She knows she should've learned her lesson. Magic isn't a toy. It's not something she should use to fill in the holes in her own heart. It's something that needs to be used properly, accurately, and with proper intent that's stripped of its emotion.
But when she sees him step inside of the suburban home she's built, replenished with furniture they only ever dreamed of from her sitcoms and movies, and sat it beside a house that's filled with a kind family who love nothing but to let him be a bad influence on their young children… It's worth making the same mistake and correcting it to be something fruitful, in her control, and here.
He's always been worth it.
This time, when Wanda creates a hex, it's not out of an emotional outburst. She'd been particular, specific in the way she'd built it. It isn't broken. It's as flawless as she can make it, a safe haven for the two of them to exist as they were always meant to be. She can't and won't hurt anyone this time. She has the person she wants—and she knows, in time, her family will come back to her. He's stayed beside her since she reached for him and felt him reach back; he hasn't disappeared as she had been so fearful he would.
Allowing Pietro to be fallible is a flaw in the universe's design that she's corrected. Tying him to her is the only way to fix what she hadn't been able to correct so long ago.
It had been traumatic, to say the least, to more or less come back from the dead. For one thing, it hadn't been something Pietro had signed up for. For another, there was actually a momentary flash of guilt in his heart for not 'walking it off' as the Captain had insisted. For a third, he had failed his sister and that was entirely his own fault and he still hated himself for that fact.
The first few days had been a testy thing, in the long run, of Pietro trying to find his footing in the new truths of his life and not always succeeding. But time, and freedom like he hadn't known in the very small fragment of days between 'escaped Hydra' and 'died from Ultron'. Adjustments were made in small steps, and he had finally adjusted to his new way of being.
The running, of course, helped. Running that he came in from and flopped down on the couch rather than taking a shower.
"Very much. I saw some deer. The baby was very cute and had spots on it."
At least he's come back. Every time Pietro leaves, Wanda frets it'll be the last time. And yet—she still tells him to go. She'll be fine; she much prefers her floors to remain intact and not bear holes in them from his restlessness.
"And you did not bring back the deer?"
Tsking, Wanda shakes her head. Despite wanting to feign disappointment, she doesn't wipe her smile from her face. Can't. Pietro is back and she permanently smiles now. She doesn't know how to frown, be sad, or even exist without the pinch to her cheeks.
Approaching the couch, she tapped the toe of his shoes. "For that, feet off the couch."
If he'd brought back the deer, he'd have a hell of a lot more waiting for him. Maybe a drink with an umbrella. A little snack. Instead, all he has is Wanda tapping his shoe and magically playing with his shoelace, turning that into a bit of a knot in itself.
Feet off the couch? Pietro doesn't answer at first. Just leaves his feet on the couch and smiles. Yep, this worked for him. Very comfortable. You like him to be comfortable, don't you sister?
"It is not polite to tie someone's shoes more. How will I get them off?"
Wanda doesn't make it a point to untie his shoelaces, taking his question as an invitation to continue to wrap it into a knot. Of course, if he wanted the shoelaces untied, they'd be free within seconds. It's nice to relax and to simply be a pest as she would be in Sokovia.
"Perhaps, you'll be nice to the lady of the house and do as she says." She smiles down at him as innocently as she can muster. "I hear that she is very kind but scary."
She scrunches up her face and shakes her head. "She's not ticklish." Wanda knows she's very, very ticklish. That fact hasn't changed since Pietro's death. All that changed was the fact she had no one left to tickle her... until little Tommy.
"I hear that she's very strong and unticklable."
No, she's still very ticklish. Anticipating what's inevitable, she magically ties one shoe's shoelace to the other—as if that's going to stop Pietro.
"Oh, she's very ticklish," Pietro grins as he sits up. Yes, he sees his shoe laces tied together. Doesn't keep him from reaching for his sister to try and tickle her.
Wanda doesn't take a step back, even though that would—and should—be the next step. But she doesn't want to move away from Pietro. She's spent far too long without him to ever want to deny him anything ever again... except undoing his shoelaces. Isn't this how one ties their shoelaces together?
With her hands on her hips, she playfully glares down at him. "You'll regret it if you try to tickle me, Pietro."
Even while Stephen is wrangling the mindflayer (one of the many unsavoury duties Wong had pawned off on him), he's half-distracted wondering what might be awaiting him back at the Sanctum Sanctorum. And so his attention lapses enough that he sustains a cut along his temple, but the monster doesn't latch onto him and drain his sanity dry, so at least there's that— he eventually manages to magically wrestle it into a pocket dimension, seal the edges, and pinch off the wards. He tests the containment until he can't feel the tremors of it trying to escape any longer, its greedy tentacles grasping.
Job done, he dusts off his cloak and decides to portal back to the grand foyer with a twirl of his hand.
Back home on the metaphorical ranch, a golden window appears like it's carved out of thin air. It hisses and spits glowing light before opening, and then Doctor Strange, former Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts, steps through.
Unfortunately, the Sanctum truly is flooded.
He takes one step out and, before he can catch himself, plummets downward. With a strangled yelp of surprise and flailing arms, he falls into the water. When he eventually manages to float himself back out, he's sodden and drenched: black hair plastered to his skull, red Cloak of Levitation hanging heavy from his shoulders and miserable, the cloak somehow managing to look like it's sulking.
He peers around. It's like when the blizzard blew through and the place was filled with snow, but now it's just water, an impossible ocean lapping at the grand curved staircase. The guest chairs are bobbing gently next to a floating credenza.
To her credit, Wanda's done her best to lower the water levels. Before, it'd been up to the very wet and still dripping ceiling.
She stands on the first floor and wrings her hands, appearing very, very sheepish. While she knows what she's done is the very opposite to the task Wong had set, she does feel a little proud of herself. How many witches can summon water with a mere flick of her wrist? How many of them could summon water from the Pacific and have it feel as real as the ocean beneath a blazing sun?
The water below has a very dull red glow. The water level doesn't decrease any further. Wanda's a little afraid that if she tries to make it all vanish, it'll flood the streets of New York.
Wong had made reallocating what he conjured up look easy.
"I warmed the water," she says proudly and grins widely. Wanda Maximoff still looks very, very sheepish. (It beats feeling despondent.) Strange looks like a drowned rat and his cape—his poor cape—doesn't seem to be fairing any better. "There's even sand on the floor... for the crabs."
Floating above this miniature ocean, Stephen stares down past his dripping boots, and— yes, the water's clear enough that he can see the new sandy bottom over the mismatched parquet floor, and even the occasional blurry shape of a scuttling crustacean.
For a fleeting moment, he considers just tossing up his hands and giving up and leaving it be. Maybe this is just how the Sanctum looks now. They can use the side alleyway entrance to get in and out. They can tell visitors to come around the back. Maybe they can set up parasols and beach chairs and serve tropical cocktails on the landing. Wong won't mind, would he?
The cloak tugs at his shoulders and starts curling itself up, twisting and wringing out the water, and Stephen sighs. He floats over to the staircase and lands nimbly next to Wanda, and then absentmindedly kicks his feet a little, shaking off the water like a dog.
"I did appreciate it not feeling like taking a plunge into the North Sea. So you brought it all here, but haven't been able to send it back?"
"Yes," she beams. Wanda does her best to hide her sheepishness. "Kind of."
While Wanda theoretically knows she can send all of this back to where it came from, a part of her is afraid. And it's a big, huge part of her—Hex-size, really—that is a little terrified at the idea of sending it all back and accidentally doing it wrong. What if she turns the ocean inside out? What if the Sanctum collapses because of her efforts to send the ocean and its sandy bed back?
She can hear Agatha's voice rattle inside of her head. Her Hex had been as broken as she was. She worries about breaking the vast ocean that's remained dormant and somewhat left in peace for years.
"I thought I would see if I could make pieces of it disappear... like a puzzle."
Stephen glances over at her. They're not deeply acquainted yet, but he's started to get a better and better sense of the woman, the more time they spend together — what with Wanda taking up residence (or sanctuary) in the Sanctum Sanctorum, burying herself in the library and trying to understand more about her magic. Adding a bit of amiable chaos, both figurative and literal, to the sorcerers' lives here. It's been nice, having the company around; she helps as a tie-breaker whenever he and Wong are squabbling over something deeply banal, like which Spotify playlist to put on in the library.
But right now, he has a fair idea that she sounds sheepish and a little hesitant. He's pretty sure he understands. Her powers are like catching lightning in a jar and then not knowing what to do with it, not wanting to bite off more than she can chew.
For all that his duties relate to maintaining balance and harmony, he isn't all that good about self-moderation. When Stephen Strange saw a challenge, he liked to chase it. When he saw power, he wanted to seize it. So perhaps it's a good thing he's not the one trying to fix this on his own; he'd probably have already flooded Greenwich Village.
He makes a decision. Shakes out his damp sleeves and rolls them up. "I'll shore up the edges of the spell, contain it in the lobby so the water doesn't spill over into the parlour or kitchen or through the front door. And then you can take a crack at it."
The man starts to concentrate, a distracted expression crossing his face as he stitches together the threads of a containment spell. He knows the Sanctum like the back of his hand. He can stabilise the foyer. He can set the stage for Wanda to carve out her puzzle pieces.
Wanda opens her mouth to protest—what would she say? "No, thank you"?—but she knows from living in the Avengers' Compound with so many men that the moment they roll up their sleeves, it's a done deal.
With Strange, she doubts he offers his magical help lightly.
She'd much prefer he simply clean up the mess. While she knows Strange can be quite messy (aren't all surgeons, past and present?), he has a sophisticated air about him that makes her want to stand a little taller and tug her shoulders back. The desire to prove herself isn't new. It's simply the equivalent of an old pair of worn shoes she hasn't dressed in for a long time.
"Okay."
That doesn't sound overly confident. If this was WandaVision, she'd rewind the tape and take another crack at it. And as tempting as it is—WandaVision: Wanda Takes Manhattan—she knows better. Has to be better. It's what she had promised herself when she chose to leave her own solitude.
Glancing at him, she doesn't roll up her sleeves to mimic him. Instead, she tries something else entirely: to somewhat be herself.
And that currently includes turning the somewhat blueish Sanctum water into a red glow.
"I want to send all the crabs away first." They, after all, are merely innocent citizens caught up in her spell.
"Can you leave behind at least one?" Stephen asks, his gaze riveted on the glowing water rather than her. "I love crab legs." Once she looks over at him, she'll be able to see a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a half-smile in the corner of his mouth. "Kidding," he adds.
His crooked, articulate fingers (once shattered, now still shaky, but capable of more than he ever expected) twitch in mid-air, sketching out the borders of the spell, continuing to pin it all safely in place for Wanda while she works. The pair of them operating in tandem, rather than one of them having to fix it alone.
He could, of course, clean it up himself. Probably. But it's no way to learn. Teach a man to fish, etc. Teach a woman how to send away all her fish. The best way of learning is by doing. Doctor Strange can be a frustrating teacher — pompous, easily-annoyed, a little too convinced of his own self-importance — but he can, at times, be a good one, too. He'd rather let her flex her muscles and get the practice.
She chuckles. Shaking her head incredulously, Wanda ensures to scoop up all the crabs and send them back to where they came from. Rather than focus on specific coordinates, she allows them to lead the way home through how they feel. She's always worked best on relying on those around her to open up to her to let her in. It's how she used to bring people's nightmares to fruition, letting them do all the work while she merely plied open the door.
"Your jokes are very unfunny," she says all while smiling. She shakes her head again as the water continues to glow and ripple. It's almost as though she's brought the Hex with her. But it does start to lower, even if it's slowly. The water doesn't rise as she had believed it to.
Glancing at him, she feels bold. "Is that why Wong doesn't have any laughing lines?"
"Wong doesn't have any laughing lines because he's a grumpy old man and absolutely zero fun." All false, of course: for all the current Sorcerer Supreme's glowering resting bitch face, Wong is actually also a riot.
Stephen watches the water roil beneath them as it sinks, attentive like an attending physician eyeing a delicate procedure. That tell-tale red glow is so very her: not just the Scarlet Witch's trademark colour, but the fact that it's also Wanda Maximoff's distinctive magical signature. Her fingerprints are all over it, and when he concentrates, he can always recognise the ripples of her presence left behind, like catching a whiff of her perfume after she's left the room.
It's been fascinating, getting to learn alongside a different magic-user with a novel and unfamiliar flair to her spells (less trained, more instinctive, more impulsive). It's not what he's used to. The Masters of the Mystic Arts — whether sorcerers, disciples, apprentices, or novices — all drew their powers from the same source, like tapping the same well, drinking the same water.
Whatever Wanda is, she's something else entirely. She's the ocean.
He shakes off those thoughts. "I think it's working," he says, a little unnecessarily, because they can both see more of the sand-strewn steps reappearing.
Pride bursts warmly in her chest. It's juvenile; she shouldn't feel proud of having accomplished what should really be a simple task. Cleaning up after oneself should be easy. It should be the first lesson anyone learns. But after the messes she created in Lagos and Westview, Wanda feels like she could lift off the floor and float happily.
She doesn't, of course. That would be entirely too distracting and absolutely not helpful at all. Although... if anyone can multitask...
She playfully scrunches up her nose. "I hope your floor isn't stained red."
Even though Wanda knows her magic doesn't leave a physical stain like paint, Strange's home is very different to the homes she's occupied in her life. It pulses in the way she thinks Westview had for Agatha. While Wanda still hasn't quite learned how to sense the specific tendrils of magic as Agatha once had, she's more attuned to it now.
"But if it is, at least something will match your cloak."
Stephen bites back a smirk, even while the cloak puffs itself up behind him, obviously pleased at having been mentioned. "They don't appreciate redecorating here. I should know. Tinsel and pine trees and mistletoe at Christmas was highly frowned upon."
The Sanctum was a beautiful building — hardwood floors, ornate windows, antique furniture, four-poster beds — but you could practically feel the weight of all that accumulated time and history as you entered the place. The front entrance was especially built to impress, and had done so for centuries. The upper floors were roiling with ancient artefacts and magical bits-and-bobs, gathered from sorcerers over the ages. (The basement, on the other hand, was a mess. Don't go into the basement.)
"And truly, if you're worried about making a mess in general, don't be. Odds are good I've already done worse."
He wasn't the Sorcerer Supreme any of his colleagues would have chosen, and he'd practically tripped and landed facefirst into the role, and had to improvise on the fly and make the best of it under desperate circumstances. And then he'd gone and accidentally ripped open the multiverse while trying to help a kid. He and Wanda both knew a bit about making a mess.
"You have done worse?" Wanda arches her brow, smiling.
She's not distracted talking to him. In fact, it's nice to be talking about something rather than existing in concentrative silence. Fixing this little mishap is a lot easier when her mind isn't on the task at hand and how the water isn't moving at the speed she wants it to.
It is moving. Wanda feels the pressure of it beneath them begin to thin and dissipate. The ocean's slowly returning to where it had come from, possibly happy to finally be taken home.
"Have you done worse than putting a big oak tree through someone's house?" She doesn't appear demure at the thought of Westview. Uncharacteristically, she feels good about it. "That's a deleted scene in WandaVision, around episode two. I had to fix it very quickly."
"Just someone's house? You could do so much worse than a house." Try the entire universe. Or even Westview itself—
But he hasn't pried, hasn't forced Wanda to tell him everything about what happened back there. She'll talk in her own time. At the question of what he's done, Stephen tips his shoulder into a noncommittal shrug. "Mm. Buy me a drink at the Bar With No Doors and maybe I'll tell you about it."
It's not flirting, exactly — but a perpetual tongue-in-cheek flippancy which, at first blush, doesn't seem like it ought to fit with a Master of the Mystic Arts. Chalk it down to his unconventional entryway to the paranormal. He's always been a little mouthy, a little playful, even when he was gloved and bloodied and hands-deep in someone's spine in the middle of an operating room.
She'd known he hadn't been joking around about the bar. Even though she's come to know that Strange likes his dry quips every now and then, she does think that there had been an endgame in sight. Go to a bar, enjoy themselves, possibly sing very bad karaoke and either remember the tone-deafness or be granted the luxury of not remembering the other had embarrassed themselves at all.
But she can't help the trepidation she feels. New York bustles with people. It's louder than Westview, significantly noisier than her Sokovian cabin. She's still getting used to swimming in a vast sea packed with so many fish.
If he didn't trust her, she doesn't think he'd be gently pushing it.
"A glass of water will do?" She smiles, then feigns concern, "I wouldn't want to embarrass you by drinking you under the table."
"Oh, is that how it is?" Stephen's attention finally slips to the side; he cranes his head and looks at her fully, bemused. "Here I am, helping you out of the goodness of my heart, and all I get is mockery in return. The injustice."
His distraction takes its toll a moment later: down the hall, he can feel the door to the kitchen creak and whine. Some water is starting to seep through the hinges, trickling onto the tile floor. Wong is the most talented chef of the resident sorcerers; he's going to murder them all if his kitchen is ruined. So after a second, Stephen shores up the edges of the spell again, fortifying the boundaries, holds it steady once more.
It's a matter of willpower, more than anything, and he's always been bullishly good on willpower.
"Anyway, I've already been humiliated in a drinking competition, so I'm not eager for a repeat. I don't recommend going up against an Asgardian, in case you were wondering."
Despite being an Avenger, there's a handful of her teammates she doesn't know. Wanda suspects that's not how teams as tight and integral as the Avengers should function, but, then again, Stark had been at the helm. She wouldn't be surprised if he had ensured she remained benched. She's grateful since joining Strange and Wong that neither of them seems to have a bench for her to sit on.
She keeps her gaze on Strange and purses her lips thoughtfully. The water continues to lower. Even distracted, it still obeys her one simple command: go.
"Hm. I always thought that his muscles would absorb all the alcohol." Then she taps her own small bicep, her fingers glowing red while the water continues to leave the Sanctum. "You..." She eyes him and shakes her head. "Tiny, tiny sticks for arms. I can see why you would lose to him."
The sorcerer laughs, startled but amused. It's true: compared to some of the physical specimens on that team, he's practically spindly. Tall but lean, and clearly built more for the library than the gym. He taps his greying temple with an index finger. "I use my brain, Maximoff, which is a far more powerful muscle."
A pause. No, he can't let that sit. With a fleeting, mock-pained look, he continues: "Actually, that's false. The most powerful muscle in the human body is the heart, if we go by the definition of performing the most physical work in a lifetime — or the masseter, our jaw muscle, if we go by exerting maximum force on an external object. Anyway. Point stands, yes, it was Thor, yes mead was involved, and no, I'm not getting into it."
Stephen's chatty, apparently, once you get him going. He practically couldn't shut up when he'd first arrived at Kamar-Taj; kept interrupting group meditation sessions with quips, jokes, commentary. No wonder it had gotten on the other sorcerers' nerves so well.
"What did you do? Did you bet him that you had better hair?"
Considering Thor once had very long hair that Wanda thought was scraggly, she would give Strange the win in that department. Since then, Thor's cleaned up with a more modern haircut.
Hm. No. She doesn't think Strange would bet something so trivial. Narrowing her eyes, she studies him for a long moment. The problem with him is that looks tended to be very deceiving. She'd have imagined him to be strict and humourless, but she's found him to be as funny as Pietro on his good days. Unlike Vision, he doesn't miss much.
If he was to challenge Thor to a drinking match, it'd be over something unpredictable. Maybe silly. Definitely unexpected.
"Was it who wore red best? I like his cape, but I think I like yours a lot more." It is, after all, a sentient being. She likes how it seems to appear when he needs it like a good and weathered friend.
He blinks and the spell twitches again. "That did come up, actually. We swapped cloaks. The Cloak of Levitation tried to strangle him, so I think I came out fine overall, but he did outdrink me so some drunk portalling may have resulted. This is, of course, highly sensitive information."
Stephen had never lived at the Avengers compound like Wanda had — the Sorcerer Supreme had always been an ally, rather than an official member of the team — but his paths had crossed with them often enough. Turns out when you help a Norse god track down his missing father, you remain in his general good books and get invited to his next party. And Thor was the most fun Avenger: interactions with the god had been more friendly than Strange's few bristling interactions with Tony Stark, at least.
The water is retreating and retreating, and it's almost gone: the legs of the credenza and the chairs have settled onto the floor of the foyer again, touching solid ground once more.
And since the topic's come up, he indulges in some curiosity.
"Is the team still..." He doesn't really know how to broach this delicately. But Strange doesn't make a habit of sugarcoating things, either, so in the end he doesn't. "Is the team still much of a thing, after Stark's death?"
Now, that's a question that keeps Wanda's gaze focused straight ahead. She wishes for some of the water to rise again, and although it does bubble as if interested in meeting her command, she ensures that none of it reappears in the Sanctum. His furniture is already ruined enough by her attempts at controlled and less chaotic magic.
Any mention of Stark will always make something prickle uncomfortably in her chest. After everything she's done, after every chance she thought Stark would take to be the hero his friends and teammates claimed him to be, she's still standing where she started her Avengers journey in the rubble of Sokovia. Attending his funeral didn't bring about the closure she had been secretly hoping for.
"I wouldn't know," she says, ensuring to keep a small smile on her face. The Avengers seem to still exist in spirit, but given the lack of phone calls and invitations to team lunches, Wanda thinks it's over. It has to be. While she may never have truly belonged with them and was always either commandeered to her room or the corner, the idea of them meeting and plotting without her stings a little.
"I think Sam and Barnes are working together if the news is telling the truth. But I don't think the Avengers have reunited since the funeral." The funeral that wasn't for Vision, and technically didn't seem to belong to Natasha, too.
Glancing at Strange, she shrugs, "I think they all lost hope after Steve and Iron Man."
Wanda's good at mustering her shield back into place, but that smile still feels like fragile-spun glass, on the verge of splintering. And he almost immediately regrets his words.
(He wasn't always capable of that kind of regret. He used to leave people stinging and humiliated in his wake, and never bothered with something as quotidian as other people's feelings. Nowadays, though—)
"Well," the sorcerer says, and clears his throat. "He always was the more inspirational Steve, by all accounts."
It's a bit of useless pithy humour, to try to paper over that stilted little moment. But they're reaching the end of their cleanup: the shattered-mosaic look of the flooring is starting to return to view, visible once more through those last inches of water as it drains away. The distraction is petering away with it, and he's just left with this: his words, his hands, and he's never quite sure what to do with those meager tools. Should he offer a companionable clap to the shoulder? An apology if he stepped all over a sore subject? Just ignore it and press on?
He's never been very good at this.
In the end, Strange settles for what little olive branch he can offer. "Anyway, it's a moot point from where I'm standing. You'll always have a place here, if you want it."
She can't help her very pleased smile. Wanda turns to look straight ahead and feels the water is gone more than she sees it. Now that she's no longer so focused on ensuring her part of the clean-up is perfect, it's come to her easier. The Sanctum is wet—feels wet and even smells it with the lingering scent of the sea—but it has been successfully cleaned of its water and crabs and most of the sand.
She's grateful for that. The Sanctum has become a refuge, a little home away from home. His words make her feel warm all over… veery similar to how she had felt when she and Vision had seemed to finally find a rhythm that worked in Scotland.
Tilting her head up, she regards Strange with a playful smile. "Even when I pick Wong's Spotify playlist over yours?"
It does seem to be a point of contention between the two sorcerers. (Sometimes Wanda picks the playlist she doesn't want to hear solely for the dramatics of both Strange and Wong.)
He glances over at her and smiles back, a fleeting glimpse of warmth. "Even then, yes. This place accepted me when I was at my worst, which means anyone else is fair game, terrible music taste or not."
Kamar-Taj had taken him in when he was broken, grieving, lashing out at others like an injured dog snapping its teeth. The order had a habit of taking in people who were shattered both literally and figuratively (or perhaps budding sorcerers had a tendency to blow up their own lives; either way, the Sanctum lived up to its name). Considering the type of people who had come and gone through here, Wanda Maximoff piecing herself together fits right in.
Strange walks the rest of the way down the steps then, back onto the floor to survey their work. He nudges some of the sand with the toe of his boot. It's still wet and there'll be water damage, but now that she's done the lion's share of the work, a fellow master should be able to wring the last water particles out of the wood for them. Strange can also assign some novices to sweep up the sand with brooms. (No Fantasia antics, he'd have to remind them. Do it by hand!!)
"Well done," he concludes. "See? No harm, no foul. We didn't open a permanent gateway to the Pacific and flood the city."
Wanda follows him, albeit several steps behind. She's grateful to be at his back so she can hide her wince. His home looks waterlogged in the worst of ways... all thanks to her.
But she's beginning to learn that such thinking isn't accepted here. Mistakes happen, and as Wong has told her numerous times (to the point where his voice has begun to crack from exhaustion), learning to walk comes from stumbling about a thousand times. Wanda thinks she's reached the nine hundred and eightieth stumble.
"Shame it didn't find Atlantis." She laughs.
Glancing around, she wrings her hands together before she pulls them apart. With a flick of her wrists, the windows and doors gently click open and she summons a breeze similar to the one that had dried her wet home in Westview. The wind this time isn't quite as brutal in its intensity. It's a summer breeze that sweeps in and gently taps the legs of drenched chairs and fluffs saturated pillows.
She doesn't particularly want his home to be sagging due to being previously underwater. It wouldn't do for his cape to sit on a dripping rack hook, after all.
Fall, fail, climb, get up, try again. Fuck up again. Try again. Again. It's the way of things here, and no one knows it better than Strange.
When the windows open, he tilts his head backwards and takes a deep breath. The wind is refreshing and nice, sweeping away some of the stuffiness inherent in an aged old building with history steeped into each plank of wood, each tapestry, each mural.
"There's always tomorrow for finding Atlantis," Strange says with a wink. He straightens his soggy collar, then snaps his fingers and all of his clothes dry out in moments. The cloak flicks a coattail, satisfied with the change, no longer looking quite so downtrodden. He swipes distractedly at his forehead where the mindflayer had lashed him, and the cut seals itself up too.
Damage reversed. Summer's on its way, and tomorrow's another day and another, and— dare he think it?— things seem okay.
He exhales. "So. How about that celebratory drink?"
There's always tomorrow here. Wanda keeps expecting her calendar to run out of days, but each time she turns to it, there's always tomorrow and sometimes next week. There are no expiry dates in the Sanctum, even if she thinks there should be.
And there are always invitations, too. Even if she was to try to sideline herself, she knows Strange, Wong and even Strange's mystical cape wouldn't allow it. It's unusual for her to be welcomed and belong, but Wanda doesn't wish to knock it back one too many times.
So, she smiles and nods happily. "I think we deserve it, especially since your walls won't need to be replaced yet."
There's always tomorrow to ruin those.
"Should we call Wong? I think he will come if I ask him." She leans closer to him and playfully whispers, "He likes me more." She does, after all, pick his Spotify playlists.
Before he can think better of it, Strange bats back, warmly and unthinkingly: "Oh, of course he does. Who wouldn't?"
There's a few different ways one could take that statement: that it could be about the near-married-couple bickering between the two sorcerers, their comfortable well-worn dynamic, the way Strange finds ways to needle at his friend's temper. The Spotify war. Stephen Strange's general crotchety nature. So of course Wong would choose her over him.
Or maybe it's just about how eminently likeable Wanda Maximoff is.
He recovers quickly enough (she's essentially a widow, a grieving widow, Stephen—) and papers over that fondness before it can look like anything else. It's only about the Spotify playlists. Of course.
And so he adds, "I'll send him a message, although the duties of the Sorcerer Supreme keep him busy. Sometimes I think he just prefers the Hong Kong Sanctum. The building's fancier."
Readjusting the sling ring on his knuckles, he starts carving out a portal to transport them to the Bar With No Doors.
Despite her best efforts, Wanda blushes. Her own self-perception has been drastically awful. Even in WandaVision where she had every opportunity to demonstrate all the ways she was good—that she wasn't dangerous to society, that she wasn't someone who used her powers to punish anyone—she hid from them as she hid from herself.
She thinks that if anyone can understand that, it's Stephen Strange. She may not know as much about him as she does Tony Stark—despite his medical accomplishments, Strange isn't a billionaire playboy throwing his money around in technology and weapons manufacturing—but from her own observations and inklings... He has a hard time seeing himself in a good light, too. Wanda's concluded that's why she gravitates more toward him than Wong.
Glancing at the way he moves his hands, Wanda looks up at him and studies his profile for a moment.
"How do you deal with that? You were the Sorcerer Supreme before the Snap. Surely, you would be it again?"
There are better times to ask this question. Over dinner. When he's cleaning up one of her messes. Disturbing him when he's reading. But Wanda has never been good with her timing.
It's better to not distract him when he's doing a spell. But if Stephen Strange is as good as they say he is (and as good as Wanda knows him to be), surely, he can multitask.
There's only the slightest pause for a second, a tilt of his head. "I'm bitter about it," Strange says frankly, while he keeps working and multitasking.
This one isn't like the slippery, all-encompassing spell he'd tried for Peter Parker. The portals were the very first bit of magic Strange had ever learned, and the most commonly-used throughout his everyday existence. (Almost to the point of exploitation: such a banal application of magic, using it to grab a snack from the fridge when you were simply too lazy to get off the couch, or popping your head through a portal to pass a message to a startled disciple who shrieked and accidentally dropped the vase they'd been carrying— oops.)
By this point, Strange could do portals in his sleep. So he finishes creating the dimensional gateway, and they can both see through it into a darkened vestibule, an entrance hallway leading towards a bar which, quite literally, has no doors to the outside world. It sits in its own closed-off corner of a dimension, requiring magic to access and to enter.
Then he turns and looks at Wanda, and considers her question more thoroughly. The admission comes delicately. It's not a bit of humility he wants to say to Wong's face, but he can safely say it here to someone else.
"Between you and me, though? Wong's been at this longer than I have — he's more experienced, he was in training at Kamar-Taj long before I arrived, and then he held up the mantle while I was blipped. He inherited it on a technicality, but I inherited it in a crisis. There's not supposed to be room for ego when it comes to the defense of the multiverse. So I like to think we're partners. Co-Sorcerers Supreme." A contemplative pause. "Although maybe I just tell myself that to feel better about losing it."
No matter how many times he creates a portal, Wanda always regards it with wonderment. This portal is no different to the last. She can feel that magic; it's the same as the one Wong appears and disappears into. It's solid and confident, and Wanda doesn't doubt that if she was to step on its threshold that it would hold her until she was ready to take a step into the Bar with No Doors.
Even though she doesn't take a step forward to scrutinise it, she looks at it with curiosity to ensure that it is, in fact, a bar. Not that she would know if it was the right one. While she may trust Strange to not lead her astray, Wanda is still out of place and much a square trying to fit in with a coven of circles.
She instantly sees that it lives up to its name.
But she doesn't step forward, slightly worried that if she does, this conversation will be lost and Strange will be left lingering on a slightly more vulnerable than usual note.
"I don't think you truly lost it." She presses her lips together and shakes her head as if that is that. As if the Sorcerer Supreme title is something that can still exist between two people—and she thinks it can. Just because the other sorcerers may look to Wong now doesn't mean Strange holds it any less.
"It doesn't seem like something like a pen that you can lose." Wanda shrugs and regards the portal as if it's more than a basic display of magic. "Does a sorcerer who used to be Sorcerer Supreme stop being Sorcerer Supreme? I don't think so. It's like how a general stays a general even after he's retired."
And a hero stays a hero even long after he's succumbed to his bullet wounds.
"And how presidents are still referred to as Mr. President even after their term has ended? I'll still be Mr. Sorcerer Supreme?" The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile — a little sardonic, as ever, but he feels some vise in his chest loosen slightly, appreciating the words of reassurance. It's good to hear.
"Thank you for that, though. But ah, if only I were close to retirement. I think my watch is just beginning."
He actually doesn't know how long he went up against Dormammu; it could have been subjective centuries, which makes his whole tenure feel strange (ha) and immeasurable. He's been on the job both forever and not longat all. Time works in gnarled, tangled ways around here.
He tries to shake off his contemplative mood like he's shaking out his coat, shaking off the dust, the sea water. He throws an arm out to the portal, the red cloak draped theatrically from his sleeve. "After you, miss Maximoff."
Tentatively stepping through the portal (her uncertainty doesn't stem from the belief his portal would be flimsy; she's simply not used to travelling through them, no matter how many she may step through), she ensures to move out of the way so Strange and his cape can sweep in after her.
The Bar with No Doors is strange to be inside. It's exactly as she had imagined it—doorless. Funny how truly literal the name actually is. Wanda's so used to titles and names being, well... either on the nose or simply don't match the person or establishment. But she imagines the lack of doors is to keep those who aren't magical users out. What better way to keep the magical underground a secret than to simply make it impossibly hard for those who aren't magical to enter?
"So, everyone in here is a..." She furrows her brows. Most of the patrons appear so... normal. "I've never seen this many." Wanda's never been around this many magic users ever.
To say Wanda's a touch overwhelmed would be a tiny understatement.
The bar isn't as crowded as a regular Manhattan bar at happy hour — thankfully the patrons aren't packed in cheek-by-jowl, crammed in against each other, having to shout to be heard — but there's still more than you'd ever expect, when you were born into a civilian life and hadn't fully grasped just how much magic there was in the wide universe. The fact that it's not Earth-bound helps: there are aliens, a few Asgardian witches in the back (who nod to Strange as he appears), and someone at the end of the counter who's just an incorporeal floating spirit from the astral plane, sipping on some kind of gaseous drink. There's even a couple disciples from Kamar-Taj in their traditional red robes, and they jolt at the sight of Strange and Wanda, spines straightening, trying to look like they're on their best behaviour. He ignores them.
"I didn't believe in magic. Even when I saw it for the very first time, I thought I'd been dosed with LSD." Standing beside Wanda, he sounds a little bemused. He'd grown inured to it, but looking at the bar now and imagining how it must look like to her, he's struck by the novelty all over again. "It didn't exactly track with the life I'd had before. But then a door opens, and—" Strange gestured at the room. "You start getting accustomed to things like this."
For being a magical speakeasy, it looks... astonishingly like a tiki bar. There's palm fronds and eclectic decor everywhere, and no single lamp looks the same as another.
Not bad. Not horrible. Not discomforting. With what Strange has said in mind, Wanda looks around again and takes it in for what it is. It's a piece of solace amongst a crazy and tightly tangled mess of a world. She's only begun to explore the surface of magic, and yet she knows that there's so much more to it than what she's discovered thus far.
She smiles contentedly. "It's a lot quieter than the Compound." That large building had been quiet in ways that rang loudly in Wanda's ears. The silence was always a loud and discomforting reminder of how alone she was in the United States. Being here… while it's noisier than the Compound had been when most of the Avengers were not in town, it's quiet.
It's comfortable.
"Where do you usually sit?" Rising to the tips of her toes, this time when she looks around, it's to try and discern the best spot. Strange seems like a bar type of person… and a shadowy corner type of person, too.
"This is quieter? I thought the Avengers Compound was supposed to be massive. Spread-out." He had only seen it the once: the day it was destroyed during the Battle of Earth, the day they won, the day he sent Tony Stark to die. Strange had held back a lake over the wreckage of that building, all twisted metal and collapsed storeys, and he'd only been able to imagine what it had looked like in its prime.
"And that's my favourite corner," Strange says, leading the way towards it, the slightly fire-blackened table (what had happened there?) with its wobbly chairs. "You can see the entrance, such as it is."
He'd been more for the bar counter, once upon a time: schmooze and be seen. He hadn't been a playboy as a neurosurgeon — simply hadn't the time for it, there was a reason his last fling was someone he worked with — but he'd still been flashy. Spending money, buying drinks for his coworkers, chatting to a group. Nowadays, though, he likes to take a backseat. Sit somewhere he can keep an eye on things.
Wanda follows him, looking around as she does so. She wants to take it all in, and absorb it so that it feels familiar to her. It makes sense to her as to why he picked this corner; seeing the entrance is important. Despite being able to read the minds of anyone, Wanda's always preferred having her back to the wall and her face towards the door. There's always the opportunity to miss out on the one voice that's too quiet and subtle and dangerous.
She sits opposite him and rests her elbows against the table, steepling her fingers together. She rests her chin on her hands and surveys the bar from this angle. She can see almost everything from this corner. Does every other corner have the same vantage point? A part of her is hopeful she'll be able to find out.
With her gaze lingering on the bar, she smiles a touch sheepishly. "Will you judge me if I say wine? I know it's boring, but it's how I judge a place. If it has good wine..." She comes back.
It'd been something fun she'd employed when sneaking around with Vision before, well... everything. It's a piece of that time she likes to keep active and in her embrace.
"I don't judge. It sounds like a fine enough metric," Strange says. He's settled back in his seat — only for an expression of surprise to cross his face as he accidentally sits on the cloak, and it recoils like he's trod on a cat's tail, and they wrestle with each other for a second, then finally get comfortable when the cloak settles over the back of his chair. He straightens his sleeves as if the undignified moment never happened. (This is a common occupational hazard.)
"On my end, I usually drink a single malt scotch in the city, but here, I always get the mai tai."
After they order and when it eventually shows up, it's going to be in the most obnoxious tiki drink vessel like some ancient carved wooden idol, with a bright straw and colourful umbrella, the liquid smoking mystically for no apparent reason. It's fantastic.
He's eased in with an elbow slung over the back of his chair, surveying her. There's often something watchful and assessing in Strange's gaze when he looks at Wanda. Not like he's tiptoeing around a bomb about to go off (which so many people had done, handling her with kid gloves after Sokovia, Lagos, the Raft, Westview) — more like she's a Rubik's cube he's still trying to sort out.
"The bartender's usually a low-level telepath. We can just project our drink orders to them," he adds.
She smiles down at her drink. Holding it up, she tilts her head to the side as she studies the face that her cup wears. At first, it looks angry, but upon closer inspection, it simply looks… well, a little drunk from this angle. Perhaps it's all about perspective. Maybe Strange looks at the tiki drink and thinks it looks like a face that's tasted a sour lemon.
Once again, she's experiencing something new. Wine drunk from something that isn't a see-through glass is bound to be an experience.
Placing her wine down on the table without taking a sip, she glances around as if expecting the entire bar to simply stare at her. They aren't. No one is, no one other than Strange.
She's caught him looking at her a few times with what she feels is a pensive expression. Initially, she'd thought he was waiting for her to attack him. Slip into his mind, change a thought or two, and without remorse effortlessly control him as she had the people of Westview. But she's since learned that Strange doesn't look at her with distrust.
It'd be easy to understand why he's looking at her, but Wanda doesn't wish to take what doesn't belong to her.
"And if someone was to project their own drinks?" She looks to the bar and wonders if they can sense her thoughts. She doubts it. She'd like to think she'd be able to discern if someone was trying to pry deeper into her mind for more than just her drink order. "I feel that would be rude," she mumbles. Still looking at the bar, she presses her lips together in thought. "Maybe it will be nice to be able to come here and be near someone like me."
Strange is about to blather something about drink orders and convenience, but then his attention is caught quickly enough by something more interesting at hand: his gaze follows hers, towards the bar, the rows on rows of exotic liquor bottles, the mildly psychic bartender, the clusters of witches and warlocks and magicians and aliens bending their heads in conversation. That thoughtful expression on her face at the sight of it all.
"I was hoping it might be," he says. "There are heaps of people with different kinds of magic here, so it all seemed relevant to your interests. The Asgardian witches don't have your exact capabilities, but they can tap into people's minds, so they're probably worth a conversation at some point, too. The more knowledge and the more frames of reference you have, the better."
Sometimes, he still sounds an awful lot like a doctor, despite the fact that he left medicine far behind. You can whisk the man away from science but you can't take the science out of the man, apparently.
And, apparently, he's still not too interested in being delicate. He chews over it for a moment, before he finds himself blurting out: "What's it like? The telepathy."
Invasive. Troubling. Disconcerting. She supposes those may have been the descriptors of the allegedly lower level telepaths. If she was heeding her script, she'd utter the same. They're the key words. They're the words she knows would make Darren feel somewhat comfortable with Samantha. But Strange would see right through her like a very clear and cleaned window.
While all three of those words are true, Wanda's answer is deeply layered. Telepathy is an invasion of the privacy of the person she reads. It can also be a door to understanding someone so closed off and unapproachable that it can often be responsible for nourishing a tether. Sometimes it comforts her when she has no social confidence. Knowing she's not alone and is surrounded by people, even strangers, is a comfort.
"It's…" She studies the bartender for a long moment, wondering what they'd say. But there is no party line for her to regurgitate. If Strange was discomforted by the fact he's housing a telepath, she's certain he wouldn't have encouraged her to stay.
Picking at her nails, she leans her arms on the table and purses her lips slightly without thought. With a furrowed brow, she regards the corner of his cloak on the chair.
"It's unbalancing," she opts for. Wanda lifts her gaze from the cloak to Strange, still frowning thoughtfully. "It's hard to ignore the hum of thoughts. It's tempting, like having wine for breakfast or eating all of the chocolate in the pantry. It can feel tiring, like spending an evening with too many people, and it can be completely lonely. Sometimes being in someone else's head is a lot nicer than being in mine."
And she likes the control, the knowing of things no one else knows. Ever since Stark's bombs, she likes knowing what's potentially coming. It helps her prepare. Though, her telepathy has greatly let her down in armouring her for suffering great loss.
While Wanda talks, he's unconsciously leaned forward as well to mirror her as he listens, elbows propped against the edge of the table and chin tipped pensively into his hand.
Strange respects her more for that honest (and complicated) answer. Something pat and trite would have been an over-simplification, and a ducking of the truth. There was no possible way her feelings about this particular ability would have been simple. And he catches that self-deprecating beat — a lot nicer than being in mine — but doesn't know what to do about it just yet. Files it away for later consideration.
"I'm... familiar with immoderation," Strange says, with that rueful twist to his mouth which came from painful experience. "And it's particularly easy to get greedy with magic, I think. Obviously I can't do the same things you can, but I felt the same way — tempted — when I first started plumbing the possibilities. Like drinking from a fire-hose. How noisy is it by default? Do you have to consciously work to block others out, or do you have to consciously work to hear them?"
Out of all the spells and abilities and relics available to him, mind-reading had never been on the table. Even the Ancient One hadn't been able to literally peer into others' thoughts: she'd just been wise, with the canny intuition which came from centuries of reading people.
She ponders his question for a moment with a thoughtful frown. Vision's asked her similar questions before—ones that are a little plainer and meant to give him an answer that he could so easily file away within his own system's files—but that had been before. When Vision had asked her, she had only started to tune the thoughts out. She hadn't the level of control—or power or reach—that she does now.
"I used to have to make the effort to block everyone out. When I first got my powers, the facility was so loud." And it was comforting, at least, to know Pietro was there. H.Y.D.R.A. had been as cold as its walls and as depressing as its grey walls, but hearing Pietro's thoughts had given her comfort in a decision she was beginning to regret. She doesn't tell Strange she thinks she's learned to tune them out so she can tune out the loud absence of Pietro's thoughts. "But I think I've learned to tune them out. I didn't even realise I was responding to thoughts in Westview until…"
Pressing her lips together momentarily, Wanda inhales deeply through her nose. It hadn't been until Vision pressed and pushed and refused to take the lines she fed him as truth for her to realise what she had done. Being forced to look Monica Rambeau in her forgiving eyes had only been the icing on an already acidic cake.
"Until it was brought to my attention." Looking down, she sighs quietly. "It has become effortless. Like texting without looking at the keyboard."
"Practice makes perfect. That's always been true, in my opinion. Which I always thought was a good thing, but— maybe autopilot has its risks, too. Like conducting a surgery you've done a thousand times before and so you stop paying attention and you get sloppy. Maybe it's important to stay conscientious and intentional."
He takes another sip of his mai tai: spicy rum, sweet orange curaçao, the sharp tartness of lime, the whole cocktail almost cloyingly sweet compared to the man's stern-looking demeanour. There are other contradictions around them: while they're chatting in the corner, what can only be described as a demon strolls past, winged and horned and wearing Bermuda pants and an aloha-print shirt. Strange doesn't even bat an eye.
"I can imagine the silence must be soothing, though. Being better-able to turn it all down. Do you ever hear my thoughts?"
She's grateful for the demon in Bermuda pants. Their timing is impeccable. She stares at him in amused wonderment as he easily strides through the bar without so much as turning too many eyes and exudes a confidence Wanda hopes to one day embody herself.
Letting her eyes linger on the demon, she grants herself a few moments to even process Strange's question.
She doesn't turn her head towards him, knowing if she does, she'll lie.
"Occasionally."
Pressing her lips together, Wanda steeples her fingers and presses her pinkies against her tiki cup. She looks down at it.
"But when I realise I can, I put myself in what feels like water. I can hear them as though I am at the bottom of a pool." Not that she's been in many pools. Thankfully her rendezvous with Vision had given her that experience.
She looks up at him, figuring she needs to in order to keep his trust. With a small smile, she shrugs sheepishly, "I would rather get to know you from what you choose to tell me than what you don't realise I'm taking."
Despite himself, there are so many questions suddenly welling up on the tip of his tongue and he's hard-pressed to bite them all back, a cavalcade in the back of his throat. What do my thoughts sound like? Am I just as insufferable when you cut right to the quick? What have I been thinking of? Nothing embarrassing, I hope. Sometimes Beyonce gets stuck in my head and it's all Wong's fault, I'm afraid.
Or, magician party tricks. I'm thinking of a particular card from the deck. Which card is it?
Or, Please don't dig too deep.
Pointless stuff. Wanda knows it already, and he should be above it all, and the topic deserves a little more care than Strange's usual levity. So instead, "Hm," is all he says at first, while taking another deep swig of his mai tai. Then: "I appreciate it. I'm the worst person when it comes to wanting to open every locked door in my periphery, but so I— well, I appreciate you trying. And for what it's worth, although I don't have any telepathic shortcuts, the same goes for you. You don't have to answer anything you don't want to tell me. Feel free to tell me to shut up if my questions ever become too much like a cross-examination. Your stay at the Sanctum is contingent on none of it. I'm just nosy."
While Wanda didn't suspect she had to meet specific criteria in order to be welcome in the Sanctum, she wouldn't blame him if he had a list of answers she needed to stick the box. She's dangerous. She's been on the wrong side before. Being a telepath isn't necessarily a comforting thought for those around her. Taking precautions to ensure his home remains safe is something she would understand completely.
But she appreciates that his questions come from an innocent place. Wanda's nosy herself with the questions she tries to pace herself in asking. Wong's answered a few that had nothing to do at all with magic and everything to do with how to irritate Strange when it came to picking the music.
Perhaps she employs those answers when she selects the Spotify playlist.
Watching him for a moment, Wanda doesn't try to read his mind. She does get the inkling he may be thinking of one of Wong's favourite artists. (She'll start humming "Single Ladies" someday in the Sanctum when she believes it won't startle Strange into discomfort.)
She smiles and cocks her brow playfully. "Is that all your nosy about?"
"Oh, there's plenty else." That playful quirk to her eyebrow is surprisingly delightful, Strange decides, and decides in the same moment that he'll do what he can to keep that expression on Wanda's face. It's a far better sight than her looking sheepish and crestfallen.
And the truth is, he's nosy about everything. He always wants answers, in every realm of his life where it's possible. The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper. He's been grilling her about her magic, her powers, her capabilities, and there's whole ruined craters which he knows he doesn't want to touch yet (Vision, Westview, Pietro, Sokovia—), and so he settles for something innocuous and innocent and personal. Something about her as a person, rather than an instrument of ineffable power.
"Is your favourite colour red?" he asks, with a cock of his own eyebrow.
She barks her laughter. "Yes." Immediately, she points at him, her smile bright and vibrant. "But not for the reasons you are thinking!"
No, she hadn't read his mind. It's simple math: Wanda's magic is red, and thus if she likes red, that must be why.
(She's certain if she wanted to change her magic's colour, she possibly could. The Sunny Witch sounds quite nice, actually._
She sits back and rests her hands on her lap, pressing her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to try and stop smiling. Her bright smile does turn wistful. Briefly, she does consider not giving him her true answer. She could wrap it up in Vision. She could say it was simply a colour she liked for no reason at all. But then Wanda wouldn't be telling the truth. She's tired of the truth being a rare thing.
"My mother liked red, so I wanted to like red." Wanda shrugs. "Then I started to. Pietro liked red just to annoy me, but I refused to budge from liking it. Now, it reminds me of that." Of home.
"That's nice," Strange says, and although the comment itself is toothless and bland, he sounds genuinely warm as he says it. Any little tidbit about her family, he knows, is a mark of trust. A gesture of something real.
He, too, misses that teasing back-and-forth between siblings.
"I didn't have any choice with the colour scheme of this thing; it just showed up." He gestures with an arm toward where the Cloak of Levitation hangs over the back of his chair, and it billows from his elbow as if in an impossible breeze, before settling again. "It does add a spark of panache, though. I'd be so dull in my all-black otherwise. In our order, you start off with white robes as a novice, then crimson as an apprentice, then get your own customised robes when you officially become a Master of the Mystic Arts."
