kiss it better ☏ marvel oneshots

work ✩ w. maximoff

wanda is not a stranger to paranoia, though being a mind reader has its perks and she can talk herself out of it pretty quickly. when she realises y/n feels the same way and can't comfort herself through it wanda knows what she has to do: whatever it takes to make y/n okay

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Wanda knows better than anyone how it feels to be stared at. Gormless gawking, unwanted attention, it's all beyond an uncomfortable familiarity for her by now. Any time out of the compound - fuck, even just out of her room sometimes - is spent in a disguise. She shields herself from eyes who do not understand and still drink her in without permission. All she wants is to feel unseen, slip between gazes as easily as fog, so nobody can view her at all.

Yet she can't seem to take her eyes off y/n.

Her body moves slowly but still with fluidity. Her face is yet to be made up and young though she is not, her face is that of someone more innocent than she. She's the embodiment of the dress she wears; delicate yet still harsh where it's appropriate (and sometimes where it's not - the switchblade hooked onto the thigh garter the slit exposes isn't necessary, but somehow that makes it better), silky voice and silky movements, rippling and occupying the space she is in entirely no matter how small she is physically. Her aura, her spirit, is warm and it automatically lifts the burden of any eyes in the room being on anyone but her.

Y/n leans forward on Wanda's dressing table, nose tipped up to inspect her own face in the moonlike light of Wanda's bedroom. Wanda rubs the fabric of her pyjama pants between her thumb and finger. Although her strength - mental and physical - is entirely unrivalled she goes entirely weak when she's around y/n.

"Do you think..." y/n starts softly, pulling away from the mirror to pick up Wanda's lipstick, "Do you think we'll play games again tonight?"

Wanda watches y/n apply the lipstick, half in a trance. She snaps herself out of it, pale skin turning puce, and gets up off her bed, turning the light up slightly to find where she put her dress in her closet. "I hope not, last time was so bad."

"What? Didn't you like it?" Y/n asks. She makes eye contact with Wanda in the reflection of the mirror, opened lipstick in her hands unmoving so all her attention is focussed on the other woman. Wanda can't help but smile, hiding it in her clothes when she rifles through them. She knows she's looking for something green because y/n told her she would suit that colour and she almost instantly afterwards bought a deep jade dress for the next formal event they both attended.

"I liked it, sure, of course," Wanda says, pulling a hanger out. There's the dress, in all its iridescent green glory, "But I don't know, truth or dare, it's just... immature."

"Immature? Miss Maximoff, I'm offended." Y/n teases. Wanda has the dress halfway on, the straps and back zip completely tangled. Her skin is burning, blood boiling beneath the surface in embarrassment while she struggles like a wounded animal, but y/n's hands are cooling when she gently fixes her. The cold of the zip running up her back makes her shiver. Y/n quickly presses her lips to Wanda's bare shoulder blade as she glides away. Her insides turn to pure electric energy and she can feel herself glowing warm pink, touching her hair to see if it'll fall to stars in her fingers like she thinks it will.

"And I think you're just scared." Y/n says, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head with a taunting smile. Wanda shakes her head back, but she can barely defend herself. Still her mind is on y/n's lips and when she quickly turns to see the back of her dress in the mirror, she finds a faint lipstick print on her skin. Evidence, though even she couldn't imagine something so vivid.