’s not enough to distract her from the wave of nostalgia washing over her.

Natasha glances upward toward the branches, her eyes scanning the limbs as if expecting to see a flash of black fur clinging precariously to one of them.

But like many times before, the branches are empty.

With a small sigh, she shakes her head, chiding herself for entertaining the idea.

It’s been months since she last saw or heard from you and Widow. You had both disappeared from her life after your release, and she told herself she shouldn’t dwell on what she couldn’t change.

It was your decision.

Just as she’s about to move on and continue her run, she hears it—a soft, curious meow.

From below?

Natasha blinks, her head snapping downward to find a familiar pair of yellow eyes staring up at her from the base of the tree.

The cat sits neatly by her feet, tilting her head in that same inquisitive way Natasha remembered, her gold tag jingling at her collar as the inscribed name glints off the metal in the early light.

“Widow?” Natasha whispers, her voice laced with disbelief.

The cat meows again as if confirming her identity before turning her gaze to the tree behind her. Without hesitation, she leaps and latches onto the bark, her claws digging in as she prepares to climb.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Natasha mutters, quickly lunging forward. She catches Widow mid-climb, cradling the cat securely in her arms before she can get herself stuck again.

Widow lets out a protesting meow, swatting at Natasha’s chin in mock indignation.

Natasha laughs softly, the sound tinged with fondness as she holds the little troublemaker close.

“Some things never change,” she murmurs, stroking her fur gently.

A crunch of snow behind her breaks the peaceful moment.

Natasha turns, her heart skipping at the sight of you approaching.

You walk toward her with a small smile, your hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket.

Stopping a few feet away, you tilt your head, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“You have my cat,” you say, your tone light but familiar.

Natasha huffs a small laugh, shaking her head slightly as the familiarity of the moment settles between you.

“Your cat was about to get herself stuck in a tree again,” she replies, her voice laced with amusement. “I saved her.”

Widow, seemingly unfazed by the interaction, stretches lazily in Natasha’s arms before giving you an expectant chirp.

You step closer, reaching out to scratch behind her ears. The cat purrs contentedly, leaning into your touch.

“Always the hero, aren’t you, Miss Black Widow?” you quip, your gaze flicking up to meet hers.

Natasha smirks, her eyes narrowing slightly as they drop pointedly to the black leather jacket you’re wearing.

“Well, I’m no thief,” she retorts, her voice dry but playful.

You grin unabashedly, tugging the jacket closer around yourself.

“Finders keepers,” you say with a casual shrug.

Natasha shakes her head in mock exasperation, though there’s no mistaking the warmth that spreads through her chest at your familiar banter.

“Mind if we join you?” you ask, your voice softening as you gesture toward the trail.

Natasha glances down at Widow, nestled comfortably in her arms, then back at you. Her lips curve into a genuine smile, her tone light as she responds.

“I’d like that,” she says before adding with a teasing lilt, “But Widow stays with me.”

A soft laugh escapes you as you step closer, falling into stride beside her.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you reply.

Together, the three of you continue down the trail, the cold morning air no longer biting as it’s replaced by the warmth of laughter, soft meows, and the unexpected connection brought together by a little black cat.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: First fic post of the new year on here, and it's the finale of a series 😅. Endings are always bittersweet to write, and this one was really sad to let go.

Thank you all for reading and following along with this series!

The responses to this story have been amazing considering this originally started with just a simple oneshot about Natasha becoming friends with a little black cat. It was fun having their relationship grow and develop so much further, and I'm glad you all enjoyed it.

So technically, the main plotline is complete, but I may still come back to this universe with little side stories in the future, just because I am fond of these characters, so in happier news, it may not be the completely last time we see them. 😁

#a feline connection n.r #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #widow the cat🐈‍⬛#the avengers #nr🕷️🕸️

442 notes · View notes