He takes another sip of his drink, eyeing Wanda where she's leaning back in her chair. "The red suits you," he says. "It goes well with your hair."
It's— a compliment, maybe? Sort of? He's bad at them.
She smiles, chuckling softly. Of all the things anyone has ever said about her hair, that has to be the kindest of them all.
"My hair was not always red," she says lightly. Wanda's in a good mood. It may be because of the people she's around—like-minded individuals, people who don't care that the Avengers' hanger-on is here with the ex-Sorceror Supreme.
It feels like confessing some deep, dark secret. Strange doesn't know who she used to be. He doesn't know that she used to favour blacks and deep reds and try and hide within the shadows so no one could see her while she studied them. But as time passed and she became less like the person she used to be (and had less, far, far less), she's grown lighter.
It seems a little backwards. Isn't she meant to grow darker the more she loses and finds herself lost?
"Like before your cloak," she cocks her head towards the sentient thing, "I used to have very dark hair. I liked black, too. But then I heard of you and I thought I would be kind and not make you feel intimidated by how well I can wear black."
The Bar With No Doors is a fantastic place to disappear into a crowd: a venue where you won't stand out for your abilities, where no one will look at you askance or give you a sidelong stare, where everyone is just a little bit strange. It's good for not feeling alone.
Strange's mouth twists, amused, like she's throwing him a bone for not upstaging him in costumery. "Cute," he says, and takes another hearty swig of his drink. He's feeling mellow, a little loose around the edges. "Very dark hair and liking black. Let me get this straight. Are you saying you were a goth? Were you a Hot Topic goth, Wanda Maximoff?"
He's not sure if the pop culture reference will work for a woman who grew up in Sokovia, but he volleys it out there regardless.
"I was a Wednesday Addams goth, Stephen," she gently chides. His given name, not his surname, sounds very strange coming from her. It's in Wong's presence that she sometimes opts for "Stephen" over "Strange". It feels entirely informal and very friendly to call him a name that she thinks belongs to his friends.
"I had the black makeup around the eyes," she continues and gestures to her eyes with a flutter of her fingers, "and the very dark hair. It was very dark. I only started to go light in the States."
In an attempt to blend in, in a way to shed who she used to be. She tried to be someone she wasn't and only managed to go lighter and lighter until she set herself on figurative fire. Now, her hair is a strawberry red that separates her drastically from the dark woman who used to haunt Sokovia. Now, she brightens up New York City.
"But I set the bar very high." She raises her arm above her head and lifts slightly off her chair. "Taller than you. It would have been embarrassing if you had tried to be a goth like me," she laughs.
"Ah, Wednesday, the much better kind," he concludes warmly. Who hadn't liked the Addams Family? (And it's perhaps not a surprise: there had been the 1960s television show, the later movies, all staples of an American cultural export and jotting neatly alongside the other family comedies that she'd inhaled while growing up.)
"I could probably be a good Gomez for Halloween, honestly, but then I'd have to shave off this thing." Strange strokes his chin contemplatively, gesturing to the iconic and precise goatie. "I'd probably look villainous with just a pencil moustache, though. D'you think I could pull it off?"
It only occurs to him a second later— was that the first time she'd ever referred to him just by first name? He thinks it was, and it sparks an unexpected little flicker of warmth and familiarity. He normally insisted on such strict formal distance throughout his life (paging Doctor Strange, a common refrain at the hospital, the imposed distance even between him and his patients), but if he could drop the surname with the kid, then he can drop it with Wanda. She's earned it, too. It certainly sounds less stilted coming from her, and he finds that he likes the effect; it makes them sound more like friends than strangers.
She scrunches up her face and makes a show of scrutinising him. If he was to be anyone from the Addams Family, she couldn't pick an actual family member. Since getting to know him, she understands how much of a disservice that belief is to who he is. He may appear sharp and a touch unapproachable, but she thinks he's a little like Gomez. Swept up in the magic of it all. Possibly capable of being swept up by someone else. He knows how to laugh, much like Gomez, even if it isn't as frequent.
He's either Gomez or Lurch, depending on the day.
"I would think you would make a decent Cousin Itt," she teases. "All you need is to grow this"—with a flicker of her hand, the tips of his hair brushing against his forehead glow red—"and then you will be perfect. But if you can't commit to Itt... I think Gomez can possibly upgrade to a goatee. I think Morticia likes him no matter what his facial hair looks like."
"She would. I think that's pretty much the whole point of them, that they love each other and like each other regardless." He sounds— a little sentimental over it, perhaps? — strangely, surprisingly sentimental, considering Stephen Strange presents to all the world an image of being crisp, logical, scientific, and certainly not one to moon over the idea of hashtag #marriagegoals.
But. Somewhere beneath that ribcage, that heart is more vulnerable than he'd like. Somewhere in his desk drawer sits an envelope and a wedding invitation in a familiar hand.
Strange absentmindedly touches the strands of his hair which had just glowed red; there's a faint tingling against his fingertips like faint electric static, the fizzing after-effects of Wanda's magical signature. He opens his mouth, on the verge of promising something pithy: next Halloween, we're dressing up and sending you round the block to trick-or-treat to all the kids, but he thankfully remembers just in time. Remembers the potential pitfall and bites down on the suggestion.
Quick— swerve.
"And ah, but I'm not chic enough to be Cousin Itt. No one is. I'll probably have to try for Gomez." Strange tips his drink, drains the rest of it in one fell swoop, then his fingers toy with the now-empty glass, turning it in restless half-circles against the condensation on the table. "Do you want a refill? Is it dangerous for a witch to get drunk?"
Wanda glances around as if she's searching for anyone prying into their conversation. Once satisfied in her discovery that no one honestly cares about a sort-of Avenger and a sorcerer speaking, she leans across the table to whisper conspiratorially, "I can drink even Thor under the table." She smiles and chuckles, leaning back.
No, she absolutely cannot—not that she has ever tried. Her antisocial behaviour has left her with too many questions and not enough facts.
"Would the bartender be offended if we magic drinks?" She glances over towards the bartender as if expecting them to be eyeballing her after saying such a thing. But they're busy… bartending. Wanda's realising that she doesn't need to be overly paranoid about showing off her powers… and may be enjoying it a little too much.
Turning back to Strange, she smiles. "I think you would like this drink from Sokovia."
"I can't see why they would mind. Less work for them, I imagine." It's a party trick Strange falls back on far too often himself — conjuring alcohol is quick to get a gasp and a laugh, sometimes easy to impress, and usually the person he's trying to impress appreciates the free drink to boot — but he hasn't been on the receiving end from Wanda yet. His curiosity is piqued.
"Alright. I'll have one mystery Sokovian drink, please."
Rather than take his Tikki cup, Wanda delicately waves her hand and conjures up a round cocktail glass. She doesn't pull her hand away; Wanda wiggles her fingers (a little unnecessarily), summoning red magic to her fingertips. The empty glass is slow to fill with a red liquid (a little on the nose for her, she knows) until it reaches three-quarters of the way.
Inside the liquid, Strange will find his favourite sweet fruit cut up into smaller pieces.
"It's not alcoholic, but it does the trick." Kompot had been a favourite drink of hers and something she had been able to make herself even in the United States.
Bemused, Strange watches the liquid swirl and fill up the cocktail glass, bobbing with chunks of fruit: apples, blackberries and blueberries, with a touch of honey. He takes a sip, makes an admiring noise. He hadn't expected it to be non-alcoholic, but he realises that he doesn't mind.
He's never had Eastern European kompot before, but it sparks— something, a recollection, how did she know to choose apples—
(A memory: his grandfather's apple tree in his backyard upstate. Stephen and Donna scrumping for apples, tugging them fresh off the branches, scampering off to enjoy them together by the lakeside. The family taking them to a local cidery and getting a discount on the end result.)
The taste is rich and crisp and steeped in autumn.
"So, like sangria but without the wine?" he remarks after a moment, shaking off the memory, ducking a look down at the glass and taking another sip. "This is good. You should introduce us to Sokovian food and drink more often."
While Wanda may be tempted every now and then to dip her toes into the pools of both Strange and Wong, she allows them to wade towards her of their own accord. The last handful of years has taught her it's much more fulfilling when someone hands her a piece of themselves rather than she takes it from them.
She watches him with her smile widening slowly and with pleasure. She likes that he likes it. Another thing she's done correctly.
"You will regret those words, Stephen," she says playfully. "When you taste my cooking, you will want nothing else."
Her mother's recipes she's committed to memory are bewitching, if she says so herself.
"It'll be a nice change of pace from Wong's cooking. I mean, he's an excellent chef, don't get me wrong, but his juice cleanses leave something to be desired. I'm tired of hearing the body is a temple and needs the purest fuel in order to be a clean vessel for magic. I could go for some Eastern European comfort food instead."
Strange takes another sip of the kompot. He'd wondered if the food and drink might have been too close to home to mention — a raw wound, a homesick reminder — but it seems Wanda doesn't mind. Perhaps that taste of home can be healing, too, in its own way.
"So," he says, raising his glass in a toast to her: Wanda Maximoff, their visiting witch, their guest star. "Here's to underwater features, cleaning up messes, and excellent home cooking."
Ah, yes. Her very embarrassing spot of magic. Wanda is very happy to toast to that.
She raises her glass and smiles proudly. It's not every day Wanda Maximoff receives genuine compliments that haven't been scripted by her hand. It's something she believes she can very well get used to... Compliments, not scrutiny. (No matter how tempted she may be to turn the Sanctum into an aquarium again, she will make an effort not to.)
Gently clinging her glass to his, she hides behind hers and laughs, "Here's to the fish I put in your bed."
Not everything can have a perfect sitcom clean-up, after all.
as much as she wishes to smile (and join in the teasing of her boy being a royal consort, a prince in his own right no matter what he says), wanda figures she'll one-up all of his friends. ]
Does that mean I get to be the Mother of His Royal Highness the Royal Consort? [ she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. ] I can't wait to tell all the other moms this is how I want to be addressed!
[ he startles into a laugh, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. ]
Aren't you kind of already a princess? I mean, look at Grandfather.. [ let's be honest, here, he and xavier are basically the kings of krakoa, no matter how they try to say otherwise. ]
[ she laughs lightly. ah, erik, the king of, well... scowling and pissing everyone off. once upon a time, wanda would've thought pietro took after him more than her. ]
Do you think I should get a tiara?
[ she tilts her head up as if she's posing for a portrait. ]
Or do you think that would be too intimidating for all of your friends? I want to be a cool mom.
[ wanda laughs, face flushing. after a moment of being overwhelmed with being donned her princess crown, she rests her hands on her hips and smiles. ]
Oh.
[ her face falls as she looks at him. ]
Something's wrong.
[ it's with a very loose flick of her hand that he will find a small crown—not overly jewelled; billy never seemed like the type to be like that—sitting on the top of his head.
[ it falls into line with what wanda wants. she wishes for her family to find their way back to her... or for her to find her way back to them. perhaps he understands it better than most humans do.
When Natasha had asked her where she wanted to be dropped off for her secret little rendezvous with you-know-who, Wanda had difficulty containing her excitement. Vision had suggested Italy at their last meeting, and Wanda had happily agreed to it. It was one of the few countries she had told Vision she wished to visit someday. Even when it felt like a pipe dream after being trapped inside of the four walls of the Avengers Compound, she still dreamed, and Vision only enabled those dreams into a reality.
Natasha could spare her a handful of days before she needed to pick her up and take her to the opposite side of the world. But Wanda knew the handful of days that awaited her were going to feel like weeks and months.
After reassuring Natasha that she and Vision agreed to meet each other in the city rather than where the Quintet would drop her off, she walks along the side of the road, keeping her mind peeled for a little inkling of him. She tries to keep her mind clear and the tension away from her shoulders, but Wanda can never help but take Natasha's lessons keeping her eyes peeled and her senses alert to heart, especially when she was sneaking within the shadows and the bright light of day.
When she reaches the end of the street, she turns the corner and stops. She can't help but smile. Wanda could recognise him in the dark. Standing tall with his back to her, she eyes him curiously to confirm that the lines of his shoulder are, in fact, Vision's before she lets herself feel the excitement that she always feels when she sees him now.
On the softest of feet, she quickly approaches him before tapping him on the shoulder.
"Vis," she says quietly as though the city itself will alert Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D. of their whereabouts. Wanda wishes she could stop smiling, but she peers up at him eagerly, dressed much like the people bustling around them.
The only thing that currently separates Vision from the slew of people around them is the simple fact that he's considerably taller. Aside from that he looked perfectly average, admittedly. Fair skin, blonde hair. Average features with light eyes that if you looked too closely at you may see odd variations. For whatever reason he hadn't found a way he could hide his eyes entirely, but the good thing about being tall was that he met gazes of others a lot less frequently.
He'd been playing with ability of direct projection somewhat as of late. Previously to being out in the world there hadn't been much need for it. Who was he trying to hide when he was at the compound? Not a single person didn't know more about his own life than he did. And there hadn't been much desire to leave prior to Wanda being there. But now? Things were different. They were so very different. And now out in the open, in another country, the last thing he was very interested in was sticking out like a big, red, sore thumb.
It was already likely odd enough that this tall man was hovering on the edges of a small gathering park in the heart of this small little town, nestled just outside the major city, just watching the way people interacted with one another. Their gentle movements and mundane conversations with a language he understood so vividly as though they were speaking English despite never actually hearing the tones and verbalization of the individual voices that carried these simple conversations to one another.
He was so wrapped in it that the tapping of his shoulder is missed, but thankfully the voice is not and he spins to met its speaker. The corners of his lips curling to make way for a broad smile the second his gaze met hers. There were a lot of things, emotionally, that still needed figuring out. He understood them in their basics, there was no way he couldn't, but he had never felt them. True joy had been one of the first, and that gift had been giving to him by Wanda.
Perhaps some day he'd tell her. Perhaps, she already knew.
"Wanda." His voice is soft, subconsciously matching her own. "I am delighted to see you..."
"Well, that's good. I would be devastated if you were horrified," she chuckles, scrunching up her nose.
She wrings her hands together nervously, and once she realises what she's doing, she tears them apart. It's easy being around Vision. She laughs and smiles more and frowns even less. She's stopped being quiet and wishing to disappear and take up less space. With him around, she wishes to be loud.
Not literally, of course. While she may have dyed her hair a lighter shade, Wanda knows that any attention can be bad attention. Perhaps Natasha's paranoia is starting to rub off on her.
But there's a new element to being with Vision. She notices more. The way he's started to smile and joke more. He seems less out of place and more comfortable than he'd been in the Compound. Perhaps the others had noticed this, but Wanda likes to think that she's the only one who knows that Vision can crinkle his brow in a cute, human way and that his face lights up when he smiles.
Wanda furrows her brows in concern. "Were you waiting long?"
"I think it would take a considerable amount for me to be horrified." An understatement if he ever said one. He reaches out to take one of the others hands in his own giving it a firm squeeze with a shake of his head. "I have not been here long." Unable to stop himself he reaches out to brush wisps of gingery hair away from her face. Despite his human appearance his touch is cool and metallic and the pressure is light, keeping his density purposefully low was a general rule when out amongst the public but it felt harder when he was around Wanda. With her, he always felt like he was about to float away.
Finally he seems to break the spell seeing her has put on him and he shifts his hand to take her own, lacing fingers, before starting to walk. He keeps his pace tempered so she can keep up. "I have asked a few of the locals where to find the best coffee, as it is apparently a thing here. Plus they are not opposed to having delicious treats for breakfast." He chuckles, hoping it will be inviting to her. Hell perhaps he'll even partake in something this time around. He has no need to eat, not really, but it is something that he is discovering that he enjoys the exploration of, especially during these stolen moments together. It always gave him one more thing to remember.
'Coffee and cakes for breakfast. Who would have thought.' When he speaks this time around it's in Italian. It's tone is playful, even if she doesn't understand it he hopes he can convey its teasing, playful, nature.
The one thing Wanda always realises about Vision is how she's always smiling. She gazes up at him and loves that he's already explored some of the city so that they're not walking around blind together. While she enjoys that very much, sometimes she likes to pretend she knows her lefts from her rights and where the best cafe in the next two blocks is. It makes her feel normal.
She narrows her eyes playfully when he speaks Italian. Although she can often read minds and somehow glean what the thought is when it's in another language when it's spoken, she has a harder time. It makes things feel a little mundane in the best way. Sometimes, Wanda doesn't want to know what she shouldn't.
"You're going to have to teach me Italian," she says with a low chuckle. Vision knows so much without having experienced it; she wonders just how good his Italian is when speaking to a local. "Will you actually have coffee this time? It's not as fun drinking alone."
He may have overthought it considerably. He likes to play it off as though he were casual, and some of it was simply inquiring via the locals. But a lot of it was active research. Making sure he knew every street and building in their surrounding area. Half of it was trained habit, the more intel you had the less likely you were to get caught off guard if something were to happen, but another part was a little more selfish.
He wanted to show off.
So much so that he nods at the mention of teaching her a little of the local language. "I can not promise how good a teacher I can be. But we can do common phrases, since we will be here for a bit." More and more as they took these little escapes, it became harder to put a timeframe on them. What started as weekends turned into long weekends, which then became a week, and why not tack on another weekend while you were at it.
If there was no pressing matters or things that came up? All he wanted to do was spend time away, with her. Even if it meant drinking coffee, though it gave him little benefit. "Of course. I mean after all; we did come all this way. And the country is known for it's coffee. Would be a shame to not experience it. Lets partake." The good news is, he was already on his way towards where the person he'd met early this morning had suggested. Somewhere tucked away on a local street which seemed to mostly contain housing and a few staple shops.
"Maybe, if you're a quick learner, we'll make you order for us." A smile and a playful wink. Even if she's not proficient she might be doing better than him. Vision can easily speak it but it's almost mechanical in nature. The tone too phonetic and the phrasing too clinical. Coming from her it might actually sound genuine, even if its wrong.
Still smiling, she widens her eyes a little as if frightened by the prospect of ordering for them in Italian. When it came to languages, she seemed to pick it up a little too quickly. She remembers how learning to speak like an American had been easy for her. Her mother often joked it was due to her obsessive nature when it came to watching American television shows.
She walks beside him, close enough to take his hand if she wanted to. For now, she lets herself merely enjoy his company before she worries about whether or not she's holding his hand in the most comfortable way for him. Whenever she's with Vision, she's alert and present, but still slinks back into her own worrying thoughts. She wants everything to be perfect.
"If I can do it, it's because I had a very good teacher," she says as she winks at him.
She furrows her brows as she looks ahead. "We'll need to make sure we do something that you enjoy, too." Which was harder than it should be, considering Vision seemed to know almost everything and anything. With his lack of hunger and desire to drink, it was hard to wine and dine him, even if he was always such a good sport about it.
But when she looks at him again, Wanda narrows her eyes thoughtfully and smiles conspiratorially. Yes, she thinks she has the perfect idea.
A Jill of all trades, one of the many reasons why he likes her so much. He has good faith that she'll pick it up quickly. Even if she gets a little wide eyed at the concept of it. She's brilliant, but he might be bias.
It doesn't matter exactly how they hold hands, or walk close, as long as they're together. That's all that truly matters. So long as they have that perfection is already a part of their day to day. Even at its most stressful, even at it's most tempered. They have each other. Things weren't perfect, perhaps they'd never be, but as she stood next to him, hands locked together, it was as prefect as either one of them were going to get in this imperfect life.
"I'm simply the best." He winks back, it's these little nuances he enjoys the most. But her next few words make him pause. It's always so tricky when moments like these come up. Something he enjoys. It's a simple suggestion isn't it? But of course, like so many things about Vision, it's so much more complicated than whats on the surface. He doesn't exactly know what he enjoys. But these moments are making it easier to discover it. There is one simple answer that he can give her right in this moment.
"I am doing something I enjoy." Its a simple, earnest, answer.
She blushes, glancing at him before looking away and shaking her head in amusement. He's unbelievable in many ways, but what Wanda focuses on the most is how he always manages to make her feel light.
Even when she feels utterly trapped beneath the rubble of her grief, Vision is always there, lending a hand and making it bearable. That's something she doesn't understand how he knows to do, but he simply does it. It's something she takes for granted and appreciates at the same time. His presence is always intoxicating for that reason.
"What about bike riding?" she asks, her face still flushed with heat. She looks at him with a smile. "That can be fun. I think they have some great routes we can ride along and see more of the city... and you seem to have great balance." As he has a great everything, really.
"Bike riding?" He blinks, the act is not foreign to him in the sense that he understands the concept. However it's something he's never done, hell it's something he's never even thought about doing. Not on his radar on the slightest.
But right there is why Wanda is good for him.
If he were still locked up tight under the Avengers beck and call there certainly wouldn't be little reflections of self like this. Did he like bike riding? Was coffee something that could be enjoyed? Would he like to see the entirety of the world and all the peoples in it? These were all questions that he didn't know he wanted answers to until he met the woman standing beside him now and every time they were together he found himself asking more and more of them and seeking the answers out together.
What they have may not be perfect but it is needed and as he ponders the deceptively simple question of 'do you want to go on a bike ride and see the city?' he squeezes Wanda's hand subconsciously before settling on his answer;
"I think I should like that. It does sound rather rousing."
"And if you don't, at least you'll know," she says.
It's important to her that Vision finds what he likes and doesn't like. Maybe he'll like bike riding. Maybe he won't. For her, it's the art of discovering it. Seeing him live normally is wonderful… and she likes the fact that she gets to see the look of awe or distaste on his face. It's special.
"It's okay if you don't like everything," she says, gently elbowing his side. "I don't want you to like everything. I don't like things."
He nods as she goes on. He's not entirely sure how he's going to enjoy biking, it's honestly not a thing that's ever crossed his mind. Not for any particular reason, but that's the thing. There's a lot about life he honestly hasn't ever considered and that's part of it's frustration and it's joy.
And one of the reasons these little trips away with Wanda were so eye opening in the first place. She put these little ideas in his head, like bicycle rides and trying Italian coffees.
He can't promise it's going to go well, but he will certainly give it a try. Though her comment of not liking everything that comes her way is an interesting thought in it's own right and as they find the little coffee shop exactly where it was told to be and they settle in to a spot inside the question burns at the forefront of his mind.
Wanda furrows her brows and tilts her head to the side in a show of thinking as she settles back into her seat. There are many things she doesn't like. War. Death. The end of things. Stories having unhappy endings. But those aren't the things she had meant when she had reminded Vision he has permission to dislike things.
She meant simple things. Easier things. The things that don't destroy homes or families.
"I'm not the biggest fan of orange juice," she says with a conspiratorial smile. "Or tomatoes. Birds used to scare me, but I've grown to appreciate them from a distance over the years," she chuckles. Those are all trivial things, things she wonders whether Vision will like at all. Has he been designed to like everything? Will he choose to like everything? It's something Wanda's curious about.
"And the dark," she says quietly with a small shake of her head and a soft smile, "I don't like the dark."
[ When Wanda wakes up, she makes sure to tiptoe around the small apartment as she prepares a little surprise for Pietro. While she suspects that he'll grow justifiably annoying today, incessantly reminding her of how he's twelve minutes older and therefore wiser (amongst many other positive descriptors), all Wanda wants to do is surprise him.
For the last couple of years, he's always been quicker and beaten her to the gift-giving and first-to-say-it punch. She supposes it has something to do with him being so unnaturally impatient and quick. HYDRA separating them during this time hadn't helped, either; Wanda's become insufferably clingy and Pietro has, too, in his own way.
She tiptoes around the kitchen and gently opens and closes cupboard doors. She's bought Pietro a little cupcake from the bakery that remains standing. Maria had been more than happy to bake a special cupcake for Pietro free of charge for his birthday. Sometimes Pietro's outrageous flirting and unnecessary charisma pay off.
She slots a candle in its very centre and smiles at her handiwork. She doesn't light it yet. It's not much, but she suspects that Pietro would be happy even if she gifted him a rock from outside for his birthday. But he deserves more than a rock. She would've gotten him a whole three-tiered expensive cake like she's seen in her television shows if she could've decided on the flavours and had the money.
Wanda tiptoes back to the bed and slowly climbs on top of him. Brushing her fingers in his hair and along the shell of his ear, she whispers, ] Pietro, wake up.
[ When they had still been teenagers, Wanda had enjoyed jumping on Pietro and screaming 'Happy Birthday!' on the birthdays when she managed to get up first. She likes that she's matured to a more Wanda-like approach—it's soft and slow, the two things she knows Pietro finds the most frustrating. ]
[It's rare that Pietro sleeps deeply enough to not notice when Wanda moves at all, let alone ventures out to the kitchen and back, trying to be quiet on creaky wooden floorboards. This morning is one of those times, the need to recharge from too much energy output over the last days catching up, and he doesn't so much as twitch the entire time she's gone about sneaking around. Even when she crawls over him, he doesn't move or squirm away. The soft and slow stroke of her fingertips along his ear, in his hair making his scalp tingle - that's what draws him out of it, a low noise of annoyance, snaking one arm out from under the blanket, gently batting away her hand.]
Don't do that.
[Gravelly and low, but a weak protest, because now he's awake and won't be able to sleep again. With an exaggerated sigh, Pietro shifts around in irritated little movements until he's propping himself up on one elbow, looking up at her with a put-upon glare that has more softness than edge.]
Happy Birthday.
[He is absolutely taking the opportunity to say it first, even if it sounds too quick and perfunctory while he wipes a line of drool from his beard with his thumb. He frowns and reaches with that same hand to finger a lock of her hair.]
[ Staying on top of him is a difficult feat, but Wanda embodies the impossible. She wants her weight to weigh him down so he can never move again. That would be nice, even if he'd grow irritated and annoying.
Perhaps she doesn't want that on her birthday. She does want it on his, though. Decisions, decisions.
She smacks at his hand lightly and scrunches her nose in annoyance at him. She was supposed to say it first! And she doesn't have grey hairs! Or that many, at least! ]
You have many grey hairs. [ She can mistake silver for grey, can't she? She ruffles her fingers through his hair roughly. ] So many.
[ But she drops her hand to press against the bed and makes no move to get off of him. Not yet, at least. There's one thing she wishes to do before he thinks about either stealing it from her or running away.
Wanda kisses his cheek. ]
And if I am old, you are older. I have a surprise for you.
[He allows the ruffling without pulling away, even has half a smile for her this early in the morning.]
At my age, it's dignified.
[Pietro can't help starting in on the 12 minutes already, and he's enough of a narcissist to state that proclamation confidently, even if 'dignified' is never a word that will be applied to him by anyone else. He reaches for her hand after that kiss, an almost unconscious need to lace their fingers together and seek closeness.]
[ She suspects he'll like it, even if Wanda worries he'll think it silly. They're not kids anymore. The smallest things used to make him so happy because they had nothing but each other. She still thinks it's the same, even if Pietro has more walls now to protect where he feels most vulnerable.
Squeezing his hand, Wanda reluctantly starts to roll off of him so most of her weight is on her side. The way she positions herself behind him almost makes it that they're spooning… although her legs remain over his as though she worries he'll run away if he has no anchor. ]
Do you think you can get out of bed? Or do you need help from someone younger and much prettier who can wear grey very, very nicely?
[He smirks even though she can't see it, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand idly, and pretending it's hard to move his legs out from under hers, only shifting them slightly.]
It might be difficult with such a heavy weight to move, crushing my old bones. Are you calling this pretty young lady for me? That is a good surprise.
[ She'd smother him if she knew her weight could manage, but Wanda rolls on top of him for a moment to press her feet flat against the floor. Never mind she could've slid off the bed on the other side and spared potentially bruising him. Another birthday gift from her. He was so lucky.
Without removing her hand from his, she looms over him and flicks his ear with her other hand. ]
Up. Up, up, up, up, up!
[ And she tugs at him hard, uncaring if she pops his shoulder. ]
[Pietro can't help but laugh at her antics, not because they're amusing right now. They're irritating, she's irritating, but what he sees in her at this moment is the past. How she'd been so energetic on birthdays - he was too, but he was always more easily excitable as a kid. For Wanda, it was a shift, a special day and he remembers how much she loved it when she'd gotten up before him just to be first at something on that day.]
I'm up!
[He grumbles like he'd rather not be, but he has no desire to curl back up under the blanket and his smile says as much. He's out of bed quickly, too quickly and nearly getting his foot caught in a twisted sheet, but never pulls his hand out of her grip, tolerating every insistent tug.]
[ She laughs. Wanda tugs at his hand viciously, uncaring if she happened to pop his arm out of its socket. This was very important! She liked her special days as much as she loved her sitcoms, and when she got to share them with Pietro, she felt like she was the little girl she once was who used to braid his hair and tug on it fiercely. She always took pride in making him laugh and smile and blush, and this was no different.
As soon as she pulls him away from the bed, she turns and steps into him, gripping his hand tightly. ]
Close your eyes, Pietro.
[ All that's missing from her demand is a stomp of her foot. ]
[Giving in has done nothing to stop her rough handling, but it's too early for Pietro to be annoyed enough at it to comment, only rolling his eyes and making one growling sound of frustration. Despite that, he closes his eyes with no protest, gesturing towards the doorway with a wave of his hand.]
They're closed. Let's go. It better be a good surprise.
[He says it like he might ever reject anything Wanda gives him. It's never about what, and that's why such small gifts and simple sentiments were always appreciated, even if he hadn't known why they'd always made him smile when they were younger.]
[ Narrowing her eyes, Wanda eyes him for a moment to confirm that he does, in fact, have his eyes closed. Once satisfied with her scrutiny, she grips both of his hands and leads him slowly to the kitchen. Even though Pietro could walk it backwards and upside down, there's something about being depended on by her big brother that makes Wanda feel good.
At the kitchen table, she tugs out the chair and gently pushes him to sit in it. ]
Do not open your eyes.
[ Wanda removes her hands from his shoulders and takes a seat beside him. She's without a lighter or match, but she holds her index finger over the dull candle and watches with happiness that her little spark of power is enough to set it alight. It glows red rather than the usual golden yellow. ]
You can open them now. [ She gently pushes the cupcake towards him with a bright smile. ] Happy birthday, Pietro.
[Pietro does his best to wait patiently through all the steps, and the second order was needed, as he had been ready to look as soon as he sat down. He taps his fingers on the table while she does whatever she has to to present this gift. When Wanda does allow him to open his eyes, he snorts, but it's not in derision. It's amusement. He could say something snarky or try to turn her gesture around on her somehow, but he doesn't. He wants to keep that happy smile on her face, where she glows brighter than the red flame on the candle.]
Thank you.
[It's soft, and he smiles faintly, something more real than the flashy smiles he has for people at the market or out in the street. It's a very small thing, the cupcake, but like all those birthdays before, it's all Pietro needs. He reaches out playfully as if he's going to touch the flame just to see if it's hot like actual fire.]
[ Wanda smacks his hand away and hisses, ] Don't touch it!
[ She can't confirm whether the flame is hot enough to burn his skin. Given what her powers can do, she's afraid that it'll hurt Pietro when she never wanted to. All she wanted to do was see if her powers could be used for something good… and she likes that they can. She likes disarming Pietro and making him smile unguarded as he is. ]
I will have small piece. [ She smiles at him. She's always had the smaller appetite, but for this, she wants to ensure he enjoys it. ] I had it especially made for you. I wanted you to have something nice.
[ She wrings her hands in her lap. ] Something special for once.
[ It's not a new pair of shoes, like she wanted to get him, and it's not a watch or anything fancy. She can only hope he likes it as much as she loves the smile on his face. ]
[Pietro waves her efforts off as unnecessary, hesitating just a split second before blowing out the candle. It could extinguish as expected, or blow up the kitchen, her unpredictable weird magic could have any imaginable outcome. When nothing happens but a small black trail of smoke rising from the wick, he looks back at Wanda.]
It's not what you give me that's special.
[He looks uncomfortable after saying something so sappy, and digs into the cupcake frosting to distract from it, taking a large glob of it to suck off his finger like a child.]
It's good. Think what a disaster it would have been if you'd made it yourself.
[ Wanda rolls her eyes. If it wasn't his birthday, perhaps she'd shove him. She'd like to shove him as her own birthday wish, but his happiness is enough to fight the urge.
Instead, she follows him, swiping some icing with her finger and sucking it. ]
I can bake! There wasn't any cupcake batter left at the store.
[ And she had been so indecisive about what to get him when she did see batter at the store. Did she get chocolate? Vanilla? It had been easier to simply request it made than to potentially ruin it.
When she swipes at the cupcake again, she holds out her finger for him. ]
[He can't resist poking further, his smile this time more of a smirk, though in truth Pietro doesn't think her baking is bad at all. Wanda knows his tastes and he expects that she doesn't experiment or deviate from them too often in case he wouldn't like any strange concoctions, despite also knowing he'd eat anything she made, whether he complains about it or not. For a birthday though, something has to be 'special' and 'perfect', not typical, at least according to Wanda. Gently grabbing her wrist, Pietro leans in to lick the icing from her finger, ostensibly lingering just to be thorough and get all of it off, but his teeth graze and his tongue curls and slides over her skin after there's nothing left of the frosting.]
[ While Wanda narrows her eyes playfully at him, she drops her gaze to his mouth. Maybe this had been a bad idea, but she'd wanted him to enjoy the majority of this cupcake as she had gotten it for him and not herself.
But it's also her birthday… and she much likes Pietro's attention. ]
Pietro…
[ She warns, but she clears her throat gently and gently pokes the cupcake with the index finger of her other hand. She pushes it toward him so that he doesn't forget there's more than just the icing to enjoy. ]
You should try it. Unless you want me to feed it to you?
[ That'd be dangerous. Perhaps another birthday gift for her? ]
[He looks like he's considering that for a half a second as he pulls back from her finger. Releasing her wrist, he shakes his head.]
You'd take forever.
[Very dangerous. Pietro turns his attention to the cupcake, cutting off less than a quarter of it, but a portion where most of the icing remains, and holds the fork out to Wanda. She did only want a small piece and he is obliging.]
That's yours.
[He has the rest of the cupcake in his hand already, going to eat it in two bites... followed by that piece on the fork if she doesn't take it quickly enough.]
[ Thankfully, Wanda's learned from her previous dawdling mistakes, especially when it comes to food. She's quick to bow her head and bite that piece of cupcake on the fork so Pietro doesn't have it. Holding her hand over her mouth, Wanda smiles at him.
She frowns. ] You don't have enough icing.
[ But she's always liked the eat the icing off of any cake and hand him the rest to eat. She lifts her small portion and bites off the icing before holding the cupcake out to him.
Perhaps she got that a little mixed up? Oh, well. She's older now; her memory isn't what it was yesterday. ]
[He smiles as she offers the cake and not the icing, but it's to be expected.]
That's part's good too, you know.
[Pietro doesn't hesitate to grab that discarded piece though - she doesn't want it, it's his, and that simple rule is how he'd ended up eating far more than his fair share of birthday cakes over the years. When he's finished, which doesn't take long, he licks the crumbs off the bottom of the candle too, just because it was there sitting on the table.]
It was a very good surprise, and-
[He stops suddenly, looking mildly concerned, and leans closer to Wanda, his thumb going for the side of her mouth.]
You've got icing everywhere. It's embarrassing.
[She does not, and it's solely an excuse to touch.]
[ Wanda catches herself quickly, but perhaps not as quickly as Pietro. Smoothing out her frown, she stays still beneath his touch as she watches him. If he's looking for a gift to give her, this one suffices well enough.
She does her best not to move her face or part her lips too much in case she dislodges his thumb from the corner of her mouth. ]
Are you just moving it around my face? It feels like you're not even wiping it away.
[He makes a dismissive 'pfft' noise - of course that's not what he's doing, even if would be had she actually had icing on her face.]
I got it. I got it.
[Pietro brings his thumb back too fast, to lick off nonexistent icing that Wanda won't be able to prove wasn't there. Pushing his chair away from the table, he stands, leans down to kiss the top of her head, and returns to the bedroom.]
I'm getting dressed, then I have something for you too! Don't think I'm not three steps ahead of you planning surprises!
[ Wanda sighs in exasperation as she smiles at him fondly. Pietro always has to be first. The first born, the first to win a race, the first to do anything. Wanda's only victory is being the first one to speak. ]
You are always three steps behind, Pietro.
[ She remains where she is, expecting that he'd much prefer she doesn't follow him on his heels and ruin his allegedly three steps ahead surprise. ]
You were the one who was still asleep. I think you are getting slow in your old age.
[When Pietro exits the bedroom again, it's not with an elaborate plan in place or a flashy surprise, only holding a small package in his hand. Thin and square wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a frayed piece of twine that had likely been discarded from something else. It's been sitting inside one of his old worn-out shoes in the closet for the last few days, one place he was fairly certain Wanda wouldn't stick her hand into, even for present hunting. He holds it out to her with a small smile.]
Happy Birthday, Wanda.
[He'd already said it, but that been simply to get it out before she did, and his words hold more sentiment the second time. Unwrapping the present, she'll find a leaded glass trinket, recognisable as the type of suncatchers Izak sells at the market - usually abstract with whatever colours the man had on hand from collecting broken bottles and other assorted shards from rubble piles, this design is distinctly the head of a sunflower. Mottled brown centre, the petals partially darkening to orange in one section when he'd run out of brighter yellow, outlines in both black and grey, bent from what metal pieces had been available and the easiest to work with, the far more common traditional green glass used only for the background. A small wire loop is attached to the top, so Wanda can hang it in a window and let the light filter through.]
[ Pietro could wrap a small empty box for her in brown paper and she would think it's the best thing in the world. But what he ends up giving her is better than anything in the world he's given her.
Wanda gasps, her eyes widening almost comically at the gift. While she may drop the brown paper and frayed twine onto the floor without too much care, she holds the gift delicately like it's the most prized thing she owns. Aside from Pietro and her DVDs, it is. ]
Pietro…
[ She smiles brightly as she gently holds it up by its wire and watches it spin as though there's a gentle breeze twisting it around. ]
It's beautiful. [ More than that. Wanda smiles widely, brighter than the sun, and looks at him past the bright yellow petals. ] I love sunflowers.
[ Something he knows, given she's always loved them. If she had her choice, their apartment would be covered in them, but they've become so hard to find given the war.
Carefully placing it down on the table, she launches herself at Pietro and hugs him tightly. ]
[Wanda's reaction is everything Pietro wanted, and even though he complains about her tight hug, there's quiet laughter in it.]
You're going to crush my spine.
[He makes no move to let go of her either, holding her almost as firmly. Pietro's gifts have never been things he'd truly put much thought into, as neither of them cared enough about material objects over the meaning behind gestures, not since that day everything changed irreparably and all they'd had left was each other. It's why he steals mostly for other people and not himself, not things that aren't essential. They'd gotten by with almost nothing sometimes for years in a row and that had always been okay, because they were together.
Only now, they're living more dangerous lives, have done things they can't come back from, involved themselves in serious and risky endeavours, and it's hit him that it might not turn out well. HYDRA experiments could have gone terribly and fatally wrong, and had for everyone else. Separating them had done nothing but fuel more possessive tendencies in Pietro, knowing Wanda was right there on the other side of that wall, so close and he was unable to touch her or even look at her see for himself that she was alright.
Every moment has become more important, and he wants to make her smile like this whenever he can, allow her every back-breaking hug she wants, give her something special on their birthday because maybe they won't be together for the next one. He can't give her a field of sunflowers to look down on instead of the dirty snow out in the street, but Wanda has a vivid imagination and can do the rest herself.]
I'm glad you like it. It was a lot of work.
[For Izak, but Pietro had gone glass hunting for him and technically helped, so he's sure to make it sound like it was a personal effort.]
[ Wanda doesn't ease up on her spine-crushing hug. Perhaps she should show him some mercy, but Pietro should have thought of that himself before gifting her something that she'll go to the ends of the earth to defend. If his spine is crushed, then it is his fault, not hers.
Pietro gave her a sunflower. This is her sunflower. Of all the things he could've gotten her, never in her wildest dreams did she think he'd give her the one thing she wished Sokovia would allow to flourish.
She presses her cheek against his chest and scrunches her nose in happiness before she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses his cheek. She breaks the spine-crushing hug to cup his cheeks and pepper his face with kisses. Perhaps those of the face-crushing kind? Wanda's not gentle. ]
Telling Izak to make this for me was a lot of work? [ Her laughter bubbles out of her as she leans back but keeps her hands on his cheeks. ] Tsk, tsk, Pietro. You outdo yourself.
[In a good enough mood not to get annoyed by the over-enthusiastic kisses, Pietro only continues to smile for a moment, and what was supposed to be irritated scoff on principle is just a light chuckle. He brings one hand up to gently grab Wanda's wrist, but doesn't move her hand from his face.]
You're worth the extra effort.
[He furrows his eyebrows and looks like he might be wanting to take that back the second after he'd said it, an accompanying dismissive hand gesture as he corrects himself.]
Wanda rolls her eyes, unable to stop smiling. She gazes up at him like he's hung the sun for her—and, in a way, he's done just that. What he's given her can never be trumped by anything else, even when he's leaning heavily into his Pietroisms. He can't ruin this.
Squishing his cheeks to annoy him, Wanda lifts up onto her feet and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. ]
It's perfect. For once, you are the best gift giver.
[Pietro finally moves her hands from his cheeks, Wanda's gone too far with the squishing. Keeping his fingers wrapped around her wrists, he looks down at her in feigned disappointment.]
'The best' and that's all the appreciation I get?
[He drops one of her wrists to cup her jaw and leans down for an example of a better 'thank you' kiss - lingering and insistent, running his tongue along her bottom lip as he pulls back.]
Wanda lets her hand hang, not wishing to place it back on his face and possibly draw his attention away from the path he's travelling down now. This is another present for her, even if he doesn't see it. She smiles up at him, wishing that he'd kiss her once again as another 'thank you'.
There's a way she can have that birthday wish come true.
She cocks her brow as she gazes up at him haughtily. ] The whole cupcake? You ate my piece, too. You don't seem very grateful for that at all.
[He's quite willing to accept that assessment, though, letting her other hand go and snaking his arm around her as he goes in for another kiss. Harder and more focused, exploring her mouth thoroughly, just to be sure it's appropriately appreciative.]
[ Wanda knows she's sporting a rather dumbfounded expression as she peers up at him. Ah, yes; this is what it means when the girls say they know when a boy knows how to kiss. It's something she's always known about Pietro, but sometimes she finds herself gobsmacked by it. She licks her bottom lip absently and wonders if she's still breathing at all. ]
No. [ She says it too quietly. Her face is flushed and the apartment's starting to feel a little warmer than before.
That kiss had been more than grateful, but Wanda wishes to be selfish on her birthday. Even more selfish, given everything he's given her already. ]
I had that cupcake especially made for you. That was like you were thanking me for having gotten any other cupcake.
[Pietro snorts, but it turns into more of an amused huff of a noise.]
You are pushing it.
[He runs his fingers along the side of Wanda's flushed face, studying her expression and debating whether he should give in this early.]
But... it is your birthday, and it was especially made.
[After that statement, his hands are at her sides and he lifts her without warning, turning to set her down on the edge of the table. He slides the suncatcher out of the way, careful not to do so hastily. Leaning over her, he braces one arm on the table and kisses her again, abruptly but as long and slow as he can manage. Before he's done, his hand is wandering along her thigh.]
[ But Wanda presses her hand back against the table, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that the sun catcher is nowhere where it could possibly break. It's the one thing in Sokovia aside from Pietro that Stark's bombs are not allowed to destroy.
She slides a little along the table to get comfortable, parting her legs even more so she can hook her feet beneath his ass and capture him. She ignores her shiver at his hand on her thigh. She wishes that she'd opted to wear just her underwear without the little pyjama shorts Inessa hadn't lifted for her. It'd make for a better landing for Pietro's hand. ]
I merely state facts, Pietro. [ She declares it with an upward tilt of her head. Brushing her other hand against his face, Wanda wonders when he'll grow tired of her legs trapping him in one spot. ] It is a very special cupcake. No one else will ever have that cupcake. I think you can be a little more grateful in your old age, hm?
[His fingers just starting to creep under the edge of Wanda's shorts, Pietro pulls them back with an annoyed sigh as she continues harping. He can't really make as big of a scene as he wants to with her trapping his legs and her hand on his face while he leans on one arm, but he's going to try. He settles for waving his free hand wildly and leaving his arm outstretched like he would have done with both of them, one half of a 'what now?' gesture, and rolling his eyes in exasperation.]
This is not grateful enough for you? What is it you want, hmm?
[He shrugs and levels an expectant gaze at Wanda.]
I'm waiting.
[And Pietro hates waiting, he's being very patient with these antics this early in the morning.]
[ Pietro must mean it if he's waiting. Wanda thinks to stall, but it's his birthday and he's twelve minutes older than he was last night, so she considers it a kindness that she shows him mercy on such a day. Reluctantly unwrapping her legs from around him, she lets them hang off the edge of the table as she withdraws her hand from his face. Resting her other hand behind her, she peers up at him and sighs dramatically. ]
I want kiss here. [ She taps the corner of her mouth before she smiles knowingly up at him. If he wants to know how he should show his gratitude, then she'll encourage him to do it at her pace: nice and slow. Appreciative. ]
[His initial smugness over getting her to tell him what she wants is short-lived. Pietro scoffs, mostly to himself, after she brings her finger to the corner of her mouth and smiles like that. It's going to be slow, and not more of something like he'd expected, but less. Pushing Wanda into being direct was a bad and poorly thought out move.]
Really.
[It's not even a question, he's just resigned to the fact that Wanda can always find a way to undermine him, and Pietro will go along with it the majority of the time, no matter how much he might protest first. She has so much power over him and he doesn't think she even knows.]
And you always get what you want, don't you?
[It's chiding, but rhetorical. Even though her legs are no longer wrapped around his, Pietro feels just as rooted to that spot as before. One gentle hand on her neck, twirling a strand of her hair idly in his fingers, he gives her that kiss - too light and slow, and with more reverence that he'd ever admit to thinking Wanda deserves.]
[ Not always. What Wanda often wants is fantastical. She wants the perfect picket fence life where bombs don't break walls and floors and suck parents into black holes. She wants to have the reaffirmation that Pietro will never leave her, even though she knows he never will by choice. Telling Pietro as much will only encourage him to roll his eyes and erect his walls. He sees the world for all the black in it while she tries to find all the cracks of light.
He's the biggest burst of light for her.
She smiles as he entertains her request and swings her legs gently for a moment before stilling. She sighs wistfully and smiles. This kiss is enough, but she's always been greedy for more of him.
She gazes at him softly, almost as though she's sated with merely that. But she's Wanda, and she'll keep asking for more of him as long as he continues to give himself to her. ]
Here next. [ She tilts her head to the side and taps her fingers on the underside of her jaw. ]
[With the way Wanda looks at him right now, a reflection of his own internal contentment for the smallest of affections he in turn gets from her, everything else falls away. This moment is hers, theirs, and Pietro will kiss her anywhere she wants, as slowly and attentively as she wants... for as long as he can stand it.]
You're impossible.
[It's nothing but affectionate, murmured against the delicate skin underneath her jaw, his typical grousing still habitual but downplayed on this one day. He can give her that.]
[ Wanda briefly closes her eyes as she hums in contentment. She rests most of her weight against the table, thinking next about how to continue to be as impossible as Pietro claims she is. She should be content with what he's given her, but Wanda never is. She always wants more from him, especially in the moments where he's willing to give anything silly she demands. ]
Here.
[ She brushes her fingers against her collarbones, looking at him expectantly. ]
[Pietro holds growing vexation for his inability to refuse her on this, sighing internally as he obediently kisses her collarbone. Not in one spot, but very very slowly going along the entire length, gently aiming to make marks, and issuing minor complaints every moment he isn't actively tonguing and sucking on her skin.]
We go any slower here and we'll be here all day.
[Despite his best effort not to show it, that does come with a tinge of actual irritation, but it's not for Wanda.]
You're not even dressed yet. Don't you want breakfast? Have other plans? It is your birthday...
[ Wanda feels vulnerable admitting as much. What if Pietro had other plans and other people to see? What if he wanted to spend some of the day away from his twelve minutes younger shadow? Sometimes Wanda's surprised by when both of them seem to make plans that don't involve the other. It feels as though the world is inside out and upside down when that happens.
She smiles at him and brushes her fingers roughly through his hair. ]
I will have breakfast when you have breakfast and I will get dressed when you get dressed. Although, I think I am dressed fine.
[He rolls his eyes in exasperation. Granted, 'getting dressed' had just involved putting on sweatpants and a warmer shirt and Pietro looks no more ready to leave the apartment than she does, and the cupcake hardly counts as breakfast.]
But... I'm not going to complain if you decide to wear these all day.
