Wanda Maximoff Fluff - Blog Posts

Interlude

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: This is part of another fic challenge with @quietlyimplode. This is set after Black Widow for Natasha and after the Raft for Wanda.

Wanda could feel the aching sting of where the dampening collar had once sat around her neck.

Her skin buzzed as she stumbled to her feet. 

Her mind buzzed too. Power flooded back into her veins like a broken dam. She stretched out each of her fingers unsurely. The relief was overwhelming, but it wasn’t enough.

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Words Beneath Your Skin

gif commissioned by: giuliacommissions

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Masterlist || Taglist Blog

Summary: You don’t remember physical intimacy that much. You can’t miss something you can’t recall the last time you had. Except Wanda Maximoff turns out to be a touchy person.

Warnings: me hurting ur feelings cuz when's the last time someone hugged you like this? hm. Also unbeta’d lmao.

Notes: I haven't had someone hug in me in so long I'm pretty sure I would burst into tears.

Count: ~2.3k

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You never really noticed it. You've lived so long without it, it's never really occurred to you.

That's how things slip under the radar, after all. You live for so long without something, you end up never thinking about it.

You can't remember the last time someone has held you for longer than a second. You get quick hugs here and there from your friends and your family and kisses on the cheek in passing greetings and farewells.

But shit.

When was the last time you actually physically had someone hold you or hold them?

You weren't even aware of it until you got to know Wanda more. A strange superhero who visited the library for hours on end in a bean chair, watching shows on her laptop.

Nothing had ever really happened—you never wanted to intrude in her space, and she definitely looked like she didn't want anyone to interrupt her.

As you stacked books, you thought about what would bring someone like her to the library so often. It would be much more comfortable to watch shows in the comfort of your own home, wouldn't it?

But you see the things in the news, the things people write about her online, and you think—maybe Wanda Maximoff doesn't feel like she really has a home anywhere because her real home was blown up in the sky.

Maybe people like Wanda Maximoff also need an escape and somewhere quiet to be left alone.

You try to be respectful of that. You never hover or gawk at her. You politely let her know when the library is closing and never linger. If Wanda appreciated any of that, you'd never know as she never said anything or looked at you.

That's fine; you've never been one to stand out anyway.

Until you do. At least to her.

On a sunny day, the paparazzi catches wind of her in the library and huddle around the windows to snap pictures inside. Wanda looks like her world has collapsed once more. People grumble like it's Wanda's fault they can't get any peace and quiet in there—like she's the reason the sun was being blocked from shining inside.

Ridiculous; honestly, you think.

You close the blinds to the library as if it's a very common thing to do during the busiest hour of the day. You ask Wanda to pack up her things, and she does without giving you a fuss but looking somewhat forlorn.

It isn't until you lead her into the staff room with a sofa, a small kitchen to the side, and windows with mosaic glass films covering it. It still allows the light to come in but offers the privacy Wanda just lost.

It's then that Wanda realized you weren't kicking her out and banning her from the library.

"You'll have to stick it out here for a bit. I'm sure the paparazzi will get bored at some point," you shrug. "No one really comes in here except me. The other staff pop in for coffee but everyone else likes to eat at that cafe across the street."

Wanda looks around, her leg and fingers suddenly feeling jittery.

"Thank you," she finally tells you sincerely. "You didn't have to...I'm sure your other customers are upset you closed the blinds."

You roll your eyes. "I'm sure they'll survive a couple hours without the natural light." You stand up and get ready to go back outside. "Vitamin D is overrated anyway."

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Something friendly brews between the simple civilian and the superhero. She says she doesn't really see herself as a superhero, though. Superheroes probably haven't killed many people before, even if inadvertently.

Wanda says she's her...just with a little more.

Honestly, you don't really care. You're well aware you don't belong in her world—the world of chaos, training, and preparing for the next time Earth might be threatened.

The only thing you worry about is your building collapsing while you're in it if the Earth ends and your student loans.

"I don't know..." you tell Wanda as she asks if you'd be willing to go to the Compound during the day before your shift starts at the library.

Unfortunately, the paparazzi never did get bored, and they've taken to staking out the area knowing Wanda would come in. Since Wanda had stopped, the paparazzi also stopped.

The idea of meeting other superheroes doesn't really appeal to you. It feels strange and honestly overwhelming.

But when Wanda purses her lips, you relent.

You don't really understand Wanda, and you find yourself not really pushing to endeavor to. You let her set the pace and get to know each other slowly without expectations.

In the back of your mind, you distantly realize that you're not a very physically intimate person, or at least you've become someone who isn't physically intimate anymore.

You remember the days in high school when you used to hold your best friend's hand innocently all the time. The days when you hugged someone boisterously and kisses their cheek.

You wonder what happened.

But Wanda isn't someone who was touchy either.

At least that's what it had seemed like in the beginning. Even though Wanda admitted she liked your company, she had never offered a hug when seeing you.

Until you came to the Compound.

And it was like the privacy of the thick concrete walls and distance from everything else made her feel safer.

A brief hug. Awkward and unsure.

You barely had time to even feel the pressure of her hands and chest before she moved away.

"Was that...is it okay?" She asked, and you almost laughed at how she was asking for permission after hugging you.

"Of course," you smile at her, unsure of what to make of it all.

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Brief hugs become regular.

And because they were so brief, it took a long time for them to become less awkward.

There's a certain energy around Wanda. You don't want to say that she's awkward, but she's—antsy.

You only figure out what's exactly wrong when you're having dinner with her and the rest of her friends, and she puts her hand on the space between your shoulders just below your neck.

She lingers.

And when the warmth from her hands seep through your shirt into your skin, you feel your body becomes hot with heat. You can feel her rings pressed into you, and as she applies more pressure from her fingers, moving across your back, you tense to hold the moan in the back of your throat.

