Archive of Our Own ^beta

The moon was high when Jean first saw her.

A quiet, silvered presence at the edge of a party Jean hadn’t even wanted to attend.

She was there because Scott had insisted, and because Ororo had given her one of those looks that meant resistance was futile. So Jean had let herself be dragged into a house pulsing with music and laughter, full of their fellow students from Xavier’s and more than a few strangers.

And that’s when she saw her .

Wanda Maximoff.

Not in the middle of the room, not in the haze of the dance floor, but perched on the windowsill like she belonged more to the night outside than the party inside.

Jean barely knew anything about her. Wanda had only been at the school for a few months—an outlier, even among mutants. She didn’t socialize much, and when she did, it was usually with her twin, Pietro. But tonight, Pietro was nowhere to be seen, and Wanda was alone.

The glow of the moon lit her in a way the dim, flickering lamps never could. Shadows carved out her cheekbones, and red curls cascaded over her shoulders in a way that looked effortless but intentional at the same time. Her fingers tapped against the glass absently, rings of scarlet energy flickering at the edges before fading away.

Jean felt ridiculous for staring, but it was impossible not to. She wasn’t even sure if Wanda knew she was there.

And then Wanda’s lips quirked.

Oh, she definitely knows.

Jean tore her gaze away, heart hammering. God, she was acting like some starstruck idiot.

"Jean!" Ororo’s voice cut through the buzz in her head, and Jean turned just in time to catch the drink her friend tossed her way. "You good?"

"Yeah," Jean lied, cracking open the bottle.

Ororo smirked. "You were looking at Maximoff."

Jean scoffed, rolling her eyes. "So what if I was?"

"So go talk to her ."

Jean considered it for all of five seconds before shaking her head. "Nope. I’ll just embarrass myself."

Ororo gave her a look. " You ? Jean Grey? The most effortlessly charming telepath in this entire mansion?"

Jean huffed a laugh, shaking her head. But Ororo wasn’t wrong. Jean could talk to anyone—make them laugh, make them feel comfortable. That was easy.

But Wanda Maximoff was not just anyone .

Still, Jean felt that magnetic pull, an invisible thread between them. Maybe it was the way Wanda was still sitting there, still alone, still half-smirking like she knew Jean was too much of a coward to come over.

Jean exhaled sharply. "Fine."

Ororo grinned, giving her a little shove forward. "Good girl."

Jean wove her way through the party, nerves buzzing under her skin like static electricity.

When she finally stopped in front of the window, Wanda didn’t even look surprised. She tilted her head, eyes dark and amused.

"Jean Grey," she said, like she’d already known Jean was coming.

Jean leaned against the frame, mirroring Wanda’s posture. "Wanda Maximoff," she replied, because what else was she supposed to say?

Wanda’s lips curled. "Took you long enough."

Jean blinked. "Wait. You were waiting for me?"

Wanda hummed. "Maybe."

Jean barely held in a laugh. Okay. This was not at all how she expected this conversation to go.

Wanda shifted, her gaze flicking over Jean’s face like she was taking her apart and putting her back together all at once. It was intense . And Jean was suddenly very aware of how close they were.

"You should sit," Wanda said, tapping the empty space beside her.

Jean hesitated only for a second before sliding onto the windowsill. The cool glass pressed against her back, and for a moment, all she could hear was the party in the background, muffled and distant.

"So," Wanda murmured, fingers tracing absent shapes against the windowpane. "What do you want?"

Jean swallowed. You.

But that was too much.

Instead, she said, "I don’t know yet."

And Wanda just smiled.

Jean spent the rest of the night pretending she wasn’t thinking about Wanda.

She failed.

When she got home, still buzzed from the encounter ( not from the beer, because it had been one, maybe two sips, tops), Jean did what any sane, normal person would do.

She stalked Wanda on the internet.

Or tried to.

Because Wanda Maximoff had no social media. No Instagram. No Twitter. Nothing.

Jean groaned, flopping back onto her bed. "Who doesn’t even have an online presence?"

Jean buried her face in her pillow.

The next time Jean saw Wanda, she was sitting in the library.

