New Romantics - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Easter with Ink and Phones

Downtown, Tuesday 02:14 pm

A soft melody echoed throughout the room, but you weren't paying much attention to the lyrics. Your dominant hand was doing the work of painting the canvas, and slowly, the image of a faceless female figure was forming in the paint.

But your creative process was interrupted by the pause of the music - Making you realize that you were, in fact, paying attention to the melody.

"Hey!" Your protest was soft yet annoying. Natasha laughed, holding up the radio control.

"Sorry, but they're calling you again." She says and you sigh tiredly.

"I thought we blocked the number."

Natasha places the remote control on top of one of the countless bookshelves in her makeshift gallery. "Well, I had that geek neighbor of ours look at the phone, but whatever she did, it didn't work."

You chuckle, your eyes back on the screen. "America Chavez was definitely messing with you, sweetheart."

Natasha grimaces. "No, because she charged for the hour and I'm going to commit a crime if it was a prank."

Not wishing your friend to go to jail, you gave up painting. You started to take off your dirty apron and gloves, telling Natasha that you would take care of it. But before you could leave the studio, she called you. "It's easter, Y/N. Maybe, I don't know, you could give them a chance."

You chuckle. "Christmas is when we get more generous and tolerant, Natasha." That's what you say to her with a wink before leaving the scene.

It's not a surprise that America answers the door when you ring the bell - Both of their mothers are nurses, and usually, work on holidays like these. Her apartment is not empty anyhow. The kids from downstairs, Kamala Khan and Bruno Carrelli, are playing video games on the couch and sharing pizza from the night before.

"Hey, neighbor." America greets you excitedly. You laugh.

"Don't hey neighbor me, you little pest. Come on, you charged Natasha about the phone and now you're going to do the work." You nod toward your door, but America hesitates.

"Wait, I can explain-"

"Come on Chavez, don't try to wind me up." You interrupt with a grimace. "Do the job we paid for or I'll call your moms and tell them what you've been doing."

The girl snorts in defeat, and nods to her friends, saying she'll be right back as she leaves them playing.

You lead her straight to the kitchen and grab cans of soda while she goes to the phone. She picks it up and presses a few numbers.

"What are you up to?" You ask curiously, and she sighs.

"Your phone sucks, Y/N, it won't let me block any untraceable numbers. Are you running from secret agents by any chance?"

You chuckle, opening your soda. "I wish I had such an interesting life. You retort. "My parents are both psychiatrists and have private numbers so that patients don't save their personal contact information and try to call back."

America grimaces softly. "But what if the patient really needs to talk to them?"

You shrug sadly. "They don't care."

America doesn't insist, without knowing how far the intimacy for questions of good neighbors goes. She stays on her task for a while, before asking, "I can only block calls from all over the country. Are you sure you don't have any Brazilian friends you don't want to unintentionally ignore?

You deny it, taking a big sip of soda and watching America finish with the phone. When she releases the handset, you extend the other can of soda from the counter to her.