[He plays with the hem of Wanda's shorts while there's no current demand for kisses.]
Now, your plans? Awful. You've given this no thought at all and you've had an entire year to plan things. Of course you want to spend the day with me, but what do we do?
[ She pouts. Although, she does intend to press him later in the day to see if he'll give in and watch television. Wanda enjoys it when Pietro concedes much to his own displeasure. It's cute when he pouts.
She sighs dramatically and glances down at her shorts. Perhaps she can wear these for him for his birthday. Sometimes Pietro is so easy to give gifts to.
She fingers his shirt. ] We need to go to the park. [ The park that still looks like a park, even if the flowers look like they're dying and there'd dust along the benches. It's still a nice hideaway from the world around them, and a nice spot to sit and enjoy. ] Your friends will want to see you before the wrinkles set in.
[ Wanda quickly brushes her fingers between his brows and traces the slope of his nose. ]
[Pietro knows that look, and she'll use that same little pout to convince him to watch something horrible later, picking from the worst DVDs they have available. Her suggestion gets an affirmative shrug, though.]
We'll go to the park.
[He remembers when it used to be nicer, he thinks, when someone manicured the grass in the summer, there were flowers most of the year that weren't the way they are now, more like twisted weeds among barren patches. It's more inviting in the winter now, when a layer of snow or a hard frost covers everything and they can pretend it isn't a poor reflection of what it used to be. Even then, it somehow manages to have a serenity to it every time they go, infrequently, and he attributes more than half of that feeling to nostalgia for things that aren't ever quite the way he recalls them. Wanda will want to sit on the benches and 'relax' forever, but Pietro intends to wander around and she'll just have to come along with him while he talks (and flirts) with people that aren't her and maybe gets distracted playing with someone's dog.]
Will you stop?
[Pulling Wanda's hand away gently, he frowns just to make the most exaggerated wrinkles, and looks at her with pity.]
Maybe I have one or two. It's you they're not going to recognize. So much scrunching your nose, now there are lines everywhere and you look ten years older. It's getting embarrassing to be seen with you and claim you are my twin.
[ Speaking of scrunching her nose, she does so on purpose as she pulls a face at him. She taps his nose once more with her other hand, unable to help herself. He may be quick and restless, but Wanda likes to press buttons until things and people almost explode.
She tilts her head to the side as she eyes him curiously. ]
If I look like I am ten years older, does that mean you will now listen to me?
[ Of course, she knows the answer. No. He will never listen to her. Even if she was to physically age more quicker than him, he would still laud the fact that he's twelve minutes older over her head. It's exasperating most times, but Wanda knows what it is. It's his way of being there for her and looking after her when he won't admit that's what he wants to do. ]
[He scoffs like that isn't even an option worthy of being entertained, nevermind the fact that Pietro does what she wants a great deal of the time. Especially when he can ignore something was Wanda's idea to begin with and take it as his own, which is exactly what he's going to do with the park outing.]
No matter how old and wrinkly you get, I am sorry to say.
[He runs his finger down her nose like she had done to him, then abruptly dismisses anything they'd started, the suncatcher wobbling on the table top as he quickly slides past to go searching through cabinets and the refrigerator for a few seconds as if he's going to make a hurried breakfast because they're late for something, a frying pan clattering on the stove, a carton of eggs balanced precariously on the edge of the sink. Pietro looks over his shoulder with an impatient raise of his eyebrows, gesturing at Wanda with a spatula.]
Will you get off the table and stop playing around? I would like to get to the park sometime today, Wanda!
[It's loud enough for the neighbour across the hallway to hear - everyone has to know he's the one in charge here, unfortunately stuck with the worst and slowest sister possible, just imagine what he has to deal with.]
[ Wanda sighs as she twists on the table and ensures that sun catcher isn't going to topple off and over the side. It'd be a pity to lose something so beautiful to the consequence of Pietro's impatience.
Sliding off the table, Wanda pivots on her foot as though she's about to leave the kitchen and get ready… but she approaches him and leans against his back, wrapping her arms around his middle. She rests her cheek against his back. ]
Once we have breakfast, we can go. I'm all ready.
[ In her pyjama shorts, which he insisted she wear, and he can wear his track pants that aren't quite as impressive as some of the stupidly tight pants he chooses to wear. How he moves in them is beyond her. ]
[Pietro rests one hand over her arms almost automatically, to make sure she keeps them there wrapped around him instead of prying them off, even if he complains about it directly after.]
Always so clingy.
[He welcomes the heat of Wanda's body against his back, though, and it's slowing him down enough to exercise more caution with the stove. He has a bad habit of cooking everything on high to get it done faster, burning many things in the process when he tries to do too much at once or forgets about something he'd started after it's been half a minute.]
Make yourself useful if you're going to bother me here.
[It's punctuated by tossing a loaf of sliced bread on the counter next to the toaster, but he doesn't let her go to allow her to move.]
[ Wanda knows every time Pietro pushes her away that he's always so desperate to pull her back. But she's particularly grateful that he doesn't push her away now, not when it's his birthday and she feels like being closer to him. It's another year together, another year of surviving gunfire and bombs and the unknown consequences of the experimentation Wanda's still unsure they ever should've participated in.
She likes taking moments to be grateful for what she has. And she's grateful that she has Pietro.
She squeezes him a little more tightly and keeps her cheek pressed against his back, although she does smile at his bossiness. ]
I will need my arms to toast the bread, unless I am to do it with my mind?
[ It's a joke, but considering Wanda's found things relocating concidentally to the location she had wanted them to, she's wondering if she means that literally. ]
[He pauses for a moment, ready to crack and egg on the side of the frying pan, turning his attention instead from the stove to the toaster. Could she do it? They'd both had erratic fluctuations in abilities early on, though Pietro hadn't gotten to witness much of whatever happened with Wanda's first-hand. It should be simple, in theory, to float slices of bread and set them in the toaster, pull the lever... and now he's curious over whether she's capable of that precise control for things that aren't destructive, or if the toaster would melt or some other worst case scenario. He shrugs. The candle had gone pretty well, after all.]
[ Now that he encourages it, Wanda loses her nerve immediately. She flexes her hands against his belly and considers pulling back and suggesting they try next time in a fluster. But it's safe to do so here with Pietro. He's not Strucker or his men. He won't be disappointed or utter cruel words because she can't seem to pick a stupid wooden block up off the floor like she's some child learning how the basics of playing with toys.
Still, she clutches at the fabric of his shirt as she looks toward the toaster. Should she look? Should she not look? Even when she had been separated from him, she could still feel him through the wall and imagine every single movement he made simply because Pietro is a part of her.
Wanda concentrates a bit too hard as she peers over his shoulder and looks at the loaf of bread wrapped in plastic. Without anyone's fingers touching it, the wrapping slowly begins to peel as though beneath clumsy hands. It moves jerkily before it pulls back roughly, and the second slice is scrunched between a tight hold of an invisible index and thumb.
It's not as perfect as Wanda wants it to be. She lets out an annoyed huff as the slice of bread rises and then drops against the counter. She'd discarded it on purpose. Her face flushes hot with frustration. ]
[Wanda telegraphs her anxiety so obviously in her hands, nervous movements of her fingers, grabbing at his shirt. There's no confidence in it that Pietro can read, and he can picture her almost hiding behind him while she concentrate. They've left the facility, but it still angers him when he's reminded of how Wanda came out of it. How they'd broken her down with callous words and no empathy, while all she'd done was try to control and master something completely foreign to her without enough time to do it. HYDRA needed them, they were the last ones left, and they'd only managed to discourage Wanda from reaching her potential, making her too apprehensive of retaliation for mistakes that she keeps holding back even now that they're home. Her continued hesitancy frustrates him, but Pietro understands it, even if he still wishes she'd push past it, that it was easier for her to.
They'd tried the same approach with Pietro, but none of it worked on him. He'd reacted too violently to it, on one occasion impulsively rushing one of Strucker's men and slamming him into the wall with such velocity he'd heard something crack. He's not sure what happened to that man after the rest of them dragged his unconscious body out of the cell. But they never spoke that way to Pietro again. Not when he couldn't stop his hands from shaking, not when he'd had difficulty with spatial awareness and tripped over his own feet, or when he'd used too much force and run into a wall for the twelfth time in one day. He'd figured his own shit out without any further 'encouragement'.
The bread flops sadly to the counter, and Pietro sighs to himself. He doesn't speak right away, because the things he says sometimes - most of the time - are rude and snappy and inconsiderate, and the last thing he wants is to inadvertently nudge Wanda further into her shell. He turns away from the toaster, cracks the egg and lets it fall into the pan with a sizzling noise. Slowly, he rubs his thumb over the back of Wanda's hand.]
If you want. I thought you were doing very well.
[As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows they sound wrong. Maybe placating. Too soft. Something that isn't him. But he tried.]
[ The softness might feel strange to Pietro, but it's what Wanda needs. Even if he happened to snap at her, she'd still find comfort in his words. He believes in her. Even when she's exasperating him, Pietro always believes in her without question. He knows when to push and he knows when not to. Wanda's always been the quieter of the two of them, letting her thoughts overflow and even drown her. He's always been on the run, perhaps from the very thing she seems to embrace.
She squeezes him. There's a chance her acknowledging his encouragement might prompt him to disappear in a flurry of motion to get away from the sentiment. ]
No. I'll try again as long as we don't mind squashed bread.
[ She doubts Pietro would mind. Even if the toaster ended up burning the bread until it was charcoal, he'd still eat it like it was the best meal he'd ever had.
Still pressed up against him, Wanda lifts the bread up again. It's still slightly dented, but that hardly matters. It floats as though held by an invisible hand as it glides toward the toaster. It takes her two tries to slot the slice into its tray. Readjusting the settings, she pushes the toast down without any trouble.
And then she realises it was only one slice of bread. ]
Well… [ She chuckles. ] that one can be mine.
[ It's not Wanda unless she does things so slowly. At least this time was by accident! ]
[Pietro tries his best to be patient, while Wanda continues clinging and he's trapped between her and the stove, and the partially squished slice of bread drifts through the air so slowly. It settles into the slot finally on the second try, and it's only when the lever clicks and nothing terrible happens than he realises he was waiting for that, focusing so much on what Wanda was doing just in case he had to fix it. He almost issues a compliment for this small success, but he's done enough of that for this morning.]
I want that one.
[He chooses to argue instead, for no reason but to dispel any tension that might be left.]
So don't burn it.
[Reaching over his shoulder with the spatula, Pietro gently taps it against the top of Wanda's head, not entirely oblivious to the fact he's getting bits of egg in her hair.]
[ And that's very, very true. Wanda never wants to let go of Pietro. Letting go of him means being alone, and she's had enough of that during their time with HYDRA to last many, many lifetimes.
But she scrunches her nose and reluctantly pulls away, brushing her fingers through her hair and flicking the egg at him. ]
You got egg in my hair.
[ Rather than wander to the loaf of bread to get the other slice out, Wanda stands a little away from him so as not to crowd him and points her finger very much like Sabrina Spellman at the bread. She furrows her brows in concentration as she easily pulls the slice away from the loaf and floats it more confidently through the air. She drops it on the counter beside the toaster.
When it dings, she doesn't move to grab a plate. She does as she had done so before, feeling a burst of confidence because of Pietro's encouragement. She opens the cupboard, telekinetically gently pulls two plates out, and places them on the counter. His squashed bread with burnt tips follows with her placing it on the plate she's designated as his and she slots her slice of bread into the toaster and pushes down on the lever.
She smiles proudly at him. ]
I'm getting better at it. One day I could do all the chores from the couch while I watch television.
[There are no forthcoming apologies for the egg, even as she retaliates. Once Wanda moves away to give him more room, Pietro attempts to pay more attention to finishing breakfast, but glances over every few seconds to keep an eye on things, especially once the plates are out of the cupboard, and he's ready to rush over there and catch them should Wanda drop them. She doesn't even fumble, and when she looks so pleased about it, Pietro smiles back awkwardly like he's trying not to but can't help it.]
Don't get ahead of yourself. You got lucky. Tomorrow, you will be breaking dishes all over the floor.
[He waves her off, though he does like hearing her have some kind of ambition, even if it's simply to use her powers for domestic and mundane things. He's well aware it's the kind of life she wants, but he has a hard time considering it an actual possible future, despite having participated in some less-than-ideal form of it for years. His thoughts are just never there, as if their lives are still in some temporary flux and Pietro keeps waiting for something else. Turning off the stove, he takes little care with distributing his cooking to plates she'd set out - it leaves much to be desired, just an entire carton's worth of eggs, the yolks runny in places, fully cooked through in others, and liberally 'sprinkled' with far too much black pepper and turmeric. Wanda gets two of them slid onto her plate, looking sad and barren in comparison when Pietro piles the rest on top of the misshapen toast for himself.]
[ When her toast pops up, she doesn't move to go and retrieve it from the toaster. With a pointed finger, she drops it onto her plate, smiling widely at how seamless that felt. It'd been a touch wobbly, but it hadn't fallen to the floor this time.
Cocking her brow at his plate, she moves to grab it. ] This one is clearly mine.
[ But she tries to steal both of the plates to take to the table, not wanting Pietro to have to burden himself with such a mundane task after the took the time to cook them an assortment of eggs. She's grateful that he's given her at least one runny one—she much prefers to dip her toast into it and frustrate him than to eat the entire egg. ]
Hurry up before I drop your dish all over the floor.
[ Because she wants the chairs pulled out, they pull out themselves. ]
If that's yours, you have to eat it all. After I made it for you, it's only polite.
[Pietro rolls his eyes as she walks away, and makes a show of trailing behind, though it annoys him to do so. Grabbing his chair firmly, he leaves that sluggish display behind to sit quickly, half expecting Wanda to pull it out from under him with one twitch of a finger. He slides her plate towards him, she'd chosen the one she wanted, hadn't she?]
[ She shakes her head as she chuckles. She cannot eat all of this. There are too many eggs! And there's so much to eat… She pushes his plate toward him and eyes hers, wondering if she can inconspicuously steal it. ]
This is yours. You slaved away over the stove—and it is your birthday. I insist you have it.
[ It's only polite, of course—and that's what Wanda is: polite. She pushes the plate toward him, smiling sweetly. ]
[He'll take that plate back, and for a moment act like he's going to eat that and Wanda's meal too, keeping her plate close to his his and hunching over a bit. Completely ignoring her, he cuts off a large piece of overcooked egg and toast with his fork. Then he looks up, and pushes her plate back towards her like he's offering her scraps as an afterthought, though it's offset by his his foot running up her leg under the table.]
I can part with that much. You should eat something.
[ She scrunches up her nose and makes a face at him as he claims her plate. Grateful that she doesn't have to steal it from right out beneath his nose, she tugs it closer to her in case he has any ideas. He has long arms and he's quick, but she thinks she can defeat him when needed. ]
I eat.
[ Not as much as him, granted. His stomach is a bottomless pit, something she thinks the sceptre had taken into account before he had become faster than a bullet.
She picks up her knife and fork and slices into her egg to make the yolk spill. Tearing into her toast, she dips it and smiles happily. ]
I could eat you beneath the table, but I don't to spare your feelings. I'm quite nice.
[ She considers closing her legs, but Wanda parts them and extends her leg to try and touch his other one. If she responds, he'll win this game—and Wanda doesn't want him to win this particular one. ]
[He snorts, trying to imagine Wanda even attempting to eat the amount of food he does in a day.]
You never did like to show off.
[Not nearly as much as Pietro does, not in the same way, Wanda's theatrics of a far less boisterous and self-important nature. She's issuing some kind of challenge with that drag of her foot over his calf, and he doesn't react for more than a split-second, one small twitch, then continuing on with what he'd started, determined to make her break first.]
There's no room for me to when you show off all the time.
[ She smiles at him, not dropping her gaze to beneath the table. It's no secret that Wanda likes to hide behind Pietro. He's twelve minutes older and taller, and he'd been who she had hid behind when Stark's bomb kept beeping when her television had finally lost power. It's safe in his shadow, but it's also safe being in the wide open in front of him.
When he doesn't react to her foot, she applies a little more pressure as she slides her toes up his lower leg and presses her foot against his knee. Wanda eats her toast, pretending that she's not trying to make him fidget in his seat. ]
[Pietro curls his toes and presses his foot harder against the floor, trying to keep his leg still when Wanda hits one spot at his knee - it's barely any pressure, but it makes him want to jerk his leg back in reflex. He slides his way further up her leg too in retaliation, only reaching higher has his knee hitting the table from the underside. The soft thudding noise goes ignored as Pietro pretends they're doing nothing here but eating.]
Why do you do that? It's disgusting.
[He waves his hand disapprovingly at Wanda dipping her toast in the egg yolk. He's been eating pieces of toast with egg together and it's exactly the same thing, but there's no acknowledgement of it. Starting any sort of argument or complaint is just a distraction for himself.]
[ Wanda smiles and withholds her amused snort. Two can play at this game of pretend, perhaps her better than him considering all the play pretend she has under her belt. ]
Because you don't like it.
[ And she makes it a point to push her next small piece of toast into the egg yolk and eat it with a wide smile. If it's so disgusting, why does it taste so good and why are you eating it the same way? ]
Mm. Deliciously disgusting.
[ Wanda wishes to see him hit his knee again. She pushes her foot past his knee and along his upper thigh, applying some more pressure. Just in case he can't feel it. ]
[He sighs in exasperation after she's admitted she does it solely because she thinks it annoys him, and he admonishes her with that as if he isn't equally as juvenile when it comes to their pointless sniping. Pietro shifts in his chair when her foot reaches his thigh, bringing his other leg back to trap hers between his.]
If you keep this up, you know we're not getting to the park.
But Wanda doesn't say as much, fearing that if she does, he'll clam shut and not let her have her fun without an audience. It's so much more fun to tease him when Olga and Alina and all of his friends aren't around. Less time for her to grow quietly sulky and flustered. ]
We will go later.
[ Wanda doesn't look away from him, allowing herself to smile slowly. She wiggles her foot between his, wanting to push further up his thigh to her desired destination. ]
[He slides lower in his chair, bringing her foot all that closer, letting go of any subtlety. Though he keeps up a modicum of pretense, not breaking eye contact either and pushing bits of egg around on his plate as if enjoying a leisurely breakfast.]
The park is better in the afternoon.
[Pietro makes it sound like a begrudging concession, but he'd rather stay home too. At least for a while.]
She rips her toast again and dips what she can into her yolk while watching him. He moves and her foot slides further up his thigh, and Wanda can easily read between the lines of his words without having to skim the surface of his mind.
She extends her foot until her toes brush against his crotch. She doesn't pull back, but keeps the pressure there, wondering if Pietro will shift back or snap or decide that while the park is best enjoyed in the afternoon, errands can be done in the morning. ]
[His thigh twitches and he squirms slightly, but he doesn't pull away from her foot or slide ahead any further. The only other sign of it getting to him is how tightly he clutches his fork and the fact that he's stopped moving it.]
There are things to be done here this morning...
[Not really, and if there were, Pietro could clean the entire apartment in two minutes. The "we have chores to do" ploy is completely nonsensical for him to use. His gaze drifts over to the sun-catcher.]
And you need to find somewhere to hang that before it gets broken. I think maybe the bedroom.
[ wanda doesn't glance at the sun catcher, keeping her gaze focused on him. she has half a mind to withdraw her foot now and ensure that the sun catcher is safely tucked away, but she knows nothing will harm it. even if it was to fall, her sheer willpower will keep it in one piece.
besides, she's still eating—and wanda wants to ensure she eats the breakfast he had been so kind enough to cook on their shared birthday. she ensures to make a show of taking her time dipping her toast in what's left of the yolk and eats it, pushing her toes more firmly against his crotch. ]
[Pietro manages to deal with it for all of fifteen seconds before giving in and pressing back against her foot. He'd started this and he would like to finish it.]
Oh, come on. It can't take you an hour to eat a piece of toast.
[He taps his thumb rapidly against the table and sighs restlessly like they really have been sitting here for an hour and not under ten minutes.]
[ Wanda doesn't hold back her chuckle, although she's not quite sure if it's in amusement from his spoken exasperation or the fact that he's finally given in and pushed back against her foot. She applies pressure, careful not to hurt him, and continues to eat her toast until she purposefully leaves the crusts and the egg on her plate. Although it's tempting to spend an hour eating her breakfast, she knows Pietro won't sit for that long—and she doesn't wish to waste this day like that.
She sighs long and loud. ]
I think we should find somewhere to hang the sun catcher now.
[He can't help himself from continuing to moving his hips just a little, rubbing against the pressure of her foot while Wanda finishes all she's going to eat of her breakfast.]
Yes.
[Pietro's agreement is immediate and too-loud the moment she's done speaking and her foot pokes harder against him. Despite how good that feels, he moves in a hurry - pulling out his chair, leaning over the table to grab the crusts of Wanda's toast, gathering the leftover egg between them, and shoving it all in his mouth at once. He snatches the sun-catcher too, only to toss is casually back at Wanda from half-way across the room as he heads for the bedroom. It's fine, he's prepared to run back and catch it himself if she misses, but he has to keep her on her toes.]
[ Wanda laughs, but her laughter's short-lived when he throws her most prized possession carelessly at her.
Thankfully, she catches it gently, relying on her powers to ensure it isn't harmed. She quickly assesses it to ensure there are no cracks, and when she spots none, she's lighter with relief. ]
Pietro!
[ She could kill him for that!
Gently gripping the sun catcher, she storms after him, red-hot anger making her skin burn. She moves quicker than she has before, almost as though she's absorbed some of his speed so she can ensure she catches him. ]
[It's difficult for Pietro to stand by his conviction that Wanda would never hurt him when she's looking at him like that. Her eyes reflect anger he doesn't want directed at him, and he knows very well at this point that he'd overstepped with that impulsive notion solely meant to provoke, but not this much. He makes sure there are obstacles in between them as he backs across the room - the bed, some of his shoes, whatever else he'd left on floor over the last couple of days. He contemplates quickly moving the dresser too and his fingers twitch with the urge to slide it over and hide behind it. He doesn't break eye contact, because he'll look at her hands and he doesn't want to know if there are red tendrils floating up from her fingers.
Still, Pietro if nothing is not extremely aggravating at the worst of times, and he can's stop himself from scoffing like she's overreacting, crossing his arms casually despite being completely on edge, and shaking his head dismissively.]
[ She purses her lips angrily. That's beside the point! ]
You threw it!
[ Wanda's not the best catcher by any means, her reflexes often slow unless in a situation that requires it. Sometimes she thinks she's slow because she knows Pietro will have her back. He's always there, always looking after her, always so much quicker.
But sometimes he can be so slow. Him not realising how much the sun catcher means to her is another example of how he sometimes moves as slow as a sloth is rumoured to.
Her fingers remain like normal fingers, lacking any red tendrils weaving between them. As angry as she can be, she never directs it toward Pietro. She prefers to petulantly ignore him and huff around the house instead. That's effective most of the time.
So, she does it now, glaring at him for one moment longer before turning her gaze away and walking toward the window. She holds the sun catcher up and eyes it, letting it spin gently to see how it might catch the afternoon light. Unhappy with where she's holding it, she turns slightly to her right and scrutinises that. It deserves the best spot in the room. ]
[It's only after she turns away that Pietro allows himself to outwardly appear anywhere near contrite, and he doesn't apologise. He should, but it wouldn't help, not when he doesn't understand the gravity of things when it comes to Wanda's reactions sometimes. It will click, belatedly, probably the next time he looks at the family photo he's held onto forever, but then it will be too late to bring it back up and properly atone for his mishandling of a new keepsake. It will go ignored and smoothed over, much like any previous insensitive actions on his part. He busies himself picking up his shoes and stray clothes, watching Wanda at the window deciding on where to string up the sun-catcher. Pietro waits as long as he can stand it, which is two minutes and three seconds, before stepping up behind her.]
It looks good there.
[His voice is quieter, but still doesn't hold enough softness in it, and he thinks those words might come across as merely a less demanding version of "just hang it up already," so he tries to fix that.]
[ While Wanda still feels irritation at him for his carelessness, she doesn't hold onto it. It's impossible to. She's the softer one out of the two of them, the one who's often slow but can be quick to anger and quicker at letting things go, especially when it comes to Pietro. He's never malicious, never intentionally, and that's something Wanda often holds onto.
She smiles at the sun catcher before she nods. ] It'll go here.
[ Gently, she places it down on the nearest surface, making sure it's out of the sun so it doesn't fade too quickly and away from the edges so nothing topples onto it or causes it to leap to its death on the floor. They can hang it up later once she's found some sturdy string (the first type of string they find will never be good enough for Wanda) and ensure the breeze from the window won't knock it over.
She clears her throat before she steps away from him and opens the set of drawers where she keeps some of her clothes. ]
I need to get dressed for the park. [ Even though they had chosen to go in the afternoon, Wanda thinks this is the best way to move forward. But not before she turns to Pietro and regards him with a cocked brow. ] That is what you are wearing?
[ What he's wearing is perfectly fine, but Pietro doesn't need to know that right now. ]
[Pietro makes an agreeable noise at first, shifting the topic back to going out is a good move. Then he needs to act indignant at Wanda's comment, looking down at himself and spreading his arms out in annoyance. A routine thing he can fall into and get rid of the lingering awkwardness.]
What? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me like this?
[While he doesn't exactly dress 'nice' at any time, he does take some semblance of care with things that don't clash and that fit properly. But his worn track pants and slightly baggy sweatshirt could be deemed somewhat sloppy, if he squinted, and now he's going to be self-conscious about it and she knows it, when he was completely fine with it less than a minute ago and this started as feigned offense.]
[ She tilts her head upward as she peers up at him rather haughtily. Yes, there's a problem. Those are the clothes he wears when he's comfortable… and she knows that the girls and boys are going to like him in them, anyway. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything at all… but if she hadn't, he'd still be awkward and she'd still be even more awkward than before. ]
Why do you want to wear that sweatshirt? You could get it dirty. [ She gestures to it and drops her gaze to scrutinise it. ] You wear it around the house, not outside.
[ Mostly around the apartment. She knows he's worn it a few times outside when it's been laundry day or they've run very low on clean clothes, but that doesn't fit her story right now. ]
[He dismisses that concern as if Wanda's a nagging mother, rolling his eyes, but he does take the sweatshirt off almost immediately, dropping it on the bed and going for the closet to pull out a jacket that is much more fitted with some eye-catching colourful details. Pietro smirks to himself while he nonchalantly questions her as she's still standing by the chest of drawers.]
Toss me those black pants in the bottom drawer, will you?
[She knows which ones - very tight and kind of uncomfortable, but they will draw far more attention, especially when he wears brightly coloured shoes with them, and he is absolutely going to.]
Reluctantly, she turns to the drawers and opens them, first going through her clothes to find another pair of pants—the plaid red and white ones she never wears but Mischa had gotten for her as a gift—and a black shirt before she even thinks of opening his drawers to find his stupid black pants. She fishes them out and pegs them at him only because she suspects that they still haven't gotten any more comfortable despite the few times he's worn them. ]
Now you can play in the dirt and no one will know.
[ Wanda begins to shed herself of her makeshift pyjamas, changing her underwear and putting on a bra. And if it's one of her so-called best bras, well, the black just goes with the plain black shirt she wishes to wear. And it's her birthday. She can wear her best bra if she likes!
And she supposes it's his birthday, which means he can wear his stupid tight black pants that are very uncomfortable if he likes. ]
[It doesn't escape his notice that Wanda chooses things she rarely wears, and Pietro knows she's likely going for the same attempt at drawing attention to herself as he is, and for the same reasons. Reasons that neither of them will acknowledge. He catches the pants easily and turns his back while he changes, not being quick about it.]
Maybe I will get a little dirty.
[He says that loud enough for her to hear clearly, but still makes it sound like he's only muttering it to himself and oblivious to the innuendo in it. He's just as obvious about 'sneaking' a look while she puts on her bra, tugging at his pants where they're difficult to pull over his thighs. He has regrets, and immediately wants to take them off the moment he has the buttons fastened.]
[ The best thing about Pietro opting for those pants is that he's going to be stuck in them for however long they're out of the apartment—and Wanda intends for them to be out for a long, long time. She smiles to herself as she tugs her pants on and throws her shirt over her head, leaving her hair tucked beneath the collar as she turns around to see Pietro in those stupid pants.
They do make his legs look very nice. ]
Are you planning to play in the dirt? [ She cocks her brow. It's easier to take his words at face value and at their most innocent. It'll either frustrate him or he'll enjoy it too much. ]
[He shrugs, turning to sit on the bed and put on his shoes. If she wants to go this route, he'll continue it.]
If I run into some... friends to join me.
[Pietro will leave it up to Wanda to decide what he means by that pause before 'friends'.]
I'm very open to possibilities today, it is my birthday. Anything could happen, you know? But I know you like to stay clean. I'm sure you could find something to do by yourself.
Wanda pivots and finds her own shoes, a pair of black boots that she'd much prefer were flats, but given the state of Sokovia and the park, the boots are safer to wear. If there's anything sharp and jagged, the boots' thick sole will at least protect her from it. And if they have to run…
She doesn't think there will be any need for running from anything unless it's a simple game of chase. ]
I hope Dimitri is there. [ She says it as innocently as she can muster as she ties up her shoes. ] I don't think he is busy today. Maybe he will want to sit with me and be clean while you go play in the dirt with your friends.
[ She's totally fine. Ross Geller fine. He can have friends. She's fine. ]
[Pietro stands quickly after he's tied his sneakers, almost in a huff that he catches himself on a little too late. He slips his jacket on, and looks at Wanda like her meeting up with Dimitri is no big deal should it happen.]
Of course. I want you to enjoy yourself on your birthday.
[He leaves the bedroom, calling over his shoulder.]
I did hear Dimitri's been looking to contribute to a charitable cause. Exciting to think he might choose you, isn't it?
[ Her bad mood returns to her so easily. Gritting her teeth, she finishes tying her shoes and leaves the room in a huff, determined to ignore Pietro until he's blue in the face.
Not that it'd matter. Going to the park means people will talk to him while she sits by herself and watches him laugh and have a good time and enjoy himself. Despite how angry she is at him, she wants him to have a good day, even if it doesn't include her. ]
We are going.
[ She closes the kitchen window and marches toward the front door. She doesn't bother with a jacket. Sitting in the park will warm her up… and maybe if she is cold, someone will be charitable enough to deem her worthy of having their jacket.
She opens the front door and crosses her arms against her chest as she glares at him and waits. ]
[He smiles to himself as she gets flustered and storms across the kitchen, standing there in the doorway and radiating just enough ire to please him. Pietro takes his time getting there, bringing their breakfast dishes from the table to the sink and making sure they clatter a bit and the sound carries out through the open door.]
I'm coming, I'm coming!
[He slips past Wanda out into the hallway just as one of the neighbours' doors opens - an elderly lady with a large upholstered bag trying to juggle that and a heavy circular tray of something covered in foil, fumbling with her key. Davida looks a bit frazzled as usual, grey hair escaping her brightly-patterned kerchief in limp curls as she mutters to herself about having so much to do and no time.]
Always in such a hurry, Wanda!
[Pietro's sure to sound disapproving and grumbling, like this is a routine complaint for him and he's tried of making it, as he raises an eyebrow at Davida and silently offers to take something. He turns back to Wanda as the old woman gratefully passes over the tray.]
I'm sorry, is this going to cut into your schedule, or can we think of other people for once?
[He only feels the smallest prick of remorse for making such a scene and painting Wanda as an impatient shrew just because the opportunity arose. Later, he'll experience more guilt about it and not be able to look Davida in the eye for a few days after using that poor woman as a pawn in his obnoxious bullshit.]
[ She grits her teeth and glares at Pietro for a long moment. Wanda does her best to relax her mouth and smiles at Davida, ignoring her brother. She doesn't trust herself to look at him without opening her mouth and snapping at him.
He always finds the most opportune moments to embarrass her. Wanda's always struggled to grasp them and thieve them away from him, but he's too quick-witted and sees things before she does.
She ignores her furious blush. Davida is a woman who tends to keep to herself, but she appreciates the help when it's offered to her and values kindness and generosity over the way Pietro's intending to paint her.
Wanda approaches her, clasping her hands together in her own fit of nervousness. ]
Are you going to the store today? Maybe I can go for you. [ She smiles at her kindly, not glancing at Pietro as she shrugs a touch helplessly. ] Pietro is busy later. [ She chuckles and shakes her head. ] So many plans. I am surprised he has time to stop with his very busy schedule.
[ She'll never be as good as him, but Wanda knows practice makes perfect. It's what her sitcoms always said. ]
[That glare penetrates deeply, and it's only then that Pietro gives any thought to how many shitty things he's done just this morning. He didn't need to embarrass Wanda like this for absolutely no reason but to rile her. So he holds his tongue and stares at the worn hallway carpet while she talks to Davida, readjusting his grip on the tray and trying not to tap his foot impatiently just because he's uncomfortable.
Davida doesn't seem to take much stock in anything they may have been arguing about, giving Wanda a thankful smile and taking her up on her offer to get a few items from the store for later. After she's locked her door and put her keys securely in her tattered bag, she politely excuses herself and takes the tray back from Pietro without a word to him, shaking her head as she makes her way down the hallway, clearly done with their shenanigans but too sweet to comment on them.]
... Sorry.
[It's reluctant and dismissive muttering, but Wanda deserves one apology on her birthday, even if it's awkward.]
[ Wanda watches Davida walk away before she even thinks of walking. She wants to look at Pietro and shake her head, but she decides the cold shoulder is better than giving him anything else. After all, she doesn't wish for them to be any later than they already are. It's petulant and unfair, especially given the day, but she only wishes to match him.
With her head held high, she marches down the hallway and doesn't look back to see if Pietro is following. She imagines he is. He always does. Besides, they agreed to go to the park and that is where they will go.
She does spare a glance when she takes the corner. ]
We are going to be late for your plans.
[ His very busy plans where he can spend his time flirting while she doesn't have to witness it. Davida's unknowingly given her a birthday gift. ]
[Wanda knows exactly what gets to him the most, and that's being ignored completely. It's especially irksome for her to do it after he issued a rare, if kind of insincere, apology. Pietro trails behind her down the hallway, never catching up or running ahead, waiting for Wanda to say something or acknowledge him, all the while berating himself for how pathetic it is to do so. He stops immediately when she does look at him briefly, as if he wasn't even expecting that much.]
I could continue with my plans...
[Very vaguely defined plans that aren't looking as inviting now as doing Davida's shopping, for reasons Pietro isn't going to think too hard on.]
Or help you at the store. You know you can't reach the high shelves and you have to ask someone to help. It's a hassle.
[ Wanda rolls her eyes and does her best to withhold her smile. She doesn't want him to see it. Instead, she feigns a look of exasperation when she glances at him again as though his mere presence is bothersome now. ]
I can ask for help, Pietro. There are many tall people at the store.
[ Luckily for them, the Stark bombs hadn't wiped out the entire staff of the small supermarket that remains standing and thriving. It's almost as if Stark wishes to see the Sokovian residents continue to feed themselves and live amongst all the shelling. ]
Besides, you are going to have fun with your friends at the park, no? They will want to wish you a happy birthday, maybe sing. The girls will.
[ And that makes Wanda feel sourer than she'd like to admit. Good thing she keeps her back to him as she makes her way to the stairs. She dislikes the elevator. ]
[He snorts, but doesn't argue the point, waving her off just a little as she turns to the stairs, like this is an amicable departure. It's similarly reflected in his conversational tone.]
Alright. It's your decision.
[Pietro hates the elevator too - it's slow even to a normal person, gets stuck between floors sometimes when the building's electric goes out intermittently, smells like piss - but he's taking it, just because Wanda isn't, pressing the button and already dreading the agonising wait for it to ascend to the fifth floor. He could be down on the street already in the time it took him to hit the stupid button.]
I might be late. If certain people are there. You know.
[ She watches him, hesitating at the door leading to the stairwell. She doesn't want to leave him to the elevator's whims. What if it gets stuck? No one will know he's in there, and he hates small, enclosed spaces where he can't escape from. ]
I know.
[ She doesn't mean to sound sad. Sometimes she wishes Pietro was less likeable, but then he wouldn't be Pietro.
She opens the stairwell door and lets it slam behind her as she makes her way down the flights of stairs. If Wanda hurries down as though she wishes to get to the ground floor first, well… no one could blame her. Being separated from Pietro, even when he's frustrating, prompts the anxious butterflies to swarm in her gut. She likes to know where he is at all times and it's impossible to know that when he's stuck between floors.
When she finally reaches the ground floor, Wanda doesn't try to pretend that she's not flustered and is in search of him and his stupid face. She may not be fast, but thankfully their building's elevator is slower than her most of the time. ]
[Pietro catches that shift in her tone, and wants to say something. Something that isn't unnecessarily cruel or provoking. But he doesn't, only glancing over when the door slams shut and Wanda's already vanished into the stairwell. The elevator comes finally and the moment he's inside and the doors close, he has a difficult time not panicking. It's a small elevator, he could swear there used to be more room in here... Why do they live on the fifth floor?... The whole thing shudders and stalls for fifteen seconds between the fourth and third floors and he spends every one of those seconds pacing and biting his nails... and when the elevator stops at the ground floor, Pietro runs out before the doors have completely opened, the moment he could squeeze through them. He knew Wanda would be there, she can't help herself, and he smirks while he stalks over to her and grabs her hand.]
Can't go anywhere by yourself, can you? Come on, get moving.
[Nevermind they were headed different places or that his hand is shaking too much. Neither of these things are being talked about. Pietro intends to drag Wanda to the park anyway, where he can expend the restless energy he'd built up in the elevator. They can shop for Davida later. Together.]
[ Wanda's surprised when he grabs her hand, but she doesn't tug her hand away from his to continue her fit of being very unhappy with him. Even being away from him for a handful of minutes had put her on edge. She just doesn't like the elevator, even if she knows the stairwell isn't any better. Some of their friends had died in a stairwell several streets away in their own building.
Gripping his hand tightly to try and stop it from shaking, Wanda furrows her brows as she tries to keep up with his hurried pace. This is Pietro being Pietro, but she thinks the elevator's left him rattled. ]
I have been waiting for you. [ For just a few seconds, if not close to a minute. Despite having run down the stairs, Wanda's still Wanda. She doesn't carry momentum the same way Pietro does.
She tries to step in front of him so she can push the building's door open. She squints against the bright sun and presses her other hand as a shield above her eyes as she tries to steer him toward the park. It'll be short-lived given his love for leading.
She looks up at the sky. It's clear with no smog of bomb smoke. Wanda can't help but smile. ] I think it will be a nice day today.
Exactly. You need me to guide you, I understand. It's a very complicated route to the park.
[Which is why as soon as she's started pulling him in the right direction, he takes that moment she watches the sky to dart ahead and make sure he stays a couple of paces in front, as far as he can while still holding her hand.]
Wanda doesn't try to get in front of him, letting him drag her along (although she does her best to try and keep up with him; it's always hard, given he has longer legs and is just faster). She doesn't pull her hand from his despite considering it briefly. ]
It will be nice even if we get there later.
[ It's a silly hope, considering nothing is permanent in Sokovia, but Wanda likes to think optimistically. Glasses remain half full. For Pietro, she doesn't think they were ever full. ]
I can prove it. You go to the park, I'll go shopping, and then when I come to the park, it'll still be nice.
[It goes against his instincts to slow down, but he does, falling back into step with Wanda so she doesn't have to hurry any longer. Pietro loosens his grip on her hand, inviting her to pull away if she wants without being the one to fully break contact. Catching himself before he starts in on another argumentative tangent for the sake of it is rare, but he does actually want the rest of the day to turn out well. He's not going to protest, or dismiss everything she says, or continue into sharp remarks - even though he's itching to do every one of those things.]
Why don't you do that?
[It's an actual suggestion and bears no hint of sarcasm.]
I will meet you later. We can sit on the benches and watch people.
[Pietro will make fun of them, of course, but it's still something bordering on relaxing and just spending time with Wanda in a quieter way. He'll have burned off energy by then and be more likely to sit still for a prolonged amount of time.]
[ That surprises her, although, Wanda's not entirely sure if it's a bad thing. She thinks Pietro will enjoy being around their friends by himself without her in his peripherals and she'll feel a lot better having gone to the store by herself for Davida.
But she still frowns… and quickly smoothes out her expression in case he thinks she's going to argue. The promise of watching people together is just that—a nice promise.
She stops. ]
I wonder if they have good hats. [ She hums thoughtfully. She's determined to get him a hat these days so he can shield his face and maybe stop luring people toward him. Some people need to be repelled; it's good for his confidence to be rejected. ]
I will see you, then. [ She lets go of his hand in what she feels is too jerky of a movement. ] Make sure you save the best bench. The one near the flowers is much nicer than the one near the entrance. But don't go for the one beneath the tree. The branches look like they are about to fall off.
[Wanda and her determination with hats. Pietro had meant food, but he doesn't say so, just rolls his eyes as she hums to herself, and never takes that bait. When she lets go, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets to stop himself from reaching for her again. He shrugs, nodding towards the direction of the store. Go already, Wanda.]
I like the one by the entrance.
[But he'll be waiting where she specified, by the patch of flowers, stretching his legs across the seat so no one else joins him, incessantly tapping his fingers on the back of the bench.]
[ While Wanda had planned to take her sweet time at the store, she ended up taking more time than she had originally planned. She'd gotten distracted talking to the shopkeeper and then speaking to Vasili who expressed he might join them at the park much later.
She makes her way to the park with a couple of brown paper bags in hand. Thankfully, nothing is perishable or needs to be refrigerated. It's easy to find Pietro, even though she had been looking for him amongst the small clusters of their friends. She's grateful there isn't a need to protest today. While some of their other friends aren't here and are using their voices to scream and shout, she's happy to see that some of their friends are at the park to celebrate their birthday. It's the small moments that matter most to Wanda.
She places the bags down on the ground by the leg of the bench and grabs a smaller bag from inside one of them, opening it up as she remains standing near Pietro's legs. ]
I thought you were going to sit at the entrance.
[ She holds out the opened bag to him. Inside are several small donuts—some cinnamon, some with icing, and a couple with jam inside. ]
[Pietro had spoken with just about everybody possible, barging his way into those groups of friends for as much inane chatter as he could stand before moving on to the next one, shamelessly flirting without Wanda around to scowl at him for it, even actually having a cordial talk with Dimitri, but only because the man was walking around with Marta and holding her hand, something Pietro will mention to Wanda when the time is right to crush her usual trump card in their jealously game.
Then he'd caught up with Jakob, who had barely escaped that stairwell collapse but his wife hadn't - a lonely man, and though he's very boring and Pietro tuned him out half-way through, it was worth the time to see him less disheartened for a while. Pietro will never be the most eloquent person, but his conversation skills lean towards amicability and catching cues of where he should interject, rather than actually supplying anyone with good advice or helpful insights. Sometimes people just need someone to talk to, and he gives that to them. He'd still been leaning against a chain-link fence and smoking one of Jakob's cigarettes that he thought he shouldn't refuse when he'd first spotted Wanda across the park, and that's when he'd gone to the bench to sit there like he'd been waiting forever for her and not just the one minute before she she came upon him. He glances up briefly when she stops by the bench.]
It was occupied.
[It wasn't. Pietro contemplates making her ask him to move, but decides against it, sitting up and giving her half of the bench while snatching the bag from her hands, fishing inside for one of the jam-filled donuts, and biting into it with a mumbled thanks. Then he snorts, still talking with his mouth full.]
[ She saw that bench and it was as empty as some of the apartment buildings closer to the centre of the city. Wanda lets him have this lie. Sometimes Pietro is as transparent as a window. ]
I wanted to make sure I got everything for Davida.
[ Unlike some, she doesn't rush her shopping. While Wanda's not the type to walk up and down every aisle, she's the type to be distracted by random thoughts and scenarios the items around her inspire her to come up with. She may have bought some items for them, but she won't go into it until they're back home and he can sigh and grow exasperated once more with her buying too many things and even more duplicates of things they're going to need by the next week.
She sits and holds her hand out for her usual cinnamon donut. ]
And I was talking to Vasili. He might come around to the park once he sees his mother. [ She nudges Pietro gently with her elbow. ] He says happy birthday.
[ As much as Wanda wants to keep some things to herself, she thinks it's important that Pietro knows people care. Sometimes it's nice to have a reminder, even if it comes from an unexpected place. ]
[He hands over one of the cinnamon donuts, placing it in her outstretched hand automatically, idly licking the powder off his fingers before taking a second donut for himself, one with icing.]
Yeah?
[It is nice to hear, even if Pietro doesn't act like it, simply shrugging it off and making an annoyed noise at Wanda's elbow-nudging. Vasili is a genuinely nice person and very tolerant, but Pietro had definitely pissed him off the last time they'd spoken, over something trivial he's sure, but doesn't actually remember what it was about - an unfortunately very common scenario for them and has been since they were kids. It's awkward now sometimes, because Pietro feels guilty for keeping up with appearances and not realising until it's too late that he'd said something too insensitive or completely tactless when he knows the state of things with Vasili's family.]
How is his mother?
[He tries to make it sound like he doesn't already know the answer is "not good" at the very least.]
[ Wanda lets her words trail off as she keeps her head bowed and rips her donut. She eats her small bit, turning to face Pietro although she keeps her gaze on his hands. She wishes she had something positive to follow it up with, but instead, she lets her shoulders sag. ]
Not good.
[ One day, she wishes to have good news. That the people around her aren't suffering anymore, that someone she likes isn't going to lose their mother just like she and Pietro lost theirs. She likes Vasili's mother a lot, given she used to be friends with their mother. Her not getting any better feels like yet another personal slight from Stark. ]
But he says that she enjoys the books from the secondhand bookshop still. She has a growing pile of books she's read that he needs to read soon. [ She smiles at that.
Ripping her donut again, she pops that piece into her mouth. ] You should say hello. [ Whatever insensitive thing Pietro said to upset Vasili must be long gone by now. Sometimes she wishes Pietro didn't run from everything. ]
[Anytime they'd seen her even as children, Vasili's mother had a book on hand - while she watched her son at the park, while standing in line at the supermarket, a thin paperback sticking out of one pocket or another as she carried a basket of clothes down the street, ready to spend the afternoon reading at the laundromat. Pietro has only recently started to appreciate books, even if it's mostly for killing time and mild entertainment value. He'd never had the attention span for them before, and preferred television despite Wanda's sitcom obsession, and music. Now those are worse - plodding and droning on for him, music sounds weird and it's just noise. He's consequently read more books since HYDRA than he probably had in his entire life previously. Taking another jam-filled donut from the bag, he finally sets it down between them where Wanda can grab a second one herself if she ever gets around to actually finishing the first.]
I will...
[He says it like it's going to be a sacrifice, but he'll go through with it.]
It stayed nice.
[He lifts one fingers towards the sky, shifting to lean further back against the bench and fold one leg underneath him. It's the beginning of maybe a half-hour of fidgeting before he absolutely has to get up, but he's prepared to have a nice quiet time with Wanda just sitting here and talking casually, something he's sure she wishes he'd make an effort to do more often.]
[ Does she purposefully eat slowly to annoy him? Sometimes. More often than not, Wanda gets distracted by conversation, what she's reading, or what she's watching. She has no intentions of eating every donut in the bag, but she does hope to eat at least two before Pietro inhales everything.
Looking up at the sky, Wanda smiles. With a quarter of her donut left, it does seem like it's going to be a nice day. After this morning, she thinks they both deserve it. It's nice to be outside rather than cooped up, even if Wanda likes the indoors more than Pietro. ]
Was this your birthday wish?
[ She looks at him, cocking her brow softly. He's not meant to confirm or deny or, by her superstitions, it means the wish he made when he blew out his candle won't come true. ]
[A nice day, with Wanda, and being able to sit still for more than ten minutes... maybe.]
Besides, you know I cannot tell you. Finish your donut. Wait-
[He's breaking his streak of peaceful bench-sitting already to run off somewhere, but he's back in twenty seconds with one tiny candle and a cigarette lighter - taking the other cinnamon donut out of the bag and presenting it to Wanda, candle aflame and stuck in at a slightly tilted angle.]
[ By the time she thinks about asking him "What?", he's back beside her and her hair's an absolute mess on her head. She peels some of it away from her face and blinks a few times before she looks at him. She'll never get used to it when his speed slaps her in the face like that.
She smiles widely and laughs. But she did! Secretly! Piggybacking off of his wish, whatever it is.
With her donut thankfully finished (she's not that slow all the time!), she delicately takes the donut in his hand, not wishing to knock the candle out and ruin this. ]
I wish for… [ Making a show of catching herself, she keeps her wish to herself. It's similar to the one she wishes for every year. Just a good year with Pietro where nothing happens to him aside from a bad mood here or there.