Jean wasn’t even looking for her—she had just been there , curled up in an armchair with a book in her lap.

Jean, of course, could not help but notice which books they were.

And later that night, when she was back in her room, she found herself scrolling through the summaries of every single one.

The next time they spoke, Wanda smirked. "So. You’ve been reading."

Jean nearly choked. " What? "

Wanda leaned in, close enough that Jean could smell her perfume—warm and a little spicy, like cinnamon and something darker.

"You don’t have to lie," Wanda murmured. "I already know."

Jean's heart pounded. "How?"

Wanda’s smirk deepened, and her fingers ghosted over Jean’s wrist, red energy flickering.

"You think you’re the only one who can read minds, Jean ?"

For the first time in Jean’s life, she didn’t know where she stood with someone.

Wanda was impossible to figure out.

One day, she would be close—so close Jean could feel her breath against her skin, her fingers skimming Jean’s wrist like a secret she wasn’t ready to share yet. The next, she was distant, cool, unreadable, disappearing into shadows before Jean could even call her name.

It was maddening. It was intoxicating.

And Jean was caught in it, in her , like a ship caught in the tide.

The first time Wanda gave her the cold shoulder, Jean was unprepared.

It happened a week after their moment in the library, after Jean had foolishly let herself believe there was something real growing between them.

She had spotted Wanda in town, just outside a small coffee shop, holding a steaming cup in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of her oversized coat. Her hair was slightly damp from the lingering drizzle, curls clinging to her cheekbones. She looked effortlessly beautiful, like she had stepped right out of some moody indie film.

Jean had smiled, walking up to her. "Hey."

Wanda looked at her. Looked through her .

And then, without a single word, she turned and walked away.

Jean stood there, stunned, warmth draining from her fingers like Wanda had taken it with her.

She didn’t understand.

Had she done something wrong? Said something wrong?

The coffee shop door swung open, and Ororo stepped out, immediately clocking Jean’s frozen posture. "You okay?"

Jean forced a laugh. "Yeah. Fine."

Ororo gave her a look. "You saw Maximoff, didn’t you?"

Jean didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Instead, she exhaled sharply, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, trying to ignore the way the cold seeped into her bones.

She didn’t even like coffee. But suddenly, she wished she had something warm to hold.

The game lasted months.

Cat and mouse, back and forth, a push and pull that left Jean breathless and off-balance.

One day, Wanda would be all warmth, fingers lingering on Jean’s wrist, teasing words slipping past her lips like secrets meant for only them.

The next, she would be cold, distant. Vanishing before Jean could pin her down.

Jean wasn’t sure if she was the cat or the mouse.

But she was too far gone to stop playing.

It happened slowly, like all the best things do.

The shift.

The moment where the game stopped feeling like a game.

Jean noticed it one night, long after curfew, when she woke up with her heart hammering for no reason at all.

Her room was silent, dark except for the slivers of moonlight cutting through the curtains.

And then she felt it.

A presence.

A hum of energy just outside her door.

Jean slipped out of bed, padding barefoot across the floor, heart thrumming like a quiet, steady drumbeat.

She opened the door.

And there Wanda was.

Not smug. Not teasing. Just there , standing in the dim hallway, eyes darker than the night itself.

Jean swallowed. " Wanda —"

"Can I come in?"

Jean hesitated. Not because she didn’t want her to, but because she didn’t know what it meant.

She stepped aside anyway.

Wanda entered without another word, curling up on Jean’s bed like she had always belonged there.

Jean watched her, unsure what to do. Unsure what Wanda wanted from her.

And then Wanda exhaled, soft and slow, and Jean realized—

She was already asleep.

Jean stayed awake longer than she should have, listening to the sound of Wanda’s breathing, watching the way her lashes fluttered slightly as she dreamed.

This was different.

This wasn’t part of the game.

This was real.

And Jean wasn’t going anywhere.

The first time Wanda kissed her, Jean had barely slept.

It had been one of those nights—one where her powers felt too big for her body, like she was stretched too thin, like every stray thought from everyone in the mansion was pressing against her skull all at once.

