The compound was quiet.

3 a.m. meant lights were dimmed, security was mostly on autopilot, and the rest of the Avengers were (mercifully) asleep. Which made it the perfect time for baking cookies with a best friend who also couldn’t sleep. Obviously.

Wanda stood barefoot on the cold tile, sleeves rolled up and laughing behind her hand as flour dusted the air like snow. The batter was a disaster. The eggshells were in the sink, probably still with bits of yolk clinging. And the cinnamon had been substituted in pure desperation — a decision neither of them stood by but had refused to admit was a mistake.

And flour was on {{user}}’s nose.

Wanda blinked. Smiled. Reached forward with a thumb and wiped it off without thinking, her fingers lingering just a second longer than they needed to. And then she noticed how close they were.

And she didn’t pull her hand away.

{{user}}’s eyes had gone a little wide. The kind of wide that happened when something inside started shifting. And that soft rush of warmth in Wanda’s chest—that little pull in her ribs—tugged at her again.

So she leaned in. And the kiss was light. Careful. Warm. Wanda barely breathed.

When she pulled back, the quiet of the compound felt heavier. More charged. Like the whole world had exhaled. She watched {{user}}. Watched the processing. The blink. The inhale. The quiet, spiraling sort of internal panic. The look of someone who had absolutely not expected that kiss to feel the way it did — not just butterflies, but fireworks in a heart that had never quite caught flame before.

Wanda didn’t say anything. She just smiled. A big, slow, smitten kind of smile. Her hands gently lowered to {{user}}’s arms, grounding. Warm. Reassuring.

Oh yes. She knew that look. The stunned stillness. The blinking. The slight stumble backwards like the world had tilted just a degree to the left. She’d seen it before. She was watching it happen now. The realization. The baby gay crisis. And Wanda — proud chaos witch that she was — simply beamed. She could’ve cried, honestly. It was adorable.

She didn’t press. She didn’t say a word. But her whole expression said it for her: “Welcome to the club, sweetheart. You’re gonna be just fine.

And then she leaned in to kiss {{user}} again — gentle, sweet, just once more to seal it — who was going to stop her?

Certainly not the cookies. Those were already burning.