She blows out her candle and smiles at him. ]
Thank you for my birthday donut. [ She wrinkles her nose. ] Even though I bought it. Does that mean I need to thank myself?
[Seeing her smile like that, where nothing at all could dull that radiance for however long it lasts - that's something Pietro would have wished for, might have even. A simply thing is all it takes to produce it, but Wanda glows when she laughs like that, when her smiles reach her eyes, and when - for a moment - nothing around them is falling apart. He's careful not to smile back as much, he has appearances to maintain.]
And where did that money come from?
[He throws up his hand in mock exasperation, which doesn't translate much differently than real exasperation with him, but Wanda can usually tell the difference.]
No, you thank me.
[It could have been his money, could have been hers. Neither one of them has an actual job, unless Wanda's been moonlighting. He steals, he knows she does odds and ends for people like shopping, helping with someone's kids. There's not many secrets Wanda could keep from him, so Pietro maintains his conviction that 80% of their collected money stashed in an old tin in the back of the bedroom closet comes from his efforts alone.]
[ Wanda rolls her eyes, but nothing dims her smile. What's his is hers and what's hers is his. She thinks to remind him of that, but she doesn't wish to ruin the mood and bicker about money when they've never had much to begin with.
Instead, she nods, pursing her lips playfully. ] You're right. [ And the way she thanks him is simple: she kisses his cheek.
Biting into her donut, she ignores the cinnamon around her mouth as she shifts happily on the bench from side to side before settling back against it. She's happy. She's actually happy. Even if in a few hours that happiness will burst, she'll remember sitting at the park on a nice day with Pietro and feeling happy. ]
[Despite his efforts not to let it, Pietro's smile stretches a little wider after that kiss. He almost makes a comment about Wanda fidgeting so much as some kind of payback for all the times she calls him out on it, but he doesn't. He's just going to let her be happy.]
You're welcome. Happy Birthday, Wanda.
[He can say it as many times as he wants today. A moment later, Pietro furrows his eyebrows and scratches at the side of his mouth, nodding to her.]
You've got cinnamon all over. Right there. Eat properly, we're in public.
[ She feigns a gasp and furrows her brows before swapping the hands she holds the donut in. She wipes her cinnamon-coated hand deliberately against her cheek. ]
Really? Where?
[ Why bother eating properly when she can exasperate him and possibly make him laugh?
She wipes her hand against her face again, feigning concern as though she's got paint on her hands and not invisible bits of cinnamon. ]
[On purpose and in a painfully obvious way, which is why he laughs. Turning to face her, shifting closer on the bench, and cupping her jaw in his hand, Pietro runs his thumb across the light dusting of cinnamon.]
I got it. Hm... Most of it. There is still some right here.
[The tiniest bit on her lower lip, or so he implies. And he licks it away with his tongue only after he's taken the opportunity to kiss her, slowly and gently, and where anyone can see them right in the middle of the park.]
[ Heart pounding, Wanda's paralysed. All they ever do out in public is hold hands and bicker. Sometimes even hug, although that's often her initiating it given Pietro often characterises himself as some emotionless husk of a young man.
She thinks of gently scolding him, but Wanda stares at him instead. If he's feeling so bold as to be so affectionate in public when the girls he likes to tease and flirt with and thinks about taking it further with right near them, then she thinks it'd be rude of her to reprimand him for weighing the pros and cons of such an act. And a part of her feels possessive. This is hers. No one else gets Pietro dusting stupid cinnamon off their face but her.
She licks her lips and glances at the park before looking down at the half-eaten donut in her hands. ]
What would I do without you? Aside from walking around with cinnamon on my face on such a nice day.
[Pietro knew exactly what he was doing and how close they are to some of his most frequent targets of flirting - Rahela, Jelka, Gertie. His actions can't be misinterpreted as platonic, not something like that, so deliberate and open. Pietro can talk someone's ear off, but if he tried to express himself with Wanda, in the presence of so many people, to say things that have meaning and significance on another level, that aren't hidden in rude comments and dismissive sarcasm - it would be incoherent and stumbling and a disaster of a public confession. He would make a mockery of it, even if he didn't want to. So he'd done it like this, quietly, but enough of a show where intentions won't be questioned, his fealty exposed.]
You'd be so lost.
[He brushes a loose strand of Wanda's hair behind her ear as she stares at her donut.]
[ She tsks and shakes her head as though that's the worst thing that could ever happen. But if something was to happen to Pietro, if she was to lose him, she knows she wouldn't be able to leave their apartment. She'd be so utterly hopeless and helpless without him. It's not something she wishes to burden him with when he carries so much already.
She looks at him and sighs loudly, drooping her shoulders. She rests her head against his shoulder, knowing that he'll nudge her off when staying still becomes too troubling for him. ]
It's a good thing you gave me that sun catcher. At least I'll be able to find my way home with that.
[ The suncatcher's close to overtaking him as her favourite thing ever. ]
[For now, he doesn't mind her head on his shoulder, and there's not even a twitch of annoyance, feigned or otherwise.]
You got me figured out. That was my plan with it all along.
[He fishes for another donut almost absently, and his free hand finds hers to entwine their fingers, though he's already back to typical provocation with his words.]
Oh, but you didn't hang it up in the window, did you? What if I go off tonight with Zrinka and you can't find our apartment? You'll have to sleep in the street.
[Zrinka, who is conveniently not in the park to have witnessed Pietro's earlier display and therefore will potentially still respond to flirting and attention enough to irritate Wanda.]
[ She's so glad she's eating her donut when he mentions Zrinka. She can't sigh. Back to the usual already.
Zrinka is nice and noticeably missing. Perhaps that's why he names her specifically; if any of the girls saw his display from a few minutes ago, they'll be gossiping, perhaps plotting to get Pietro alone to ask for the finder details, or believing Wanda had been the one to do something so inappropriate. Sometimes Wanda wishes she didn't feel this little twisting tug in her gut every time he mentioned one of his girls.
When she sighs, it's intentional and dramatic. ] Then I guess I sleep on the street. Or I wander all around Sokovia until I find it while you are busy with Zrinka. [ She tsks, shaking her head. ] Too busy to make sure your little sister finds her way home on her birthday. That is very cruel, Pietro.
[ And refuse she does, shaking her head and her hand. Even if she accepts it, he'll be the one to eat it. She's got a quarter of her donut left. Sometimes she purposefully eats very, very slowly, just so she can see Pietro grow more and more exasperated. ]
So chivalrous despite your old age.
[ To her, especially. She wonders how she can make him choose to not go out after he supposedly drops her off. While Wanda's aware some of her plans are never needed as Pietro always seems to think better of what he originally intended to do, she likes to make them just in case. ]
You will walk me home and then leave on my birthday. Tsk.
[ She eats the rest of her donut and holds her hand out for the donut she had originally refused. ]
[Pietro tends to go against his better judgement when he's started in on bantering arguments and suppositions, but he really had been trying to make this a nice day for her. He should stop. He can't simply do so without a reason though, so he latches on to one part of Wanda's comments to shift things around, while making it sound like it isn't a deliberate turn towards acquiescence. He fidgets, in a different way than usual, as if it's not due to excess energy but to the pains and stiff joints inherent in a much older man.]
I am getting old. It would do me no good to stay out too late... and it is a long walk back. I may have to stay. You know, tired old bones...
[But he snorts when she holds out her hand, and pops the rest of the donut in his mouth, shrugging. Too late, it's his.]
[ His tired old bones will only be tired and old when it suits him, but Wanda isn't going to question the validity of his statement. She smiles, pleased by what he's not saying. He won't be seeing Zrinka today. Perhaps tomorrow, even if Wanda wishes for him not to see her in that way at all. ]
Oh.
[ She furrows her brows as she leans away from him so she can look him over. There's some cinnamon on his face that she reaches out to wipe away with her thumb without thought. She makes a show of scrutinising him before leaning close to him again and pressing her ear against his chest. ]
I think I hear it. Lots of noise, like the Tinman from Oz. It's like creaking. [ She rubs his upper thigh. ] You are getting so old, Pietro.
[Wanda playing so much into it makes him smile, as if she's concerned he'd go back on his statements a moment later and change his mind again. Pietro runs his fingers through her hair, and they may have jam on them.]
So old. And you are a tease, Wanda. We're in public.
[He whispers the last part, but as soon as he does, he covers her hand, keeping it pressed against his thigh. He raises his eyebrows pointedly.]
[ He put jam in her hair, didn't he? She'd sigh if he wasn't distracting her by being so bold and uncaring about what their friends might see. What might get back to Zrinka or Rahela.
She should pull back and rest against the back of the seat, but no one's paying attention to them. No one says anything and no one thinks anything, either. All anyone can seemingly think about is how the park is still standing, when the next riot will be, and what they'll do if the police so much as raise their batons at them again. ]
How am I a tease? [ She laughs lightly, but she's not as clueless as she wants to portray. She squeezes his thigh and shifts her hand beneath his, moving it up as she keeps her gaze on his face. ] I am sitting here, cleaning up a mess you made of jam on your thigh. [ She shakes her head. ] I am not teasing.
[It's only a moment, but Pietro looks away just to see if they're being watched. They're not, but that doesn't mean he can't act as if they are, waiting to see how far Wanda will go with it. He gasps audibly as she squeezes his thigh, loud and too exaggerated.]
Oh, did I drop some?
[His voice carries, and he spreads his thighs a little, trying to get her hand to shift to a more scandalous position 'accidentally'. He shouldn't have worn such tight pants, they're not helping in his plans and he just kind of squirms instead of doing it with any fluidity or appeal.]
[ She rolls her eyes as she faces him, although she looks to her peripherals to ensure that no one's paying them any attention. Knowing Pietro, he's already been sociable enough to warrant a break from talking to the rest of their friends. Wanda's never been the social butterfly Pietro is, so she doesn't worry about being approached.
Looking down at his leg, she shakes her head and clucks her tongue. ]
So clumsy, Pietro. Sometimes I think you can never leave the house.
[ Rather than pull her hand away and place it where she knows he wants it, she glides her palm up his thigh, right up to the crease of his hip. Wanda considers making that where the jam has allegedly dropped, but she instead brushes her fingers against his crotch, the pressure light at first before she makes it reminiscent of how she had pressed her foot into him earlier. ]
[ She smiles at him, arching her brow slightly as she does just that: pressing her fingers against his crotch, she moves her fingertips in a circular motion. Perhaps she should stop, but… Pietro is encouraging it and not closing his legs and batting her hand away. And Wanda feels braver than she often does, encouraged by him and his lack of tripping over his feet and embarrassing her too much.
She furrows her brows and tsks to continue pretending that he's still got jam on his crotch. She's clearly not making it any better. Wanda proposes she has to press harder. ]
Since I always make messes. I think it makes sense I would want to make a point of your mess, no? It would be unkind if I didn't.
[The strangled noise he makes is too loud for his liking, and that's a sign in itself that he should stop this before someone does see them and interprets it correctly. Only Wanda rubs harder then, and Pietro lets go of his momentary notion of being discreet and responsible. He lives recklessly, and he'll continue to embrace that. He grips the arm of the bench tightly and starts to grind up into her hand for more friction.]
[ Wanda hopes no one sees them. Strangely enough, no one happens to look their way. Even the people who are closest to them don't seem to care. Gertie and Jelka are the closest, and while they often steal glances at Pietro when he is and isn't looking no matter where they are, they don't pay him any attention now.
It makes Wanda a touch paranoid, but it's not enough to make her withdraw her hand. She barely gets to touch Pietro like this. She doesn't get to lean against him as the girls do, and she wants it for herself.
She clears her throat and looks down at his crotch, sighing at the make-believe mark she's meant to be rubbing. She slides her hand until she's pressing the heel of her palm against him, and she rubs more firmly now, feeling a little more in control of her motions.
[It's an immediate answer, he doesn't even need to think about it. It's always in the back of his mind, that they might be judged for it, that they already are even if Pietro downplays everything he does with Wanda where someone might see, and flirts shamelessly to distract from it just as much as he does it to make her jealous. No one's watching. No one cares. Why can't they have this? It's their birthday. He moves his hand up her arm, lightly stroking with his fingers, encouraging.]
[ Wanda should encourage him to exercise caution. They should be careful. She should remove her hand from his crotch and sit on the other end of the bench with some space wedged between them. But that's never been them. They've always been on top of one another, tangled up where she's not sure where she ends and he begins. She glances at the park and confirms once again that no one's even looking their way. It's almost as though they don't exist. ]
We can wait until we are home for you to come in your pants, Pietro.
[ She ignores the heat of her skin. That's what's going to happen, isn't it? She'll keep rubbing at his crotch and he'll come in his stupidly tight pants he had worn for all the other girls, and then he'll walk her home and they'll most likely do it again.
She should remove her hand, but Wanda only presses down harder. The idea of making that happen prompts her to sit up a little taller. ]
[A wave of heat burns through his chest, accompanied by a wheezing noise he tries to stifle as quickly as possible. Shit, Wanda.]
Don't say it like that.
[Pietro doesn't shy away from directness often, but when it's Wanda making such statements blatantly out in the open, he's both flustered and perhaps unfortunately for him, very stimulated. Though he'd protested over her choice of words, he only spreads his thighs further and grinds more obviously against her hand. It's exactly what's going to happen, but she doesn't need to announce it when Gertie and Jelka are right over there - engrossed in conversation and not even looking their way, but - Pietro turns his attention back to what's important here: making a nonchalant comment like he isn't going to embarrass himself on a public bench in less than two minutes.]
Besides, I am doing you a favour. You're getting a reason for me to go home with you and not stop by and see Zrinka.
Is that why? I thought it was because you wanted to make sure your hopeless little sister got home.
[ Wanda considers pulling her hand away, but she only presses down harder. He shouldn't be thinking of Zrinka right now when she's rubbing his cock through his pants. She furrows her brows, feeling as though steam's threatening to shoot from her ears. He always has to ruin these moments by bringing in the world around them like that.
Instead of pulling her hand away, she lightens her touch considerably and keeps her hand against his thigh as though she's merely sitting beside him. He wants her to continue touching him with the same level of intensity, and Wanda considers doing him a favour and preventing him from enjoying himself in the park on a nice day. In a roundabout way, they've only inspired each other.
She looks away from him, setting her jaw, and acts as though she's preoccupied with surveying those around them instead. ]
[That was a completely wrong direction to go in, and Pietro regrets it the moment he hears a hint of sharpness in her first words - is that why?. He makes a frustrated whining noise when that last hard press of her fingers gives way to barely existent touches, just enough to constantly irritate him. Wanda's so practised at it, flipping that switch in his brain to annoyance so easily, like a tripwire. He fidgets uncomfortably, but attempts to keep up appearances too, they're just casually sitting here, watching people... and refusing to look at each other. Pietro could apologise, or he could say nothing at all, keep his mouth shut for one minute, but he won't.]
I think I will, now that you suggested it. Maybe later I'll tell you how it went. You could learn a lot from her.
[ Wanda withdraws her hand and clasps her hands tightly in her lap. She doesn't look at him, keeping her head tilted up slightly as she looks at anywhere but him. She won't let him ruin the park, especially when the weather's so nice and slightly warm and the sky isn't as dark and clouded with smoke as it has been over the last few weeks. She can pretend that this is a normal day in the park rather than some miracle.
But he always has to ruin it. Or maybe she does with her expectations that he won't always leave her behind.
She sits up straight and still doesn't look at him. She wishes for someone to look their way as though that's something of protection, and she finds that Jelka glances at them for the first time, even if her gaze doesn't stay. ]
Maybe you should stay with Zrinka. Have a nice time. Celebrate your birthday. [ With a decisive little nod, ] I will be fine at home.
[Once she's taken her hand back, Pietro leans forward with his elbows on his knees, fidgeting again, and tapping his fingers against each other in no semblance of a pattern, one leg shaking constantly like he wants to run off. Ignoring Wanda, he catches Jelka's eye for that brief moment. He furrows his eyebrows as she turns back to what she was doing, something just occurring to him, possibly clicking into place. But he won't mention it. They never looked, not once. Did Wanda do it? Make everyone in the vicinity completely disregard them while they were... He'll ask about it later.
He only waits long enough in awkward silence until he can get up without his erection being too obvious. He likes attention, but not that much and doesn't want it right now. When he does stand, he gaze is fixed over the park and not anywhere near Wanda, but he can feel her, her presence itself boring holes in his back. He almost says something, half of a syllable before he stops himself and just sighs, walking away.
Pietro doesn't see Zrinka, but looks for Vasili, who hadn't quite made it to the park yet. It's somehow easier to make amends there, far less trouble than he tends to have with Wanda. When they're done talking, he goes straight home. It's best. It's not much, and he may never admit to it aloud, but he recognises he's been insufferable for most of the day, as she likes to claim so often, and that the few moments he hadn't been doesn't make up for the rest of it.]
[ After he leaves the bench, Wanda doesn't stay in the park. She gathers Davida's shopping and only says a short hello to their friends before she returns to their building, giving the older woman her bags and making very little small talk. The one thing she likes about Davida is how she's no-nonsense. She's efficient, even if she comes off as antisocial. She knows what she wants and she sees to it that she gets it, even if it's simply going to the supermarket or seeing her niece several blocks away.
Perhaps she should've stayed at the park and enjoyed herself. She doesn't mind Jelka, even if she sometimes wishes the other girl wouldn't manipulate the conversation to speak of Pietro. Maybe she should've stayed and proved to herself and Pietro that she doesn't need him by her side to be able to fit in with some of their friends. But as she hesitates in the hallway, Wanda doesn't turn on her foot to return to the park. She's had enough pretending for the day.
When Wanda's in their apartment, she's unsurprised not to find Pietro there. He said he'd be busy, after all, and Zrinka was doing her a favour by keeping him out of her hair. Perhaps she'd have the entire apartment to herself for the night. A rarity—and sometimes something Wanda greatly enjoyed. She undresses and slips out of the plaid pants, finding it useless to stay in them. She swaps them for her plaid pyjama shorts from the morning and searches the apartment for sturdy rope or wires to hang her suncatcher up in front of the window. And when that task is done, she sits cross-legged on the couch and turns on Just Shoot Me! for a change in a fictional universe.
She doesn't turn her head when he enters the apartment and she doesn't lower the volume of the television, either. ]
How is Zrinka?
[ She's proud that her voice holds no malice. It's not Zrinka's fault Pietro likes her. ]
[He hears the television as he opens the door, and he hadn't really expected Wanda to be home. He should have. Even given the opportunity to socialise with their friends by herself, without him hovering around and being obnoxious, she seldom takes it or keeps up with conversations for long. Pietro shuts the door quietly and feigns a confused look and wave of his hand even if Wanda doesn't take her eyes of the television, as if he can't imagine why she asks about Zrinka at all.]
I don't know. I was with Vasili.
[He leaves no room for comments as he heads directly for the bedroom, to swap his uncomfortable tight jeans for the sloppy track pants he'd left on the floor this morning. The suncatcher sways slightly where she'd hung it, filtering the afternoon light into a warmer yellow in abstract shapes over the floor and the wall. He returns shortly, stopping behind Wanda on the couch to briefly run his fingers along her temple and kiss the top of her head.]
I'm sorry.
[It's very quiet, and immediately after, he climbs over the back of the couch and takes up whatever space is left available to him, as if he hadn't said it at all and doesn't expect to be acknowledged.]
The sunflower looks good.
[That has a more conversational tone to it, but Pietro's eyes are on the screen, in case Wanda chooses to ignore him completely and he can pretend he's engrossed in Just Shoot Me! and not waiting for crumbs of actual attention.]
[ Wanda doesn't turn her head, not when he mentions Vasili and disappears into the bedroom and not when he drops down beside her. It shouldn't surprise her that Pietro hadn't found his way to Zrinka's apartment. This follows the usual game he plays, where he threatens or promises to go somewhere and ends up somewhere else and returns to her. A part of her had been expecting him to go and see Zrinka for a few hours of having company he didn't deem completely exasperating. ]
It does.
[ She smiles softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She'd been intending to wait for him to help her hang it up, but there were some things that Wanda knew she could do by herself. Hanging that up had been one of them. She didn't need her big brother to help her find the wire or to be the one to hang it up because she'd declare him to be significantly taller than her.
She turns to face him, ignoring Nina insulting Dennis despite it being her favourite part of the show. ]
Why did you not go see Zrinka?
[ Even if the question often falls in the category of things that remain unspoken or even in the category of the answer being blatantly obvious, Wanda wants to see if he answers. It's a risk. Sometimes the answer is Pietro getting up and off the couch and going somewhere else. ]
[Dennis is annoying, and Nina wears too many high cut tops for him to pay that much attention to her in general, but right now he makes it look like their conversation is interesting and something to be prioritised over Wanda. Pietro waits until the scene changes to finally answer, and he may have taken that time to actually think about what he would say instead of letting his first inclinations towards dismissive rudeness take hold. He shifts a little, ostensibly getting more comfortable, but he's also picking at his fingernails and not turning completely towards her, just a glance or two before he speaks.]
I'd never planned to.
[If he'd run into her, maybe, but not purposefully sought her out, not like he'd implied.]
[ That feels like a very, very small victory to Wanda. He hardly ever admits as much, and when he does, it always feels like she's been smacked over by a wave. She smiles a small smile and turns away from him for a moment. Perhaps she shouldn't enjoy this, but she thinks that if their positions were reversed (if they were ever reversed) that he would be gloating. ]
Hm.
[ She clasps her hands together and looks at the television screen without registering anything. It doesn't make her feel any better, but it's stopped making her feel worse. She had dreaded him coming home and boasting about how lovely Zrinka is. She's a nice girl who Wanda hates resenting.
She brushes some of her hair away from her face. ]
I am still mad at you.
[ It's only fair to tell him, even if there's no anger in her voice. ]
[Pietro scoffs and waves one hand quickly in exasperation, looking at the ceiling.]
When are you not?
[It's a dramatic exclamation, though he's not nearly as annoyed as he lets on. He slides down on the couch, crossing his arms and making sure he looks disgruntled.]
[ She frowns at him, feeling a touch defensive. Perhaps that's his plan. She's no longer as guarded as she had been moments ago. Sometimes Pietro has such a talent for crawling beneath her skin and needling her that she forgets the act she wants to portray.
Wanda huffs and shakes her head. She mutters, ] You are so infuriating.
[He laughs to himself, unfortunately loudly, because all it took was that one thing to set her off again, and their constant back and forth all day has come to the point of absurdity. Still, he presses one more button, because he can.]
[ Except, well… out of the two of them, she knows she's not the most relaxed or willing to go with the flow.
Crossing her arms against her chest, she hmphs as she tilts her head up and looks away from him in a stubborn refusal to be uptight. It doesn't work, of course. ]
[Pietro frowns and attempts to look offended at that shove. Once she turns away and makes her declaration, he sighs and rolls his eyes.]
Come on, don't do that. I was joking.
[Wanda knows it's the one thing that gets to him in a different way, he'd rather have her screaming at him than pretending he doesn't exist. He pouts just a little, an expression he would never classify as such himself, and shifts to press his back against the arm of the couch, keeping one leg folded underneath him, and one stretching out. He pokes Wanda's thigh with his foot.]
[ The pouting has the highest possible chance of breaking her. It's a good thing Wanda only glances at him from the corner of her eye and continues to ignore him. He deserves it after being so temperamental today. Even though they both know she won't be able to uphold it for long, she intends to exact a little revenge.
It's on the tip of her tongue to inform him that she can ignore him, but that's the loophole she often falls prey to when she wishes to pretend he's not near her. Perhaps she's grown wiser in her old age.
Wanda makes a point of sighing heavily and, without looking, shoves at his foot with her palm. ]
[He stretches the last syllable out in not quite a whine, like he used to do when they were kids and she'd refused to play with him anymore after he'd annoyed her too much. It's subsequently followed by incessant fidgeting that shakes the couch, and more prodding with his foot. Her hand can't deter him. It's childish and irritating and he knows it, but he's banking on nostalgia making it skew towards endearing instead.]
[ She shakes her head, which defeats the purpose of ignoring him, but Wanda's idea of ignoring him constitutes not speaking to him. It's easy. She thinks she's doing well.
But then she whispers, ] Stop it.
[ Why does he have to move so much? She shoves at his foot, knowing that it'll stay pressed against her thigh regardless of what she does. That's what often breaks her. Pietro's stubborn refusal to listen and his need to poke and fidget until she's the one who's exasperated and not him.
Regardless, she smacks his leg for good measure. ]
[Pietro shouldn't push too far tonight, especially after he's gotten the satisfaction of that whispered acknowledgment, but he only tones it down instead of sitting back up and behaving himself. Moving his other leg out from under him, he slouches down more so he can shove both feet in her lap, getting comfortable and completely ignoring her insistent smack.]
I've stopped. No more.
[He holds up his hands in surrender, but is already shifting his feet, trying to decide which way is best to cross his ankles if he's going to stay in one position for the rest of this episode. Nothing feels quite perfect, it will just be a minute...]
[ Wanda grabs hold of his feet and positions them in a way that's comfortable for her. While she may sit cross-legged, he's long and pointy and everything about him is annoying.
She rests them against her thigh and pokes the arch of his foot to punish him. Rather than resting her hands on her knees, she wraps them tightly around his ankles so he can't move… even though he still can. Her strength is nothing in comparison to his. ]
[She hits on a pressure point that annoys him so much. It doesn't tickle, it doesn't hurt, but there's a pulse of some sensation that makes him want to squirm. He could pull his feet away, but that's giving in and he settles for curling his toes and whining about it.]
Haven't you been insufferable enough tonight? Just watch your show.
[ She can't help but huff incredulously. Pietro has been nothing but! And she supposes that's the reason for his deflection. As oblivious as he pretends to be, she knows he notices almost everything. He may be a blur to others, but the world around him has always remained so sharp. ]
I will show you insufferable. [ This time, she does huff loudly. She grips his ankle with one hand. ] You come and ruin my show. You will pay.
[ In retaliation, she brushes her nails against the arch of his foot in the hopes to tickle him. This is more than deserved. ]
[The last word ends in a higher pitched strangled noise as she drags her nails over that same spot on his arch. His leg jerks once, involuntarily, but Pietro doesn't pull his ankle out of her grasp. Wanda's speaking to him again and paying attention, and he can suffer for that. For a moment at least.]
I ruined nothing. You were barely watching it. Couldn't take your eyes off me from the second I got home.
[It comes out far less flippant and dismissive than he wants it to, his voice wavers too often. Trying too hard to contain most of his urges to writhe and twitch, he brings his arm up to clutch at the back of the couch in an effort to keep still.]
[ Wanda considers letting go of his foot and looking away from him, returning to ignoring him… but this is entirely too much fun. She hates that she can't stay mad at him—or, at least, ignore him. Pietro is a flame she constantly flutters to, but rather than being burned, he just… does this. Utter annoyance.
She glides her nails up and down his foot, from his heel to the tips of his toes. Up and down, uncaring if he moves or wriggles. This is his punishment for being exasperating for the day. ]
I can take my eyes off you, Pietro. See?
[ And she does just that, looking determinedly away from him. ]
[He can't stand it after only a few more passes of her nails. Once she makes it back to his toes for the fifth time, he breaks - squirming and curling a bit into the couch like it would help. It takes Wanda forever every time to drag her nails over the thin skin at the underside of his foot and Pietro feels every individual spark of sensation through too many interconnected nerves going on for far too long, too much constant stimulation that he wants to crawl away from. Words fail him on the first try, only managing a pleading whine that he hates himself for. He gets his comments out eventually, between too quick breaths, but it all runs together in a slurred stream because he can't slow it down enough to be very coherent right now.]
Alright. You have made your point. You're perfectly capable of ignoring me, Wanda. I'm sorry. I was being annoying, irritating, obnoxious, frustrating, insufferable, pick one. Just stop.
[He still won't pull his foot back himself, as if it's some kind of proof that he understands she was, or is, rightfully very aggravated with him and he deserves this.]
[ Perhaps it's unfair, but Wanda thinks she's in the right to declare that he's annoying, irritating, obnoxious, frustrating, and insufferable, and he's been all those things today when he should've been happy and content and at least a little exasperating.
She stops dragging her nails along the arch of his foot, although she does dig her thumb and fingers into it. She doubts he's going to tug his foot away. If he was, he'd have done so already. ]
Do you want to know what I wished for?
[ She hardly sounds angry. Wanda never tells him her wishes, not until the day is at least over. If it's a big wish, she leaves him in the dark, truly believing in the superstition that informing someone of a wish will see it never come true.
But she thinks he deserves to know, even if it leaves him feeling particularly uplifted. ]
[Of course she picks them all, he's not even surprised, though he scoffs and looks exasperated with that response. Wanda digs her fingers into his foot, and it's preferable, even it makes Pietro hiss and drags a nasally whine out of him. It's still a reprieve that he will gladly take, and that allows him to pay more attention to what she's saying. His first thought on the wish is that it had been along the lines of enjoying their birthday without his insensitive and juvenile badgering, which he's already made sure didn't come true. Only her tone implies otherwise, that it was instead something maybe still achievable.]
If you want to tell me.
[He says it like it's something risky to engage in and not meaningless superstition.]
I wished for us to spend it together. I know we spend almost every day together, but I still wanted to today.
[ It's very much along the lines of what he's expected. Wanda's not that unpredictable. She likes what she likes, and she often sticks to the familiar. All she wanted for her birthday was to spend it with Pietro, even though that's almost every other day.
She digs her fingers into his foot and considers leaving it at that, but that sounds like something pointed when she doesn't wish for it to be. Yes, he's been a terror, but Wanda's still gotten her wish. ]
Like this. [ She looks down at his foot, feeling a little sheepish. ] I like this.
[Pietro had been right after all, and he makes a quick 'hm' noise in a tone like he absolutely knew it and is somehow mocking her for being that predictable. He props himself up on his elbows, but has to squirm again as she digs her fingers into his foot. He sighs in annoyance, mostly tolerating it and not immediately complaining, because he has something important to say here.]
I always wish for that.
[The words are quieter and soft, with deeper meaning behind them. It makes him uncomfortable, the feelings that threaten to flood his chest at his admission, so he wiggles his toes at her for a distraction.]
[ Wanda wishes to frown, but she smiles at him instead. It's like a cage of butterflies have been unleashed in her chest and threaten to carry her up and off the couch. Pietro's never as vulnerable with his feelings as she is, but in the instances that he is, she wishes to treasure them.
After considering acknowledging his slip of honesty, she decides to do so in a much quieter manner than outright speaking of it. She twists slightly to face him, no longer wishing to erect a wall between them.
She digs her thumb into his foot. ] This is a good part. You don't like massages?
[With the way she looks at him now, Pietro knows he's gotten her actual attention, her focus. She's not pushing away from him anymore, and he doesn't dare think about how that finally makes the squeezing feeling in his chest stop, one that had been present since he'd come home. It's irrational to think Wanda would ever really turn away from him in earnest, especially for minor transgressions, but Pietro is a difficult person to live with, even worse after HYDRA, and he is well aware of it. If anyone's walking away from this relationship down the line, he thinks it's going to be her. He'd been completely truthful about his wishes, every one since it had just been them alone in the world. He'd made them exactly as he'd said, because he holds as much fear as he knows Wanda does, of them being separated by tragedy or other means, and if Pietro doesn't wish for them to be together, it's his fault if it happens because he wanted something else for one moment.]
Is that what you call it?
[He makes a frustrated noise and presses his foot harder against her thumb.]
You're doing it all wrong. Do you know how much more insufferable I will be if you bruise my foot so much it hurts to walk?
[ See? Her evil masterplan is at work here, although, Wanda's aware of how frustrating and annoying he'll be if he's immobile. That doesn't stop her from digging her thumb into the heel of his foot. He's not pulling away, and even if he did, she's not quite sure she'd let him anymore. (Of course, she'd show mercy on his feet, but he's not leaving this couch until she wishes him to. He owes her that much.)
Cocking her head upward, she arches her brow in challenge. ]
If you know how to do it better, then tell me.
[ She doubts it. She digs her fingers into his heel and foot, wanting to turn him into jelly. ]
[If he answers her as she wants him to, it will be worse. If he makes a suggestion, she'll go too far with it, or do the exact opposite, or pretend to misinterpret it. Wanda has the upper hand as long as Pietro can deal with it, and he's not quite ready to pull away and leave the couch. Not after today, even if it's very very tempting right now to run away. He squirms instead, more than he needs to, and makes sure his whiny growling noises of discontent are loud and obnoxiously pitched. If she gets too annoyed with him, it's her own fault. He starts poking at her hand with his other foot, no real effort behind it to get her to let go.]
[ She says it fondly. While Pietro doesn't know everything all the time, she suspects he knows this. He's simply playing hard to get. Grabbing his other foot with her other hand, she digs her thumb into his arch to try and fight a two-front battle for as long as he'll allow it.
She continues to rub at his foot, liking the fact that he's squirming. Perhaps he'll lose this unspoken battle and bolt off the couch… or maybe he'll stick it out, ignoring his growing exasperation. She hopes it's the latter. Today has been a day where they've spent too much time turning their backs on one another. ]
It's your birthday. Tell me what you want if this is not that.
[Pietro never asks for lighter touches, usually the worst thing she can do to him, and he'll still be annoyed even then, but at this point Wanda has been abusing his arch for so long it feels like stepping on a sharp rock over and over, slowly. He bites his lip to avoid the yelp that tries to escape his throat when she grabs the other foot to start in there too. After more squirming and twitching, he finally asks for it - though it sounds more like a demand born out of desperation.]
Lighter, and stop sometimes. It's too much if you don't... space it out.
[His focus is back on the television, this is an awkward conversation to participate in while he can't stop writhing and digging his fingers into the couch, and he needs more distractions.]
[ She smiles, but she doesn't laugh. Sometimes she wonders if Pietro allows her to dig and poke and prod at him because she wants to dig and poke and prod at him. But she immediately makes her touch lighter and even removes her hand from the foot she's considered taking as her own. ]
You don't like it? Or is it simply too much?
[ Both are two very important distinctions. From what he's said, she imagines it's the latter.
Instead of rubbing his arch, she walks her fingers along his foot in an attempt to have him roll his eyes in exasperation. It's light, as he's requested, and it's silly, as she wants it to be. ]
[It's light, but it's too light, and not at all unexpected as a response. He sighs and huffs and rolls his eyes, but can at least get comfortable for a moment and not feel like his nerves are on fire. It will build back to that quickly once the lighter pressure stops feeling so dull in comparison and becomes aggravating again. While he can, Pietro pulls his other foot back and keeps his knee bent, pressed against the back of the couch. Wanda can't have both.]
... Too much.
[He's technically not admitting that some of her 'massaging' is above baseline tolerable.]
[ Oh, so he likes her massaging. That's good to know, especially since Wanda had every inclination to pull back. The last thing she wants is to cause him discomfort. Exasperation, irritation, and frustration, however…
She keeps her touch light as she glances at the foot that's escaped her for now. She'll grant it, especially considering Pietro's answered her question honestly. She doesn't want him to associate placing his feet on her lap with something unenjoyable. ]
You should tell me more when it's too much, Pietro. [ It's only a gentle scolding, one that she hopes he takes to heart. She looks down at his foot and sweeps her fingers along the top of it, giving his arch a break. ] I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.
[It's a rhetorical and dismissive question he doesn't want an answer to. Pietro keeps his eyes on the television, but he's not watching it. Once she moves on to a difference spot for a change, the tension in muscles lessens and random twitches subside for the time being. After a moment, he elaborates on things, looking for the right words to explain without potentially making Wanda feel like she's done something that really bothered him as much as he's let on. It isn't torture, but it could be, so easily, and maybe she should know that.]
I do not tell you because... it is always too much, very quickly. After only a minute or two with some things, like you've been going at it for an hour without letting up. That is what it feels like for me.
[He picks at a frayed thread at the seam of the couch cushion, more incessantly than idly, because it frustrates him to admit to things like this. It's some form of weakness he doesn't need her to become overly concerned about.]
I don't want you to think I'm annoyed with you all the time. It's not you, it's me.
[The last part is lifted from Friends or Cheers most likely, he can't remember which, but it's fitting.]
[ She's quiet for a moment as she considers his words. There are too many examples of him being irritated and short-tempered with her and around her and at anything in general to latch onto a specific one as an example. She's always shrugged it off as Pietro being Pietro… but perhaps it's something more. Maybe it's like how she oftentimes begins to overthink and worry and wonder if what she's thinking about is actually hers to worry about or if it's someone else's thought that's slipped through the cracks. ]
So should I mix it up? Touch your toes for a little bit and then move to your ankle and come back to your toes again? Or should I leave the toes alone for good after?
[ Using his foot as an example is probably easiest, given it's what she had been touching to tease him with. Wanda doesn't physically act on it to demonstrate her question, though, not wishing to irritate him with her touch if he still needs a few moments to relax.
She wants to ask him about it more, but she doesn't want to press. Despite him being as quick as a bullet, this is something he's approached tentatively, and it's something she thinks she needs to explore at the pace he sets. ]
[He snorts, but it's with laughter and not derision, finally turning to look at her again. It feels ridiculous to use her chosen example, fitting as it is.]
Wanda, it's not really that big of a deal.
[Pietro waves one hand as if he hadn't just told her that it is sometimes.]
Yes. Mix it up. Not the same place for too long, not the same... pattern, repetitive touch.
[His stomach twists with the awkward embarrassment of continuing to address this topic, and it's somehow more uncomfortable to talk about than it would have been to let her continue the way she was going and never mention his problems with it.]
If you want to go slow with something, you could... it would be good if you stopped for a little? It can just be seconds, not long for you.
[He runs his hand through his hair in irritation, mostly with himself, because he needs to make a caveat or they'll have another discussion later.]
But I like it sometimes, when you don't. Stop. You know, when...
[ It is a big deal. She doesn't want him to be embarrassed telling her what he wants or needs or dislikes. Even if she likes it, she doesn't want him to grin and bear it. He's done that too much in their life with everything else. She doesn't want him to do it with her. ]
You will tell me when to stop? During…
[ Wanda wiggles her eyebrows and smiles. It's completely immature, but she wishes to hear him laugh away some of the tension he feels. ]
So, like this, hm?
[ Wanda removes her hands from his foot and sweeps her fingers along the arch of his foot a few times before gliding them to the top. She slides her hand to his ankle before gliding up to his calf and returning to his ankle again. Perhaps what she has to do is not focus solely on one area. It's what she does best, focusing on thoughts, and trying to dig into them until she finds what she needs. But for Pietro, perhaps she has to expand it to much more. ]
[Her eyebrow wiggle is too much, and does earn her a laugh, and another eye roll. They should be talking about it like mature adults, but they don't. He can fuck her, but he can't talk about fucking her, even in the privacy of their apartment. It's euphemisms and implications and half-finished sentences, only more evidence that Pietro's continued flirting with other girls in public holds no real intentions behind it. If it did, he couldn't be so bold about it.]
You know I can stop you.
[Physically, easily. Presumably. He never does, and he's not actually answering Wanda's question, moving right along to focusing on her touch. It lingers, as always, but not to a degree where Pietro feels like his skin is too itchy and constricting and he wants to escape it. Slow traces of her fingers just long enough to drag sparks of electric sensation through nerves, sensations that fade before they're overwhelming. He may shift a little, but there's far less squirming, and his voice holds no hint of whining or discomfort.]
Like that.
[He moves his other foot again, to press against her thigh, meant as a comforting gesture of trust and proof that Wanda isn't upsetting him and he's just lying about it.]
[ She smiles, pleased that he's not disgruntled or hiding the fact that he is annoyed. Picking his other foot up and placing it on her thigh, she does the same, trailing her fingers down his toes to the top of his foot, slipping to his arch and then back to his ankle. She watches his face as she simply traces his foot, gliding her hands up his calf until she brings her hand down again. ]
You have such long legs.
[ Unsurprising, really, given how long legs are advantageous for moving so fast and for being so tall. Despite them looking lean and twig-like to her, she likes that she can feel his strong muscles. ]
Is this what I should have done in the park? Touch you all over?
[ Rather than in just one spot. While she's not entirely sure how she would've done that, she's bold enough to ask now. ]
[Touching certain spots make his muscles twitch under her fingers, or his toes curl, but the momentary tension doesn't last, and as she watches him, he never looks at her in irritation. Pietro's movements on the couch are now for getting more relaxed, if possible, not forcing himself not to run. He snorts at Wanda's comment, poking at her again. She likes to call his legs bony, but Pietro will refute that claim every time.]
Oh, you like them now, do you?
[He shrugs at her question, raising an eyebrow and biting his lip in thought, making a show of it. The park hadn't been too much for him, as far as they'd gotten.]
I don't know. You may have to experiment with that the next time I spill jam.
[ It's not a no, which only inspires Wanda's boldness. She looks at him without her gaze wavering as she continues to move her hand along his calf, ankle and foot. ]
I can still see jam.
[ After a moment, she ducks her gaze to his pants. It hardly matters if the imaginary jam is there or not. It's there for the sole purpose of this, although it's up to him if he wants to venture there again. With him open and sharing, she wishes to learn more. Who knows if the next time she touches him if he'd be as willing to give her guidance on where to touch him and when to stop to prevent him from feeling overstimulated? ]
[There's laughter in his voice that he tries not to make too obvious. Wanda is extremely transparent, he wasn't even wearing these pants earlier. Pietro looks down at his thigh as if searching for that imaginary jam, though. He fingers a spot along the top of his inner thigh, as obvious as he can get.]
Oh, there it is.
[His playing along sounds more light-hearted to him, and he's starting to think he may have been more irritated by the things Wanda does than he'd thought, or irritated with himself for never bringing it up and continuing to get exasperated over what he could have so easily fixed.]
[ Transferring it from pants to pants—not that Wanda's particularly realised. She's detail-oriented, but sometimes even things like putting on a new pair of pants slip through the cracks of her attention. She doubts it really matters. There's imaginary jam on his pants and he's playing along with her ruse. ]
Move. I can't reach from here.
[ She lets go of his foot despite not wishing to part from him and clicks her fingers impatiently. ]
[Pietro scoffs and makes an annoyed low noise like being asked to move is such a chore, when he can barely stay still for five minutes at the best of times. He sits up with a sigh and slides closer along the couch, shoving at Wanda's bent knee as she sits cross-legged, like he's personally offended by its existence now pressed against his thigh.]
Alright. Get on with it. Jam stains, you know.
[Nevermind the fact if the mystery jam did exist, they'd only be rubbing it in and making it worse.]
[ Sitting cross-legged, Wanda smiles as she shakes her head at his impatience. She'd cluck her tongue, but she refrains for now.
Placing her hand against his knee, she slides it down his thigh and curves her hand against the crease of his hip. Although he wishes for her to get on with it, she wants to take her time. Learn how to touch him in ways that don't only bring her satisfaction.
She glides her hand to palm his crotch and gives him a gentle squeeze. ]
[She's slow and too soft with it, but not to where Pietro is irritated by it yet, only enough to bring the first pleasant sensations that should go along with that sort of touch. His abdominal muscles clench and twitch as she rubs, and he doesn't hold back on any pleased hums he usually refuses to let come out, always too ready to act like Wanda can't get under his skin until he's far too stimulated to actively ignore it anymore. Admitting to it is awkward, and he can feel heat creeping across his chest as he looks away and tries to be direct and honest about what he likes and what limitations he should be considering, like this really is an experiment as he'd proposed.]
This is.. nice too.
[He reaches for a strand of her hair to play with.]
But after a minute, it will feel... itchy.
[Euphemistically, but he has no better word for overloaded sensation receptors firing too often in his brain.]
And I want a harder touch to fix it, to make it different.
[ After a quick moment of mulling over his words, she nods. ]
I think so.
[ Does she wait until he tells her the sensation has grown too 'itchy' or does she firm up her touch? Wanda watches him for a moment before she does that, turning her gentle rubbing into something a little more harder and purposeful. She glances down at her hand before looking back up at him.
Rather than just rub, she gropes him with intention now. ]
[His breathing hitches slightly once she rubs with more pressure, build up from the light touches waning in favour of new sensations. Nothing is overstimulating, but Pietro still moves, writhes just a little as she starts with the groping, pushing back at her hand, but not with as much desperation and need as tends to when Wanda's had the upper hand and been allowed to tease him for too long.]
Mm. Yes.
[He reaches out to run his hand along her arm, because he can't just sit here, even if it's an experiment.]
Now, you will tell me when I do something that is too much for you, yes? At any time.
[He tries to be pointed with his last comment, it applies to any situation.]
If you keep forgiving me so easily for things you don't like, I will keep doing them.
[ That's a boy she's not entirely sure he'd wish to open. There are many things he does that irritate her. Flirting with other girls. Flirting with other girls in front of her. Taking up so much closet space. They're minor gripes in the grand scheme of discomfort. ]
I have a list of things.
[ She tells him matter-of-factly, tilting her chin upward as she smiles softly at him in a clear sign of teasing. ]
Many things. I don't know if I have time to list them before we sleep.
[ Wanda slows her hand movement, but ensures it remains firm. She properly rubs him, feeling the outline of his cock through his pants. She imagines this will feel good for now until she has to lighten her touch for him. ]
[ At first, she considers not stopping what she's doing. She likes that he's pushing up against her. He may speak, but she tries to listen to his body now, to see if there are movements or hesitancies that she can pick up on before he even thinks to speak of what he wants.
But she slows her hand, lightening her touch, and hopes it prompts him to buck up into her hand for more friction and warmth. ]
It was nice touching you in the park. [ Wanda ignores her flush. The park had been risky, but… it had been nice. Different. Perhaps in line with what they've discussed now. ]
[It doesn't take long with that slower lighter touch before Pietro needs something harder again, and he does exactly what she expects, moving his hips to seek it out, pressing into her fingers and grinding. The noises he makes carry more frustration in them, but not to the point of whining about it, and he can still focus on her flushed face - and smirk as she admits to that.]
Liked that, did you?
[He runs his fingers along her arm again, lightly dragging his nails, trying to make her shiver. Though now that she's brought his attention back to what happened earlier, he has an important question.]
Wanda... no one was watching, not even a glance until...
[Jelka. But he doesn't want to say her name and get them off on another tangent.]
[ She doesn't respond immediately. Looking down at his hips, she keeps her touch light a moment longer before she firms up her touch. Does she want to distract him from this line of thinking? Partly. Does she know the answer to his question? Maybe. Wanda's unsure of what happened at the park, other than the fact she willed no one to look and so no one did.
A funny coincidence? Doubtful. Everyone likes to look at Pietro. The girls do. Every and any chance they get, they look. ]
We wouldn't have been able to do that if people were looking.
[ Her heart picks up in its rhythm. He doesn't sound angry. He simply sounds curious. ]
I didn't do it on purpose. If it was me.
[ But who else could it have been? Wanda deliberately stays out of everyone's minds no matter how taxing it can be. But she's the only one with the ability to plant thoughts and discourage actions so subtly one would think it was their own. Hadn't that been what Strucker had liked most about her powers? That's all he wished to replicate. An army of soldiers who could control the enemy. ]
[It is distracting, pulling his focus back to himself again for a moment as he follows the movement of her hand, getting the friction he wants. In the park, they weren't being any more discreet really than they are right now, and Pietro is sure he wasn't exactly quiet. But no one looked. Any time he'd check, everyone in the park within range was minding their own business, even the most gossipy people among them. Could Wanda have done it without trying to? He thinks she could, the same way sometimes things float up slightly or rattle when she's upset. She doesn't have absolute control, after all this time, precision and awareness still things they both need to work on.]
I think it was you. A mass suggestion like they talked about.
[The ideas he thought a little too fanciful, that someone like Wanda could control an entire enemy army like a hivemind. But it could be possible.]
Maybe something simple, you just thought it, "don't look" or "no one can see us".
[She hadn't meant to, anxious thoughts on what she wanted to happen maybe being projected as a command without her active participation in it. He shifts away from those thoughts, he doesn't want to make it sound like he's concerned about it at all, how something like that could be done accidentally, so he goes for dismissive like they'd been talking about nothing important.]
You probably saved us some embarrassment there, yeah? Go harder again, you're slacking off.
[ Wanda's grateful for the distraction, however temporary it may be. They don't speak often about the powers they acquired from the sceptre. She hasn't asked again about what he saw when he did reach out and touch it. Did he see a glowing light? A silhouette? Did he see anything at all before the world went black?
She pushes her hand down harder, digging the heel of her palm into his crotch. She curls her fingers around the shape of his cock and massages him harder than before. ]
I did think it.
[ After weighing up the possibility of leaving it be, she doesn't. She doesn't want to. What if Pietro is worried she'll do it again? If he is, he'd say as much. Pietro's hardly shy in voicing his opinions. ]
"Don't look. No one can see. No one is interested." I knew they were going to look if I didn't.