She had tried everything. Meditation. Breathing exercises. Even music—an old record Hank had let her borrow, soft and scratchy, playing just low enough to keep the worst of the noise at bay.

Nothing worked.

So she had ended up on the steps outside Xavier’s, curled up in one of Scott’s old hoodies, staring at the moon as if it had answers.

She wasn’t expecting company.

And yet, Wanda appeared, moving soundlessly in the night like she had been drawn there too.

Jean barely had the energy to react when Wanda settled beside her, knees bumping together.

"You look terrible," Wanda murmured.

Jean huffed a laugh. "Thanks."

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward.

Jean tilted her head, studying Wanda’s profile. The way the moonlight kissed her skin, turning it silver. The way her lashes fluttered slightly as she stared at nothing in particular.

"Couldn’t sleep?" Jean asked.

Wanda shook her head. "Didn’t want to."

Jean swallowed, the exhaustion weighing on her like a lead blanket. "I hate nights like this."

Wanda was quiet for a long moment. And then—

"Kiss me once."

Jean blinked. " What? "

Wanda turned to face her fully, eyes darker than the sky. "You’ve had a long night," she said, soft but sure. "Kiss me once, and maybe it won’t feel so bad."

Jean’s heart stuttered.

She wanted to say something—something clever, something that would make her seem cool about this—but her brain had completely short-circuited.

Wanda was waiting .

Jean inhaled, slow and shaky.

And then she kissed her.

It was barely a brush of lips, hesitant and fleeting. A question more than an answer.

But when Jean pulled back, Wanda was smiling—small, knowing, just a little smug.

"Again," Wanda murmured.

Jean blinked. " What? "

"Once wasn’t enough," Wanda said, tilting her head slightly. "Kiss me twice. Because it’s going to be alright."

Jean exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

And then, without thinking too hard about it, she leaned in again.

This time, Wanda met her halfway, pressing their lips together with just a little more certainty.

It was warm. It was soft . And when Wanda sighed against her mouth, Jean felt something deep in her chest unwind.

Jean was the first to pull away, just barely.

Wanda’s lips were still right there , red and kiss-bitten in the moonlight. Her breath was steady, her hands resting lightly in her lap as if she hadn’t just flipped Jean’s entire world upside down.

Jean licked her lips, trying to focus, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "Is—" Her voice came out embarrassingly hoarse. She cleared her throat. " Is this still part of the game? "

Wanda’s eyes flickered with something unreadable.

Then—softly, deliberately—she said, "Kiss me three times."

Jean’s breath caught.

" Why? "

Wanda reached up, fingers ghosting over Jean’s jaw, tilting her chin just enough that they were fully in each other’s space, close enough to taste the moment before it happened.

"Because I’ve waited my whole life," Wanda whispered.

Jean didn’t wait.

She kissed Wanda once—slow, deep, lingering.

Twice—breathless, desperate, aching.

Three times—like a promise.

And when she finally pulled away, Wanda’s lips were curled into something that looked suspiciously like victory.

Jean rolled her eyes, laughing breathlessly. "You so planned that."

Wanda just hummed, tracing absent shapes against Jean’s knee.

Jean shook her head, warmth curling in her stomach.

" You’re impossible," she muttered.

Wanda smirked. "And yet, you’re still here."

Jean didn’t argue.

Because she was.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

Jean should have seen it coming.

The way Wanda wove herself into her life so effortlessly, like she had always been meant to be there. The way her presence became a constant, not a question mark.

She should have realized that this —whatever this was—wasn’t going to be temporary.

But Jean had never been great at seeing the future.

She could read minds, move things without touching them, sense emotions that weren’t even hers. But when it came to her own heart? She was utterly, stupidly blind.

At least, until one particular night made everything achingly clear.

It was late, but that was nothing new.

Jean had gotten used to Wanda slipping into her room at odd hours, curling up on her bed like it belonged to her. It had become a quiet ritual, a thing that went unspoken between them.

Tonight was no different.

Jean had been sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through one of her old books, when the door opened without a knock.

Wanda stepped inside, barefoot, wearing an oversized hoodie that Jean definitely didn’t recognize as her own.

