I sat cross-legged on the bed, crimson light flickering lazily between my fingers, and let my mind wander. Power thrummed beneath my skin, restless, eager—but so was I. Not just for battle. For life.
The memories of this world and my old one clashed and overlapped, and the more I thought about it, the more certain I became: I was not going to play out Wanda Maximoff's role as written in the movies.
No way in hell.
The idea of falling in love with that walking toaster, Vision, made my stomach twist. Even before, as a fan, I had hated that arc—forced, flat, and wrong. And now, living it? The thought was unbearable.
No, I had a choice. A chance. I wasn't going to waste it.
My eyes flickered toward the idea of romance, of passion. In my old life, I had been too consumed by my work, too afraid to pursue what I truly wanted. But I wasn't that woman anymore. I was Wanda Maximoff—powerful, free, alive in a body that demanded to be touched, to be admired.
And I knew exactly who I wanted.
Natasha Romanoff.
Even thinking her name made me smirk. Black Widow. Deadly, untouchable, dripping with confidence. In my old life, I'd read so much fanfiction pairing her with Wanda. Sometimes sweet, sometimes filthy, sometimes both—and I had devoured every bit of it. Natasha had always been one of my guilty pleasures, and now? She was real. She was here. And I had the chance to make her mine.
I ran my fingers through my ginger hair, feeling the silky strands slip like fire between them. Yes. I could already picture it: her sharp eyes studying me, her lips curving in that secret smile, the way she'd test me before letting me in. Natasha didn't fall for anyone easily, but I wasn't just anyone.
I was brilliant. I was beautiful. And I had an advantage no one else did—knowledge of what was to come.
The movies had painted Wanda as tragic, naive, lost. But my Wanda—this Wanda—was going to be something else entirely. Clever. Calculated. Dangerous. And when I wanted something, I would take it.
The world might not be ready for me, but Natasha would be.
I leaned back, the red haze curling around my hand, and smiled. The Avengers thought they knew who I was. They had no idea.
This time, I was going to write my own story. And it was going to be beautiful.