Just Us - Wanda Maximoff x Fem!reader

Work On Yourself

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Please read before continuing.

I have come to a decision with this book which I know may disappoint most/all of you but I hope that most of you understand this decision. I was hoping that I could turn this book into a series of two or three books, that was my aim when I started this book last year. However, I have come to a point in writing this book in which I cannot see myself turning this thing into a series. Finding the time and motivation to write has decreased slowly overtime, hence the slow updates recently, and I have found writing become a chore at some point instead of being the fun activity it used to be. 

That being said, this will be the one and only book I will write. This doesn't mean it is going to end any time soon as I have more things to add and to conclude in this book but it does mean the chapters may once again become longer as I want to have those things written and added in. I don't know how many more chapters but I will continue to write when I can to finish this book for you. 

Anyway, I hope you have liked the book so far and I hope to see most of you stick around until the end. So stay safe, drink water, and see you in the next chapter

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Chapter Warnings: Therapy session including talks of mental health, brief talks about suicide and death, coping mechanisms and angst with some fluff.

Monday 22nd November

"My life is a mess." I state as I drop my bag to the floor face planting the couch.

"You said it not me." I scoff lifting my head to look at the person across the room for me.

"Aren't you meant to be my therapist? I pay you to tell me what to do about the mess." Christina softly chuckles writing something down in that notepad of hers, I still don't like that thing it holds too many secrets.

"Have I ever told you how you should live your life, or do I make suggestions on what behaviours and coping mechanisms need to change and how we can work on going about that?"

"Yeah, yeah yeah I am meant to figure most stuff out myself, and you just tell me whether it's depression, grief or anxiety doing its thing. Or PTSD." I press my face into the couch groaning only looking back at her when I hear the sound of her book closing.

"What's happened?"

"Where do I even start. First, my father is an abusive fucking fuckety fuck; could be dead or not I don't know but he is dead to me so yeah. Secondly, my mom is in an institution because of her mental health, whatever the doctors want to say. Was homeless, got adopted. Dead wife and child. Abusive ex. Anything to add to the list? Oh yeah, and my depression, anxiety, PTSD, still grieving according to people. A big sister to my dead wife's sister, technically on my way to step-mom title if you believe me and Wanda will last. And friends, or well a friend, that doesn't understand any of it either because she has her own shit and is in denial or she is just to fucking blind and stubborn to care."

"You don't think you and Wanda will last?" Her question makes my stomach drop and I scramble to sit up looking at Christina who is just looking at me expectedly.

"I didn't say that." I defend quickly, my tone harsh but it doesn't seem to affect her as she raises a single brow at me tapping her pen on the edge of that damn book.

"No, but you implied it."

"How the heck did I imply that." I scoff as I feel my anger building at her false words.