Jean glanced up, already smirking. "Is that mine?"

Wanda ignored her, kicking the door shut and flopping onto the bed. "You’re warm," she muttered, pressing her forehead against Jean’s thigh.

Jean huffed a laugh, setting the book aside. "Are you using me as a heater again?"

"Obviously."

Jean rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she reached out, running her fingers through Wanda’s hair, untangling the loose waves as Wanda hummed in approval.

The silence was easy.

But then—softly, casually, like it was the simplest thing in the world—Wanda said:

"I’d marry you with paper rings, you know."

Jean’s fingers froze in Wanda’s hair.

Her heart tripped over itself.

"What?" she blurted.

Wanda turned her head, chin resting on Jean’s thigh, expression unreadable but eyes dark with something that made Jean’s breath hitch. "I like shiny things," she murmured. "Gold, silver, diamonds, all of it. But…" Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of Jean’s sheets. "If it was you? A paper ring would be enough."

Jean’s brain short-circuited .

She stared. " Are you—? "

Wanda raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling at the edge of her lips. "Speechless? You? "

Jean was , actually. Which was infuriating , because that never happened.

Finally, she managed, " You—you don’t even like marriage. You literally rolled your eyes when Ororo was talking about it last week."

Wanda shrugged. "I don’t like the idea of it. The expectations. The rules. But you…" She sat up, shifting closer, looking right through Jean like she always did. "You make me want things I never thought I would."

Jean’s chest ached.

Not in a bad way. In a terrifying way. In a this-is-real-and-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-it way.

Wanda smiled slightly, tilting her head. "I hate accidents," she murmured. "Except for this one."

Jean blinked. " This —?"

"When we went from friends to this ." Wanda gestured vaguely between them. "Whatever the hell this is."

Jean swallowed, trying to steady herself, trying to breathe .

"Right," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda smirked. " Right. "

Then, before Jean could overthink it, before she could panic, before she could do anything stupid —

Wanda kissed her.

Slow, deep, certain .

Jean melted.

She didn’t know when she had grabbed Wanda’s hoodie, fisting the fabric like she needed to hold onto something . She didn’t know when she had pulled her closer, didn’t know when her world had shrunk down to just this— just her .

But she didn’t care .

Because Wanda was kissing her like she meant it.

Like this wasn’t a game.

Like she knew .

When they finally pulled apart, Jean was breathless, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

Wanda grinned, looking obnoxiously pleased with herself. "I’m your accident , huh?"

Jean groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I hate you."

Wanda laughed .

It was unfair. It was so unfair, how beautiful she looked like this—flushed and grinning, curled up in Jean’s bed like she belonged there.

And maybe she did.

Jean exhaled, shaking her head as she let herself fall .

Not just into Wanda’s arms.

Into this . Into them .

Because darling, you’re the one I want.

Jean was certain she was going to freeze to death.

"You're insane," she called, standing at the edge of the mansion’s outdoor pool, arms wrapped around herself. "Absolutely, completely insane."

Wanda, bobbing in the frigid water, grinned up at her, unbothered. "Oh, come on , Grey. Live a little."

" Live a little ?" Jean shot her an incredulous look. "You're going to get hypothermia !"

"Then you should probably get in and keep me warm." Wanda smirked.

Jean groaned, tilting her head back toward the night sky, inhaling deeply through her nose. This was such a terrible idea.

It was winter. The air was biting . The pool had definitely not been heated. And yet, Wanda had just jumped in like it was nothing, laughing as if she wasn’t out of her mind.

Jean should have walked away.

She should have turned on her heel and left Wanda to her awful decisions.

But instead—before she could talk herself out of it—Jean took a deep breath and jumped in too .

The water hit like a shock, bone-deep cold , stealing the air from her lungs.

She surfaced with a gasp , immediately shoving her wet hair out of her face. " Oh my god. "

Wanda burst into laughter, splashing at Jean as she kicked back through the water. " See? Not so bad, right?"

Jean gaped at her. "Are you kidding me? It’s horrible !"

Wanda only grinned. " But you're here. "

Jean’s mouth snapped shut.