[ And Wanda's selfish and greedy for time with Pietro, even when they have spent most of their time together before and will spend time together in the after. ]
[He hisses that out as her fingers dig in, there's too much fabric in the way now, and even the harder touches are starting to frustrate him as his arousal grows, more prominent heat pulsing down through his abdomen. He's still listening, but it filters in peripherally and his active attention is elsewhere as he squirms slightly, both wanting more and less.]
If you could do that with more precision, that would be great.
[He means that in reference to her powers used in a strategic fighting way, but considering what they're doing right now, it could apply to other things just as easily.]
[ Wanda looks at him with amusement before she shakes her head. At least this time there's no one around to inspire him to ruin this for the both of them. As much as Wanda wants to make him come in his pants, it's his birthday. She thinks it's only fair that she's somewhat kind to him today.
Tabling her powers for when he's not distracted by his arousal, Wanda gives him a firm squeeze. ]
[They're apparently done with the discussion of Wanda's powers, and right now Pietro isn't going to protest that. It's always come in bits and pieces, knowledge of each others abilities and the extent of control or limitations, and that isn't going to change with how often either he gets distracted by other things or she avoids conflict and speaking up. He makes an irritated noise at the loss of contact, but does as she says, tugging his pants and underwear down and dropping them on the floor beside the couch. It takes him a moment to get comfortable again, then he's waving her back the second he does, like Wanda had been the one taking too long to return to things.]
Enough with the interruptions, let's go.
[He's very tempted to touch himself, one hand hovering over the leaking tip of his cock, but he won't. It's just another hint for her to hurry up or she'll miss out.]
[ A part of her considers telling him she hadn't told him to take his underwear off, either, but Wanda refrains. She has a better idea of how to frustrate him.
Batting his hand away, she makes as though she's going to grab his cock, but Wanda lets her hand brush lightly against his belly before she takes her hand away. She breaks her cross-legged position and drops onto the floor. Smacking his leg to encourage him to widen them, she sits between them and rises on her knees.
Similarly to how he often teases her, Wanda ignores his cock for now and kisses his knee before moving up the length of his inner thigh. She rests her hands against his thighs, squeezing him tightly to try and give him a harder touch to go along with the soft press of her mouth. ]
[He'd demanded too much or tried to move it along too quickly for her liking, he can tell. She's going to tease as long as he can stand it, and Pietro expects her to put her hands anywhere but on his cock. Even knowing that, he's still frustrated at that brief trace of fingers over his stomach, just enough to spark heightened sensation. Once she's on her knees and kissing his thigh, that irritation shifts quickly to more heated arousal that stops him from making a comment. As Wanda sinks her fingers hard into his thighs, a low pleased noise works its way out of his mouth despite his attempt to swallow it, the squeezing adds more varied stimulation that he very much likes. He should have mentioned this whole issue far earlier.]
Shit.
[It's a quiet exhale of an exclamation, and he's finding it very difficult to keep his hands off his cock if she won't touch it. He digs his fingers into the arm of the couch, but his other hand still creeps along his hip, waiting for the right moment to stroke his fingers over his shaft, when she won't notice.]
[ Wanda doesn't lift her head from where she perches against his inner thigh. She could easily turn and touch his cock, but given that he's inevitably going to touch himself, she decides to bide her time. Besides, in its own way, this is payback for his earlier moments of being utterly exasperating.
She continues to squeeze his knee as she nips at his skin, smiling now that she has the upper hand. Finally. Still, she doesn't pull away from his thigh, letting her lips brush against his skin. ]
If you do, I will go sit on the other side of the couch and keep my hands and mouth to myself.
[He has a soft growl for that admonishment, though it was only to be expected from Wanda, once she feels like she's in control she likes to keep it that way. Pietro moves his hand from his hip, but he's not sure where to put it, twitching fingers hovering above his thigh, ready to trail up her arm.]
Can I touch you?
[It's spoken churlishly, irritated at himself for even asking, for putting that decision in her hands without protest, but her ultimatum is not to be considered and he doesn't want to do something else she'll disapprove of and stop for. Not at this stage.]
[ She considers saying no. He's to keep his hands to himself and behave, but... again, it's his birthday—and he's admitted something intimate to her that she doesn't wish to dissuade him from exploring it. Does his impatience extend to how he touches her or is it only when he's being touched?
Despite knowing her answer, Wanda makes a show of humming loudly in a bid to pretend she's contemplating it. ]
Yes.
[ She considers her terms but decides to give him free rein. Sometimes it's fun to give Pietro no boundaries. Most of the time, it's utterly exasperating. ]
[That answer surprises him, but he doesn't hesitate to run his fingers over her arm, slow and soft for as long as he can manage it. Pietro may have some issues with continual touch, but it's when he can't control it, touching her doesn't bring the same build up of sensations that slip into overstimulation. She might not even notice when he pauses, or shifts the force of his fingers slightly, strokes along one barely different path over the same patch of skin. It's different.]
This helps too, you know.
[He may as well volunteer information while he's thinking about it, because tomorrow they'll never touch on it again.]
Something to focus on when it starts to get too much. It's why I like to play with your hair.
[He has other reasons for that too, but occupying his fingers by twisting the soft tendrils around them tempers a lot of the edging sometimes.]
[ Although, that's as obvious as water being wet. Wanda can be angry at him and the moment he plays with her hair, she's pleased. She could be incapable of sleep, and the moment he threads his fingers through her hair, she's dreaming. ]
Even when you knot it, which is all the time. [ She chuckles against his thigh before grazing her teeth against his skin. All this talk is distracting her, but it's only encouraging her edging even more. But it does help her in the one task she's set herself: bruise him where only he can see it as a reminder that he's hers. She sucks on his skin, determined to leave a blemish. ]
It's only all of the time because you are a tease.
[Pietro sucks in a breath and his fingers stall momentarily in their stroking, the hint of teeth and her hot mouth against his skin makes his thigh muscle twitch. Wanda might be slower and more meticulous with marking than he tends to be, but he appreciates both of those things for the moment, feeling that patch of skin heat up and tingle.]
[ And he encourages her to be bold and go after what she wants, which is stirring him. She stays at his thigh for a few moments before she deems her work complete. His bruise will hopefully show, and if not… she thinks it's only fair that she gets to try it again. ]
Don't pull too hard.
[ Wanda doesn't look up at him when she grasps his cock in her hand. Rubbing her thumb gently against it, she strokes him a few times before she moves her head away from his thigh. Perhaps he'll wish she stuck to kissing and sucking his thigh instead; when she takes his cock into her mouth, it's only shallow. She licks at the head and grips his thigh with her other hand. ]
[He scoffs, taking her warning as permission to tangle his fingers in her hair, which he does, only tugging gently, despite wanting to yank on it the second she grabs his cock. He tightens his grip on the soft strands, freezing in his movements while she starts licking at just the tip of his cock. A frustrated noise spills out of his throat, a gruff kind of half-whine, and he can't help from pushing his hips forward just a little.]
Fuck, do you have to be so slow?
[His complaint is tinged with just as much lust as irritation, and he starts winding her hair around his fingers again.]
Wanda smiles and doesn't pull away despite being tempted to. That'd definitely frustrate him, but she wishes for his frustration to build in a specific way. She wants him to keep checking himself every time he wants to tug on her hair, and she wants to know that moment when he stops being so tightly wound up and in control. Instead, she simply taps her fingers against his thigh to convey her response.
She continues to drag her tongue along the head of his cock before she slides a little more into her mouth. She intends to make this achingly slow until he genuinely tells her to stop moving at such a sloth-like pace. Wanda wants him to feel everything; rushing only results in him not enjoying the way her tongue curls around the side of him. ]
[Every pass of Wanda's tongue is agonisingly, purposefully, slow. The texture and undulation as she curls her tongue spark individual pulses of electricity in his nerves. Pietro digs his fingers harder into the arm of the couch instead of her hair, keeping his hold there looser as he pulls with very little force. His abdomen tightens as he looks down to watch her mouth on his cock, and he lets out another low whine, pressing his toes into the floor hard to stop himself from giving in and pushing forward further into her mouth.]
You are infuriating.
[It's spoken affectionately, despite the scratchy whisper of a tone.]
[ And so is he, which makes them quite the pair. Wanda keeps her comments to herself for now, smiling around his cock instead. She'd make an active effort of counting down the seconds before he inevitably breaks her terms and reaches for her, but she doesn't wish to take her attention away from him.
Wanda purposefully moves slowly. She takes more of him into her mouth, but hardly as much or as deep as he wants. She slides her tongue against him and hollows her cheeks slightly to suck. But everything she does is slow and soft, much like how she likes to treat him. She considers going harder, but Pietro squirming and cursing above her is much more appetising.
Ignoring the curl of heat in her low belly, Wanda digs her hand against his thigh as she ensures not to squeeze him too tight in her other hand. She moves her head along his cock, back and forth in what she hopes is agonisingly slow. ]
[His breathing becomes hitched and stuttering, her slow sucking far too drawn out and not hard or intense enough, leaving him in that space she seems too adept at getting him to where every sensation is not enough and at the same time prolonged and constant. Pietro focuses on her hand instead, her fingers firm against his thigh but still somehow too light. It serves as enough of a distraction from the most frustrating aspects of Wanda's methods, allowing him to let the build up of stimulation rise without breaking too much, even if his louder moans come out laced with irritation and growling.]
Wanda, just...
[He won't beg yet, they've just started from her point of view, though he starts to move more insistently, inching his hips forward and trying to be subtle about it.]
[ She wants him to beg, but after the conversation they've just had, she's mindful of not trying to be overly irritating to an unfun degree.
At the shift of his hips, she decides to take that as his verbal request to change it up slightly. While she wants to continue torturing him—it's always so much fun having Pietro come apart beneath or on top of her—she doesn't take him any further into her mouth but sucks harder. Sometimes she can be too light, and Wanda wishes for him to feel her all around him, from the hot warmth of her mouth to the way she glides her tongue along him as she moves her head. ]
[It's enough of a change to bring more arousal than frustration, and Pietro makes note than she had been listening to him and trying to mix it up. He tightens his grip on her hair, but still doesn't pull, and as she sucks deeper, a wave of heat from his abdomen rushes straight down to his cock. Every rough glide of Wanda's tongue over his heated flesh makes his stomach muscles twitch and he squirms a little. He sighs in annoyance to offset that sign of enjoyment.]
[ Wanda hums around him, although she's not quite sure if it sounds like a 'no' or 'yes' or nothing at all
But because he's asked for it, Wanda does it, wondering when Pietro will soon regret ever telling her that he grows frustrated at her slowness every time she takes it on board and changes her speed. She almost pulls him entirely from her mouth before she sucks on him again, moving her head a little faster to try and give him some of the friction that he's after. She doesn't soften her mouth, intending to make him feel tense and hot all over by the warm heat of her.
Moving her hand from his thigh, she blindly slides it up his hip and to his belly, curling her fingers into his skin to try and feel the movement of his muscles. She glides her nails against him, wanting him to stop thinking and demanding and simply relax into her giving him more than just one sensation. ]
[The humming itself gets a reaction, an immediate little twitch. He lets out a very quiet but irritated breath as Wanda pulls away, thinking he'd been too demanding and she might just stop altogether, but she doesn't. The change in pace and intensity has him making more pleased noises, even a muttered 'yes' as Pietro tries not to move his hips too much in response. Her nails split his focus even more, and he seeks them out, arcing into them even if his skin beneath them quivers. There are no comments, only a tug on her hair, not too hard, but not at all soft.]
[ Is this what finally shuts Pietro up? Wanda will have to keep it up her sleeve for future use.
She digs her nails into his belly as she takes more of him into her mouth. As delightful as it is to tease him inch by inch, when Wanda pulls away from his cock, the next time she takes him into her mouth, it's all the way. She hollows out her cheeks and sucks hard, wanting to feel him buck breath her and lose what little semblance of control he has. Pietro has been so good in abiding by her terms, but she had proposed them so he'd break them.
She moans and shifts on her knees, and curls her fingers into his stomach hard enough to leave white lines. ]
[Pietro hisses as her nails dig into his stomach, just as he'd wanted, she's giving him varied sensations and a mix of hard and soft, very much working as intended. She moves further along his cock, only to stop and pull back again, and Pietro whines before he can stop himself, thinking his victory here might be short-lived and expecting nothing but more teasing.]
Fuck.
[That comes out almost in a gasp as he's proven wrong, and he clutches the arm of the chair so hard his knuckles turn white. Wanda's mouth is hot and wet, the pressure of suction intense. It doesn't take long for all of his nerves to crackle and his hips jerk involuntarily, but he tries to pull back from thrusting hard into her mouth. When she moans, reverberating around him, he yanks on her hair, releasing a half-strangled noise that might have been an attempt at her name.]
[ One of her favourite things is making Pietro lose control. He thinks less. He's less guarded. He stops stopping himself from letting himself go boneless. He'll always try and be one step ahead and protect them both, but she doubts he really needs to protect them from anything right now. At this moment, she gets to take care of him—a rare instance she has to steal.
Wanda moans again when he yanks on her hair, although this time the sound is long and low. She breathes heavily through her nose and ignores the ache between her legs and the heat clamming at her nape. She takes him a little deeper before she pulls back, expecting that he'll start jerking his hips again. She wants to remain as in control as possible. Doing so means going slow, but she doesn't want to irritate him when she wants to pleasure him instead. Finding that middle ground's going to be a lesson in itself, but she tries to heed Pietro's wishes by sucking hard on the head of his cock and curling her fingers into his belly as though that's enough of a signal that she doesn't mind him yanking or pushing his hips into her. ]
[His control slips further as she moans again, compulsively tugging on her hair and squirming under the press of her fingers. When Wanda moves back to the head of his cock, Pietro growls in irritation that sounds more desperate than anything, and he follows her movements not long after, thrusting deeper into her mouth, wanting more of the heat and friction she'd interrupted by shifting her focus again.]
Shit, Wanda. You're... fuck.
[Anything positive or praising he may have wanted to say gets lost in translation from his brain to his mouth, and she only gets inarticulate vulgarity for her efforts.]
[ She's not going to let him forget this. Reduced to nothing but words that, when strung together, make absolutely no sense. But, to Wanda, it's all the praise she needs.
Smiling, she sucks harder, moving along his shaft as she takes him deeper into her mouth. She controls her breathing as best as she can, especially when she lets the head of his cock hit the back of her throat. She curls her fingers tightly against his belly, scraping hard now as though she's capable of leaving any permanent marks on him.
She hums for good measure—and The Brady Bunch theme, at that. ]
[His stomach tightens when the tip of his cock makes contact with the back of Wanda's throat. He's incapable of forming words at all any longer, and the movement of his hips becomes erratic and jerky in his bid to control himself for another couple of minutes if he can. Everything feels too hot and still he shivers slightly. Despite her terrible choice of melody, the continued humming sets Pietro off and he makes some insistent noise while pulling at her hair in a different way, an attempt to signal he's going to come soon, and she probably has less than a half a minute to react, if he's being generous with his estimate.]
[ While Wanda does enjoy the instances where Pietro comes on himself, she doesn't pull away from him. She sucks harder, enjoying the way that he's no longer in control of his movements. And if he is, it's not the refined control she's used to from him. She hums that melody he hates so much, taking great pleasure in knowing it is causing him pleasure. There's something a little sadistic about it that Wanda enjoys.
And to guarantee that he'll continue to evade the grasp of his control, she's quick to glide her hand down his belly and snake it beneath him to gently stroke one of his balls. ]
[Pietro's fingers at the arm of the couch begin to vibrate as he tries to dig them deeper into the worn and thinly padded surface that has little give. He loses all rhythm to his thrusts, falling out of any conscious movement there, Wanda's harder sucking instantly sending too any synapses firing at once, and he writhes uncomfortably with his last attempts to hold off. He can't, not once her fingers run over his balls, the new sensation enough to push him over the edge quickly. Another strangled noise leaves his throat as his muscles tense and he comes into the wet heat of her mouth.]
[ Giving him one last suck, Wanda pulls away and swallows his come. She wipes the back of her hand against her mouth and ducks her face for a moment. Despite having just had his dick in her mouth, she still feels a little shy. Strange how that always happens whenever she's had a moment of boldness.
Remaining between his legs, she lifts up on her knees and rests her hands against his. She smiles at him and ignores her flush and her heated skin. She wants him to match her, although she suspects he's already feeling very hot from almost destroying their couch. ]
I think that was a very good birthday gift. Not as good at the suncatcher, though.
[ Nothing would compare to the suncatcher, not even if he got her a castle in the prettiest part of the world. Not even if he gave her the sun itself.
But this surely does beat the silly cupcake and candle she got him earlier. ]
Look at this. [ She tsks as she frowns at the arm of the couch. There's nothing there but small indents from his fingers. Inspired by him being his most exasperating self, she clucks her tongue before she scolds him. ] You need to be more careful.
[He watches intently as she brushes her hand against her mouth then shyly turns her face away. Those moments where Wanda is shameless and brazen are always fleeting, but Pietro savours them, and this one is no different. Wanda can be incredibly hot when she doesn't even try, and he will never tell her that. Her hands are too warm resting on his knees, and her face is as flushed as he feels all over.]
You like that suncatcher more than me, don't you?
[It's rhetorical, but now that he can manage words again, Pietro has to take every opportunity to comment. And he has another for the finger marks she points out, running his hand over them to try and smooth the fabric back.]
What? There is barely anything there. And that was careful. I could have set it on fire, you know.
[He only thinks about that right now, but friction from extreme vibration is dangerous, maybe he really could have. He's going to claim that either way, regardless of actual possibility.]
[ At his question, Wanda merely smiles. Best to leave some things to assumption. If she had to choose between the suncatcher and Pietro, her choice will always be Pietro, even on his most frustrating days.
Looking at the armrest, she rolls her eyes. ] And that is a good thing? You cannot go around setting everything on fire because you cannot control yourself, Pietro!
[ She shakes her head as though he's absolutely silly for not thinking about that. Granted, they have other furniture—the bed, the kitchen table and chairs, even the counters. But it's more fun when she's hyperbolic. Pietro often gets a twitch whenever she is.
Wanda digs her nails into his knees as she makes a point of struggling to get up so she can push all of her weight into him. She mutters, ] Maybe you should have gotten a spanking instead.
[He waves one hand in annoyance at that preemptive accusation.]
I have not set anything on fire!
[Yet. Wanda has. Pietro remembers that lamp she'd accidentally shorted out two days after they left the HYDRA base, hit it with a stray blast of that weird red energy, and one part of the shade had caught fire for all of half a second, quickly fizzling out into a black mark and nothing more. But it still counts, and it's more than he's ever done. He hisses as she digs her nails into his knees and leans all her weight on him, scoffing at her comment.]
For what? I've done nothing here.
[Except for a myriad of obnoxious things throughout the day that he's conveniently 'forgotten'.]
[ Wanda doesn't bother to hide her smile. She stares down at him as she cocks her brow. Really, Pietro? While she's hesitant to list his crimes and ruin what's become a salvageable day, she doesn't want him to think he's entirely innocent. He often believes that mistake and it's her duty to ensure that he's seeing things clearly. She's the sensible twin, after all. ]
You insulted my television show. You took up the entire couch! [ Granted, she did have her spot in the corner, but he had been pressing his feet all over her and invading her space! ] You ruin my favourite arm of the couch. [ A lie. She likes the arm she had been sitting against more than the one he had almost set on fire. ]
And I am tired and you make me stand.
[ Clucking her tongue, she shakes her head as she curls her fingers into his knees as though that's enough of a punishment. ]
[He knows she's never going to mention anything she's actually aggrieved by, and his smirk in return is smug as he listens to what she does list as some sort of transgressions. His expression shifts from amusement to feigned sympathy.]
I've done such horrible things to you, Wanda. Can you ever forgive me for taking up the entire couch?
[Pietro can't keep it up for long though, and he snorts, batting gently at one of her hands.]
Enough. Get off. You can stand by yourself, you're just being lazy.
[ To both those things. No forgiveness and no, she's not moving.
She leans as much of her weight against his legs before she climbs onto his lap and slumps as heavily as possible with her arms looped around his neck as though she's capable of keeping him anchored in place. And she is, she knows this. If she so much as wants him to stay in this one spot, she knows he would even if it causes him such grief. ]
My knees hurt. You don't even care after I took such good care of you, Pietro. So ungrateful in your old age. Tsk.
[Even though Pietro growls in irritation almost automatically the moment Wanda settles onto his lap, draping herself over him, getting all clingy and heavy and making him feel like it's too hot to breathe, all he does is wrap his arms around her too, fingers splayed over her back and rubbing softly. He won't move until she wants him to, and he knows she knows that.]
You were the one who wanted to-
[He pauses to suppress a pleased noise as she bites his ear.]
[ Of course, she is. She's the one who decided to move when she could've ordered him to do so. And he would've obliged. Pietro is nothing if not a sucker for intimacy.
But a manipulative part of Wanda had wanted the image of her on her knees sucking his dick to be seared into his memory. ]
I thought you were responsible for taking care of me. Do you not want to do that anymore in your old age?
[ Wanda's well aware that she's setting herself up for an insult and him disowning her. It's how it always goes: she sets him up and he swings, and he either takes it too far or not far at all. Considering today, she hopes it's the latter.
Remaining slumped against him, she absently plays with his hair at his nape. ]
At some point, I will be too old, so you need to learn to take care of yourself!
[He says that with a bit of a snap to it, fidgeting because the heat of her body is getting uncomfortable. Yet Pietro means none of it, and he sighs in exasperation afterward.]
But until then... you know I'm going to take care of you, and I should have thought about your poor knees on that hard floor. Happy? Now. How do I make it up to you, on your birthday?
[He slides one hand further down her back to cup her ass firmly. Clearly, his ideas of 'making it up' to her are primarily self-serving.]
[ Wanda laughs as she jolts against him. Curling her hands tightly around his shoulders, she leans back and glares down at him. All she wants today is his attention, and now that she has it, she intends to milk it and be utterly exasperating. ]
You don't sound very sincere, Pietro. [ She presses her lips together as she peers down at him without any amusement. With a huff, ] My knees hurt and you are feeling me up instead.
[ She shifts against him and glares at him. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she tries to hurt him, but it's impossible to hurt someone made of steel. ]
[Pietro admonishes her and rolls his eyes, but he removes his hand from her ass without even one more squeeze. If Wanda wants attention to her knees, that's what she'll get. He shifts their positions quickly, gently half-shoving and half-lifting her off his lap to a sitting position on the couch, then takes up the rest of it, like she claimed he'd done before, lying on his stomach and propping himself up on one elbow. With his free hand, he reaches out to run his fingers down her thigh, and stops at her knee, where he rubs softly.]
[ That's where he's wrong. She now wants to complain about the lack of a hand on her ass.
Wanda sprawls against the corner of the couch with one foot curved precariously on the edge while she digs the other into the cushions. There's nothing at all ladylike about how she's positioned on the couch, but she doubts he particularly cares. She doesn't. If she was to move about, she's sure he'd grow even more exasperated and stop touching her. She peers down at him and eyes him suspiciously. There's nothing innocent about what he's doing. ]
It hurts.
[ She tilts her chin up as she declares it, peering down her nose at him. ]
A lot. I may never walk again if you don't take care of it.
[There's more than a hint of exasperated whining in it, and he moves his hand off her knee to kiss it instead. It's ridiculous, but he mostly just wants her to be quiet for two minutes.]
[ That's better. Wanda smiles, uncaring if he sees it. She stays still, not wanting to accidentally kick him if she was to readjust her feet on the couch. She's silent for barely a minute before she hums lightly. ]
It hurts less now. Except here. [ She leans forward to brush her fingertips against the side of her knee. ] Ouch.
[He shakes his head. This is how today started, Wanda telling him where to kiss her, an annoying game of seeing how long he'll keep it up before ditching her in a huff. Pietro doesn't mind, because it's still better than being ignored like earlier, and he can make sure she gets irritated with him too.]
Here?
[He kisses the indicated spot, slowly, sucking at her skin until he's bruised it and made it worse. Maybe it actually hurts now when he pulls back to poke at his mark.]
[ Yes, it is. Wanda stares down at him as she considers what she wishes to say next. How long will he let her do this before he sighs in exasperation and leaves her on the couch? Perhaps she shouldn't push it… but she wouldn't be her if she didn't. ]
Here too. It's very uncomfortable. [ She taps her fingers behind her knee. ]
[It's an awkward angle, and he half lifts up her leg to reach that spot with his mouth. The same amount of attention goes into that kiss too, and he roughly prods her heated skin with his tongue. Only after that, Pietro doesn't pull away, and just continues to kiss her knee without being told where to exactly. He's taking initiative there, because he'll be at this forever if he doesn't. Wanda can just deal with that, or he can drop her on the floor for being a brat and take all the couch space for himself. He lets his fingers trail up the back of her thigh.]
[ She laughs and sucks in that laugh as she peers down at him. It's so awkward on the couch. Why do they always pick such awkward spots to do this? She stares at him as she considers her next words—she wants to stay here in this little pocket of contentment, but she dislikes how her back slopes against the arm of the couch and how he takes up so much space while still looking so small. ]
I am tired. [ Her voice isn't as demanding as she'd like, especially with how her gaze softens and she stares at him. ] Will you take me to bed?
[Pietro has no protest for that. They're always on the couch lately, and it's annoying. She never turns off the television, there's not enough room, and the cushions are worn and scratchy. He doesn't tell Wanda to get up, because he knows take me to bed means he's expected to carry her there, whether or not she has the excuse of her poor knees. And he does so, quickly scooping her up in his arms despite the awkward angle to get a good hold, and dropping her off in the middle of the bed a moment later.]
There. Do your knees still hurt, or are we moving on?
[He stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed like he's issuing an ultimatum, but he's still going to do whatever she says.]
[ No matter how many times he speed-runs her anywhere, she always feels a little winded. She needs a moment to catch her breath as she sprawls on the bed.
Well, her knees still hurt, but Wanda knows that's only going to frustrate him the more she whips it. Resting on her elbows, she peers up at him before her gaze drifts to the suncatcher still in its place by the window. She wishes for the sun to glow against it every single time she looks at it.
[ See? It's still his fault! She looks pointedly up at him before she rolls onto her side to face him. Resting her elbow against the bed, she leans her cheek against her open palm and makes a show of rolling her eyes at him.
[Pietro scoffs, but has nothing else to say on the matter. He'll never win those arguments, so he pretends he can't be bothered with them. He mimics her nudging, only going for a poke on her arm.]
[ She jabs at his arm hard with two fingers. It's a losing game she's playing; he's stronger and faster and rises to each poke, but Wanda can't help herself. She wants to get a rise out of him now after snapping at his bait over and over today. ]
I am checking you have not forgotten in your old age!
[ She shoves him gently and ensures to poke at his shoulder roughly so he can't see the heat flooding her face. ]
Or changed your mind. [ Wanda doesn't look at him yet, although she does poke him once more in the arm, lightly this time. ] You can still change your wish but you can't once your birthday is over.
[ Good. Because her wish is him and his wish is her and the world would feel all out of sorts if that changed. Even when she longs for that picture-perfect life in her television serials, she doesn't want it if Pietro isn't at the centre of it all.
Telling him as much is asking for him to roll his eyes in exasperation, so she keeps that secret tucked closely to her chest. He probably already knows. Not because of it being a "twin thing", but because Pietro understands her better than most people. Not even her friends understand why she loves to escape so much.
Wanda extends her arms above her head and fakes a big, loud yawn, using it as an excuse to kick him. ]
It has been tiring looking after you and your senility, Pietro. Maybe a part of your wish will be to make it up to me.
[He grumbles at the kick, but otherwise ignores her attempt to annoy him. Instead, he moves in closer to her, laying a hand on her stomach, fidgeting a bit to get comfortable.]
[ Because that's all she wants at the end of this day.
Snaking her foot between his legs, she hooks it around his calf. Just in case he thinks to slither away, he won't be able to. She draws her fingers down the slope of his nose and bops the tip. ]
[ Her other birthday wish was to poke him… and now that's no longer coming true. Perhaps if she had insisted they could have two wishes, she'd be able to continue annoying him. ]
I'm wide awake now because of you!
[ But Wanda makes a show of closing her eyes as she tries to very slowly fidget to poke him. It's hard to. His arms are like very tight vines. ]
Squeezing me like this. You are such a bad cuddle.
[ With her arms now free, she glides her hands through his hair roughly before she starts to tug at the tips. When she isolates an allegedly grey strand, she clucks her tongue in pity. ]
It's a good thing you look decent grey.
[ Not good. Not handsome. Wanda needs to leave herself some wriggle room here to insult him. ]
Wrinkles are coming in, too. [ With her other hand, she brushes the pads of her fingers firmly between his brows. ]
[He scoffs, mildly offended, and he would claim he's several tiers above decent if he didn't think it would only provoke more comments out of her. He takes her hand in his and moves it away from his face even as he furrows his brows deeper to make the lines more prominent.]
[ Wanda fights him, pushing against his hold to try and touch the skin between his brows again. So many alleged wrinkles need to be touched… ]
I'll claim the very ugly wrinkles, although you looking half-decent while going grey is your fault.
[ He's dropped in good looks in a span of a minute. Wanda pushes up off the bed with her elbow to roll into him so she can see all these grey hairs and wrinkles close up. ]
[Wanda is so insufferable and Pietro doesn't respond to her comments, only sighing in exasperation and letting her climb on top of him. He intends to try to ignore her the way she does him when he's just as bad, only he always gets annoyed so much easier and he won't be able to keep it up for long. He can hope she gets bored, or actually tired, before he hits his breaking point. There's a 50/50 chance.]
[ Although Wanda wriggles on top of him, she threads her hands forcefully beneath his back to cuddle him to her. Resting her head against his shoulder, she sighs loudly and stops moving. Sometimes she wonders if her staying still is as annoying as her fidgeting.
After everything she's learned today, she thinks it's only fair she tests this out, too. ]
[Pietro fails so easily in his effort to ignore, making an irritated noise and squirming a little as she shoves her hands under his back. It's uncomfortable.]
Then find something softer to lie on. Like the floor.
[He shoves at her a little, as if he might be contemplating shoving off the bed entirely.]
[ Despite saying that, she doesn't roll off him to encourage him to do that. They've spent so much of today apart and together to be ripped apart again. She's lying here on her bony pillow. She tugs her hands out from underneath him and rests them against his chest. Lying impossibly still, Wanda, if she was actually a fast sleeper, could be believed to be asleep. ]
I will get you a padded shoulder shirt next birthday so this is more comfortable for me.
[ She clucks her tongue and shakes her head disappointingly, but stops in fear that he'll remove his hand from her hair. Even a finger twirled around it is enough to satisfy Wanda. She's always enjoyed his hands in her hair. ]
You can't anymore. The deadline has passed. Seems you are too slow, Pietro. So sad.
[ Even if he had the chance to be rid of her, he wouldn't. She knows that even on her worst of days. She knew that today, deep down.
Wanda bows her head and kisses his shoulder, uncaring that her lips meet fabric. ]
Maybe next year you will be lucky, and then you'll spend all your birthdays wishing for that cool, little sister that you wish you were more like and had kissed more.
[He untangles his finger from that knotted lock of hair, switching to stroking gently, and no longer bothered by her weight or the heat of her pressed against him. She can stay there as long as she wants.]
So nothing changes. Getting rid of you would be a wasted wish. Your point is made.
I don't know why you would wish for something you will regret. I am the funny one and the life of the party.
[ And she knows he would even if he insists he wouldn't. She'd regret wishing him away even on his most annoying and ridiculously aggravating days. Who else would tangle her hair up and ignore the knots he's made to go and tangle more of her hair? No one. Not even her next stupid crush. ]
[He says it with finality like she'll never get the knot out, but he's already threading his fingers into it to fix it, too gently for the way he sounds annoyed by her complaint.]
I was until the old man knotted my hair, and now I am worried about starting tomorrow off all on the wrong foot.
[ She sighs loudly, even though she can tell from how he touches her that he's untangling the knot he's created. Wanda closes her eyes and smiles, liking that this is a ramification of her usual wish.
Although she's tempted to blindly run her hand across his face and into his hair, she keeps both hands tucked against her chest and his. ]
[ She ensures to lie heavily on top of him as though he's not stronger and quicker and able to shove her off. She relaxes against him, boneless and hopefully heavy enough to discourage him from slipping away and onto the couch. ]
[It's exactly the reaction Pietro expected, and she won't be a nuisance again until morning under threat of him squirming out from underneath her and sleeping in the other room. He brushes her hair out of the way to rest his hand on her back between her shoulder blades.]
Good.
[He needs to have the last word, it's his birthday.]
[ Wanda remains quiet, enjoying the feel of his hand in her hair and against her back. She could fall asleep if she let herself, but she doesn't want this day to end. Tomorrow will be just another day, and it won't feel special anymore. She's always been greedy on their birthday; she likes sharing a day with Pietro, one where their parents feel closer than they have in years.
After a few moments, she begins to hum The Addams Family theme song. While she promised to not talk, she didn't promise to be completely quiet. ]
[He'd almost fallen asleep, almost, and there she goes. Pietro twitches, and he's very tempted to follow through on his threat and go sleep on the couch. But she's comfortable-ish at this point, and he doesn't like to sleep on the couch - it's scratchy and lumpy and too small. What he does instead is wait, like he might be too far gone to hear her, and then snore loudly. He will keep that up as long as he needs to to drown out theme songs.]
[ That's a fake snore if she ever heard one, but Wanda continues to hum before she stops and plays along. At least he's not shoving her away.
But as he snores, she pretends that she's barely awake and shoves her hand in his face, blindly searching for his mouth. There's his nose, then his forehead, and oh, there's the mouth. She pushes her hand firmly over his lips so she can hum again in quiet. ]
[He barely restrains himself from making an irritated noise as she paws at his face, but in the end, he lets her have her way, as usual. He'll deal with the humming until he actually falls asleep, the only indication he isn't there already is one harder press of his fingers at her back.]
[ It's quiet, but it's audible enough for him to hear. She presses her hand flat against his mouth in retaliation as she keeps her cheek tucked against his chest. It's stupid, she knows; she'll lose this fight as she often loses most fights. He has the upper hand due to his position, and while she can win by poking him in the eye… that's hardly what she wishes to do.
But she does poke him on the tip of his nose. It's deserved. ]
[He hadn't intended to start this, but he should have anticipated it, muttering something in irritation as she prods his nose with her finger. It's a half second later that he can't take it anymore and all previous inclinations towards patience get thrown out. Pietro shifts quickly, flipping them and settling his dead weight over Wanda easily, keeping hold of both of her wrists and looking down at her pointedly.]
No more humming. Or poking. Or you will be sleeping on the couch.
[ Wanda's laughter is cut short by the weight of him. When she wants to shove at him, she can't. Pietro has always been stronger, and she's always let him do what he wants. ]
I will not sleep on the couch.
[ She's sleeping here, right here. Wanda does her best to wipe her smile from her face so she can peer up at him sternly. ]
Where I go, you go. If I go on the couch, you go on the couch. It was my other birthday wish.
[Pietro doesn't trust her to, so he steals her method of ensuring it and just covers her mouth with his hand. He's done here, shifting off of her just enough not to keep her entirely pinned, but held securely.]
[ She sighs against his hand and makes a show of rolling her eyes. She'll stay quiet! She can do that! While the urge to hum as though she's arguing with him is there, Wanda remains quiet. He'll eat his own words. He'll regret the day he stopped hearing her voice.
Except, after what feels like five long minutes to her, she licks his hand. ]
[Pietro scoffs, low and ending in a growl of frustration, and he pulls his hand away. He can't exactly admonish her for that, because he'd almost done it to her himself, so he just wipes his hand off on her arm and pushes himself up on one elbow.]
I'm not tired anymore. I think I will go out, see some people I did not catch at the park today.
[It's a different tactic, and ill-advised, but Wanda has annoyed him enough for it.]
[ She clenches her jaw and wraps her legs around his middle, locking him in the best she can. With her arm free, she loops it around his back to pull him down. Wanda doesn't care how the position makes her feel; it's utterly ridiculous to cling to him in such a way, but it's his fault. ]
You have spent enough time with everyone else today, Pietro. It's my turn.
[He doesn't mind all her clinging though, despite sounding exasperated, and makes no move to pull away or disentangle himself. His tone is far less admonishing than it could be, soft and resigned, and before she can say anything else to irritate him, he leans in to kiss her, lingering and a little rough.]
[ Perhaps it's a good thing he kisses her before she can utter another word. What she was going to say was utterly profound: he is the nuisance.
And he is right now. Wanda opens her mouth beneath his and glides her hand up his nape into his hair, closing her fingers around the fluffy strands to tug and scrape her nails against his scalp. She sighs happily, keeping her legs wrapped around him despite the awkward tension it puts on her lower back. She doesn't want him to think he can kiss her and run off. ]
[They may not get to sleep any time soon after all, but Pietro is fine with this alternative, exploring her mouth with this tongue and enjoying the silence for the moment, though his own pleased noises break it when her nails rake over his scalp. He moves one hand under Wanda's back so she doesn't have to cling so tightly, the other wanders down to her hip.]
[ Very reluctantly Wanda unwinds her legs from around him and settles with her feet planted against the bed and her legs spread to accommodate him between them. There's still a chance for him to run away, but Wanda doesn't think he will, not when he's so ensnared by her again. She keeps her arms looped around his neck and experiments with dragging her nails down his nape to see if he makes that very pleasing sound again. ]
[It's not difficult to draw out more of those noises, not when it's late and he'd expended a lot of energy from their couch escapades, and Pietro loses a little focus on kissing, leaning into her touch. He slides his hand up from her hip along her side, fingers trailing under her shirt to run lightly over her ribs, too lightly. He has every intention of making her react as easily as he does. He continues with casual and sloppy kisses down from her mouth, along her jaw and neck, grazing her skin with his teeth.]
[ Wanda tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes, absently brushing her nails against where his neck melds into his back. She sucks in her chest as though that's enough to run away from him, but Pietro has always been faster and quick on the draw than her.
[It's muttered against her skin, and he doesn't let up on her neck, nor her ribs. She deserves this.]
This is payback.
[It might not get to her as much, constant stimulation and too-light touches, but he's going to try to draw out enough whining that he feels satisfied with revenge for not letting go of his foot on the couch.]
Wanda shifts beneath him and clears her throat gently. While she wants to arch away from him, she shifts into his hand. She'll regret that later, but while his fingers are featherlight and ticklish, she much enjoys the way he's touching her. ]
[She knows. As she presses closer against his hand, he pulls it back to maintain only a ghosting touch, settling the other firmly on her abdomen to keep her in place. He slows his fingers even more, and returns to the same places that get more shivers or twitches he can feel.]
Nice? Please, you are a horrible sister. The worst, so mean to me.
[It's the kind of thing she's more apt to complain about, and it sounds less sincere or whiny coming from him, but this is his attempt to mimic her, as poor as it is.]
[ She gasps, although it's not from her feigning offence at his ridiculous claim. Wanda wriggles beneath him as she tries to glare up at him—and finds that she can't, not with how he touches her lightly. This isn't the way Pietro often touches her; he's firmer, more impatient, but now he's being a pest. And she likes it. ]
I have been nothing but the best. How would you know what a horrible sister is like? You have always had the nicest, kindest and most generous sister.
[ She makes a point of wriggling and pushing against his hand as though that proves her point. ]
[He furrows his eyebrows and frowns at her wriggling.]
Can't wait even two minutes to get what you want.
[Pietro chooses one spot at her side, a soft place between two ribs, and drags one finger along that slight dip, over and over without shifting his pace or the pressure.]
I'm going as slow as I can, but imagine it is worse than this. And I will do this for twenty minutes.
[He won't, because he can't stay focused that long, but he's making a point.]
[ Wanda sucks in her stomach as though that's enough to pull away from his fingers. He won't last twenty minutes. She'd be surprised if he lasts two. Pietro is nothing if not incredibly impatient, and the fact that he's trying to prolong this is amusing in itself.
But she won't ruin this for him. Instead, she wriggles some more. ]
You are being too slow, Pietro! I want it before our next birthday.
[It is. So. Slow. He's annoying himself more than her, he's sure, forcing a continued drag of his finger in the same repetitive motion. Already, he's moved on to stroking his thumb over her lower abdomen instead of just holding his hand still there.]
[ It might be posed as a threat, but Wanda likes to think of it as a promise. He has no plans to spend their birthday with anyone else but her. She has him for the next two birthdays, and hopefully the next two if he prolongs this even further. ]
I am not whining. I'm giving you constructive feedback!
[ She glares up at him and shifts beneath him, making it a point to wriggle so his hand slips against her skin. She much likes where he's placed his hand. ]
[He's the one doing the teasing, but as she continues to argue and wriggle like that, he's getting exasperated and can't stop an irritated whining noise from escaping.]
Okay, we're done with this.
[Pietro abandons all attempts at demonstrating the slow torture, moving his hand down from her ribs to settle firmly at her hip. He knows Wanda liked what he was doing with his thumb, so he stops that, pulling her shirt up to expose more skin, leaning down to kiss and nip above her navel while trailing his fingers far more hurriedly up her stomach and to the curve of her breast instead.]
[ For a brief moment, Wanda panics that he's going to bolt away from the bed and claim the couch in spite. But then he's moving away from her and taking his thumb from its very nice place. Wanda's not sure if she wants to complain about what he's chosen to do instead. ]
Pietro!
[ She laughs and wriggles before she stills. Threading her hands through his hair, she arches slightly off the bed before she stops moving entirely. While she doesn't think he's going to abandon her for the couch or floor, Pietro's as temperamental as she is, and if he's feeling spiteful, he'll leave her to take to the very edge of the bed and ignore her. And that goes against her wish for the day. ]
[It doesn't take long before he expresses frustration again, pulling back and letting go completely. But it's not to run away, it's to pull off his shirt and look at her pointedly as he tosses it to the floor.]
Come on, take your clothes off, we don't have all night.
[He's been half undressed since the couch, and she needs to catch up.]
[ Wanda sighs heavily as though what he's asking of her is a very taxing ask—and it is, in a way. She's comfortable with him being naked and her being clothed and with his hands roaming all over her and having to pull at her shorts this way and her shirt that way.
Wanda does her best to sit up as much as she can with him on top of her. Removing her shirt is a game of trying not to elbow him squarely in the face, but she tugs it up and off and undoes her bra.
With her fingers tucked into her shorts, she looks at him pointedly. ]
How am I meant to take them off if you are there, Pietro? You set me up for failure with your demands.
[Yet he moves obediently, shifting to sitting beside her - radiating impatience all the same, and still getting in the way a little with roaming fingers over her hip as she tugs her shorts down.]
She tugs her shorts down and kicks them off, along with her panties, too. Wanda lies naked beneath him as she sighs in exasperation. Wanda hardly feels irritated at all, but it's fun meeting his exasperation with her own. ]
[It annoys him to no end when she implies he's slow and lagging behind, but despite that protest, he settles himself between her thighs, hands running up her sides.]
What do you want?
[He makes it sound like her 'come here' was an inconvenient obligation.]
[ She peers up at him with a defiant tilt of her chin. Him, as always. It's an answer that will frustrate him for sure, but Wanda doesn't care because it's the truth. ]
Here.
[ She taps her fingers against her right shoulder. ]
[No. She's on this again. Pietro sighs, and this time it is very real irritation. But... he does as she asks, slowly, kissing and sucking at that spot on her shoulder, using his teeth once he's made a distinct red mark there. Wanda gets what she wants, always, but he'll take something for himself too, bringing his fingers back to her abdomen and stroking teasingly, trailing lower and back up, looking to make her flesh quiver beneath his touch. She might try to direct it all, demand things, but her body will beg for him, and then he'll be satisfied.]
[ One day, Pietro will learn that asking such a question is dangerous. The answer's always the same. Him.
She laughs lightly and sucks in a shaky breath, shifting beneath him as she tilts her head to the side and sucks her stomach in. His touch is ticklish and not at all as demanding as it often is. It's something she likes, the way he's predictably unpredictable and unpredictably unpredictable at times. She never knows what she's going to get when he's acting impatient.
She digs a hand into his hair, gripping hard at the thick and fluffy strands. She wants to keep his head tucked against her neck forever. ]
I won't be able to go outside if you give me a hickey there, Pietro.
[It takes him a moment to respond, sucking more deeply and making sure that mark is a little larger than originally planned. His comment is muttered close to her skin, deterred from pulling back too far by her hand in his hair.]
Good. I can have a day to myself while you stay home.
[His fingers slide lower, then move to her inner thigh to pinch and fondle roughly.]
[Pietro snorts and starts in on a second mark above the first, to make certain she does stay home. She won't, he knows, not really. Maybe wear a scarf, or have some barely believable explanation for it all ready to go in true sitcom shenanigans fashion. As she parts her legs, his fingers roam over to rub against her cunt and seek out her clit. The conversation is so dissonant with what they're doing, but he participates all the same, his argument spit out quickly between bites and tonguing of her skin.]
It is bread! It does not matter which kind I get. They are all the same!
[ Wanda gasps and jerks against him, digging her heels into the bed when he touches her. Why are they talking about bread when he's doing this to her? Right, because he's Pietro and he's utterly frustrating and she's Wanda and she likes to frustrate him. ]
There is different bread, Pietro.
[ She's determined to see this stupid conversation out, especially to distract him from the way she lifts her hips up and digs her hand in his hair in encouragement for him to keep touching her.
Wanda tries to keep her voice steady, but she utterly fails. ]
Wholegrain… Gluten free… You always get the bread about to expire.
[He bites harder, but that's mostly due to her tightening her grip on his hair. Once he's found where he wants his thumb, running roughly over her clit, he slides two fingers inside her with little warning.]
... It's cheaper when it is to expire. You eat it when I get it.
[ She shudders beneath him, gasping and tilting her head back. Why are they talking about bread? Why does he make stale bread sound so sexy? That's one thing she can't tell him or he'll pester her incessantly until she can't look at bread again. ]
Shut up.
[ She gasps it out and wishes that her voice was firmer and stronger, but Wanda bucks her hips up, digging her feet into the bed as she wishes for him to slide in deeper. ]
[Pietro obliges, going harder and deeper with his fingers, but he chuckles softly, because he can catch it in her voice, what this conversation is doing to her. It's his voice and not the subject matter, but he's going to run with it while he has her under his control for the most part.]
Are you turned on by bread? Do I need to buy you a baguette next time?
[ She's never going to hear the end of this, is she? She's dug her grave; she figures she'll enjoy being trapped inside it, especially with how he's choosing to help her dig right now. ]
A baguette will be nice to— [ How she's even speaking is beyond her capacity to think right now. She shifts her hips upward and closes her eyes, red sparking behind her eyelids. She drags her nails down his back as though that's enough of a punishment for him being a pain in the ass. ] —to smack you with! Violence against Pietro with bread is a very, very— [ Her breath hitches. ] A very big turn-on for me.
[He hisses as her nails rake down his back, and that only encourages him to go slower once again, pulling his fingers almost all the way out, then idly pushing them back in, hooking them and prodding against tight muscle while she writhes underneath him.]
Maybe we skip the bread.
[He brings his free hand to his back, pressing her fingers harder into his skin.]
But you could a be a little more violent.
[His thumb vibrates at her clit, but his thrusting fingers are still and slow.]
[ How is she meant to think when he's vibrating inside of her? Wanda digs her nails into his back before she even gets to think—that's the problem with Pietro, he robs her of so much, like very simple thought.
She jerks beneath him and closes her thighs around his hand to keep him trapped there. Her skin's hot and her breathing's grown impossibly shallow. ]
Stop.
[ Although, she doesn't want him to. But it's best if he does so that she can think. ]
I cannot give you what you want if you keep doing that, Pietro. [ Even though she really likes it, she wants to drive him insane instead. For emphasis, she digs her nails as sharply as she can into his back and drags them down his spine. ]
[His tone verges on mockery, as he's achieving what he'd wanted, one-upping her for her earlier torture on the couch. Pietro does stop the vibration though, leaving his fingers and thumb where they are, but unmoving, trapped between her hot thighs. Yes. Fuck. His response is more of a low moan than a hiss this time and he arcs his back into the bite of her nails.]
[ It's always too much with him. He gives too much and she takes too much, but Wanda will never change the way that they work when she gets to have all of him. Especially when she gets to have him like this.
She drags her nails up his back again before digging them in as she trails them long and slow down the length of his spine. She doesn't stop once she reaches the small of his back, enjoying tracing the shape of his ass as she digs her nails in.
With her breath hitching, Wanda growls, ] What do you want, Pietro? It's your birthday; I'll give it to you.