Mortification sets in as you realize two things.

One, Wanda was a physically intimate person. Two, you were severely touched deprived to the point that someone just touching your back was setting you off.

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The new physical intimacy makes you unsure. A small war rages within you with what you want to do. A part of you wants to touch and be touched by Wanda. The other part of you wants to shirk away.

You don't remember what it feels like to be held by someone for the sake of being held. There's some memory of it vaguely in the back of your mind, but that was a distant memory.

You're lying on the bed with Wanda, reading a book as she watches TV. You notice that she watches a lot of sitcoms. You've asked why and remember her saying it's comforting that so much could happen in one episode, and be all resolved in the end.

Such small insights happen between the two of you. You never really say what's the issue, but the other person seemingly can always read between the lines.

Suddenly, Wanda turns on her side as she scoots up against you, her arm over your stomach and leg hooking over yours. Her cheek is pressed against your shoulder as she continues to stare at the TV.

Your body does that weird thing where it clenches up, and you immediately begin to feel sweaty.

How was it possible for someone to be so warm?

And soft.

Occasionally, Wanda's hand would drift over yours when she held you, and you hadn't realized someone could be so gentle to touch.

There's another realization that there's an intimacy of knowing someone when they hold you because you also know what she smells like chai and orange blossoms.

You don't know what to do with that information.

All you know is that there's a lump in the back of your throat as you try to focus back on your book. She strokes your side and the top half of your thighs, and you swallow harshly.

When Wanda feels you beginning to tremble, she stops and looks at you with concern.

"Are you okay?" She asks slowly as she sits up, still touching you.

You were totally losing your marbles in front of Wanda, and the entire thing is mortifying.

Her tone is so gentle and caring, and you felt your eyes burn.

"I don't know," you bite out, and it's true. You want to say yes, but you also want to say no.

Wanda stares at you a long time as you stubbornly stare at your book even when your eyes feel wet.

You feel Wanda pull away, and despite your unsureness, that feels even worse.

"If don't want to be touched, you can just say so," Wanda tells you gently with no malice or hurt behind her words and tone. But she sounds insecure, and that makes you want to really break out into a sob.

And although the book is your only shield from Wanda seeing total vulnerability, you close it and set it aside on her night table.

"I know," you tell her stiffly as you put your hands in your lap. "It's not that I don't want to. It's just—it's been a while since someone has touched me the way you do."

You pick at the invisible cotton on your pants.

"It's just...it feels overwhelming—to be this close to someone. I both want it and don't want it." You purse your lips the moments the words came out of your mouth. "Well, I feel like I don't want it because—I don't know—it feels like it's too good to be true."

Wanda watches as you stumble over your words as you subtly try to dab your eyes before you look up at the ceiling disinterestedly, but she knows it's just so the tears will go back in.

It's a daunting realization for Wanda that you're touched-deprived. Despite the devastating life Wanda has lived, she's always has been a touchy person and received a lot of affections in her life—mostly by her parent, then Pietro, and occasionally, Natasha will indulge her in linking arms when they watch movies together.

Slowly, as if to let you know you can say no at any time, Wanda moves back with her arm and leg over you and pulls you closer.

You're pressed into her body, head on her shoulder as she strokes your back and pulls the blanket over the two of you in a warm cocoon.

Wanda thinks you appreciate that she doesn't say anything. She just sits there and resumes watching TV as you close your eyes.

Wanda replays every memory and every interaction she's had with you since befriending you. Your distance makes sense, and it's sad. It kind of breaks her heart.

It's been a while since Wanda has felt any sort of determination, but she wants her touch to be comforting to you. You're so lovely, and Wanda thinks she's falling for the girl who's given her shelter at the cost of depriving others of natural Vitamin D.

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You think Wanda has been very attentive to you lately. Maybe something shifts, but you're not really sure. All you know is that Wanda is working her touch into your daily life. It's holding hands, it's long hugs, and cuddling you at the end of the day and in the mornings before you go.

But the moment things really changed? That was when Wanda pulled your arms to wrap around her, and the experience of holding Wanda Maximoff is vastly much different than being held by her.

You like it. You come to like both, and it isn't long that you find yourself biting your own tongue to stave the craving of wanting her touch.

Wanda watches you with interest as she lies on top of you as you play with the ends of her hair.

You seem rather frustrated for some unknown reason and also perplexed by your emotion.

When you let out a quiet huff, Wanda smiles.

"Is there something you need?" She asks.

You pause from tugging on her hair as you move your eyes down look at Wanda, who's lying on your chest.

You're antsy again.

You like her touch, that much you know. You like the weight of her body over yours because it feels reassuring.

"I don't know," you answer honestly.

Wanda adjusts herself so that her face hovers over yours and your eyes follow hers.

"More or less?" She asks.

It takes you a minute, but you answer a hesitant, "more, I think."

Wanda hums with a nod as her hands move under your back, and she holds you closer to her. "Let me show you and you can decide if you want more."

Wanda leans down, and when her soft lips press against yours, your nerve-endings light up with a jolt. She kisses you the way she has always shown you intimacy—slow and steady.

You press back, wrapping your arms around her neck without hesitation.

When Wanda pulls back, you mutter, "more. Definitely more."

You've gone so long without it; you've never really noticed. But Wanda makes you notice everything at every time. You're not sure how you could've missed it.

But perhaps this is how Wanda Maximoff loves. Slow, steady, rapacious as she stares at you.

Her eyes shine with devotion, and you like that her lips are warm too when she kisses you everywhere.

She's good at physical intimacy, that much you're sure of. Under her slow hands, you're determined that perhaps you can be the one to show her emotional intimacy for the girl you've fallen for.