She hated how easily Wanda did this —how she could turn everything into something else, something more .

Because Jean was here.

Shivering, soaked , feeling her skin prickle under the cold, but still. Here.

With her .

She narrowed her eyes. " You’re lucky I love you. "

Wanda smirked. " I know. "

Jean rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched, betraying her.

And Wanda saw it. Of course she did .

She swam closer, brushing damp fingers against Jean’s wrist. "You're with me," she murmured, voice softer now. "Even if it makes you blue."

Jean swallowed hard.

Because yes .

That was the truth of it.

Wanda could be unpredictable. Chaotic. Frustrating. And yet, Jean never wanted to be anywhere else.

Even when Wanda made reckless, ridiculous decisions like jumping into an icy pool at midnight .

Even when she made Jean’s life infinitely harder .

Even when loving her meant falling into something she didn’t always understand .

She was still hers .

And she always would be.

Jean exhaled, reaching up to brush a wet strand of hair away from Wanda’s face.

" Yeah ," she admitted. " I’m with you. "

Wanda smiled. " I know. "

Which takes me back—

The paint had dripped .

Jean had told Pietro to be careful, but had he listened? Of course not .

"You’re a menace ," Jean muttered, glaring at the blue streaks splattered across the floor.

Pietro only grinned, twirling the paint roller between his fingers. "I'm an artist , Grey. Show some respect."

Jean rolled her eyes. " Unbelievable. "

Beside her, Wanda let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head as she wiped her hands on her already-ruined jeans.

Jean glanced at her, watching the way her nose crinkled, the way a faint smudge of paint streaked her cheek.

Jean was tired . Her arms ached from painting, and she wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the nearest couch.

But she looked at Wanda, and—

She didn’t mind so much.

Because this?

The three of them, together, covered in paint, bickering over Pietro’s lack of self-control—this was theirs .

This was something good .

And Jean wanted it.

Even when it came with the exes, the fights, the flaws .

Because honey, without all the exes, fights, and flaws, we wouldn’t be standing here so tall.

Jean smiled, bumping her shoulder lightly against Wanda’s. " This is a disaster. "

Wanda hummed, gaze flickering up toward the half-painted wall. "A beautiful disaster."

Jean snorted. " Debatable. "

Wanda turned to look at her then, something unreadable in her eyes. "But ours," she murmured.

Jean’s heart stumbled .

Yeah.

It was theirs .

Every mess. Every mistake. Every reckless choice.

And Jean wouldn’t change a single thing.

The mansion was quiet.

Late enough that even Logan had gone to bed, leaving the halls dim and still.

Jean had tried to sleep. Really, she had. But Wanda’s absence left her restless, tossing and turning in the empty space beside her.

She wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore.

Not after the past few months.

Not after Wanda had started sneaking into her bed like it was theirs .

Jean didn’t know where Wanda had gone tonight. She hadn’t asked. But now, sitting up in the darkness, staring at the empty space where Wanda should be, she regretted it.

With a sigh, she threw the blankets off and slid out of bed, her bare feet padding softly against the floor.

She found Wanda on the balcony.

Curled up against the railing, staring out at the moonlit grounds, wrapped in one of Jean’s sweatshirts like she belonged in it.

Jean’s chest ached.

"You had a long night," Jean murmured, stepping outside.

Wanda didn’t flinch. She had to have heard Jean’s footsteps long before she spoke. Still, she didn’t turn around, just sighed and rested her chin on her arms. " Something like that. "

Jean frowned, watching the tension in Wanda’s shoulders, the way her fingers curled against the railing, almost like she was bracing herself.

Jean reached out, wrapping her arms around Wanda from behind, pressing her face into the crook of her neck.

Wanda exhaled slowly, leaning back into the warmth.

Jean smiled softly against her skin. " Kiss you once, " she murmured, tilting her head just enough to brush her lips against Wanda’s jaw.

Wanda shivered, but not from the cold.

Jean tightened her arms, swaying them slightly. " Kiss you twice, " she whispered, pressing another kiss to the space just below Wanda’s ear. "Because it’s gonna be alright."