[ She wants it to sound as though this is a one-off when she'd happily give him anything wants at any time during the year. ]
[Pietro rarely asks for what he wants, not in this way, content to grumble about Wanda's slow and gentle touches that drive him crazy. He likes that despite his complaints, he does, but sometimes it's not enough or it's too much, and he needs something hard and deep and so present it doesn't get lost to his detachment from time. Her nails bite sharply, and though she's agonisingly slow about it, as always, Pietro likes the fire they leave behind, sensations that still linger endlessly, but not in the same way as something soft and light and out of reach, and his heightened enjoyment of it is obvious in the pleased noises he can't hold back.]
Fuck.
[It's all he gets out at first, too distracted by her hands on his ass and that growl in her throat. When he does have something coherent to say, it's not demands or instructions, but what he wants the result of it all to be.]
I want to feel you tomorrow, still, all over me.
[So even if he does go out alone like he said he would, the memory of Wanda's fingers will be imprinted in his skin, and every time he moves they'll remind him who he belongs to. He'd never say as much, not unless it's dragged from him under duress, and he chooses to be somewhat vague enough that he can deny he asked for it later.]
[ Wanda emphasises her feigned disappointment by dragging her nails heavily along his spine. She keeps her other hand palming his ass as she considers what she wishes to do. She has always liked being soft and gentle with him, liking how he often grows biting and frustrated, but she can do this, too. The idea of leaving a mark on him sparks heat to rise to her skin and spark deep in her belly.
She palms his ass roughly before she removes her hand. It's an awkward position with her being under him, but Wanda makes it work. With her feet planted on the bed and her legs spread to cradle him, she brings her hand down to smack his ass. ]
Did you like that?
[ While her voice might be firm, she doesn't mean for it to be. If he wants her to be rough, she'll be rough within the limits that he wants, even if it's just trailing her nails sharply all over him. ]
[Whatever snarky comment Pietro half-thought dies in his throat as she runs her nails down his spine again, his muscles twitching under them. Not just tomorrow, he thinks, but can't say it, and only seeks more of her touch, whining softly when she takes her hand off his ass just when it was getting good, rough and firm. He almost hears it before he feels it, her palm hard and fast against his skin, a stinging heat left behind and radiating. A strangled noise leaves his mouth before he can form an actual answer. An answer he doesn't want to give, but also does.]
Yes.
[It's embarrassing to admit and he can't meet her eyes. He'd had her under his control just moments ago, and it's turned around so quickly. But he'd asked for it. Wanda is the only person who can scatter his thoughts so easily and have him wondering how he got somewhere.]
[ Gently, she touches his face with the hand not gripping his ass, ] Look at me.
[ She smiles softly at him and brushes her thumb against his bottom lip. She doesn't need super hearing or telepathy to know that Pietro's embarrassed. He's her favourite book to page through and study, and she likes to think she knows him well enough to recognise his moods in the deep darkness and with absolutely no sound. ]
I like that you like it. I want to do it again, but only if you want me to.
[Being called out on his embarrassment so blatantly makes Pietro squirm internally, despite his general preference for directness. Wanda's hand is hot against his face, or maybe it's the other way around, but he won't acknowledge it. He focuses on her smile, that soft knowing smile, before moving his gaze to her eyes. His words hold less bravado and teasing in them than they should, because she's looking at him like she sees right into his very being and she already knows his answer.]
I want you to. Didn't you say I deserved a spanking earlier?
[So it's clearly her fault he's into this at all, from her simple suggestions.]
[ She smiles and chuckles at that, poking her tongue out between her teeth for a moment. That she did, and he thinks he deserves one for being so horribly behaved, especially on a day like today. ]
I think you deserve many, but… one will do tonight.
[ Biting her bottom lip, she peers up at him as she considers quickly what she wishes to do next. Considering he's clearly embarrassed by wanting this, Wanda decides that suggesting she spank him over her lap waits for another day. She wants him to be comfortable, and this position works.
She trails her nail along his spine to his lower back and along the swell of his ass, drawing shapes as she watches him with a small smile. It's no fun if he expects it. ]
You've been so naughty today, Pietro. Do you think you will learn anything if I spank you?
[Don't get ahead of yourself is on the tip of his tongue before she decides that for herself, so he doesn't have to say it. They are trying this once, for now. Pietro raises an eyebrow while Wanda bites her lip, wondering if it's not only his embarrassment lingering in the atmosphere, but hers too. Is it too awkward? His face feels hot again. He tenses as her nails run down his spine, because he expects it already, another smack of her hand, but she doesn't do it. He fidgets a little impatiently.]
[ The fidgeting tells her all she needs to know. He does want this, not that she particularly doubted that, and that he's anticipating it. Wanda wouldn't be Wanda if she didn't make him wait for it. Teasing it out is more fun than simply giving it to him when he expects it.
And so she brings her hand down to smack him and lets it linger as she rubs her fingers against his skin, not wanting to let any sting linger uncomfortably for too long. ]
But I think that I will try. I hope you don't mind.
[His abdominal muscles clench involuntarily, hard and quick, as she strikes him again. It doesn't really hurt, it's more the surprise of it that drives that reaction, even though if he wanted to concentrate or could focus better when aroused, Pietro would know exactly when she was going to do it. He'd feel the air move against his skin before Wanda's hands on it, having the time to perceive every flicker of movement from her and how it shifts the periphery of touch before impact. But it's less fun that way. The dull flare of heat across his skin makes his cock twitch, and he moves to seek more attention from her rubbing fingers.]
I don't mind. I just don't think you're capable of making me learn a lesson.
[Even now, he still has to provoke when he can, his tone one of preemptive disapproval of Wanda's abilities in that area.]
[ Rather than speak to scold him, Wanda spanks him again and shakes her head as though she's truly disappointed. But she isn't. She likes that Pietro's asked for something that he can enjoy and that she can give him. For once, it's not him taking care of her. ]
Tsk, Pietro.
[ She crinkles her brows as though she's upset, although it's impossibly hard to sell it what with her curving the corners of her lips upward. ]
If you don't learn, it's because you're a horrible student. I'll teach you even if it takes many, many lessons.
[ As long as he wants it, of course. Wanda rubs his skin, not wanting to make him feel too uncomfortable, before she brings her hand down again. ]
[He sucks in a breath instead of finishing his thought, as the fourth time she spanks him is when he starts feeling it constantly, a hot prickling and lingering throbbing that makes him twitch under her fingers, unsure if he wants to pull away or press harder against them. He settles for wriggling.]
Might take a while to get through.
[Pietro slides his hand down between them to firmly grasp and stroke his cock, embarrassment over this fading. No one's going to know about this but Wanda, and she won't judge him.]
[ She considers smacking his hand away and replacing it with hers, but given the way that he's hovering on top of her, it's going to be an awkward twist of her trying to ensure she's maintaining the spanking while also stroking him. Maybe next time it'll be different; she'll at least have time to consider the logistics.
For now, she lets Pietro get away with it, knowing how important having some semblance of control is for him. She hums, letting her gaze drop to where he pumps himself, and looks up at him again. ]
You're lucky that I am a very patient and stubborn person when it comes to you.
[ She doesn't spank him again, instead taking the time to massage his ass before she even considers it again. And when she does, she smacks the other cheek. ]
Too patient. Anyone else would have dropped me by now.
[Pietro knows she shouldn't mention anyone else, even if there are no specific names, but he does and he can't take it back. He finds a rhythm with his strokes that works with the kneading of her fingers. He's too focused there that he can't stop a high pitched mewl from coming out of his mouth when she does hit him again. It's sharp, that strike, like the initial one had been, against flesh that hasn't been sensitised to it. After he swallows that noise he'll never acknowledge, he runs thumb over the leaking tip of his cock.]
I see you have learned about variety and switching things up.
[ She sighs dramatically and shakes her head as though that's such a pity. She gropes his ass, enjoying the fact that he's letting her. As frustrated as he might grow at the pace she often falls back into, she knows it's never at her. It's just a consequence of being the most impatient and exasperating man alive. ]
So very poor. You're lucky that you have me, Pietro.
[ Wanda smacks him again and gropes his cheek hard, liking that she doesn't have to be overly soft with him. She wants to hear that sound again. ]
[Except how to make new noises, apparently, as he has to cut off another one, biting his lip. He grips his cock hard almost involuntarily, a twitch in response to her smacking, a pause before he continues stroking himself and squirming against her fingers.]
[ She can't help but roll her eyes at him. Of course, he says that. But that's fine; she knows better. She's learning something new about him that she hopes he'll let her do again soon. She's learning something new about herself. She doesn't mind doing this to him; what she likes most about it is the level of trust he has and the level of control she has.
But for now, Wanda focuses on the moment. Glancing down between their bodies, she pokes her tongue out between her lips as she considers.
Ignoring the heat flushing her face, she lifts her gaze to his. ]
[Pietro looks like he wants to say something, and he does: is that a promise? He catches himself in time, noting her flushed face and that this is a demand she's issuing because she wants to try something here. That, and what if her idea of punishment is actually that, will she outright ignore him again? So he grumbles instead, growling lowly in irritation, and reluctantly lets go of his cock, pulling his hand back from between them and rolling his eyes in exasperation.]
You never let me have any fun.
[He's sure to make that sound whiny and annoying.]
[ And that earns him another smack as she shakes her head. He's so insufferable Complains and complains and when she wants him to do something, he complains some more.
Rather than wedge her hand between them, Wanda does what she never lets herself do unless she needs to pull him away from a dangerous situation fast: she flexes her fingers and wraps his hand with a tendril of red, and pulls his hand back to his cock. He can fight it if he wants; Wanda will never try to control him like she does everyone else. ]
[It's cut off by a strangled noise as Wanda spanks him again, and Pietro squirms a little afterwards, uncomfortable and irritated by the stinging heat all starting to blend together. But his cock twitches. He stills momentarily, because that's new, her magical guidance, tendrils of red moving his hand. An immediate pulse of heat runs through his abdomen and there's no resistance. He eagerly wraps his fingers around his cock again.]
I want to.
[It's just going to be harder not to come before she wants him to, but she knows that and Pietro suspects it's partially why she insists he does have 'fun'.]
You are always making things difficult for me, you know.
[His tone is affectionate though, and not at all whining now.]
[ She pouts as she peers up at him. Trailing her fingers firmly along his lower back, Wanda squeezes his ass, enjoying herself with how he gives her free reign to do whatever it is that she wants. With him eagerly grasping his cock again, she has a feeling that he's more than enjoying himself despite how difficult she apparently is. ]
How?
[ Despite lying down, she tilts her head to the side as though she's standing before him. He's left the door wide open for her to be exasperating, and she intends to take advantage of that. ]
I am here, naked. I'm being very nice to you. I'm helping you learn a lesson. [ Smiling up at him, she shakes her head. ] I want the best for you, Pietro.
[That comes out more petulant that Pietro wants it to, and ends too breathy as he runs his thumbnail over the tip of his cock again. He makes a frustrated noise and rolls his eyes as Wanda lists off everything she's doing for him that he shouldn't be complaining about, negating his implications that she's making anything difficult at all. But he's going to keep complaining despite it, pushing because he can.]
You do all of those things because you know I like them, and then you want me to wait. While you're naked. Right there in front of me.
[He can't be as dramatic about it half-lying on top of her, but he makes a point of pumping his cock for emphasis.]
I want you to enjoy them. There is a big difference.
[ Despite what he might think, she likes to draw things out so that she has more time with him. Over the years, she's learned she's had to compete with others. Wanda has never liked losing.
But she doesn't smack him again, watching as he touches himself. She likes seeing the flurry of expressions flutter over his face. He can be so expressive when he slows down and lets someone take notice.
She drags the tip of her nail along his spine. ]
Don't you like how I've been touching you?
[ And with her other hand, she gropes his ass roughly, smiling at how she can move him just a little. ]
[He gets it, he does. She wants him to enjoy this with her, and draw it out so they have time to, and he's not rushing ahead through things. He doesn't particularly want to either, move it along too quickly, and tries to hold himself back enough to be present in the way he should be. Frustration and impatience get the better of him too frequently and Pietro always vents that with objections or indignation, when what he's really annoyed with is himself and his inability to slow the fuck down for five minutes. Thinking about it, his fingers slow on his cock, the way Wanda might touch him, and even this he likes if he's being honest with himself, prolonging things despite the part of him that can't stand it. He bites his lip to stop a loud groan from escaping too easily as she runs her nail over his spine and digs her fingers into the heated skin of his ass.]
I do.
[A whine lingers in it, despite his best efforts.]
I like everything you do to me.
[Which is embarrassing to admit when he's not being sarcastic about it or having some other layer of protection against unfiltered truth. His face feels too hot, and it's much exposure to have said that, so he shrugs then, dismissive of everything he'd just stated.]
But I also enjoy complaining about it, and you will just have to deal with me.
[ Wanda smiles, unable to help herself. It's nice to have that affirmation that despite his exasperation when it comes to almost everything she does, he enjoys it. Certainly there are times when he doesn't, just like there are moments where she truly finds him to be as irritating as she claims him to be… but it makes Wanda feel all warm all over. Something she's sure would prompt him to roll his eyes.
She cocks her head to the side. ]
Will I?
[ Making a show of thinking it over, she hums and shakes her head. ]
It's not good to complain all the time. What if I take your complaints to heart?
[ Wanda trails her nail over his lower back before drawing loops along the swell of his ass. She snores to push down firmly. ]
[Pietro could stand to complain less, but it's difficult to curb the urge to. He wriggles a bit and actually gives some thought to how to respond to that, though not his full attention, because he never stops stroking his cock and that's where his gaze keeps drifting.]
You think I am not enjoying myself if I complain too much...
[He nods, and shrugs slightly. Wanda has a point, and he will begrudgingly acknowledge it.]
Is that your lesson, that it's my own fault if I don't get what I want?
[He might learn something after all... and retain it for all of five minutes.]
[ Now he's getting it. The more he complains, the less he's likely to get what he wants because she's choosing to deny him or he's pushed the wrong button. But Wanda doesn't want him to think of the latter. It's no fun—and she's having a lot of fun. ]
I don't think it's a lesson you'll learn in one day. It's very complex.
[ And the implication is that Pietro Maximoff will struggle to understand its complexities in just one sitting. It's best that they have multiple lessons so that he can understand every layer of it.
Glancing between them, Wanda peers up at him. ]
Do you want me to do it again?
[ Smacking him. She draws her fingers along his ass as though that's enough to convey what she means. She can stop if he's had enough; she doesn't wish to push him too far. ]
[His words come between heavy breaths as he strokes himself more firmly, still keeping it slow, and digging his nails in lightly. He can't get too close to the edge yet, not when he needs to hold off until she says so. Heat pools in his stomach while he thinks about it, how he's willing to do that for her almost every time she wants, how much he likes it, and how much he complains that he doesn't sometimes. It is complex, the back and forth on things, and Pietro loses all of his ability to speak about things directly when they're intimate. He gives mixed signals in his frustration or shifts interest abruptly that might come off as aversion to something. She's getting him to think right now and he's irritated with himself for not doing it sooner. He nods slightly, trying not to press up against her fingers.]
Yes. Keep going.
[Instead of complaining that she's taking too much time, or making him wait, or being a tease, he just asks for what he wants.]
[ His answer isn't a surprise, even if she feels a flutter of butterflies in her gut as though it is one. She peers up at him, lips slightly parted, and considers asking him how much harder. But doing so will only irritate him, and she doubts he has any idea of how hard he wants it other than he wants it harder than before
She presses her finger firmly into the swell of his ass, cheekily drawing a W before she even thinks to take it away. And the moment she does, she brings it down, harder than before. The resounding smack makes her jolt, but it's not out of any fear; it's how she's turned on by him letting her do this to him. ]
[Distracted by picturing what Wanda's drawing with her finger, Pietro is less prepared when she does strike him again. The impact makes him tense and suck in a breath, somehow still releasing a choked whine of a noise at the same time. The sensation goes deeper, radiating heat and stinging pain that penetrates through the skin and muscle she's already made tender, leaving a sharp discomfort that fades into a pulsing ache. He squirms and focuses more attention at the head of his cock, rubbing his thumb over the slit while precum leaks all over his fingers and her stomach.]
Yes.
[Pietro could make some snarky and vague comment insinuating he wants it even harder, or that Wanda's failing at her task somehow just to be contrary, but he doesn't and she isn't, and so it shouldn't be said. It's some kind of achievement that he heeds those secondary countering thoughts for once and doesn't push impulsively.]
It's hard enough. Fuck, Wanda. Do it again. I want...
[It's rapidly spoken, and then trailed off as he bites back a moan, squeezing his cock too hard.]
Let me come soon.
[He will acknowledge none of his begging and pathetic actions here tomorrow.]
[ She smiles sweetly at him. It's not a lie; he can come any time he likes, but she wants an implication behind her smile. A promise of more after, especially if he wants it again, of her being a little more firm with him now that she understands what he likes. Right now, she wants him to enjoy himself.
This isn't the first time he's begged—it's always hidden in his mini-tantrums and exasperating comments—but it's the first time Wanda can remember Pietro doing so without pushing her buttons.
And when Wanda smacks him again, she does so harder and on the other cheek. ]
It's your birthday, Pietro. You can do whatever you want.
[ She digs her fingernails into his skin as she rubs the tender skin. But instead of letting him come down from it, she smacks him again on the other cheek, hard enough for her hand to sting. ]
[Her smile is disarming, and Pietro feels like she's letting him off easy in that regard, for a reason. One he doesn't think too hard on, because she's spanking him again and he pulls hard on his cock as he whines. He's so close and everything feels like it's overheating. He wants to make a smart comment, something, anything, but words won't formulate in his brain. He bites his lip as her nails dig into his ass. Wanda hits him again too soon, and it pushes him over the edge. Pietro loses his hold over everything, tensing with his fingers squeezing the head of his cock, an embarrassing high pitched squeak of a noise in his throat, and he comes, writhing in the aftermath when his skin still feels too hot and throbbing.]
[ What he finds embarrassing about that noise is what Wanda finds the most arousing. She doesn't smack him again, not wanting to overstimulate or confuse him. Instead, she takes this as her opportunity to grope him. She never takes advantage of the times when she can feel him up and he'll simply let her, and so she does now, grabbing his ass and palming his back. ]
I think you've learned some of your lesson for today.
[ She smiles up at him, ignoring the mess he's made between them and on her. Dragging the heel of her palm up and down his spine, Wanda shifts beneath him and stays where she is. ]
I liked it. Did you?
[ She wants to get ahead of him in case he's worried she didn't enjoy any of that. ]
[His skin burns under her fingers, but he presses against them eagerly, still wanting her touch all over him, shameless about it now after the fact. Even when he pulls his hand out from between them and everything is sticky and messy and the continued sting of her spanking now irritates him a little. He wriggles.]
Only some of?
[Pietro sounds half way indignant about that, but the expression in his eyes is soft. He arcs into her hand on his spine, searching her face for the truth in her words. That he hadn't made this awkward somehow. Wanda did like it, as she says.]
Yes. You are very good to me.
[It's a rare compliment from him, usually kept in his own thoughts, but he doesn't want to be sarcastic or dismissive about this when it was something new and unplanned.]
[ She smiles up at him, widening her eyes as though she's about to be completely insufferable about his compliment… but she'll tuck it away to remember when he's irritating her. He did like it, and she liked it, and she likes that he liked it and she's going to go in a circle if she so much as mutters to him what she's thinking.
Instead, Wanda nods. ]
Only some.
[ And sighs heavily, even though she's not annoyed at all. Wanda continues to trail her fingers up and down his spine gently. ]
You're not a very good student, Pietro. You never listen. How do I know you have learned anything if we don't repeat things over and over?
[Pietro makes some distant half-agreeable noise, his gaze drifting, his hands wandering. Everything he can do to point to him not listening, though he is, and he's clearly not distracted enough to ignore her fingers on his back.]
[ Wanda walks her fingers along his spine and pushes her nails down hard to leave little crescents in her wake. She wants to mark him even if those marks are temporary. At least Pietro will know what it feels like to be hers. ]
Just something about what I wanted you to do to me.
[ She sighs heavily and shakes her head as though it's utterly disappointing he doesn't recall. And it's a shame that he doesn't, truly is. ]
I forgot what it was now. Too bad you did not hear it.
[ She considers posing the possibility of her not remembering at all, but then the loser in that is her and not him. ]
Hopefully my old age hasn't set in by then.
[ She walks her fingers up to the top of his spine before she digs her nails in and slowly drags them down the ridges, wondering if that'll earn her another hiss. ]
[He squirms slightly in frustration while she walks her fingers up — it's slow annoying little pokes. There are no complains though, because the scratching that follows is sharper, still slow, but much more enjoyable. Wanda gets that second hiss from him when she's dragged her nails halfway down his back.]
No matter how old you get, you will never be as old as me. So it can't 'set in'.
[Pietro knows that he makes no sense, but it's late.]
[ She likes that sound; she wants to hear it again. Copying what she did before, she walks her fingers firmly and speedily up his spine and along his nape. Tucking them into his hair, she drags her nails quickly down his back. ]
I am wise, and with wisdom comes age. Considering I am wiser than you, well…
[The hiss this time is accompanied by a quiet and drawn out 'mm' noise that could be described as a whiny moan, and Pietro doesn't bother being subtle about sliding his hand down between them again.]
When you put it that way... you're an old hag, I agree.
[It's somehow insulting both himself and her by recognising her wisdom.]
[ Doesn't that make him the oldest of hags? She'd suggest as much, but the movement of his hand distracts her. She frowns and, without thinking, wraps a vine of red magic around his wrist and tugs it back. While it's his birthday, Wanda refuses to let Pietro get away with everything. ]
[Pietro lets out a breathy noise of protest, but doesn't physically struggle against that little coil of magic, though he keeps his eye on it. She'd let go if he wanted her to, but he wonders how long she'd hold on if he doesn't demand that. It's twice tonight she'd allowed herself to take control that way, and he can't help but like that initiative, that she's not afraid of hurting him with abilities she's been apprehensive of so often. He shifts uncomfortably with those thoughts, because they bring further arousal. His fingers itch to touch his cock, and he's very tempted to go against her wishes, just to see what she would do.]
It is your fault I can't behave, teasing me like this.
[He presses his back against her nails for emphasis, and as a bid to distract her from where his free hand is creeping, though he knows she feels it sliding against her skin on the way to his hardening cock.]
[ She sighs in exasperation and shakes her head. He's incorrigible, he really is… and he's knowingly or unknowingly handing her a great deal of power. She won't let him forget who he blames for his lack of control.
Just as she's about to drag her nails across his back again, he misbehaves. ]
Nuh-uh.
[ Without even looking at his hand, she curls her fingers against his back and red appears around his wrist, forcing his arm out from between their bodies and planting it with a jerk on the bed. The red doesn't disappear this time. ]
[He could ignore her again, pretend he didn't hear her or wasn't paying attention, push in that way. But tonight, at least for the moment while he can still feel a dull ache from her hand on his ass and the irritating slight burn left in the lines of her nails down his spine, Pietro's still capable of recognising his typical instinctive responses might be mixed signals, and he should be more direct about his interest than dismissive.]
Just a few more times. I think I might pick it up then.
[Nothing in his tone implies he thinks he actually will. He makes sure to keep eye contact, a challenge reflected in his, as he starts to move his hips and grind slowly against her thigh.]
[ She has it on good authority that he won't. And if he does, he'll unlearn it all just to be taught once more. It's something she hopes happens.
Gasping roughly, she shifts her thigh but doesn't move it away. Lifting her leg up slightly in silent encouragement for him to grind against her, she shakes her head and pretends that she's not enabling him at all.
She peers up at him sternly, frowning as though he's truly getting on her last nerve. ]
I will tie you to the bed if you keep trying to touch yourself, Pietro.
[He raises an eyebrow and nods pointedly at his hand, flat against the bed where she'd left it. His fingers twitch, but he hasn't moved it.]
I'm not touching myself.
[Technically, it's true. He's getting around that blatantly and continues to do so, grinding more intently. Clearly, Wanda approves of this, lifting her leg for him to get a better angle. It's not a transgression.]
[ Narrowing her eyes slightly, Wanda doesn't argue. How can she? He's technically telling the truth. But she glances down between them, pushing her leg up into him. She likes that he's not hiding his desire for her. It's a contrast to how they usually are, tucking it away so that no one else can see and take it from them.
But Wanda wants to take this away from Pietro to see how he reacts. Without warning, she extends her leg out to melt her thigh into the bed and away from him as much as possible. ]
[Pietro makes a quiet offended noise as she moves her leg, as if he hadn't expected her to do that. Argue maybe, try to twist his words to dismiss them, but not deprive him of what he'd thought was a win for him.]
Wanda...
[It comes out too whiny of a complaint, and he writhes a little, but she's taken his good angles and it's just frustrating when he was trying to build up to something. And what's more irritating is that the frustration itself somehow brings twinges of arousal through his abdomen, and he knows it's because she's taking control and directing things without giving in to him. She wins if he touches himself, but he's going to, he knows it. It's inevitable. Despite Pietro's best efforts to keep his hands where they are, his determination only lasts 37 seconds — he's quick with it this time, so he can get a few rough strokes in before Wanda does something about it.]
[ He honestly can't help himself—and Wanda's grateful for that.
She doesn't snatch his hand away despite wanting to. Instead, she does as she's done before, looping a thick red string of magic around his wrists and pulling his hands away from between their bodies and off his cock. Rather than plant them on either side of her head, she wills magic to push him onto his back so she can straddle him and pin his hands above his head with her magic. ]
I warned you, Pietro.
[ Ensuring to settle right on top of his cock, she plants her hands on his chest and digs her nails into his skin. ]
[It's more difficult to squirm with her sitting on his hips, but Pietro tries, all the scratches and bruises and his tender hot skin much harder to ignore once he's on his back and he can't get comfortable — which he suspects is part of the point. It's at least keeping his attention. He pulls lightly against her magic rope, just to test things. Every time he moves though, his muscles twitch with the shifting of his cock underneath her, and the urge to do something about it only get stronger when her nails dig into his chest, sparking a hot crackling of nerves that travels down to his abdomen.]
Then you do something about it.
[If he can't touch himself, she has to. It's only fair. Though his tone isn't demanding, falling more into sulking as his fingers twitch and he fidgets, twisting his wrists as if he might slide one easily out of her oddly solid tendrils of magic.]
[ Wanda shakes her head as she smiles down at him. Of course, he'll be able to get out of her magical binds if he truly wants to, but she doubts that's what he desires. She's never really done this before; she's never used her powers against him in this manner. She's never thought about it.
Pressing her palms flat against his chest, she pushes down against him before she starts to roll her hips against his cock. Inhaling sharply, she closes her eyes as she rocks against him. It's so blatantly unlike herself, but Wanda's always felt empowered and inspired when left to her own devices with Pietro. ]
[It escapes in a half sucked-in breath as Wanda starts to rock against him. Too slow, but part of him thinks that's worth it to get to watch her like this. Pietro can take in every shift in her expression, every tiny shiver in her body that might escape anyone else's eyes. There are few things he likes more than seeing her taking pleasure she wants for herself without being shy about it or holding back.]
You're so hot like this.
[He means it, but he makes it sound like that fact is annoying him, and he tries to move his hips to control hers, to shift them to a faster rhythm.]
[ Curling her nails into his chest, Wanda stares down at him as she considers pushing her hips down into his. And she does so, damning to hell her own uncertainties. If Pietro's going to be a pest, then she can be one, too. And it'll help her ignore how her skin's hot all over from his words. ]
You had your chance to lead this and you hovered and misbehaved instead.
[ Wanda punctuates that with a purposeful slow and hard roll of her hips. She ignores her shiver and soft gasp at how good it feels to rub her clit against his cock. ]
[His abdominal muscles tighten at that command in Wanda's voice, and he bites his lip when her nails dig in. Pietro wants to look away from that stare, but he can't, drawn to it even as he feels heat burn across his face. He doesn't move after she shifts her weight, not his hips at least, though he can't help fidgeting, distracting himself with releasing energy through twitching and picking at the string around his wrists. All he wants is Wanda to ride him properly, not this excruciatingly slow grinding, and he whines quietly in frustration. It's not enough sensation for him, and at the same time too much.]
You made it so easy to.
[It sounds accusatory, and he's absolutely blaming his lack of self-control on her.]
[ She pretends to be offended, lifting her brows and peering down at him incredulously. But what she hopes he never discovers is how heat pools in her belly at his confession. Pietro's offered her so many truths this evening that she feels she needs more hands to cup them all. She'll keep them safe, tucked away in her journals and other important possessions that she hopes the bombs will never take from her.
As punishment, she pushes her hips down firmly against him, inhaling shakily and closing her eyes as she purposefully grinds against him. She'd go faster, but that would simply reward undeserving behaviour. ]
[He gets that confirmation of her culpability out while he can, before her slow and heavy grinding has his speech devolving into nothing but whines, frustrated noises, and occasional low moans. Pietro tries to keep still despite the building tension and heightened awareness that comes with constant stimulation that never goes far enough, and he manages for the most part, ignoring how hot and uncomfortable his skin feels, the itch to take control back, and the desire to run his hands all over her body as she moves so slowly against him.]
Wanda, please...
[He doesn't finish, and didn't even want to say that much, but it forced itself out of his mouth with a whine in his throat.]
[ Before, she'd have simply given in and given him what he wanted. But Wanda's having entirely too much fun rocking against him and teasing him. He's given her too much power this evening. He's let her grip the reins so fiercely they're almost embedded into her palms. ]
If you want something, you know to ask, Pietro.
[ And she emphasises that with the slow, firm rolling of her hips against his cock. ]
[You know what I want — Pietro wants to say it, snap it out in frustration, but he doesn't. He writhes just a little, moving his hips up a few times before willing himself to stop. He knows right now, with the way she's moving against him, with the tone she uses, that she's not going to give in. Not tonight. Holding out on asking for it is difficult, and his nerves are flayed and tingling, everything's too hot. After a few moments, he makes an irritated noise and rolls his eyes.]
Just fuck me, Wanda!
[It's too loud, and not asking, and Pietro needs to amend it.]
Would you... please... let me... I want to be inside you.
[That's still not asking really, but he's deeming it good enough.]
[ Heat shoots throughout her. She needs to do this more. His desperation warms her skin and makes her skin feel clammy, and heat pools in her belly in a way that she finds addictive. She peers down at him and considers denying him, but she doesn't wish to dissuade him from asking for what he wants again. Despite being so confident, he's never been one to ask. He pushes and prods and pokes, but he never asks.
She nods. Her voice comes out quietly. ]
Because you've been good.
[ And because he's asked, and because she wants it, too.
She pushes against her knees, lifting up so that she can easily grasp his cock in her hand. She doesn't break eye contact with him despite wanting to hide away from being so bold. When she guides him to her and sinks down onto him, she closes her eyes and parts her lips and doesn't try to silence her own moan.
Then she starts to move, a couple of slow rolls of her hips before she pushes her hands against his belly and starts to move up and down his cock. ]
[She never says that, he's always a problem, and somehow that small acknowledgement of his efforts to be good here is giving him odd feelings, a mix of some physical pull in his abdomen and a not-entirely-physical tightening in his chest. His eyes stay fixed on hers too, attempting to encourage that boldness Wanda usually shies from, but Pietro loses focus quickly as she positions his cock, breathing more heavily as he feels the wet heat of her cunt envelop him.]
Fuck shit yes.
[They come out as half-groaned pseudo words too fast and strung together, but coherency is hard. As is letting her do everything, and he moves his hips up to meet her, keeping it as slow as he can to stay at the pace she sets and not overstep the control he's allowed her to take.]
[ Wanda often prides herself on being able to understand Pietro even when his words come out as a tight tangle. He could say those words fifty times over in a second and she'd still know what it is he's muttering. She likes them. A Pietro who can't string a sentence together is a Pietro who's definitely long gone.
She rocks her hips hard, keeping each undulation slow but firm. She knows he wants it faster, but Wanda likes the way he moves inside of her at this pace and intensity.
Although she wishes for her voice to be firm, it comes out breathy and soft. ]
Do I let you go? Or do I have my way with you instead? So many hard decisions, Pietro.
[ And he'd happily pull her magic back from his wrists if he so much as wanted it. She's surprised her magic has lingered even though her concentration has shifted elsewhere. ]
[They are hard decisions, and Pietro holds off a second on responding, weighing his options while he's still on a roll in regards to self-awareness. Every rough slide of her tight slick muscles around his cock is both insufferably slow, and very pleasurable. He could take control back, grab Wanda's hips firmly, dig his nails in, thrust into her quickly while slamming her hips down against his. Things he thinks about when he's verging on the edge of orgasm and can't quite get there as fast as he wants. And he may whine about her slowness, and could demand she hurry up, facilitate it himself, but he's not going to. Not tonight. Not while he's been able to mostly communicate his desires without issue and have her indulge him in shameful acts that he will never speak about... So he squirms slightly, tugging lightly at her magic restraints, but with no intention of freeing himself.]
Have your way with me.
[It's a ridiculous phrase that belongs elsewhere, to some fantasy romance novel maiden, but Pietro will make it work in their tiny and far from romantic bedroom with flaking plaster on the ceiling, crooked floorboards, and a bed frame that creaks.]
[ It's absolutely ridiculous sounding, except when it comes from him. When it comes from him, it's always everything. It doesn't matter to Wanda that it comes from silly romantic stories that could never really weather the real world.
Wanda smiles down at him before she presses her palm flat and firm against his chest. She'd much rather ride him slowly, see how long he lasts before he grows irritated and impatient and tries to take over, but that's how she often behaves with him when she gets to dictate their intimacy. She likes savouring it while he likes rushing through it, desperate to heed all of his instincts and insatiable appetite.
She's slow at first before she shifts her knees and gets comfortable straddling him. Pushing against his chest, she starts to move faster. She'll never be as fast as him, but she can be rougher than she usually is. Curling her fingers into his skin, she doesn't try and swallow down her noises. She pants sharply. Her skin warms and grows red. The sound of skin slapping against skin prompts heat to flood throughout her. With each undulation, she groans at the way he stretches her. She almost pulls off his cock completely before she pushes down, making him go as deep as he can inside of her.
Wanda glances away before she wills herself to peer down at him. If he can bare himself to her this evening, she can do the same. She's always liked to hide away, even from him in these moments, but instead, Wanda lifts her head up as she peers down at him. Red flashes beneath her eyes. ]
[Every noise she makes adds to his arousal, but he doesn't try to push her to go any faster than she is, not at first, not as long as he can stand it. She's making an effort to be rougher for him, and it's a compromise.]
Oh shit...
[That comes out quietly in a harsh breath, and it's full of admiration and lust as Pietro watches her. That glow is new, Wanda's noises are louder and unrestrained, and she's showing herself to him completely. He doesn't hold his own moans back either, not where he would usually bite his lip and try to stifle high pitched whines and squeaks that embarrass him. His efforts to keep with her rhythm begin to fail as she grinds herself down and lets him in so deep, and his movements become more insistent, only to slow again when she looks down at him with red in her eyes. It pierces him, and he stops trying to speed things up, but he does complain, words tumbling out before he really thinks about it, a haze of arousal clouding his brain.]
You could have your way a little faster. You are like a turtle.
[ Clutching at his shoulders, Wanda bows her head and ensures to properly grind down against him now. If he calls her a turtle, then she supposes she should make good on that by stopping her thrusting on him completely. She doesn't have a good comeback, not at this very moment as she instead closes her eyes and moans, liking how he moves inside her. ]
My knees hurt and you call me a turtle.
[ It comes out too breathily for her, but Wanda doesn't care. Her skin feels hot, her face is flushed, and her hair's sticking to her back and shoulders. She shakes her head, the ends of her hair brushing against his chest. She digs her fingers into his shoulders tightly, wanting to bruise him. When she tilts her head, she starts to move up and down his cock again, harder this time and as quick as she can muster, which must still feel slow to him. She doesn't look up at him, instead watching the way he disappears inside of her. ]
You've come twice now, Pietro. I am a generous turtle you should maybe be nicer to.
[He rolls his eyes, because he never believed they hurt, and really, that was ages ago and she's bringing it up again. He hisses as her fingers dig into his shoulders, and his breathing hitches and stutters once she starts to move faster and harder. It's good enough, he thinks, to draw out an orgasm soon. All he dares do to help it along is shift the angle of his hips slightly. There won't be any more attempts at taking control or demanding things, because he wants to come a third time.]
I'm sorry... You are a very generous turtle.
[He can't say it with any amount of sincerity, but he manages not to laugh.]
[ Wanda would laugh herself, but with him changing the angle of his hips, she can't help but gasp it out and make it sound utterly pathetic. She slows the rocking of her hips for moment before she continues to fuck herself on him. She inhales roughly, digging her nails into his shoulders as she uses him to help her move along his cock. He's enjoyed the roughness earlier; she doubts he'll mind that she's trying to embed bruises into his skin that won't heal over in a matter of hours. ]
You've been nothing but mean.
[ But even that comes out slow and like she's not committed to even saying the words. She's not. Wanda closes her eyes and pants, moaning loudly without a care if she's loud enough for her voice to seep through the walls. ]
[He doesn't mind the coming bruises at all, this is what he wanted, to feel and see her all over him in the morning, knowing she's left her mark of possession, thinking about it when he inevitably flirts with some girl at the market. Ensuring he'll never go further than that flirting, because he belongs to someone else. He can't properly sound offended at Wanda's comment, breathing too raggedly and interrupted by his own whines, but Pietro needs to address it.]
I'm not... mean...
[It's a flimsy statement more than a protest though, and a complete lie. He knows he is, and can't stop himself from saying any insulting things that come to him most of the time. But Wanda understands that, and she tolerates far more from him than she should have to. Her moaning sends a sudden spark of heat directly through his cock, and that's the point he can't hold off anymore, pushed over the edge finally as she clenches tight around him, every muscle tensing as he comes.]
[ She's proud making him come completely undone. Unable to sound off a quip, let alone form one of his own to try and underpin her attempts to poke at him now that she has the ability to. She continues to rock against his hips, but she no longer does so with the same intent as before.
Curling her fingers into his chest, she smiles down at him before she bows forward and brushes some of his hair away from his damp temple and kisses the corner of his mouth. His skin's a nice light shade of her scarlet power. She doesn't know how she does it, but she calls back those red ropes from his hands so that he can move freely—except for where she remains perched against his hips.
She kisses the other corner of his mouth to establish balance. And because she can. She has a feeling he'll let her.
Softly, she teases, ] Very, very mean. But it is a good thing that I'm a good teacher and will spank this out of you.
[ And she ignores how that prompts heat to curl in her belly. Now she gets to do something for Pietro that he likes. ]
[Once she's released her magic, he makes up for lost time with his twitching fingers immediately tangling in her hair, his other hand stroking down her spine, keeping her close. He squirms at her words, heat settling in his chest.]
You will have to be persistent. I forget things.
[He tugs on her hair then to pull her down just a little more, so he can kiss her roughly and insistently, taking back some of the control he'd relinquished.]
[ Before she can think of informing him that he's old and therefore him forgetting things makes too much sense, he's kissing her. Perhaps she can withhold from insulting him for now, especially if he's going to keep his hand on her back and let her lie down against him. It'll be short-lived, as some things are with him, but it'll be enough for her.
Moaning low in her throat at the tug of her hair, she smiles against his lips before she decides to break the kiss by sucking on his bottom lip. He might be trying to regain control, but Wanda's had a good taste of it and she doesn't feel like handing it over so easily. ]
[She draws quiet groans from him with her attention to his lip, and he shifts his hips pointedly, fingernails digging into her back slightly. He needs to get things back on track.]
You don't want me to go a fourth time, do you? Stop teasing.
[ She does. Will he be so satiated and boneless that he doesn't move for the majority of tomorrow? It's something she's curious about. He's let her have him before, over and over, but there's always been a limit to it. ]
Stop moving. You are meant to enjoy the after.
[ She pushes her hips down firmly against his, ignoring that she gasps, and presses her hands hard on his shoulders. ]
[He doesn't stop moving, not after all the time he'd just spent trying not to, urging things along before he gets too aroused again. Ignoring her firm grip on his shoulders, he moves his hand from her hair to her hip, digging his fingers in at the bone, intent on marking her too.]
[ He's meant to enjoy the after with a cuddle, although… that's not really what Wanda wants, either. She shifts roughly against him when he digs his fingers into her hipbone. ]
Pietro.
[ It comes out more as a reprimand than she'd like. This is the problem with him; when he touches her, she becomes all out of sorts. Gentleness becomes roughness and impatience becomes patient. He really is to blame for many things.
She peers down at him before she roughly tugs in a breath. ]
[He makes an irritated noise, thinking Wanda might demand he stop touching her, or anything, again, but she doesn't. He raises an eyebrow in mild confusion, his expression then quickly shifting to a smirk.]
Harder? You want it harder?
[It's not the time to mock her choice, but he does, simply because it's unexpected. Pietro doesn't hesitate to dig his fingers in far more firmly than he would normally go, at her hip and at her back. He's taking the opportunity he's been given.]
[ She flushes furiously and tugs in a harsh breath. Considering how he's been so adamant she be rough, well… she wants to see what the fuss is about. And he's always manhandling her when they're out and about. This would be no different. ]
I'm not made of glass and I don't always want to be treated like I am.
[He rolls his eyes and snorts. Pietro could say the same thing about how Wanda treats him sometimes, only it's not from a physical standpoint that way. He says nothing though, simply giving her what she says she wants, taking more control back, bringing both hands to her hips to dig his fingers into her flesh hard and insistent, and moves his hips sharply as his cock continues to get hard again.]
Do you want more?
[One of his hands vibrates, and he raises an eyebrow. He hasn't tried to focus vibration solely with his cock, and might not be able to do it with any semblance of precision like his fingers or his tongue, but the suggestion is there.]
[ She tugs in a stuttering, loud breath. Peering down at his vibrating hands, she tries her best not to appear too affected by it. But it's impossibly hard, given how unexpected the sensation had been. ]
Yes.
[ Her voice is quiet and shy. She supposes this is why he doubts she wants him to be rougher, but she does. He's made her feel unafraid now that he's requested it, and perhaps Wanda wishes to be reminded that Pietro simply can't restrain himself when it comes to her. ]
But I don't want to fuck you this way. [ She ignores how her face flushes and she wishes to hide behind her hands. If he can be brave, so can she. ] Not with me on top.
[His stomach tightens with the way she flushes at being so bold. It gets to him every time she pushes past that urge to hide away. He accommodates her without any teasing about it, flipping them easily and assuring he doesn't pull out too far in the process, settling on top of her and taking some of his weight on his arms. His hips twitch as he shifts to find a good position. Slowly at first, as if he's being too cautious about it, vibrations run through his entire body — that's the way he's going to have to do this he's discovered, after only a couple of seconds trying to focus it more narrowly on a less individually mobile area.]
Tell me if it's too much.
[His words waver and have a buzzy echo to them, and when he starts to thrust, it's sharp and driving, trusting Wanda won't let him go more roughly than she really wants him to, won't let him hurt her. It's trust that's difficult to give, but Pietro has left a lot of trust in her hands tonight already.]
[ The sensation is strange, to say the least. She gasps and tries not to think too much about it, wanting to enjoy this different feeling.
She shifts against the bed, widening her legs as she tries to push her hips up to his. She watches him, thinking he looks a little different now. He's not as sharp as he often is, which she supposes is the vibrations. Does he feel different? Does he feel anything?
Pressing her feet into the bed, she doesn't try t still the movements of her body as he thrusts. She trails her fingertips along his biceps, liking the fluttery sensation travelling down her arms. She keeps her fingertips pressed against his skin, liking how his vibrations don't stop the moment she touches him.
Swallowing a moan, she peers up at him with wonder. Her lips part as she pants, uncaring if her words come out in twisted moans and all too quietly. ]
[With her fingers pressed against his skin, the way she spreads her legs and invites him further, he knows she likes it. His expression might not be clear to her, and Pietro wonders about that, what she sees, if she can read his eyes or not. But hers, hers are perfect in this moment, and he doesn't think Wanda's ever looked at him this way before, something verging on awe mixed with affection. He moves one hand to the side of her face, running his thumb over her parted lips.]
No. It doesn't hurt.
[Not like his hand when it shakes on its own, when he can't control it. This is deliberate, and he can't really explain what it does feel like, but he tries.]
It is like... before a shock from static.
[Energy build up without being released, waiting for that ignition. A charge. Something. If he knew anything about kinetics, if HYDRA had ever explained the details of things they researched and wrote of up files about, he might have a better description to go on.]
[ She furrows her brows as she tries to recall what that feeling feels like, but it's a little hard to focus when he's… feeling like that. She's been so worked up by him since the couch that she isn't quite sure how she's managing to think words, let alone speak them. All she wants is to chase that feeling without overstimulating herself. ]
It doesn't hurt me, either.
[ In case he worries she asks because it does. It doesn't. It feels good. Better than she realised vibrations could feel. It's a little strange to think that he's the reason why, but… it also syncs in perfectly.
She inhales sharply and holds her breath before she forces herself to relax. The sensations are almost as tingly as her hand had been when smacking him. ]
You're like a vibrator.
[ She blushes and laughs, although her laughter quickly morphs into a moan where she can't quite catch her breath. She jerks her hips upward. ]
Maybe better? [ She purses her lips and makes a show of shrugging. ] I don't know.
[It's an embarrassing comparison, but he snorts, trying to hold back any laugh of his own. Between this and the spanking, Pietro is ignoring this night ever happened come tomorrow. Wanda dreamt it, and he will stick by that claim even if he still sports obvious bruises.]
It is better.
[And he punctuates that with pushing himself a little further, increasing the speed of vibration and his thrusts, his hands firmly grasping her sides underneath her ribs.]
[ She inhales sharply and moans, closing her eyes as he pushes in further. She grips his back, digging her nails into his shoulder blades. It feels so good, better than any vibrator she might have brought home and stashed in the hopes Pietro would never find it. ]
No.
[ Wanda doesn't try to string her words together coherently. Arching her back, she wraps her legs around the back of his thighs to try and keep him locked inside of her. ]
Okay. Subpar. You could be a better vibrator.
[ Where Pietro feels embarrassment, Wanda feels, well… pure heat. Her bones feel liquid. She bucks her hips up, wishing to chase that vibration and feel it even more. She releases a growl low in her throat and sounds she's never made before as his thrusts shift her against the bed. ]
You are lucky I love you, and I won't stop when you insult me.
[Mostly because Pietro doesn't want to stop even on principle, intent on orgasm number four as much as he is on pleasing Wanda. He keeps his thrusts more rapid and contained instead of pulling out far, heeding her legs wrapped around his thighs like he knows exactly why she does it. Her growling sends heat through his abdomen, it's rough and unrestrained and different, and all Pietro wants is to draw more of those noises from her.]
[ Wanda doesn't know what she even wants to say. Please don't stop? Please know that the insults will always be on the tip of her tongue? She isn't quite sure if anything's even there as she gasps and parts her lips, tilting her head back as she claws at his back. With one hand in his hair, she grips the strands hard and digs her heels into his back. Her entire body vibrates alongside his. Because of his. It leaves her feeling hot and wanting to know that this is Pietro inside of her, able to make the tips of her toes and fingers feel like they're on fire.
Her body tenses and she shudders as she comes hard, gripping his back so tightly she can feel the crescent shapes her nails leave behind embed into his skin. ]
[It comes out in a quiet and breathless low groan as she grabs his hair tightly, digging her fingernails and heels into his back. He's making her come undone and it's a beautiful thing to watch, Wanda falling apart and completely letting go. When she comes, it's so hard and immediate, clenching around his vibrating cock, and the friction is so much more prominent, Pietro can barely hold on himself. But he does, just for a moment longer. Everything feels too hot too soon, and the vibrations increase momentarily before they stop entirely, abruptly, and he follows her orgasm with his own, his fingers clutching her side so hard he's sure they'll leave distinct marks.]
[ It's on the tip of her tongue to tell him that's how they're going to have sex until the end of time, but the vibrations have somehow made her lose her ability to talk, let alone think of the words she wants to even say. She digs her nails into his back and turns her head away and tries to wet her drying mouth. She pants too hard for her to feel as though she's about to speak sense. ]
[He huffs indignantly, but it's with a tired edge to it and his fingers are now gentle at her sides, stroking over the reddening marks he'd just put there.]
It is your fault I lost control of it.
[Absolutely her fault she squeezed so hard, and he shifts to move his cock inside her as a reminder.]
[ Except, well… that admission makes her feel hot all over. She keeps her legs tied around him, not wanting to let him go. She keeps her hand against his back.
After clearing her throat, she purses her lips. ]
Maybe if you were better…
[ She shrugs, looking away. If he was better, she wouldn't be able to wrap her legs around him. ]
So, you admit that your age has finally caught up to you?
[ She doesn't untangle her foot, shoving it into his back as a reminder that she's here and she's present. She'll wrap around him like a barnacle if she wants to—and so she does, even though she can't with her arms. Instead, she ruffles his hair. ]
You vibrate a little and now you need to sleep? Such a tease.
