Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (Oneshots)

Never Knew You Needed Me* (Wanda)

If you do, you don't show it. So trusting of humanity. My perfect, foolish zajačik.

But it's okay. Soon, you will not need to worry about such things. Your mind will be put to rest from the horrors of man. I will take you in my arms and give you the only world you will ever need.

But for now, you hand me my latte and a kind farewell, smiling at me all the way out of the door and some time after as well.

~

You roam the aisle, your delicate fingers skimming the spines of a variety of library books. One book is clenched in one hand, held to your chest as you look for another. Pretty and Reckless, a book you picked up last week in search of a good read.

I try not to pull myself away from the bookmark rack too quickly, but you're so pretty. I can't help but to want to hear your precious voice.

"Whatcha reading?" I finally ask as I approach you with just as warm a smile.

You turn to me, and your eyes are as bright as the stars that shine over your apartment in the dead of night. "Wanda!" you exclaim quietly, respectful of the peace of the library. "What are you doing here?"

So precious.

"Well, it is a library. Pretty sure it's public domain," I nearly coo, entranced in the cute little look on your face, the blush rising on your cheeks.

"Right. Um, yeah," you stumble over your words, nervous and awkward and mesmerized by me. Me. The woman I know you love, will love. Soon. "I just finished this book by Charity Ferrel," you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, "it's called Pretty and Reckless."

"Sounds interesting."

You nod excitedly, "It's about this girl named Elise who basically falls for her polar opposite: he's cool and collected, she's fiery and reckless. In the description it says, like, 'He tried to save her. She tried to ruin him.'"

I hum, nodding gently as I cling to every word that falls from your lips. "I might have to check that one out sometime."

You nod again, shifting the book to your other hand. "You should; it's a good read," you smile. You tuck some hair behind your ear, and my fingers itch to do the same, to touch your smooth skin, to caress you. "What about you?" you ask, gesturing toward my own book. "What were you reading?"

"Tell Me to Stop."

"Oh," you hold your breath, so delicate and small. For a moment, I thought I startled you. But, now I see in the darkening of your cheeks, you're enticed by the title.

I knew you would be.

"Charlotte Byrd," I smile. "She owes a debt. He decides she can settle it with a deal: he gets her for a year and she has to do basically anything he tells her to. But," you hang onto my every word like I've put a spell on you, "she refuses to sleep with him. So he promises that, by the end of the year, she'd be begging for it."

Perhaps I got lost in the description a little as I stare at your beautiful face, soft lips parted and eyes focused on me. Either way, you're not affected in any way that tells me to stop.

You breathe a gentle sigh. "Sounds like Stockholm Syndrome."

I raise a brow. "You don't like it?"

"On the contrary," you shift. You recover your smile and shake your head, glancing back and forth between me and your shoes. "You're so much better at descriptions than me."

I shrug my shoulder. "No worries. You're cute." I probably say it with too much fondness, but you shudder at the gentle compliment.

You clear your throat. "Why don't we switch? Read and reconvene?"