Wanda let out a quiet breath. " You always say that. "

Jean hummed, resting her chin on Wanda’s shoulder. " Because it’s always true. "

Wanda turned in her arms, finally facing her, her eyes shadowed in the moonlight.

Jean lifted a hand, brushing her fingers against Wanda’s cheek, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"You know," Jean said softly, "you could just wake me up when you can’t sleep. You don’t have to be alone."

Wanda hesitated, eyes flickering down. "I didn’t want to wake you."

Jean sighed . " Wanda. "

"I know." Wanda let out a breath, shaking her head at herself. " I know. "

Jean studied her for a moment, then leaned in, nudging their noses together.

Wanda smiled, just barely.

Jean kissed her.

Soft, slow, lingering.

Pulling back just enough to whisper, " Kiss you three times, " against her lips, " because you waited your whole life. "

Wanda made a small, breathless sound, pressing forward to steal another kiss for herself.

Jean smiled against her mouth.

She knew Wanda still had her walls. She knew she wasn’t great at letting people in, at trusting that they’d stay.

But Jean wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Wanda curled her fingers into Jean’s sweatshirt, tugging her closer.

Jean let her .

Because they had waited long enough.

And they had a lifetime to make up for it.

The hum of the car was steady, the road stretching endlessly before them, lit only by the headlights cutting through the night.

Jean’s fingers curled loosely around the wheel, but her attention flickered, again and again, to the girl beside her.

Wanda sat curled against the window, watching the blur of trees and empty streets, her expression unreadable. The glow from the dashboard cast a soft red light over her skin, highlighting the faint crease between her brows.

Jean exhaled through her nose, shifting her grip. " You’re quiet. "

Wanda’s fingers twitched against her thigh, but she didn’t look away from the window. " Just thinking. "

Jean hummed. "About?"

Wanda hesitated.

Then, softly: " This. "

Jean glanced at her again, catching the way Wanda’s gaze flickered toward her before she turned back to the darkened road outside.

Jean didn’t press.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew what Wanda meant.

This— all of this.

The long stretches of highway. The world outside the mansion. The space between them, and the lack of it.

The choice they had made to get in this car and just drive .

No destination. No plan. Just them .

Jean’s fingers flexed on the wheel. " Do you regret it? "

Wanda turned to her fully then, brows pinching like the thought itself was ridiculous. " No. "

Jean nodded, gaze flicking back to the road. " Good. "

Because Jean hadn’t hesitated.

Not when Wanda had come to her in the dead of night, an unreadable expression on her face and an unspoken request hanging between them.

Not when Wanda had slid into the passenger seat like she belonged there.

Not when Jean had pressed her foot to the gas and left everything else behind.

Because it was Wanda .

And Jean had spent too long pretending she didn’t want this.

Didn’t want her .

"I want to drive away with you," Jean murmured, almost to herself.

Wanda’s lips twitched. " Well, mission accomplished. "

Jean huffed a quiet laugh, then reached over, fingers brushing lightly against Wanda’s knee.

Wanda startled slightly, glancing at Jean, before exhaling and covering Jean’s hand with her own.

Jean squeezed gently. " I want your complications too. "

Wanda stared at her for a long moment.

Then she huffed a soft, almost incredulous laugh, shaking her head. " You say that now. "

Jean just grinned, eyes flickering toward Wanda, taking in the warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there before. " I mean it. "

Wanda held her stare for a beat longer, as if searching for any hint of dishonesty.

She must not have found it.

Because, slowly, she uncurled herself from her position against the door and shifted toward the center console, until her head rested against Jean’s shoulder, her fingers still tangled with Jean’s.

Jean smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Wanda’s head.

" I want your dreary Mondays, " she murmured against her hair.

Wanda let out a breathy laugh, the tension finally bleeding from her frame. " You’re ridiculous. "

" And yet, " Jean teased, squeezing her hand. " Here you are. "

Wanda sighed, but Jean could hear the smile in it. " Yeah. "

Jean tilted her head, just enough to meet Wanda’s gaze when she turned her face up toward her.

And then, quietly, " Wrap your arms around me, baby girl. "

Wanda huffed softly, but she did.

