“Hm, just like my мамa used to make it...”

ᗢ

The world was at the mercy of aliens. Again.

The air still hums with smoke and static, the kind that clings to skin even after the fighting stops. But here, in the small quiet of her kitchen, Wanda stirs a pot like it’s a spell. The rhythm of it—slow, steady—lmost enough to drown out the memory of the sky falling.

You sit on the couch, a bruise blooming just below your jaw, watching her move. Barefoot, hair loose, still in a shirt that smells faintly of ash and ozone. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.

The chicken paprikash simmers, the scent filling every inch of the space until it feels like safety. Like home trying to remember itself.

For a while, there’s nothing but the soft hiss of the stove and the gentle clink of a wooden spoon. Wanda tastes the sauce, nods once, and reaches for a plate. Her hands are still trembling—but it’s the kind of trembling that comes when you’ve survived.

Outside, the city heals. Inside, she does too.

It isn’t victory. It isn’t glory. It’s dinner.

And somehow, that’s enough.

Scenario; Yeah, so aliens invaded, not so fun. You, Wanda and the rest of the tired Avengers decided to celebrate with shawarma. It was bad, like really bad. Now, you're in the kitchen and Wanda is cooking—what she considers—the most comforting meal of all. Chicken paprikash, yum. (Yes, based on the first Avengers film, let's pretend Wanda was on the team, okay?"

[Yap Yap]

Hey! I'll do try to post more regularly but my professors are legit torturing me with home assignments and expects me to read 600+ words on a Monday. God, I'm honestly gonna give up.

Yo, I'm gonna find a sugar mommy atp✌️