[ She does. Even without the vibrations, she'd want to go again until he's boneless and she feels like she's floating in the air. But now with the vibrations… Can anyone blame her for wanting to feel it again? ]
Do you not want to?
[ If she says 'yes', he can tease her. Wanda doesn't wish to give him such an opening again. ]
[She's turned it on him and made it a challenge he can't refuse, especially now that his short refractory period is over and he's already hard again. They could be at it all night at this rate, until he depletes all his energy and can't move. He's sure that's what she wants.]
Of course I do. I am not yet satisfied. You need to do a better job.
[He runs his hands up to her chest, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, and starts the vibrations again, sudden and intense. With her legs still wrapped tightly around him, he works with little space again, but the speed of vibration should make up for lack of very driving thrusts.]
[ Wanda gasps and arches her back off the bed. He's getting quicker at coming back to himself after each orgasm that she hardly has any time to plot. ]
No, not this way.
[ She ignores the flush to her chest and neck. Darting her gaze briefly away from his, she peers up at him again. She grasps uselessly for his wrists despite knowing he can easily pull out of her hold. ]
I want it a different way. I want you behind me. [ She pushes his face gently with her hand to try and dissuade him from looking at her. ] Your face is too ugly to look at.
[Pietro's tone is exasperated, but he stops the vibrations and takes his hands off her breasts, planting them on either side of her instead, and pulling back away from her hands at his face.]
We will do it your way, but you need to let me move.
[He squirms, rather impatiently, waiting for her to uncoil the death-grip of her legs.]
[ He should be able to move without her having to do anything to enable that! Wanda untangles her legs and plants her feet firmly on the bed. ]
You want to do it?
[ She does her best not to acknowledge how hot she feels. Considering tonight seems to be the night when Pietro trusts her to explore something different, she thinks it's only fair she places that in his hands.
But that doesn't mean she won't blush as she shoves at his shoulder to get him to move. ]
[It somehow seems both less and more intimate to do it this way, and tonight is apparently for exploring. Pietro takes a moment just to look down at her, flushed and pushing at his shoulder.]
Give me time, I'm old.
[He does move, but takes it upon himself to quickly position her as he likes, on her knees underneath him. His breath is hot at the back of her neck as he brushes her hair aside, tangling his fingers in it.]
[ Wanda takes a moment to shift on the bed and catch her breath. He's still around her, never far from reach. Gripping the bedspread between the fingers of one hand, Wanda nods. ]
Yes.
[ It comes out softer than she means for it to. ]
The girls said that this felt nice.
[ She purposefully doesn't mention any specific names, not wanting Pietro to lose sight of what they're doing. Now isn't the time for him to tease her in such a way.
Readjusting her knees on the bed, she clears her throat gently. ]
So, I wanted to see. But I don't want you to disappear. [ She flushes hotly again, liking the fact that his hand is in her hair and he's still warm against her back. ] I like you like this… over me. But don't knot my hair.
[Pietro almost asks which girls she'd been talking to, but had he names, he would have something to say about it, untrue statements that he can't ever help himself from teasing her with. And he isn't sure he wants to know the specifics of this conversation she'd had, if Wanda had inquired about this because she was dissatisfied with him, bored. Those thoughts aren't to be entertained, unsubstantiated speculation that Pietro won't allow himself. She asked because she wants to try something new with him, that's all. At her last comment, he rolls his eyes even though Wanda can't see it, sighing.]
I won't knot your hair.
[He leaves it alone, untangling his fingers to brace himself on the bed with one hand, snaking an arm around Wanda's waist and holding her to him as he positions himself. A different angle, different sensations, and his thrusts start slowly, long and deep. As much as Pietro likes to see her face and read the expression in her eyes, embracing her this way has its own appeal, and for some reason he wants to be gentle about it, exploratory.]
[ Perhaps it's a good thing he says nothing cheeky. Wanda's not entirely sure she'd have any words to throw back at him.
She closes her eyes and moans lowly as he begins to move inside of her. The angle's so different to what she's used to. It's strange not to be able to read his expression above or below her and to be able to nitpick at him and literally poke him. Instead, things feel heightened. She can focus on the way he holds her and feels up against her.
She doesn't raise her voice. ]
I like it, too.
[ And it's easier to keep her blushing to herself, given he can't see her face. Wanda closes her eyes and parts her lips, panting softly as she experimentally shifts back against him. ]
[His exclamation is softer than it usually is, and perhaps it's a good thing they're trying this after his fourth orgasm, where he isn't especially impatient and won't start to hurry things along. At least not yet. He tightens his hold on her, fingers splayed across her stomach, and the vibrations start again.]
[ She jerks against him, having not expected that. She tightens around him and tenses her entire body before she forces herself to relax. It's different in a way that will take some time to get used to, especially since it's coming from Pietro. He's always hummed with impatience, but this is so literal.
Wanda moans and tightens the muscles of her stomach, wanting to feel his hands grip at her. She rocks back against him and makes a noise of pleasure low in her throat. ]
[He shudders slightly, and tries to suppress embarrassing whining when all of her muscles tighten and she clenches so hard around him. It's worth every bit of extra energy expenditure to facilitate that.]
Yes, it's good...
[His breath hitches and comes heavier.]
This is the last time.
[Despite saying so, like he might not last much longer, he speeds up his thrusts, encouraged by her moaning and the fluttering of her muscles underneath him. He's determined to end this birthday on a very good note.]
[ It'd sound more like a reprimand if she didn't speak so breathily—and if she cared for it to sound like one. Wanda grips the bedspread tightly, tilting her head back as she closes her eyes. It's strange not being able to see him, but she can imagine him clear as day, the pink flush to his cheeks, the way his hair's a mess on his head. She doubts she's gotten a detail wrong in her recollection of him. ]
[He punctuates that with a particularly sharp thrust, tightening his hold on her possessively, there's something more raw about doing it this way and Pietro runs with that instinctive feeling. Shifting his weight mostly to his knees, he takes his hand off the bed to grab her hair and pull. It's less gentle than he intended, but he won't knot it.]
Always wanting so much, Wanda. I don't know why I put up with you.
[He can't finish his thought all at once, a low groan escaping at that keening noise she makes. She's slamming back against him hard and it's so difficult to stay focused on anything when it's rough and forceful. He hadn't even had to ask for Wanda to go harder, and for once, Pietro wants to make this last as long as he can, willing himself not to slip over the edge yet.]
[ She lets out a breath she'd meant to sound like a noise of annoyance, but it sounds like a breathless, stupid thing that'll go straight to his head. Bowing her head, she exhales roughly. ]
You're obsessed with my ugly face.
[ The words come out slower than she'd like, almost like she's forgotten how to speak.
Balancing her weight on a shaky hand, she reaches between them to brush her fingers against her clit. She jerks against him. ]
[Not. But Pietro never gets it out, feeling her twitch around him like that takes all of his coherency and ability to speak away from him for a moment. They have to do this more often. He holds tightly to her hair as his hand shakes too much, and he knows he's not going to be able to hold out as long as he wants to.]
Fuck. Wanda.
[This time, he manages not to completely stop the vibrations, but they slow when his muscles tense and he leaves his cock buried deep inside her as he comes.]
[ She makes to peer over her shoulder at him, a little pleased smile on her face. Balancing on one hand, she pauses her fingers at her clit before she decides that maybe she'd like to get off at the expression he wears after he's come four times. ]
You can't seem to get enough of me and my ugly face, Pietro.
[ Wanda gasps, tensing her belly and shoving her hips back into him. She's waited for him before, not wanting to overstimulate him, but she figures she doesn't owe him such a kind luxury anymore. ]
[It's a hiss of a noise, with a whiny edge to it. Everything is too much, and Wanda doesn't give him any time to ride things out as much as he wants to. It takes Pietro a moment to get back to it, letting her do all the work until he can make his body follow his commands again, and continue to drive into her.]
[ And clearly as sensitive, too. Wanda considers dropping her hand and deciding that that's enough, but he's worked her up and she likes the fact that his cock feels different from this angle, and so she pushes back against him. He's already ridden out his orgasm three times now. Taking away the chance for the fourth is a kindness.
Before she can follow it up with something smart, Wanda's body tenses as she shudders. She moans, making a guttural sound that doesn't sound like it belongs to either one of them. She bows her head and presses her forehead hard against the bed as she comes, purposefully tightening around him to punish him for being so impatient and annoying. ]
[Pietro rolls his eyes and scoffs, but any comments he may have made are cut off preemptively when she tenses suddenly and comes, squeezing so tight around his cock it makes him whine loudly, ending with an embarrassing squeak in the back of his throat. He releases Wanda's hair and his fingers loosen at her stomach. He drops his hand to the bed beneath her. After a few heavy breaths, he pushes himself up, and slowly starts to pull out.]
You come a million and one times and you are suddenly done?
[ She's done, too. As excited as she is to be with him, her stamina is nothing in comparison to his. His is never-ending and impatient.
With him moving away, Wanda clumsily rolls over and drops onto her back, uncaring that her legs are twisted with him between them. ]
We should do that again.
[ Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after that. Sometime in the future. She ducks her gaze away from his before she makes herself look at him, heat flushing her already red cheeks. ]
[He argues as if that's a reasonable amount, though he feels the opposite. Looking down at her red face, he brushes his thumb across her cheek and then settles heavily on top of her. Pietro thinks about making a comment on the return of her shyness and the way she had been so bold when she wanted things, but he doesn't. He has no energy for another conversation that goes in circles.]
We will. There are a lot of things we should do again.
[He smirks before kissing her forehead gently, and then rolling off just enough to lie half beside her, but not break the connection of his skin to hers.]
[ She smiles and wrinkles her nose, brushing her fingers through his unruly, soft hair. She ensures to drag her nails over his scalp, enjoying that he's now quiet and still. It won't last for long. ]
If you misbehave, at least I know how to best punish you.
[ Again, she ignores her furious blush. She'd liked it. She doesn't want him to think she hadn't. ]
[He leans into the scrape of her nails over his scalp, less in his usual eager way and more like a contented cat in his current lethargic state. Nothing feels too slow at present, and he's going to enjoy that while it lasts. Running his fingers along her stomach, Pietro frowns and makes a questioning noise.]
There was a lesson to be learned?
[After a contemplative 'hm', he shrugs.]
Well, that was hours ago, wasn't I? Of course I have forgotten. You may have to remind me tomorrow.
[He squirms a little, just to feel the reminders still there, tender spots and bruises, and evidence of Wanda.]
[ Wanda sighs heavily and shakes her head. She tuts for good measure as she continues to scrape her nails against his scalp. ]
You are hopeless, Pietro. What will I ever do with you?
[ Aside from keep him for herself. She's happy to be selfish in this instant. ]
If you're too hopeless, I'll have to change our lessons. I don't think you'd want that.
[ Less spanking. Less allowing her to be the one who actually gets to dominate. She likes the flush of power she feels at that, at him trusting her enough to let himself be vulnerable and submit. ]
[Pietro rolls his eyes, though it takes so much effort to do so right now. Wanda will never stop. He shifts and presses himself close at her side, snaking one arm around her.]
There is maybe a shred of hope for me.
[It sounds like a concession, because he very much liked those lessons, and he should be honest about it. He can learn that much at least.]
[ She holds her hand up, almost pressing her index and thumb together. There's a small space between both fingers as Wanda narrows her eyes to inspect it. But it'll always be big enough to earn him a spanking as long as he wants it. Saying as much is too easy.
She grunts and makes a show of wriggling beneath him. ]
[Wanda, please. Pietro sighs in annoyance, at both her display and her grumbling and wriggling. He curls in on her a little, and moves his arm from her stomach, but it's just to cover her mouth with his hand.]
Go. To. Sleep. I am tired.
[The latter comes out as a whine.]
i'm here-ish. (give ya gal a wishlist, as i realize i cannot decide upon a starting point.)
After scouring the Multiverse for a way to fill the hole inside of her, she decides enough is enough.
She calls for him.
Her boys call for her, but she calls for him. She can't do this alone anymore. Tucked away in a secluded part of what's left of Sokovia, Wanda's orchard thrives and her sheep bleat, but the world around her feels so stagnant. There's no movement. There's nothing to cause the hairs on her arms to rise. It's like time doesn't move here, even when she lets the day shift into the night and the night shift into the day.
She sits on the porch of her house—a two-storey, like they always thought they'd move into when the war was over (although, that was her and her dreams of living the life her sitcoms promised)—and waits for something in the air to shift.
This time, she won't get it wrong. She'll be conscious of what she does here. The world she's created is perfect—the temperature's warm but not too warm, and the nights are cool but not too cool. No one disturbs her here. It's quiet without the onslaught of bombs. There's no one here to slip her nightmares into.
She plays absently with her blackened fingers while watching her sheep trot in the distance. The twigs of her apples barely move in the wind. She hopes that after all this time, he'll heed her. He has to; Pietro has always come when she's called, even when her voice hasn't slipped past her lips.
Necromancy is the darkest of magic, but Wanda's been in the dark for the last ten years. She thinks it's about time the light shone on them again. She thinks it's about time that she took back what was hers. If Stark can snap the world back five years later to keep his legacy intact, why can't she resurrect her world?
When there's a shift in the air and the invisible barrier around her orchard is infiltrated by something sharp, she holds her breath and waits for him.
And when he appears, she can't see him through her blurry vision. The tip of her nose is already pink, even though she refuses to shed tears. She doesn't rise; Wanda's forgotten how to use her limbs.
"You missed breakfast," she says, her Slavic accent back into place. It feels right, like she's finally home.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( THE ONLY THING I EVER WANTED. )
She knows she should've learned her lesson. Magic isn't a toy. It's not something she should use to fill in the holes in her own heart. It's something that needs to be used properly, accurately, and with proper intent that's stripped of its emotion.
But when she sees him step inside of the suburban home she's built, replenished with furniture they only ever dreamed of from her sitcoms and movies, and sat it beside a house that's filled with a kind family who love nothing but to let him be a bad influence on their young children… It's worth making the same mistake and correcting it to be something fruitful, in her control, and here.
He's always been worth it.
This time, when Wanda creates a hex, it's not out of an emotional outburst. She'd been particular, specific in the way she'd built it. It isn't broken. It's as flawless as she can make it, a safe haven for the two of them to exist as they were always meant to be. She can't and won't hurt anyone this time. She has the person she wants—and she knows, in time, her family will come back to her. He's stayed beside her since she reached for him and felt him reach back; he hasn't disappeared as she had been so fearful he would.
Allowing Pietro to be fallible is a flaw in the universe's design that she's corrected. Tying him to her is the only way to fix what she hadn't been able to correct so long ago.
Wanda smiles. "Did you enjoy your run?"
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The first few days had been a testy thing, in the long run, of Pietro trying to find his footing in the new truths of his life and not always succeeding. But time, and freedom like he hadn't known in the very small fragment of days between 'escaped Hydra' and 'died from Ultron'. Adjustments were made in small steps, and he had finally adjusted to his new way of being.
The running, of course, helped. Running that he came in from and flopped down on the couch rather than taking a shower.
"Very much. I saw some deer. The baby was very cute and had spots on it."
Don't worry, he didn't pet the deer.
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"And you did not bring back the deer?"
Tsking, Wanda shakes her head. Despite wanting to feign disappointment, she doesn't wipe her smile from her face. Can't. Pietro is back and she permanently smiles now. She doesn't know how to frown, be sad, or even exist without the pinch to her cheeks.
Approaching the couch, she tapped the toe of his shoes. "For that, feet off the couch."
If he'd brought back the deer, he'd have a hell of a lot more waiting for him. Maybe a drink with an umbrella. A little snack. Instead, all he has is Wanda tapping his shoe and magically playing with his shoelace, turning that into a bit of a knot in itself.
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"It is not polite to tie someone's shoes more. How will I get them off?"
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Wanda doesn't make it a point to untie his shoelaces, taking his question as an invitation to continue to wrap it into a knot. Of course, if he wanted the shoelaces untied, they'd be free within seconds. It's nice to relax and to simply be a pest as she would be in Sokovia.
"Perhaps, you'll be nice to the lady of the house and do as she says." She smiles down at him as innocently as she can muster. "I hear that she is very kind but scary."
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Kind, yes, but he's never had cause to fear his sister. So he isn't taking the scary.
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"I hear that she's very strong and unticklable."
No, she's still very ticklish. Anticipating what's inevitable, she magically ties one shoe's shoelace to the other—as if that's going to stop Pietro.
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"She is very strong and very ticklable."
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Wanda doesn't take a step back, even though that would—and should—be the next step. But she doesn't want to move away from Pietro. She's spent far too long without him to ever want to deny him anything ever again... except undoing his shoelaces. Isn't this how one ties their shoelaces together?
With her hands on her hips, she playfully glares down at him. "You'll regret it if you try to tickle me, Pietro."
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"Perhaps you can bribe me? Breakfast would be nice."
must be the season of the witch.
Job done, he dusts off his cloak and decides to portal back to the grand foyer with a twirl of his hand.
Back home on the metaphorical ranch, a golden window appears like it's carved out of thin air. It hisses and spits glowing light before opening, and then Doctor Strange, former Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts, steps through.
Unfortunately, the Sanctum truly is flooded.
He takes one step out and, before he can catch himself, plummets downward. With a strangled yelp of surprise and flailing arms, he falls into the water. When he eventually manages to float himself back out, he's sodden and drenched: black hair plastered to his skull, red Cloak of Levitation hanging heavy from his shoulders and miserable, the cloak somehow managing to look like it's sulking.
He peers around. It's like when the blizzard blew through and the place was filled with snow, but now it's just water, an impossible ocean lapping at the grand curved staircase. The guest chairs are bobbing gently next to a floating credenza.
"Well, this is worse than I thought," he says.
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She stands on the first floor and wrings her hands, appearing very, very sheepish. While she knows what she's done is the very opposite to the task Wong had set, she does feel a little proud of herself. How many witches can summon water with a mere flick of her wrist? How many of them could summon water from the Pacific and have it feel as real as the ocean beneath a blazing sun?
The water below has a very dull red glow. The water level doesn't decrease any further. Wanda's a little afraid that if she tries to make it all vanish, it'll flood the streets of New York.
Wong had made reallocating what he conjured up look easy.
"I warmed the water," she says proudly and grins widely. Wanda Maximoff still looks very, very sheepish. (It beats feeling despondent.) Strange looks like a drowned rat and his cape—his poor cape—doesn't seem to be fairing any better. "There's even sand on the floor... for the crabs."
Watch your feet, Strange.
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For a fleeting moment, he considers just tossing up his hands and giving up and leaving it be. Maybe this is just how the Sanctum looks now. They can use the side alleyway entrance to get in and out. They can tell visitors to come around the back. Maybe they can set up parasols and beach chairs and serve tropical cocktails on the landing. Wong won't mind, would he?
The cloak tugs at his shoulders and starts curling itself up, twisting and wringing out the water, and Stephen sighs. He floats over to the staircase and lands nimbly next to Wanda, and then absentmindedly kicks his feet a little, shaking off the water like a dog.
"I did appreciate it not feeling like taking a plunge into the North Sea. So you brought it all here, but haven't been able to send it back?"
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While Wanda theoretically knows she can send all of this back to where it came from, a part of her is afraid. And it's a big, huge part of her—Hex-size, really—that is a little terrified at the idea of sending it all back and accidentally doing it wrong. What if she turns the ocean inside out? What if the Sanctum collapses because of her efforts to send the ocean and its sandy bed back?
She can hear Agatha's voice rattle inside of her head. Her Hex had been as broken as she was. She worries about breaking the vast ocean that's remained dormant and somewhat left in peace for years.
"I thought I would see if I could make pieces of it disappear... like a puzzle."
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Stephen glances over at her. They're not deeply acquainted yet, but he's started to get a better and better sense of the woman, the more time they spend together — what with Wanda taking up residence (or sanctuary) in the Sanctum Sanctorum, burying herself in the library and trying to understand more about her magic. Adding a bit of amiable chaos, both figurative and literal, to the sorcerers' lives here. It's been nice, having the company around; she helps as a tie-breaker whenever he and Wong are squabbling over something deeply banal, like which Spotify playlist to put on in the library.
But right now, he has a fair idea that she sounds sheepish and a little hesitant. He's pretty sure he understands. Her powers are like catching lightning in a jar and then not knowing what to do with it, not wanting to bite off more than she can chew.
For all that his duties relate to maintaining balance and harmony, he isn't all that good about self-moderation. When Stephen Strange saw a challenge, he liked to chase it. When he saw power, he wanted to seize it. So perhaps it's a good thing he's not the one trying to fix this on his own; he'd probably have already flooded Greenwich Village.
He makes a decision. Shakes out his damp sleeves and rolls them up. "I'll shore up the edges of the spell, contain it in the lobby so the water doesn't spill over into the parlour or kitchen or through the front door. And then you can take a crack at it."
The man starts to concentrate, a distracted expression crossing his face as he stitches together the threads of a containment spell. He knows the Sanctum like the back of his hand. He can stabilise the foyer. He can set the stage for Wanda to carve out her puzzle pieces.
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With Strange, she doubts he offers his magical help lightly.
She'd much prefer he simply clean up the mess. While she knows Strange can be quite messy (aren't all surgeons, past and present?), he has a sophisticated air about him that makes her want to stand a little taller and tug her shoulders back. The desire to prove herself isn't new. It's simply the equivalent of an old pair of worn shoes she hasn't dressed in for a long time.
"Okay."
That doesn't sound overly confident. If this was WandaVision, she'd rewind the tape and take another crack at it. And as tempting as it is—WandaVision: Wanda Takes Manhattan—she knows better. Has to be better. It's what she had promised herself when she chose to leave her own solitude.
Glancing at him, she doesn't roll up her sleeves to mimic him. Instead, she tries something else entirely: to somewhat be herself.
And that currently includes turning the somewhat blueish Sanctum water into a red glow.
"I want to send all the crabs away first." They, after all, are merely innocent citizens caught up in her spell.
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His crooked, articulate fingers (once shattered, now still shaky, but capable of more than he ever expected) twitch in mid-air, sketching out the borders of the spell, continuing to pin it all safely in place for Wanda while she works. The pair of them operating in tandem, rather than one of them having to fix it alone.
He could, of course, clean it up himself. Probably. But it's no way to learn. Teach a man to fish, etc. Teach a woman how to send away all her fish. The best way of learning is by doing. Doctor Strange can be a frustrating teacher — pompous, easily-annoyed, a little too convinced of his own self-importance — but he can, at times, be a good one, too. He'd rather let her flex her muscles and get the practice.
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"Your jokes are very unfunny," she says all while smiling. She shakes her head again as the water continues to glow and ripple. It's almost as though she's brought the Hex with her. But it does start to lower, even if it's slowly. The water doesn't rise as she had believed it to.
Glancing at him, she feels bold. "Is that why Wong doesn't have any laughing lines?"
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Stephen watches the water roil beneath them as it sinks, attentive like an attending physician eyeing a delicate procedure. That tell-tale red glow is so very her: not just the Scarlet Witch's trademark colour, but the fact that it's also Wanda Maximoff's distinctive magical signature. Her fingerprints are all over it, and when he concentrates, he can always recognise the ripples of her presence left behind, like catching a whiff of her perfume after she's left the room.
It's been fascinating, getting to learn alongside a different magic-user with a novel and unfamiliar flair to her spells (less trained, more instinctive, more impulsive). It's not what he's used to. The Masters of the Mystic Arts — whether sorcerers, disciples, apprentices, or novices — all drew their powers from the same source, like tapping the same well, drinking the same water.
Whatever Wanda is, she's something else entirely. She's the ocean.
He shakes off those thoughts. "I think it's working," he says, a little unnecessarily, because they can both see more of the sand-strewn steps reappearing.
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She doesn't, of course. That would be entirely too distracting and absolutely not helpful at all. Although... if anyone can multitask...
She playfully scrunches up her nose. "I hope your floor isn't stained red."
Even though Wanda knows her magic doesn't leave a physical stain like paint, Strange's home is very different to the homes she's occupied in her life. It pulses in the way she thinks Westview had for Agatha. While Wanda still hasn't quite learned how to sense the specific tendrils of magic as Agatha once had, she's more attuned to it now.
"But if it is, at least something will match your cloak."
WandaVision's set designer, ladies and gentlemen.
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The Sanctum was a beautiful building — hardwood floors, ornate windows, antique furniture, four-poster beds — but you could practically feel the weight of all that accumulated time and history as you entered the place. The front entrance was especially built to impress, and had done so for centuries. The upper floors were roiling with ancient artefacts and magical bits-and-bobs, gathered from sorcerers over the ages. (The basement, on the other hand, was a mess. Don't go into the basement.)
"And truly, if you're worried about making a mess in general, don't be. Odds are good I've already done worse."
He wasn't the Sorcerer Supreme any of his colleagues would have chosen, and he'd practically tripped and landed facefirst into the role, and had to improvise on the fly and make the best of it under desperate circumstances. And then he'd gone and accidentally ripped open the multiverse while trying to help a kid. He and Wanda both knew a bit about making a mess.
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She's not distracted talking to him. In fact, it's nice to be talking about something rather than existing in concentrative silence. Fixing this little mishap is a lot easier when her mind isn't on the task at hand and how the water isn't moving at the speed she wants it to.
It is moving. Wanda feels the pressure of it beneath them begin to thin and dissipate. The ocean's slowly returning to where it had come from, possibly happy to finally be taken home.
"Have you done worse than putting a big oak tree through someone's house?" She doesn't appear demure at the thought of Westview. Uncharacteristically, she feels good about it. "That's a deleted scene in WandaVision, around episode two. I had to fix it very quickly."
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But he hasn't pried, hasn't forced Wanda to tell him everything about what happened back there. She'll talk in her own time. At the question of what he's done, Stephen tips his shoulder into a noncommittal shrug. "Mm. Buy me a drink at the Bar With No Doors and maybe I'll tell you about it."
It's not flirting, exactly — but a perpetual tongue-in-cheek flippancy which, at first blush, doesn't seem like it ought to fit with a Master of the Mystic Arts. Chalk it down to his unconventional entryway to the paranormal. He's always been a little mouthy, a little playful, even when he was gloved and bloodied and hands-deep in someone's spine in the middle of an operating room.
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But she can't help the trepidation she feels. New York bustles with people. It's louder than Westview, significantly noisier than her Sokovian cabin. She's still getting used to swimming in a vast sea packed with so many fish.
If he didn't trust her, she doesn't think he'd be gently pushing it.
"A glass of water will do?" She smiles, then feigns concern, "I wouldn't want to embarrass you by drinking you under the table."
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His distraction takes its toll a moment later: down the hall, he can feel the door to the kitchen creak and whine. Some water is starting to seep through the hinges, trickling onto the tile floor. Wong is the most talented chef of the resident sorcerers; he's going to murder them all if his kitchen is ruined. So after a second, Stephen shores up the edges of the spell again, fortifying the boundaries, holds it steady once more.
It's a matter of willpower, more than anything, and he's always been bullishly good on willpower.
"Anyway, I've already been humiliated in a drinking competition, so I'm not eager for a repeat. I don't recommend going up against an Asgardian, in case you were wondering."
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Despite being an Avenger, there's a handful of her teammates she doesn't know. Wanda suspects that's not how teams as tight and integral as the Avengers should function, but, then again, Stark had been at the helm. She wouldn't be surprised if he had ensured she remained benched. She's grateful since joining Strange and Wong that neither of them seems to have a bench for her to sit on.
She keeps her gaze on Strange and purses her lips thoughtfully. The water continues to lower. Even distracted, it still obeys her one simple command: go.
"Hm. I always thought that his muscles would absorb all the alcohol." Then she taps her own small bicep, her fingers glowing red while the water continues to leave the Sanctum. "You..." She eyes him and shakes her head. "Tiny, tiny sticks for arms. I can see why you would lose to him."
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A pause. No, he can't let that sit. With a fleeting, mock-pained look, he continues: "Actually, that's false. The most powerful muscle in the human body is the heart, if we go by the definition of performing the most physical work in a lifetime — or the masseter, our jaw muscle, if we go by exerting maximum force on an external object. Anyway. Point stands, yes, it was Thor, yes mead was involved, and no, I'm not getting into it."
Stephen's chatty, apparently, once you get him going. He practically couldn't shut up when he'd first arrived at Kamar-Taj; kept interrupting group meditation sessions with quips, jokes, commentary. No wonder it had gotten on the other sorcerers' nerves so well.
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Considering Thor once had very long hair that Wanda thought was scraggly, she would give Strange the win in that department. Since then, Thor's cleaned up with a more modern haircut.
Hm. No. She doesn't think Strange would bet something so trivial. Narrowing her eyes, she studies him for a long moment. The problem with him is that looks tended to be very deceiving. She'd have imagined him to be strict and humourless, but she's found him to be as funny as Pietro on his good days. Unlike Vision, he doesn't miss much.
If he was to challenge Thor to a drinking match, it'd be over something unpredictable. Maybe silly. Definitely unexpected.
"Was it who wore red best? I like his cape, but I think I like yours a lot more." It is, after all, a sentient being. She likes how it seems to appear when he needs it like a good and weathered friend.
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Stephen had never lived at the Avengers compound like Wanda had — the Sorcerer Supreme had always been an ally, rather than an official member of the team — but his paths had crossed with them often enough. Turns out when you help a Norse god track down his missing father, you remain in his general good books and get invited to his next party. And Thor was the most fun Avenger: interactions with the god had been more friendly than Strange's few bristling interactions with Tony Stark, at least.
The water is retreating and retreating, and it's almost gone: the legs of the credenza and the chairs have settled onto the floor of the foyer again, touching solid ground once more.
And since the topic's come up, he indulges in some curiosity.
"Is the team still..." He doesn't really know how to broach this delicately. But Strange doesn't make a habit of sugarcoating things, either, so in the end he doesn't. "Is the team still much of a thing, after Stark's death?"
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Any mention of Stark will always make something prickle uncomfortably in her chest. After everything she's done, after every chance she thought Stark would take to be the hero his friends and teammates claimed him to be, she's still standing where she started her Avengers journey in the rubble of Sokovia. Attending his funeral didn't bring about the closure she had been secretly hoping for.
"I wouldn't know," she says, ensuring to keep a small smile on her face. The Avengers seem to still exist in spirit, but given the lack of phone calls and invitations to team lunches, Wanda thinks it's over. It has to be. While she may never have truly belonged with them and was always either commandeered to her room or the corner, the idea of them meeting and plotting without her stings a little.
"I think Sam and Barnes are working together if the news is telling the truth. But I don't think the Avengers have reunited since the funeral." The funeral that wasn't for Vision, and technically didn't seem to belong to Natasha, too.
Glancing at Strange, she shrugs, "I think they all lost hope after Steve and Iron Man."
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(He wasn't always capable of that kind of regret. He used to leave people stinging and humiliated in his wake, and never bothered with something as quotidian as other people's feelings. Nowadays, though—)
"Well," the sorcerer says, and clears his throat. "He always was the more inspirational Steve, by all accounts."
It's a bit of useless pithy humour, to try to paper over that stilted little moment. But they're reaching the end of their cleanup: the shattered-mosaic look of the flooring is starting to return to view, visible once more through those last inches of water as it drains away. The distraction is petering away with it, and he's just left with this: his words, his hands, and he's never quite sure what to do with those meager tools. Should he offer a companionable clap to the shoulder? An apology if he stepped all over a sore subject? Just ignore it and press on?
He's never been very good at this.
In the end, Strange settles for what little olive branch he can offer. "Anyway, it's a moot point from where I'm standing. You'll always have a place here, if you want it."
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She's grateful for that. The Sanctum has become a refuge, a little home away from home. His words make her feel warm all over… veery similar to how she had felt when she and Vision had seemed to finally find a rhythm that worked in Scotland.
Tilting her head up, she regards Strange with a playful smile. "Even when I pick Wong's Spotify playlist over yours?"
It does seem to be a point of contention between the two sorcerers. (Sometimes Wanda picks the playlist she doesn't want to hear solely for the dramatics of both Strange and Wong.)
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Kamar-Taj had taken him in when he was broken, grieving, lashing out at others like an injured dog snapping its teeth. The order had a habit of taking in people who were shattered both literally and figuratively (or perhaps budding sorcerers had a tendency to blow up their own lives; either way, the Sanctum lived up to its name). Considering the type of people who had come and gone through here, Wanda Maximoff piecing herself together fits right in.
Strange walks the rest of the way down the steps then, back onto the floor to survey their work. He nudges some of the sand with the toe of his boot. It's still wet and there'll be water damage, but now that she's done the lion's share of the work, a fellow master should be able to wring the last water particles out of the wood for them. Strange can also assign some novices to sweep up the sand with brooms. (No Fantasia antics, he'd have to remind them. Do it by hand!!)
"Well done," he concludes. "See? No harm, no foul. We didn't open a permanent gateway to the Pacific and flood the city."
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But she's beginning to learn that such thinking isn't accepted here. Mistakes happen, and as Wong has told her numerous times (to the point where his voice has begun to crack from exhaustion), learning to walk comes from stumbling about a thousand times. Wanda thinks she's reached the nine hundred and eightieth stumble.
"Shame it didn't find Atlantis." She laughs.
Glancing around, she wrings her hands together before she pulls them apart. With a flick of her wrists, the windows and doors gently click open and she summons a breeze similar to the one that had dried her wet home in Westview. The wind this time isn't quite as brutal in its intensity. It's a summer breeze that sweeps in and gently taps the legs of drenched chairs and fluffs saturated pillows.
She doesn't particularly want his home to be sagging due to being previously underwater. It wouldn't do for his cape to sit on a dripping rack hook, after all.
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When the windows open, he tilts his head backwards and takes a deep breath. The wind is refreshing and nice, sweeping away some of the stuffiness inherent in an aged old building with history steeped into each plank of wood, each tapestry, each mural.
"There's always tomorrow for finding Atlantis," Strange says with a wink. He straightens his soggy collar, then snaps his fingers and all of his clothes dry out in moments. The cloak flicks a coattail, satisfied with the change, no longer looking quite so downtrodden. He swipes distractedly at his forehead where the mindflayer had lashed him, and the cut seals itself up too.
Damage reversed. Summer's on its way, and tomorrow's another day and another, and— dare he think it?— things seem okay.
He exhales. "So. How about that celebratory drink?"
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And there are always invitations, too. Even if she was to try to sideline herself, she knows Strange, Wong and even Strange's mystical cape wouldn't allow it. It's unusual for her to be welcomed and belong, but Wanda doesn't wish to knock it back one too many times.
So, she smiles and nods happily. "I think we deserve it, especially since your walls won't need to be replaced yet."
There's always tomorrow to ruin those.
"Should we call Wong? I think he will come if I ask him." She leans closer to him and playfully whispers, "He likes me more." She does, after all, pick his Spotify playlists.
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There's a few different ways one could take that statement: that it could be about the near-married-couple bickering between the two sorcerers, their comfortable well-worn dynamic, the way Strange finds ways to needle at his friend's temper. The Spotify war. Stephen Strange's general crotchety nature. So of course Wong would choose her over him.
Or maybe it's just about how eminently likeable Wanda Maximoff is.
He recovers quickly enough (she's essentially a widow, a grieving widow, Stephen—) and papers over that fondness before it can look like anything else. It's only about the Spotify playlists. Of course.
And so he adds, "I'll send him a message, although the duties of the Sorcerer Supreme keep him busy. Sometimes I think he just prefers the Hong Kong Sanctum. The building's fancier."
Readjusting the sling ring on his knuckles, he starts carving out a portal to transport them to the Bar With No Doors.
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She thinks that if anyone can understand that, it's Stephen Strange. She may not know as much about him as she does Tony Stark—despite his medical accomplishments, Strange isn't a billionaire playboy throwing his money around in technology and weapons manufacturing—but from her own observations and inklings... He has a hard time seeing himself in a good light, too. Wanda's concluded that's why she gravitates more toward him than Wong.
Glancing at the way he moves his hands, Wanda looks up at him and studies his profile for a moment.
"How do you deal with that? You were the Sorcerer Supreme before the Snap. Surely, you would be it again?"
There are better times to ask this question. Over dinner. When he's cleaning up one of her messes. Disturbing him when he's reading. But Wanda has never been good with her timing.
It's better to not distract him when he's doing a spell. But if Stephen Strange is as good as they say he is (and as good as Wanda knows him to be), surely, he can multitask.
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This one isn't like the slippery, all-encompassing spell he'd tried for Peter Parker. The portals were the very first bit of magic Strange had ever learned, and the most commonly-used throughout his everyday existence. (Almost to the point of exploitation: such a banal application of magic, using it to grab a snack from the fridge when you were simply too lazy to get off the couch, or popping your head through a portal to pass a message to a startled disciple who shrieked and accidentally dropped the vase they'd been carrying— oops.)
By this point, Strange could do portals in his sleep. So he finishes creating the dimensional gateway, and they can both see through it into a darkened vestibule, an entrance hallway leading towards a bar which, quite literally, has no doors to the outside world. It sits in its own closed-off corner of a dimension, requiring magic to access and to enter.
Then he turns and looks at Wanda, and considers her question more thoroughly. The admission comes delicately. It's not a bit of humility he wants to say to Wong's face, but he can safely say it here to someone else.
"Between you and me, though? Wong's been at this longer than I have — he's more experienced, he was in training at Kamar-Taj long before I arrived, and then he held up the mantle while I was blipped. He inherited it on a technicality, but I inherited it in a crisis. There's not supposed to be room for ego when it comes to the defense of the multiverse. So I like to think we're partners. Co-Sorcerers Supreme." A contemplative pause. "Although maybe I just tell myself that to feel better about losing it."
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Even though she doesn't take a step forward to scrutinise it, she looks at it with curiosity to ensure that it is, in fact, a bar. Not that she would know if it was the right one. While she may trust Strange to not lead her astray, Wanda is still out of place and much a square trying to fit in with a coven of circles.
She instantly sees that it lives up to its name.
But she doesn't step forward, slightly worried that if she does, this conversation will be lost and Strange will be left lingering on a slightly more vulnerable than usual note.
"I don't think you truly lost it." She presses her lips together and shakes her head as if that is that. As if the Sorcerer Supreme title is something that can still exist between two people—and she thinks it can. Just because the other sorcerers may look to Wong now doesn't mean Strange holds it any less.
"It doesn't seem like something like a pen that you can lose." Wanda shrugs and regards the portal as if it's more than a basic display of magic. "Does a sorcerer who used to be Sorcerer Supreme stop being Sorcerer Supreme? I don't think so. It's like how a general stays a general even after he's retired."
And a hero stays a hero even long after he's succumbed to his bullet wounds.
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"Thank you for that, though. But ah, if only I were close to retirement. I think my watch is just beginning."
He actually doesn't know how long he went up against Dormammu; it could have been subjective centuries, which makes his whole tenure feel strange (ha) and immeasurable. He's been on the job both forever and not longat all. Time works in gnarled, tangled ways around here.
He tries to shake off his contemplative mood like he's shaking out his coat, shaking off the dust, the sea water. He throws an arm out to the portal, the red cloak draped theatrically from his sleeve. "After you, miss Maximoff."
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The Bar with No Doors is strange to be inside. It's exactly as she had imagined it—doorless. Funny how truly literal the name actually is. Wanda's so used to titles and names being, well... either on the nose or simply don't match the person or establishment. But she imagines the lack of doors is to keep those who aren't magical users out. What better way to keep the magical underground a secret than to simply make it impossibly hard for those who aren't magical to enter?
"So, everyone in here is a..." She furrows her brows. Most of the patrons appear so... normal. "I've never seen this many." Wanda's never been around this many magic users ever.
To say Wanda's a touch overwhelmed would be a tiny understatement.
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The bar isn't as crowded as a regular Manhattan bar at happy hour — thankfully the patrons aren't packed in cheek-by-jowl, crammed in against each other, having to shout to be heard — but there's still more than you'd ever expect, when you were born into a civilian life and hadn't fully grasped just how much magic there was in the wide universe. The fact that it's not Earth-bound helps: there are aliens, a few Asgardian witches in the back (who nod to Strange as he appears), and someone at the end of the counter who's just an incorporeal floating spirit from the astral plane, sipping on some kind of gaseous drink. There's even a couple disciples from Kamar-Taj in their traditional red robes, and they jolt at the sight of Strange and Wanda, spines straightening, trying to look like they're on their best behaviour. He ignores them.
"I didn't believe in magic. Even when I saw it for the very first time, I thought I'd been dosed with LSD." Standing beside Wanda, he sounds a little bemused. He'd grown inured to it, but looking at the bar now and imagining how it must look like to her, he's struck by the novelty all over again. "It didn't exactly track with the life I'd had before. But then a door opens, and—" Strange gestured at the room. "You start getting accustomed to things like this."
For being a magical speakeasy, it looks... astonishingly like a tiki bar. There's palm fronds and eclectic decor everywhere, and no single lamp looks the same as another.
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Not bad. Not horrible. Not discomforting. With what Strange has said in mind, Wanda looks around again and takes it in for what it is. It's a piece of solace amongst a crazy and tightly tangled mess of a world. She's only begun to explore the surface of magic, and yet she knows that there's so much more to it than what she's discovered thus far.
She smiles contentedly. "It's a lot quieter than the Compound." That large building had been quiet in ways that rang loudly in Wanda's ears. The silence was always a loud and discomforting reminder of how alone she was in the United States. Being here… while it's noisier than the Compound had been when most of the Avengers were not in town, it's quiet.
It's comfortable.
"Where do you usually sit?" Rising to the tips of her toes, this time when she looks around, it's to try and discern the best spot. Strange seems like a bar type of person… and a shadowy corner type of person, too.
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"And that's my favourite corner," Strange says, leading the way towards it, the slightly fire-blackened table (what had happened there?) with its wobbly chairs. "You can see the entrance, such as it is."
He'd been more for the bar counter, once upon a time: schmooze and be seen. He hadn't been a playboy as a neurosurgeon — simply hadn't the time for it, there was a reason his last fling was someone he worked with — but he'd still been flashy. Spending money, buying drinks for his coworkers, chatting to a group. Nowadays, though, he likes to take a backseat. Sit somewhere he can keep an eye on things.
"What's your poison?"
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She sits opposite him and rests her elbows against the table, steepling her fingers together. She rests her chin on her hands and surveys the bar from this angle. She can see almost everything from this corner. Does every other corner have the same vantage point? A part of her is hopeful she'll be able to find out.
With her gaze lingering on the bar, she smiles a touch sheepishly. "Will you judge me if I say wine? I know it's boring, but it's how I judge a place. If it has good wine..." She comes back.
It'd been something fun she'd employed when sneaking around with Vision before, well... everything. It's a piece of that time she likes to keep active and in her embrace.
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"On my end, I usually drink a single malt scotch in the city, but here, I always get the mai tai."
After they order and when it eventually shows up, it's going to be in the most obnoxious tiki drink vessel like some ancient carved wooden idol, with a bright straw and colourful umbrella, the liquid smoking mystically for no apparent reason. It's fantastic.
He's eased in with an elbow slung over the back of his chair, surveying her. There's often something watchful and assessing in Strange's gaze when he looks at Wanda. Not like he's tiptoeing around a bomb about to go off (which so many people had done, handling her with kid gloves after Sokovia, Lagos, the Raft, Westview) — more like she's a Rubik's cube he's still trying to sort out.
"The bartender's usually a low-level telepath. We can just project our drink orders to them," he adds.
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Once again, she's experiencing something new. Wine drunk from something that isn't a see-through glass is bound to be an experience.
Placing her wine down on the table without taking a sip, she glances around as if expecting the entire bar to simply stare at her. They aren't. No one is, no one other than Strange.
She's caught him looking at her a few times with what she feels is a pensive expression. Initially, she'd thought he was waiting for her to attack him. Slip into his mind, change a thought or two, and without remorse effortlessly control him as she had the people of Westview. But she's since learned that Strange doesn't look at her with distrust.
It'd be easy to understand why he's looking at her, but Wanda doesn't wish to take what doesn't belong to her.
"And if someone was to project their own drinks?" She looks to the bar and wonders if they can sense her thoughts. She doubts it. She'd like to think she'd be able to discern if someone was trying to pry deeper into her mind for more than just her drink order. "I feel that would be rude," she mumbles. Still looking at the bar, she presses her lips together in thought. "Maybe it will be nice to be able to come here and be near someone like me."
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"I was hoping it might be," he says. "There are heaps of people with different kinds of magic here, so it all seemed relevant to your interests. The Asgardian witches don't have your exact capabilities, but they can tap into people's minds, so they're probably worth a conversation at some point, too. The more knowledge and the more frames of reference you have, the better."
Sometimes, he still sounds an awful lot like a doctor, despite the fact that he left medicine far behind. You can whisk the man away from science but you can't take the science out of the man, apparently.
And, apparently, he's still not too interested in being delicate. He chews over it for a moment, before he finds himself blurting out: "What's it like? The telepathy."
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While all three of those words are true, Wanda's answer is deeply layered. Telepathy is an invasion of the privacy of the person she reads. It can also be a door to understanding someone so closed off and unapproachable that it can often be responsible for nourishing a tether. Sometimes it comforts her when she has no social confidence. Knowing she's not alone and is surrounded by people, even strangers, is a comfort.
"It's…" She studies the bartender for a long moment, wondering what they'd say. But there is no party line for her to regurgitate. If Strange was discomforted by the fact he's housing a telepath, she's certain he wouldn't have encouraged her to stay.
Picking at her nails, she leans her arms on the table and purses her lips slightly without thought. With a furrowed brow, she regards the corner of his cloak on the chair.
"It's unbalancing," she opts for. Wanda lifts her gaze from the cloak to Strange, still frowning thoughtfully. "It's hard to ignore the hum of thoughts. It's tempting, like having wine for breakfast or eating all of the chocolate in the pantry. It can feel tiring, like spending an evening with too many people, and it can be completely lonely. Sometimes being in someone else's head is a lot nicer than being in mine."
And she likes the control, the knowing of things no one else knows. Ever since Stark's bombs, she likes knowing what's potentially coming. It helps her prepare. Though, her telepathy has greatly let her down in armouring her for suffering great loss.
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Strange respects her more for that honest (and complicated) answer. Something pat and trite would have been an over-simplification, and a ducking of the truth. There was no possible way her feelings about this particular ability would have been simple. And he catches that self-deprecating beat — a lot nicer than being in mine — but doesn't know what to do about it just yet. Files it away for later consideration.
"I'm... familiar with immoderation," Strange says, with that rueful twist to his mouth which came from painful experience. "And it's particularly easy to get greedy with magic, I think. Obviously I can't do the same things you can, but I felt the same way — tempted — when I first started plumbing the possibilities. Like drinking from a fire-hose. How noisy is it by default? Do you have to consciously work to block others out, or do you have to consciously work to hear them?"
Out of all the spells and abilities and relics available to him, mind-reading had never been on the table. Even the Ancient One hadn't been able to literally peer into others' thoughts: she'd just been wise, with the canny intuition which came from centuries of reading people.
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"I used to have to make the effort to block everyone out. When I first got my powers, the facility was so loud." And it was comforting, at least, to know Pietro was there. H.Y.D.R.A. had been as cold as its walls and as depressing as its grey walls, but hearing Pietro's thoughts had given her comfort in a decision she was beginning to regret. She doesn't tell Strange she thinks she's learned to tune them out so she can tune out the loud absence of Pietro's thoughts. "But I think I've learned to tune them out. I didn't even realise I was responding to thoughts in Westview until…"
Pressing her lips together momentarily, Wanda inhales deeply through her nose. It hadn't been until Vision pressed and pushed and refused to take the lines she fed him as truth for her to realise what she had done. Being forced to look Monica Rambeau in her forgiving eyes had only been the icing on an already acidic cake.
"Until it was brought to my attention." Looking down, she sighs quietly. "It has become effortless. Like texting without looking at the keyboard."
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He takes another sip of his mai tai: spicy rum, sweet orange curaçao, the sharp tartness of lime, the whole cocktail almost cloyingly sweet compared to the man's stern-looking demeanour. There are other contradictions around them: while they're chatting in the corner, what can only be described as a demon strolls past, winged and horned and wearing Bermuda pants and an aloha-print shirt. Strange doesn't even bat an eye.
"I can imagine the silence must be soothing, though. Being better-able to turn it all down. Do you ever hear my thoughts?"
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Letting her eyes linger on the demon, she grants herself a few moments to even process Strange's question.
She doesn't turn her head towards him, knowing if she does, she'll lie.
"Occasionally."
Pressing her lips together, Wanda steeples her fingers and presses her pinkies against her tiki cup. She looks down at it.
"But when I realise I can, I put myself in what feels like water. I can hear them as though I am at the bottom of a pool." Not that she's been in many pools. Thankfully her rendezvous with Vision had given her that experience.