Curling herself into Jean’s side as much as the seatbelt would allow, wrapping her arm around Jean’s, holding on.

Jean smiled, turning her focus back to the road.

The future stretched before them, unknown and uncertain.

But this ?

This was theirs.

And Jean wouldn’t trade it for anything .

The motel room was quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came in the dead of night, where the world outside had settled, the hum of passing cars fading into nothing, leaving only the sound of Wanda’s slow, steady breathing beside her.

Jean lay on her side, head propped up on her hand, watching the way the moonlight stretched across Wanda’s skin, highlighting the slope of her cheek, the curve of her jaw.

She still couldn’t believe they had ended up here .

Not the motel.

Not the road trip.

This.

The space between them, the lack of it. The way Wanda had slowly let Jean in —not just into her bed, but into her world, into the parts of her that had always felt locked away.

Jean lifted a hand, brushing her fingers lightly against the strands of dark hair that had fallen across Wanda’s face.

Wanda stirred, just barely, her brows pinching together before she blinked up at Jean, still heavy with sleep. " You’re staring, " she murmured.

Jean smiled softly. " Guilty. "

Wanda hummed, eyes flickering shut again. " Why? "

Jean exhaled, thumb grazing Wanda’s cheek. " Because I still can’t believe you’re mine. "

Wanda huffed a sleepy laugh, turning her face into Jean’s touch. " Dork. "

Jean grinned. " Maybe. "

Wanda cracked one eye open. " Definitely. "

Jean just rolled her eyes fondly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly, Jean murmured, " I like shiny things. "

Wanda’s lips twitched, amused but still half-asleep. " Mmm. That’s good. My father would approve. "

Jean laughed softly, shaking her head. " But I’d marry you with paper rings. "

That woke Wanda up.

Her eyes fluttered fully open, gaze searching Jean’s face, like she was checking to see if she was serious.

Jean just smiled. " Uh huh, that’s right. "

Wanda blinked at her, then let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. " Jean. "

Jean shrugged, barely biting back her grin. " What? "

Wanda groaned, pressing her face into the pillow, voice muffled when she mumbled, " You can’t just say things like that. "

Jean chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the side of Wanda’s head. " Why not? You did. "

Wanda peeked up at her. " Because. "

Jean smirked. " That’s not an answer. "

Wanda let out a long sigh, rolling onto her back and covering her face with her hands. " Because, Jean. "

Jean nudged at Wanda’s wrist until she could see her face again, watching the way Wanda chewed on her lip, brows pinched together in something uncertain .

Jean softened.

" I hate accidents, " she murmured, tracing circles over the back of Wanda’s hand. " Except when we went from friends to this. "

Wanda stilled beneath her touch.

Jean smiled, tilting her head. " Uh huh, that’s right. "

Wanda stared at her for a long moment.

Then she huffed out a completely exasperated sigh, but Jean could see the way her cheeks flushed, the way her lips twitched , like she was fighting a smile.

Jean smirked. " You love me. "

Wanda groaned. " Shut up. "

Jean laughed, finally leaning down, pressing their foreheads together. " Darling, you’re the one I want. "

Wanda swallowed, her fingers curling against the sheets.

Jean kissed her.

Slow. Gentle.

Like they had all the time in the world.

And maybe they did.

Because Jean wanted this .

Wanted Wanda in paper rings, in picture frames, in all her dreams.

She wanted Wanda on the road at 2 AM. She wanted her on sleepless nights and lazy mornings. She wanted her laughter, her stubbornness, her sharp tongue and her soft touches.

She wanted everything .

Because Wanda was the one she wanted .

Now and always.

Wanda let out a shaky breath when Jean pulled away, pressing their noses together.

" You’re the worst, " she mumbled.

Jean grinned, fingers brushing against Wanda’s cheek. " And yet, here you are. "

Wanda sighed. " Yeah. "

Jean just smiled, tucking Wanda against her chest.

And in the quiet of the motel room, with nothing but the sound of Wanda’s heartbeat beneath her fingertips, Jean thought:

Yeah.

This was it.

This was home .