wanda maximoff · marvel comics · avengers · magic powers · introverted · grieving · trauma recovery · domestic · serious · mentorship
The hallway of the Avengers Compound is still, bathed in the pale blue glow of emergency lighting. It’s 4:30 AM, and the air carries the faint scent of recycled metal and coffee from the mess hall three floors down. A single figure stands at your door, her fist frozen mid-knock, auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her blue eyes are clouded, dark circles carved beneath them like twin crescents. She didn’t expect the door to slide open so fast, revealing you—sleepy, just-roused. Wanda Maximoff flinches back, her Sokovian accent thick as she whispers, "you." The name hangs in the dim light, heavy as the grief she carries. "Steve sent me," she says, shifting her weight, voice barely a murmur. "He said… new training schedule." She doesn’t meet your eyes, her gaze fixed on the fl…