She looks up at him, figuring she needs to in order to keep his trust. With a small smile, she shrugs sheepishly, "I would rather get to know you from what you choose to tell me than what you don't realise I'm taking."
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Or, magician party tricks. I'm thinking of a particular card from the deck. Which card is it?
Or, Please don't dig too deep.
Pointless stuff. Wanda knows it already, and he should be above it all, and the topic deserves a little more care than Strange's usual levity. So instead, "Hm," is all he says at first, while taking another deep swig of his mai tai. Then: "I appreciate it. I'm the worst person when it comes to wanting to open every locked door in my periphery, but so I— well, I appreciate you trying. And for what it's worth, although I don't have any telepathic shortcuts, the same goes for you. You don't have to answer anything you don't want to tell me. Feel free to tell me to shut up if my questions ever become too much like a cross-examination. Your stay at the Sanctum is contingent on none of it. I'm just nosy."
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But she appreciates that his questions come from an innocent place. Wanda's nosy herself with the questions she tries to pace herself in asking. Wong's answered a few that had nothing to do at all with magic and everything to do with how to irritate Strange when it came to picking the music.
Perhaps she employs those answers when she selects the Spotify playlist.
Watching him for a moment, Wanda doesn't try to read his mind. She does get the inkling he may be thinking of one of Wong's favourite artists. (She'll start humming "Single Ladies" someday in the Sanctum when she believes it won't startle Strange into discomfort.)
She smiles and cocks her brow playfully. "Is that all your nosy about?"
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And the truth is, he's nosy about everything. He always wants answers, in every realm of his life where it's possible. The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper. He's been grilling her about her magic, her powers, her capabilities, and there's whole ruined craters which he knows he doesn't want to touch yet (Vision, Westview, Pietro, Sokovia—), and so he settles for something innocuous and innocent and personal. Something about her as a person, rather than an instrument of ineffable power.
"Is your favourite colour red?" he asks, with a cock of his own eyebrow.
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No, she hadn't read his mind. It's simple math: Wanda's magic is red, and thus if she likes red, that must be why.
(She's certain if she wanted to change her magic's colour, she possibly could. The Sunny Witch sounds quite nice, actually._
She sits back and rests her hands on her lap, pressing her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to try and stop smiling. Her bright smile does turn wistful. Briefly, she does consider not giving him her true answer. She could wrap it up in Vision. She could say it was simply a colour she liked for no reason at all. But then Wanda wouldn't be telling the truth. She's tired of the truth being a rare thing.
"My mother liked red, so I wanted to like red." Wanda shrugs. "Then I started to. Pietro liked red just to annoy me, but I refused to budge from liking it. Now, it reminds me of that." Of home.
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He, too, misses that teasing back-and-forth between siblings.
"I didn't have any choice with the colour scheme of this thing; it just showed up." He gestures with an arm toward where the Cloak of Levitation hangs over the back of his chair, and it billows from his elbow as if in an impossible breeze, before settling again. "It does add a spark of panache, though. I'd be so dull in my all-black otherwise. In our order, you start off with white robes as a novice, then crimson as an apprentice, then get your own customised robes when you officially become a Master of the Mystic Arts."
He takes another sip of his drink, eyeing Wanda where she's leaning back in her chair. "The red suits you," he says. "It goes well with your hair."
It's— a compliment, maybe? Sort of? He's bad at them.
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"My hair was not always red," she says lightly. Wanda's in a good mood. It may be because of the people she's around—like-minded individuals, people who don't care that the Avengers' hanger-on is here with the ex-Sorceror Supreme.
It feels like confessing some deep, dark secret. Strange doesn't know who she used to be. He doesn't know that she used to favour blacks and deep reds and try and hide within the shadows so no one could see her while she studied them. But as time passed and she became less like the person she used to be (and had less, far, far less), she's grown lighter.
It seems a little backwards. Isn't she meant to grow darker the more she loses and finds herself lost?
"Like before your cloak," she cocks her head towards the sentient thing, "I used to have very dark hair. I liked black, too. But then I heard of you and I thought I would be kind and not make you feel intimidated by how well I can wear black."
See? She can be kind.
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Strange's mouth twists, amused, like she's throwing him a bone for not upstaging him in costumery. "Cute," he says, and takes another hearty swig of his drink. He's feeling mellow, a little loose around the edges. "Very dark hair and liking black. Let me get this straight. Are you saying you were a goth? Were you a Hot Topic goth, Wanda Maximoff?"
He's not sure if the pop culture reference will work for a woman who grew up in Sokovia, but he volleys it out there regardless.
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"I had the black makeup around the eyes," she continues and gestures to her eyes with a flutter of her fingers, "and the very dark hair. It was very dark. I only started to go light in the States."
In an attempt to blend in, in a way to shed who she used to be. She tried to be someone she wasn't and only managed to go lighter and lighter until she set herself on figurative fire. Now, her hair is a strawberry red that separates her drastically from the dark woman who used to haunt Sokovia. Now, she brightens up New York City.
"But I set the bar very high." She raises her arm above her head and lifts slightly off her chair. "Taller than you. It would have been embarrassing if you had tried to be a goth like me," she laughs.
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"I could probably be a good Gomez for Halloween, honestly, but then I'd have to shave off this thing." Strange strokes his chin contemplatively, gesturing to the iconic and precise goatie. "I'd probably look villainous with just a pencil moustache, though. D'you think I could pull it off?"
It only occurs to him a second later— was that the first time she'd ever referred to him just by first name? He thinks it was, and it sparks an unexpected little flicker of warmth and familiarity. He normally insisted on such strict formal distance throughout his life (paging Doctor Strange, a common refrain at the hospital, the imposed distance even between him and his patients), but if he could drop the surname with the kid, then he can drop it with Wanda. She's earned it, too. It certainly sounds less stilted coming from her, and he finds that he likes the effect; it makes them sound more like friends than strangers.
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He's either Gomez or Lurch, depending on the day.
"I would think you would make a decent Cousin Itt," she teases. "All you need is to grow this"—with a flicker of her hand, the tips of his hair brushing against his forehead glow red—"and then you will be perfect. But if you can't commit to Itt... I think Gomez can possibly upgrade to a goatee. I think Morticia likes him no matter what his facial hair looks like."
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But. Somewhere beneath that ribcage, that heart is more vulnerable than he'd like. Somewhere in his desk drawer sits an envelope and a wedding invitation in a familiar hand.
Strange absentmindedly touches the strands of his hair which had just glowed red; there's a faint tingling against his fingertips like faint electric static, the fizzing after-effects of Wanda's magical signature. He opens his mouth, on the verge of promising something pithy: next Halloween, we're dressing up and sending you round the block to trick-or-treat to all the kids, but he thankfully remembers just in time. Remembers the potential pitfall and bites down on the suggestion.
Quick— swerve.
"And ah, but I'm not chic enough to be Cousin Itt. No one is. I'll probably have to try for Gomez." Strange tips his drink, drains the rest of it in one fell swoop, then his fingers toy with the now-empty glass, turning it in restless half-circles against the condensation on the table. "Do you want a refill? Is it dangerous for a witch to get drunk?"
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No, she absolutely cannot—not that she has ever tried. Her antisocial behaviour has left her with too many questions and not enough facts.
"Would the bartender be offended if we magic drinks?" She glances over towards the bartender as if expecting them to be eyeballing her after saying such a thing. But they're busy… bartending. Wanda's realising that she doesn't need to be overly paranoid about showing off her powers… and may be enjoying it a little too much.
Turning back to Strange, she smiles. "I think you would like this drink from Sokovia."
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"Alright. I'll have one mystery Sokovian drink, please."
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Rather than take his Tikki cup, Wanda delicately waves her hand and conjures up a round cocktail glass. She doesn't pull her hand away; Wanda wiggles her fingers (a little unnecessarily), summoning red magic to her fingertips. The empty glass is slow to fill with a red liquid (a little on the nose for her, she knows) until it reaches three-quarters of the way.
Inside the liquid, Strange will find his favourite sweet fruit cut up into smaller pieces.
"It's not alcoholic, but it does the trick." Kompot had been a favourite drink of hers and something she had been able to make herself even in the United States.
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He's never had Eastern European kompot before, but it sparks— something, a recollection, how did she know to choose apples—
(A memory: his grandfather's apple tree in his backyard upstate. Stephen and Donna scrumping for apples, tugging them fresh off the branches, scampering off to enjoy them together by the lakeside. The family taking them to a local cidery and getting a discount on the end result.)
The taste is rich and crisp and steeped in autumn.
"So, like sangria but without the wine?" he remarks after a moment, shaking off the memory, ducking a look down at the glass and taking another sip. "This is good. You should introduce us to Sokovian food and drink more often."
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While Wanda may be tempted every now and then to dip her toes into the pools of both Strange and Wong, she allows them to wade towards her of their own accord. The last handful of years has taught her it's much more fulfilling when someone hands her a piece of themselves rather than she takes it from them.
She watches him with her smile widening slowly and with pleasure. She likes that he likes it. Another thing she's done correctly.
"You will regret those words, Stephen," she says playfully. "When you taste my cooking, you will want nothing else."
Her mother's recipes she's committed to memory are bewitching, if she says so herself.
yrs to wrap? ♥
Strange takes another sip of the kompot. He'd wondered if the food and drink might have been too close to home to mention — a raw wound, a homesick reminder — but it seems Wanda doesn't mind. Perhaps that taste of home can be healing, too, in its own way.
"So," he says, raising his glass in a toast to her: Wanda Maximoff, their visiting witch, their guest star. "Here's to underwater features, cleaning up messes, and excellent home cooking."
end!! ♥
She raises her glass and smiles proudly. It's not every day Wanda Maximoff receives genuine compliments that haven't been scripted by her hand. It's something she believes she can very well get used to... Compliments, not scrutiny. (No matter how tempted she may be to turn the Sanctum into an aquarium again, she will make an effort not to.)
Gently clinging her glass to his, she hides behind hers and laughs, "Here's to the fish I put in your bed."
Not everything can have a perfect sitcom clean-up, after all.
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[ his cheek kiss means everything to her.
as much as she wishes to smile (and join in the teasing of her boy being a royal consort, a prince in his own right no matter what he says), wanda figures she'll one-up all of his friends. ]
Does that mean I get to be the Mother of His Royal Highness the Royal Consort? [ she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. ] I can't wait to tell all the other moms this is how I want to be addressed!
[ what other moms? we don't talk about that. ]
IM SLOW...
Aren't you kind of already a princess? I mean, look at Grandfather.. [ let's be honest, here, he and xavier are basically the kings of krakoa, no matter how they try to say otherwise. ]
the best maximoffs are the slow ones!!
Do you think I should get a tiara?
[ she tilts her head up as if she's posing for a portrait. ]
Or do you think that would be too intimidating for all of your friends? I want to be a cool mom.
it's true, it's true
You kidding? You're already the coolest mom. [ well, his bio mom is pretty darn cool, too, but she's also definitely not as well-known as wanda is. ]
just don't tell tommy, he'll have serious fomo
Oh.
[ her face falls as she looks at him. ]
Something's wrong.
[ it's with a very loose flick of her hand that he will find a small crown—not overly jewelled; billy never seemed like the type to be like that—sitting on the top of his head.
sorry if it messes up your hair, sweetie. ]
That's better.
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[ it falls into line with what wanda wants. she wishes for her family to find their way back to her... or for her to find her way back to them. perhaps he understands it better than most humans do.
she smiles softly. ]
Hopeful.
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Maybe one day they'll both get what they want.]
Light.
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You.
[ one may think she's sucking up, but she's just telling the truth. finding people and beings who are light is difficult these days. ]
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He presses a hand to his chest, tapping one metal finger against the plating.]
Sun.
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Warm.
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Safe.
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Magic.
[ a strange word, she knows. but it's become the truth for her. ]
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...Witch.
[Yes, that feels right. A witch, like in the fairytales he tells the kids.]
( I'D GIVE YOU MY WORLD. )
When Natasha had asked her where she wanted to be dropped off for her secret little rendezvous with you-know-who, Wanda had difficulty containing her excitement. Vision had suggested Italy at their last meeting, and Wanda had happily agreed to it. It was one of the few countries she had told Vision she wished to visit someday. Even when it felt like a pipe dream after being trapped inside of the four walls of the Avengers Compound, she still dreamed, and Vision only enabled those dreams into a reality.
Natasha could spare her a handful of days before she needed to pick her up and take her to the opposite side of the world. But Wanda knew the handful of days that awaited her were going to feel like weeks and months.
After reassuring Natasha that she and Vision agreed to meet each other in the city rather than where the Quintet would drop her off, she walks along the side of the road, keeping her mind peeled for a little inkling of him. She tries to keep her mind clear and the tension away from her shoulders, but Wanda can never help but take Natasha's lessons keeping her eyes peeled and her senses alert to heart, especially when she was sneaking within the shadows and the bright light of day.
When she reaches the end of the street, she turns the corner and stops. She can't help but smile. Wanda could recognise him in the dark. Standing tall with his back to her, she eyes him curiously to confirm that the lines of his shoulder are, in fact, Vision's before she lets herself feel the excitement that she always feels when she sees him now.
On the softest of feet, she quickly approaches him before tapping him on the shoulder.
"Vis," she says quietly as though the city itself will alert Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D. of their whereabouts. Wanda wishes she could stop smiling, but she peers up at him eagerly, dressed much like the people bustling around them.
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He'd been playing with ability of direct projection somewhat as of late. Previously to being out in the world there hadn't been much need for it. Who was he trying to hide when he was at the compound? Not a single person didn't know more about his own life than he did. And there hadn't been much desire to leave prior to Wanda being there. But now? Things were different. They were so very different. And now out in the open, in another country, the last thing he was very interested in was sticking out like a big, red, sore thumb.
It was already likely odd enough that this tall man was hovering on the edges of a small gathering park in the heart of this small little town, nestled just outside the major city, just watching the way people interacted with one another. Their gentle movements and mundane conversations with a language he understood so vividly as though they were speaking English despite never actually hearing the tones and verbalization of the individual voices that carried these simple conversations to one another.
He was so wrapped in it that the tapping of his shoulder is missed, but thankfully the voice is not and he spins to met its speaker. The corners of his lips curling to make way for a broad smile the second his gaze met hers. There were a lot of things, emotionally, that still needed figuring out. He understood them in their basics, there was no way he couldn't, but he had never felt them. True joy had been one of the first, and that gift had been giving to him by Wanda.
Perhaps some day he'd tell her. Perhaps, she already knew.
"Wanda." His voice is soft, subconsciously matching her own. "I am delighted to see you..."
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She wrings her hands together nervously, and once she realises what she's doing, she tears them apart. It's easy being around Vision. She laughs and smiles more and frowns even less. She's stopped being quiet and wishing to disappear and take up less space. With him around, she wishes to be loud.
Not literally, of course. While she may have dyed her hair a lighter shade, Wanda knows that any attention can be bad attention. Perhaps Natasha's paranoia is starting to rub off on her.
But there's a new element to being with Vision. She notices more. The way he's started to smile and joke more. He seems less out of place and more comfortable than he'd been in the Compound. Perhaps the others had noticed this, but Wanda likes to think that she's the only one who knows that Vision can crinkle his brow in a cute, human way and that his face lights up when he smiles.
Wanda furrows her brows in concern. "Were you waiting long?"
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Finally he seems to break the spell seeing her has put on him and he shifts his hand to take her own, lacing fingers, before starting to walk. He keeps his pace tempered so she can keep up. "I have asked a few of the locals where to find the best coffee, as it is apparently a thing here. Plus they are not opposed to having delicious treats for breakfast." He chuckles, hoping it will be inviting to her. Hell perhaps he'll even partake in something this time around. He has no need to eat, not really, but it is something that he is discovering that he enjoys the exploration of, especially during these stolen moments together. It always gave him one more thing to remember.
'Coffee and cakes for breakfast. Who would have thought.' When he speaks this time around it's in Italian. It's tone is playful, even if she doesn't understand it he hopes he can convey its teasing, playful, nature.
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She narrows her eyes playfully when he speaks Italian. Although she can often read minds and somehow glean what the thought is when it's in another language when it's spoken, she has a harder time. It makes things feel a little mundane in the best way. Sometimes, Wanda doesn't want to know what she shouldn't.
"You're going to have to teach me Italian," she says with a low chuckle. Vision knows so much without having experienced it; she wonders just how good his Italian is when speaking to a local. "Will you actually have coffee this time? It's not as fun drinking alone."
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He wanted to show off.
So much so that he nods at the mention of teaching her a little of the local language. "I can not promise how good a teacher I can be. But we can do common phrases, since we will be here for a bit." More and more as they took these little escapes, it became harder to put a timeframe on them. What started as weekends turned into long weekends, which then became a week, and why not tack on another weekend while you were at it.
If there was no pressing matters or things that came up? All he wanted to do was spend time away, with her. Even if it meant drinking coffee, though it gave him little benefit. "Of course. I mean after all; we did come all this way. And the country is known for it's coffee. Would be a shame to not experience it. Lets partake." The good news is, he was already on his way towards where the person he'd met early this morning had suggested. Somewhere tucked away on a local street which seemed to mostly contain housing and a few staple shops.
"Maybe, if you're a quick learner, we'll make you order for us." A smile and a playful wink. Even if she's not proficient she might be doing better than him. Vision can easily speak it but it's almost mechanical in nature. The tone too phonetic and the phrasing too clinical. Coming from her it might actually sound genuine, even if its wrong.
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She walks beside him, close enough to take his hand if she wanted to. For now, she lets herself merely enjoy his company before she worries about whether or not she's holding his hand in the most comfortable way for him. Whenever she's with Vision, she's alert and present, but still slinks back into her own worrying thoughts. She wants everything to be perfect.
"If I can do it, it's because I had a very good teacher," she says as she winks at him.
She furrows her brows as she looks ahead. "We'll need to make sure we do something that you enjoy, too." Which was harder than it should be, considering Vision seemed to know almost everything and anything. With his lack of hunger and desire to drink, it was hard to wine and dine him, even if he was always such a good sport about it.
But when she looks at him again, Wanda narrows her eyes thoughtfully and smiles conspiratorially. Yes, she thinks she has the perfect idea.
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It doesn't matter exactly how they hold hands, or walk close, as long as they're together. That's all that truly matters. So long as they have that perfection is already a part of their day to day. Even at its most stressful, even at it's most tempered. They have each other. Things weren't perfect, perhaps they'd never be, but as she stood next to him, hands locked together, it was as prefect as either one of them were going to get in this imperfect life.
"I'm simply the best." He winks back, it's these little nuances he enjoys the most. But her next few words make him pause. It's always so tricky when moments like these come up. Something he enjoys. It's a simple suggestion isn't it? But of course, like so many things about Vision, it's so much more complicated than whats on the surface. He doesn't exactly know what he enjoys. But these moments are making it easier to discover it. There is one simple answer that he can give her right in this moment.
"I am doing something I enjoy." Its a simple, earnest, answer.
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Even when she feels utterly trapped beneath the rubble of her grief, Vision is always there, lending a hand and making it bearable. That's something she doesn't understand how he knows to do, but he simply does it. It's something she takes for granted and appreciates at the same time. His presence is always intoxicating for that reason.
"What about bike riding?" she asks, her face still flushed with heat. She looks at him with a smile. "That can be fun. I think they have some great routes we can ride along and see more of the city... and you seem to have great balance." As he has a great everything, really.
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But right there is why Wanda is good for him.
If he were still locked up tight under the Avengers beck and call there certainly wouldn't be little reflections of self like this. Did he like bike riding? Was coffee something that could be enjoyed? Would he like to see the entirety of the world and all the peoples in it? These were all questions that he didn't know he wanted answers to until he met the woman standing beside him now and every time they were together he found himself asking more and more of them and seeking the answers out together.
What they have may not be perfect but it is needed and as he ponders the deceptively simple question of 'do you want to go on a bike ride and see the city?' he squeezes Wanda's hand subconsciously before settling on his answer;
"I think I should like that. It does sound rather rousing."
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It's important to her that Vision finds what he likes and doesn't like. Maybe he'll like bike riding. Maybe he won't. For her, it's the art of discovering it. Seeing him live normally is wonderful… and she likes the fact that she gets to see the look of awe or distaste on his face. It's special.
"It's okay if you don't like everything," she says, gently elbowing his side. "I don't want you to like everything. I don't like things."
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And one of the reasons these little trips away with Wanda were so eye opening in the first place. She put these little ideas in his head, like bicycle rides and trying Italian coffees.
He can't promise it's going to go well, but he will certainly give it a try. Though her comment of not liking everything that comes her way is an interesting thought in it's own right and as they find the little coffee shop exactly where it was told to be and they settle in to a spot inside the question burns at the forefront of his mind.
"What are things you don't like."
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She meant simple things. Easier things. The things that don't destroy homes or families.
"I'm not the biggest fan of orange juice," she says with a conspiratorial smile. "Or tomatoes. Birds used to scare me, but I've grown to appreciate them from a distance over the years," she chuckles. Those are all trivial things, things she wonders whether Vision will like at all. Has he been designed to like everything? Will he choose to like everything? It's something Wanda's curious about.
"And the dark," she says quietly with a small shake of her head and a soft smile, "I don't like the dark."
( I WANT TO BE NEXT TO YOU. 🧁 )
For the last couple of years, he's always been quicker and beaten her to the gift-giving and first-to-say-it punch. She supposes it has something to do with him being so unnaturally impatient and quick. HYDRA separating them during this time hadn't helped, either; Wanda's become insufferably clingy and Pietro has, too, in his own way.
She tiptoes around the kitchen and gently opens and closes cupboard doors. She's bought Pietro a little cupcake from the bakery that remains standing. Maria had been more than happy to bake a special cupcake for Pietro free of charge for his birthday. Sometimes Pietro's outrageous flirting and unnecessary charisma pay off.
She slots a candle in its very centre and smiles at her handiwork. She doesn't light it yet. It's not much, but she suspects that Pietro would be happy even if she gifted him a rock from outside for his birthday. But he deserves more than a rock. She would've gotten him a whole three-tiered expensive cake like she's seen in her television shows if she could've decided on the flavours and had the money.
Wanda tiptoes back to the bed and slowly climbs on top of him. Brushing her fingers in his hair and along the shell of his ear, she whispers, ] Pietro, wake up.
[ When they had still been teenagers, Wanda had enjoyed jumping on Pietro and screaming 'Happy Birthday!' on the birthdays when she managed to get up first. She likes that she's matured to a more Wanda-like approach—it's soft and slow, the two things she knows Pietro finds the most frustrating. ]
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Don't do that.
[Gravelly and low, but a weak protest, because now he's awake and won't be able to sleep again. With an exaggerated sigh, Pietro shifts around in irritated little movements until he's propping himself up on one elbow, looking up at her with a put-upon glare that has more softness than edge.]
Happy Birthday.
[He is absolutely taking the opportunity to say it first, even if it sounds too quick and perfunctory while he wipes a line of drool from his beard with his thumb. He frowns and reaches with that same hand to finger a lock of her hair.]
Is that a grey hair? You're getting old, Wanda.
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Perhaps she doesn't want that on her birthday. She does want it on his, though. Decisions, decisions.
She smacks at his hand lightly and scrunches her nose in annoyance at him. She was supposed to say it first! And she doesn't have grey hairs! Or that many, at least! ]
You have many grey hairs. [ She can mistake silver for grey, can't she? She ruffles her fingers through his hair roughly. ] So many.
[ But she drops her hand to press against the bed and makes no move to get off of him. Not yet, at least. There's one thing she wishes to do before he thinks about either stealing it from her or running away.
Wanda kisses his cheek. ]
And if I am old, you are older. I have a surprise for you.
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At my age, it's dignified.
[Pietro can't help starting in on the 12 minutes already, and he's enough of a narcissist to state that proclamation confidently, even if 'dignified' is never a word that will be applied to him by anyone else. He reaches for her hand after that kiss, an almost unconscious need to lace their fingers together and seek closeness.]
Yeah? What sort of surprise?
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[ She suspects he'll like it, even if Wanda worries he'll think it silly. They're not kids anymore. The smallest things used to make him so happy because they had nothing but each other. She still thinks it's the same, even if Pietro has more walls now to protect where he feels most vulnerable.
Squeezing his hand, Wanda reluctantly starts to roll off of him so most of her weight is on her side. The way she positions herself behind him almost makes it that they're spooning… although her legs remain over his as though she worries he'll run away if he has no anchor. ]
Do you think you can get out of bed? Or do you need help from someone younger and much prettier who can wear grey very, very nicely?
[ That's her, btw. ]
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[He smirks even though she can't see it, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand idly, and pretending it's hard to move his legs out from under hers, only shifting them slightly.]
It might be difficult with such a heavy weight to move, crushing my old bones. Are you calling this pretty young lady for me? That is a good surprise.
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No!
[ She'd smother him if she knew her weight could manage, but Wanda rolls on top of him for a moment to press her feet flat against the floor. Never mind she could've slid off the bed on the other side and spared potentially bruising him. Another birthday gift from her. He was so lucky.
Without removing her hand from his, she looms over him and flicks his ear with her other hand. ]
Up. Up, up, up, up, up!
[ And she tugs at him hard, uncaring if she pops his shoulder. ]
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I'm up!
[He grumbles like he'd rather not be, but he has no desire to curl back up under the blanket and his smile says as much. He's out of bed quickly, too quickly and nearly getting his foot caught in a twisted sheet, but never pulls his hand out of her grip, tolerating every insistent tug.]
You going to let me get dressed?
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[ She laughs. Wanda tugs at his hand viciously, uncaring if she happened to pop his arm out of its socket. This was very important! She liked her special days as much as she loved her sitcoms, and when she got to share them with Pietro, she felt like she was the little girl she once was who used to braid his hair and tug on it fiercely. She always took pride in making him laugh and smile and blush, and this was no different.
As soon as she pulls him away from the bed, she turns and steps into him, gripping his hand tightly. ]
Close your eyes, Pietro.
[ All that's missing from her demand is a stomp of her foot. ]
This is a surprise. You have to be surprised.
[ He must follow the script. ]
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They're closed. Let's go. It better be a good surprise.
[He says it like he might ever reject anything Wanda gives him. It's never about what, and that's why such small gifts and simple sentiments were always appreciated, even if he hadn't known why they'd always made him smile when they were younger.]
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At the kitchen table, she tugs out the chair and gently pushes him to sit in it. ]
Do not open your eyes.
[ Wanda removes her hands from his shoulders and takes a seat beside him. She's without a lighter or match, but she holds her index finger over the dull candle and watches with happiness that her little spark of power is enough to set it alight. It glows red rather than the usual golden yellow. ]
You can open them now. [ She gently pushes the cupcake towards him with a bright smile. ] Happy birthday, Pietro.
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Thank you.
[It's soft, and he smiles faintly, something more real than the flashy smiles he has for people at the market or out in the street. It's a very small thing, the cupcake, but like all those birthdays before, it's all Pietro needs. He reaches out playfully as if he's going to touch the flame just to see if it's hot like actual fire.]
You'll share it with me, yes?
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[ She can't confirm whether the flame is hot enough to burn his skin. Given what her powers can do, she's afraid that it'll hurt Pietro when she never wanted to. All she wanted to do was see if her powers could be used for something good… and she likes that they can. She likes disarming Pietro and making him smile unguarded as he is. ]
I will have small piece. [ She smiles at him. She's always had the smaller appetite, but for this, she wants to ensure he enjoys it. ] I had it especially made for you. I wanted you to have something nice.
[ She wrings her hands in her lap. ] Something special for once.
[ It's not a new pair of shoes, like she wanted to get him, and it's not a watch or anything fancy. She can only hope he likes it as much as she loves the smile on his face. ]
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[Pietro waves her efforts off as unnecessary, hesitating just a split second before blowing out the candle. It could extinguish as expected, or blow up the kitchen, her unpredictable weird magic could have any imaginable outcome. When nothing happens but a small black trail of smoke rising from the wick, he looks back at Wanda.]
It's not what you give me that's special.
[He looks uncomfortable after saying something so sappy, and digs into the cupcake frosting to distract from it, taking a large glob of it to suck off his finger like a child.]
It's good. Think what a disaster it would have been if you'd made it yourself.
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Instead, she follows him, swiping some icing with her finger and sucking it. ]
I can bake! There wasn't any cupcake batter left at the store.
[ And she had been so indecisive about what to get him when she did see batter at the store. Did she get chocolate? Vanilla? It had been easier to simply request it made than to potentially ruin it.
When she swipes at the cupcake again, she holds out her finger for him. ]
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[He can't resist poking further, his smile this time more of a smirk, though in truth Pietro doesn't think her baking is bad at all. Wanda knows his tastes and he expects that she doesn't experiment or deviate from them too often in case he wouldn't like any strange concoctions, despite also knowing he'd eat anything she made, whether he complains about it or not. For a birthday though, something has to be 'special' and 'perfect', not typical, at least according to Wanda. Gently grabbing her wrist, Pietro leans in to lick the icing from her finger, ostensibly lingering just to be thorough and get all of it off, but his teeth graze and his tongue curls and slides over her skin after there's nothing left of the frosting.]
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But it's also her birthday… and she much likes Pietro's attention. ]
Pietro…
[ She warns, but she clears her throat gently and gently pokes the cupcake with the index finger of her other hand. She pushes it toward him so that he doesn't forget there's more than just the icing to enjoy. ]
You should try it. Unless you want me to feed it to you?
[ That'd be dangerous. Perhaps another birthday gift for her? ]
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You'd take forever.
[Very dangerous. Pietro turns his attention to the cupcake, cutting off less than a quarter of it, but a portion where most of the icing remains, and holds the fork out to Wanda. She did only want a small piece and he is obliging.]
That's yours.
[He has the rest of the cupcake in his hand already, going to eat it in two bites... followed by that piece on the fork if she doesn't take it quickly enough.]
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She frowns. ] You don't have enough icing.
[ But she's always liked the eat the icing off of any cake and hand him the rest to eat. She lifts her small portion and bites off the icing before holding the cupcake out to him.
Perhaps she got that a little mixed up? Oh, well. She's older now; her memory isn't what it was yesterday. ]
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That's part's good too, you know.
[Pietro doesn't hesitate to grab that discarded piece though - she doesn't want it, it's his, and that simple rule is how he'd ended up eating far more than his fair share of birthday cakes over the years. When he's finished, which doesn't take long, he licks the crumbs off the bottom of the candle too, just because it was there sitting on the table.]
It was a very good surprise, and-
[He stops suddenly, looking mildly concerned, and leans closer to Wanda, his thumb going for the side of her mouth.]
You've got icing everywhere. It's embarrassing.
[She does not, and it's solely an excuse to touch.]
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[ Wanda catches herself quickly, but perhaps not as quickly as Pietro. Smoothing out her frown, she stays still beneath his touch as she watches him. If he's looking for a gift to give her, this one suffices well enough.
She does her best not to move her face or part her lips too much in case she dislodges his thumb from the corner of her mouth. ]
Are you just moving it around my face? It feels like you're not even wiping it away.
[ Honestly, Pietro. That's embarrassing. ]
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I got it. I got it.
[Pietro brings his thumb back too fast, to lick off nonexistent icing that Wanda won't be able to prove wasn't there. Pushing his chair away from the table, he stands, leans down to kiss the top of her head, and returns to the bedroom.]
I'm getting dressed, then I have something for you too! Don't think I'm not three steps ahead of you planning surprises!
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You are always three steps behind, Pietro.
[ She remains where she is, expecting that he'd much prefer she doesn't follow him on his heels and ruin his allegedly three steps ahead surprise. ]
You were the one who was still asleep. I think you are getting slow in your old age.
[ She clucks her tongue in disappointment. ]
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[When Pietro exits the bedroom again, it's not with an elaborate plan in place or a flashy surprise, only holding a small package in his hand. Thin and square wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a frayed piece of twine that had likely been discarded from something else. It's been sitting inside one of his old worn-out shoes in the closet for the last few days, one place he was fairly certain Wanda wouldn't stick her hand into, even for present hunting. He holds it out to her with a small smile.]
Happy Birthday, Wanda.
[He'd already said it, but that been simply to get it out before she did, and his words hold more sentiment the second time. Unwrapping the present, she'll find a leaded glass trinket, recognisable as the type of suncatchers Izak sells at the market - usually abstract with whatever colours the man had on hand from collecting broken bottles and other assorted shards from rubble piles, this design is distinctly the head of a sunflower. Mottled brown centre, the petals partially darkening to orange in one section when he'd run out of brighter yellow, outlines in both black and grey, bent from what metal pieces had been available and the easiest to work with, the far more common traditional green glass used only for the background. A small wire loop is attached to the top, so Wanda can hang it in a window and let the light filter through.]
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Wanda gasps, her eyes widening almost comically at the gift. While she may drop the brown paper and frayed twine onto the floor without too much care, she holds the gift delicately like it's the most prized thing she owns. Aside from Pietro and her DVDs, it is. ]
Pietro…
[ She smiles brightly as she gently holds it up by its wire and watches it spin as though there's a gentle breeze twisting it around. ]
It's beautiful. [ More than that. Wanda smiles widely, brighter than the sun, and looks at him past the bright yellow petals. ] I love sunflowers.
[ Something he knows, given she's always loved them. If she had her choice, their apartment would be covered in them, but they've become so hard to find given the war.
Carefully placing it down on the table, she launches herself at Pietro and hugs him tightly. ]
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You're going to crush my spine.
[He makes no move to let go of her either, holding her almost as firmly. Pietro's gifts have never been things he'd truly put much thought into, as neither of them cared enough about material objects over the meaning behind gestures, not since that day everything changed irreparably and all they'd had left was each other. It's why he steals mostly for other people and not himself, not things that aren't essential. They'd gotten by with almost nothing sometimes for years in a row and that had always been okay, because they were together.
Only now, they're living more dangerous lives, have done things they can't come back from, involved themselves in serious and risky endeavours, and it's hit him that it might not turn out well. HYDRA experiments could have gone terribly and fatally wrong, and had for everyone else. Separating them had done nothing but fuel more possessive tendencies in Pietro, knowing Wanda was right there on the other side of that wall, so close and he was unable to touch her or even look at her see for himself that she was alright.
Every moment has become more important, and he wants to make her smile like this whenever he can, allow her every back-breaking hug she wants, give her something special on their birthday because maybe they won't be together for the next one. He can't give her a field of sunflowers to look down on instead of the dirty snow out in the street, but Wanda has a vivid imagination and can do the rest herself.]
I'm glad you like it. It was a lot of work.
[For Izak, but Pietro had gone glass hunting for him and technically helped, so he's sure to make it sound like it was a personal effort.]
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Pietro gave her a sunflower. This is her sunflower. Of all the things he could've gotten her, never in her wildest dreams did she think he'd give her the one thing she wished Sokovia would allow to flourish.
She presses her cheek against his chest and scrunches her nose in happiness before she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses his cheek. She breaks the spine-crushing hug to cup his cheeks and pepper his face with kisses. Perhaps those of the face-crushing kind? Wanda's not gentle. ]
Telling Izak to make this for me was a lot of work? [ Her laughter bubbles out of her as she leans back but keeps her hands on his cheeks. ] Tsk, tsk, Pietro. You outdo yourself.
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You're worth the extra effort.
[He furrows his eyebrows and looks like he might be wanting to take that back the second after he'd said it, an accompanying dismissive hand gesture as he corrects himself.]
Sometimes.
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Wanda rolls her eyes, unable to stop smiling. She gazes up at him like he's hung the sun for her—and, in a way, he's done just that. What he's given her can never be trumped by anything else, even when he's leaning heavily into his Pietroisms. He can't ruin this.
Squishing his cheeks to annoy him, Wanda lifts up onto her feet and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. ]
It's perfect. For once, you are the best gift giver.
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'The best' and that's all the appreciation I get?
[He drops one of her wrists to cup her jaw and leans down for an example of a better 'thank you' kiss - lingering and insistent, running his tongue along her bottom lip as he pulls back.]
That is for the cupcake.
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Wanda lets her hand hang, not wishing to place it back on his face and possibly draw his attention away from the path he's travelling down now. This is another present for her, even if he doesn't see it. She smiles up at him, wishing that he'd kiss her once again as another 'thank you'.
There's a way she can have that birthday wish come true.
She cocks her brow as she gazes up at him haughtily. ] The whole cupcake? You ate my piece, too. You don't seem very grateful for that at all.
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[He's quite willing to accept that assessment, though, letting her other hand go and snaking his arm around her as he goes in for another kiss. Harder and more focused, exploring her mouth thoroughly, just to be sure it's appropriately appreciative.]
That grateful enough?
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No. [ She says it too quietly. Her face is flushed and the apartment's starting to feel a little warmer than before.
That kiss had been more than grateful, but Wanda wishes to be selfish on her birthday. Even more selfish, given everything he's given her already. ]
I had that cupcake especially made for you. That was like you were thanking me for having gotten any other cupcake.
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You are pushing it.
[He runs his fingers along the side of Wanda's flushed face, studying her expression and debating whether he should give in this early.]
But... it is your birthday, and it was especially made.
[After that statement, his hands are at her sides and he lifts her without warning, turning to set her down on the edge of the table. He slides the suncatcher out of the way, careful not to do so hastily. Leaning over her, he braces one arm on the table and kisses her again, abruptly but as long and slow as he can manage. Before he's done, his hand is wandering along her thigh.]
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[ But Wanda presses her hand back against the table, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that the sun catcher is nowhere where it could possibly break. It's the one thing in Sokovia aside from Pietro that Stark's bombs are not allowed to destroy.
She slides a little along the table to get comfortable, parting her legs even more so she can hook her feet beneath his ass and capture him. She ignores her shiver at his hand on her thigh. She wishes that she'd opted to wear just her underwear without the little pyjama shorts Inessa hadn't lifted for her. It'd make for a better landing for Pietro's hand. ]
I merely state facts, Pietro. [ She declares it with an upward tilt of her head. Brushing her other hand against his face, Wanda wonders when he'll grow tired of her legs trapping him in one spot. ] It is a very special cupcake. No one else will ever have that cupcake. I think you can be a little more grateful in your old age, hm?
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This is not grateful enough for you? What is it you want, hmm?
[He shrugs and levels an expectant gaze at Wanda.]
I'm waiting.
[And Pietro hates waiting, he's being very patient with these antics this early in the morning.]
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I want kiss here. [ She taps the corner of her mouth before she smiles knowingly up at him. If he wants to know how he should show his gratitude, then she'll encourage him to do it at her pace: nice and slow. Appreciative. ]
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Really.
[It's not even a question, he's just resigned to the fact that Wanda can always find a way to undermine him, and Pietro will go along with it the majority of the time, no matter how much he might protest first. She has so much power over him and he doesn't think she even knows.]
And you always get what you want, don't you?
[It's chiding, but rhetorical. Even though her legs are no longer wrapped around his, Pietro feels just as rooted to that spot as before. One gentle hand on her neck, twirling a strand of her hair idly in his fingers, he gives her that kiss - too light and slow, and with more reverence that he'd ever admit to thinking Wanda deserves.]
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[ Not always. What Wanda often wants is fantastical. She wants the perfect picket fence life where bombs don't break walls and floors and suck parents into black holes. She wants to have the reaffirmation that Pietro will never leave her, even though she knows he never will by choice. Telling Pietro as much will only encourage him to roll his eyes and erect his walls. He sees the world for all the black in it while she tries to find all the cracks of light.
He's the biggest burst of light for her.
She smiles as he entertains her request and swings her legs gently for a moment before stilling. She sighs wistfully and smiles. This kiss is enough, but she's always been greedy for more of him.
She gazes at him softly, almost as though she's sated with merely that. But she's Wanda, and she'll keep asking for more of him as long as he continues to give himself to her. ]
Here next. [ She tilts her head to the side and taps her fingers on the underside of her jaw. ]
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You're impossible.
[It's nothing but affectionate, murmured against the delicate skin underneath her jaw, his typical grousing still habitual but downplayed on this one day. He can give her that.]
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Here.
[ She brushes her fingers against her collarbones, looking at him expectantly. ]
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We go any slower here and we'll be here all day.
[Despite his best effort not to show it, that does come with a tinge of actual irritation, but it's not for Wanda.]
You're not even dressed yet. Don't you want breakfast? Have other plans? It is your birthday...
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[ Wanda feels vulnerable admitting as much. What if Pietro had other plans and other people to see? What if he wanted to spend some of the day away from his twelve minutes younger shadow? Sometimes Wanda's surprised by when both of them seem to make plans that don't involve the other. It feels as though the world is inside out and upside down when that happens.
She smiles at him and brushes her fingers roughly through his hair. ]
I will have breakfast when you have breakfast and I will get dressed when you get dressed. Although, I think I am dressed fine.
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[He rolls his eyes in exasperation. Granted, 'getting dressed' had just involved putting on sweatpants and a warmer shirt and Pietro looks no more ready to leave the apartment than she does, and the cupcake hardly counts as breakfast.]
But... I'm not going to complain if you decide to wear these all day.
[He plays with the hem of Wanda's shorts while there's no current demand for kisses.]
Now, your plans? Awful. You've given this no thought at all and you've had an entire year to plan things. Of course you want to spend the day with me, but what do we do?
[And before she even suggests it:]
No television. That is your other gift to me.
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She sighs dramatically and glances down at her shorts. Perhaps she can wear these for him for his birthday. Sometimes Pietro is so easy to give gifts to.
She fingers his shirt. ] We need to go to the park. [ The park that still looks like a park, even if the flowers look like they're dying and there'd dust along the benches. It's still a nice hideaway from the world around them, and a nice spot to sit and enjoy. ] Your friends will want to see you before the wrinkles set in.
[ Wanda quickly brushes her fingers between his brows and traces the slope of his nose. ]
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We'll go to the park.
[He remembers when it used to be nicer, he thinks, when someone manicured the grass in the summer, there were flowers most of the year that weren't the way they are now, more like twisted weeds among barren patches. It's more inviting in the winter now, when a layer of snow or a hard frost covers everything and they can pretend it isn't a poor reflection of what it used to be. Even then, it somehow manages to have a serenity to it every time they go, infrequently, and he attributes more than half of that feeling to nostalgia for things that aren't ever quite the way he recalls them. Wanda will want to sit on the benches and 'relax' forever, but Pietro intends to wander around and she'll just have to come along with him while he talks (and flirts) with people that aren't her and maybe gets distracted playing with someone's dog.]
Will you stop?
[Pulling Wanda's hand away gently, he frowns just to make the most exaggerated wrinkles, and looks at her with pity.]
Maybe I have one or two. It's you they're not going to recognize. So much scrunching your nose, now there are lines everywhere and you look ten years older. It's getting embarrassing to be seen with you and claim you are my twin.
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She tilts her head to the side as she eyes him curiously. ]
If I look like I am ten years older, does that mean you will now listen to me?
[ Of course, she knows the answer. No. He will never listen to her. Even if she was to physically age more quicker than him, he would still laud the fact that he's twelve minutes older over her head. It's exasperating most times, but Wanda knows what it is. It's his way of being there for her and looking after her when he won't admit that's what he wants to do. ]
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[He scoffs like that isn't even an option worthy of being entertained, nevermind the fact that Pietro does what she wants a great deal of the time. Especially when he can ignore something was Wanda's idea to begin with and take it as his own, which is exactly what he's going to do with the park outing.]
No matter how old and wrinkly you get, I am sorry to say.
[He runs his finger down her nose like she had done to him, then abruptly dismisses anything they'd started, the suncatcher wobbling on the table top as he quickly slides past to go searching through cabinets and the refrigerator for a few seconds as if he's going to make a hurried breakfast because they're late for something, a frying pan clattering on the stove, a carton of eggs balanced precariously on the edge of the sink. Pietro looks over his shoulder with an impatient raise of his eyebrows, gesturing at Wanda with a spatula.]
Will you get off the table and stop playing around? I would like to get to the park sometime today, Wanda!
[It's loud enough for the neighbour across the hallway to hear - everyone has to know he's the one in charge here, unfortunately stuck with the worst and slowest sister possible, just imagine what he has to deal with.]
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Sliding off the table, Wanda pivots on her foot as though she's about to leave the kitchen and get ready… but she approaches him and leans against his back, wrapping her arms around his middle. She rests her cheek against his back. ]
Once we have breakfast, we can go. I'm all ready.
[ In her pyjama shorts, which he insisted she wear, and he can wear his track pants that aren't quite as impressive as some of the stupidly tight pants he chooses to wear. How he moves in them is beyond her. ]
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Always so clingy.
[He welcomes the heat of Wanda's body against his back, though, and it's slowing him down enough to exercise more caution with the stove. He has a bad habit of cooking everything on high to get it done faster, burning many things in the process when he tries to do too much at once or forgets about something he'd started after it's been half a minute.]
Make yourself useful if you're going to bother me here.
[It's punctuated by tossing a loaf of sliced bread on the counter next to the toaster, but he doesn't let her go to allow her to move.]
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She likes taking moments to be grateful for what she has. And she's grateful that she has Pietro.
She squeezes him a little more tightly and keeps her cheek pressed against his back, although she does smile at his bossiness. ]
I will need my arms to toast the bread, unless I am to do it with my mind?
[ It's a joke, but considering Wanda's found things relocating concidentally to the location she had wanted them to, she's wondering if she means that literally. ]
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Try it.
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Still, she clutches at the fabric of his shirt as she looks toward the toaster. Should she look? Should she not look? Even when she had been separated from him, she could still feel him through the wall and imagine every single movement he made simply because Pietro is a part of her.
Wanda concentrates a bit too hard as she peers over his shoulder and looks at the loaf of bread wrapped in plastic. Without anyone's fingers touching it, the wrapping slowly begins to peel as though beneath clumsy hands. It moves jerkily before it pulls back roughly, and the second slice is scrunched between a tight hold of an invisible index and thumb.
It's not as perfect as Wanda wants it to be. She lets out an annoyed huff as the slice of bread rises and then drops against the counter. She'd discarded it on purpose. Her face flushes hot with frustration. ]
Maybe I should use my hands.
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They'd tried the same approach with Pietro, but none of it worked on him. He'd reacted too violently to it, on one occasion impulsively rushing one of Strucker's men and slamming him into the wall with such velocity he'd heard something crack. He's not sure what happened to that man after the rest of them dragged his unconscious body out of the cell. But they never spoke that way to Pietro again. Not when he couldn't stop his hands from shaking, not when he'd had difficulty with spatial awareness and tripped over his own feet, or when he'd used too much force and run into a wall for the twelfth time in one day. He'd figured his own shit out without any further 'encouragement'.
The bread flops sadly to the counter, and Pietro sighs to himself. He doesn't speak right away, because the things he says sometimes - most of the time - are rude and snappy and inconsiderate, and the last thing he wants is to inadvertently nudge Wanda further into her shell. He turns away from the toaster, cracks the egg and lets it fall into the pan with a sizzling noise. Slowly, he rubs his thumb over the back of Wanda's hand.]
If you want. I thought you were doing very well.
[As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows they sound wrong. Maybe placating. Too soft. Something that isn't him. But he tried.]
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She squeezes him. There's a chance her acknowledging his encouragement might prompt him to disappear in a flurry of motion to get away from the sentiment. ]
No. I'll try again as long as we don't mind squashed bread.
[ She doubts Pietro would mind. Even if the toaster ended up burning the bread until it was charcoal, he'd still eat it like it was the best meal he'd ever had.
Still pressed up against him, Wanda lifts the bread up again. It's still slightly dented, but that hardly matters. It floats as though held by an invisible hand as it glides toward the toaster. It takes her two tries to slot the slice into its tray. Readjusting the settings, she pushes the toast down without any trouble.
And then she realises it was only one slice of bread. ]
Well… [ She chuckles. ] that one can be mine.
[ It's not Wanda unless she does things so slowly. At least this time was by accident! ]
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I want that one.
[He chooses to argue instead, for no reason but to dispel any tension that might be left.]
So don't burn it.
[Reaching over his shoulder with the spatula, Pietro gently taps it against the top of Wanda's head, not entirely oblivious to the fact he's getting bits of egg in her hair.]
Are you going to let go? You're crowding me.
[His hand is still on hers.]
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[ And that's very, very true. Wanda never wants to let go of Pietro. Letting go of him means being alone, and she's had enough of that during their time with HYDRA to last many, many lifetimes.
But she scrunches her nose and reluctantly pulls away, brushing her fingers through her hair and flicking the egg at him. ]
You got egg in my hair.
[ Rather than wander to the loaf of bread to get the other slice out, Wanda stands a little away from him so as not to crowd him and points her finger very much like Sabrina Spellman at the bread. She furrows her brows in concentration as she easily pulls the slice away from the loaf and floats it more confidently through the air. She drops it on the counter beside the toaster.
When it dings, she doesn't move to grab a plate. She does as she had done so before, feeling a burst of confidence because of Pietro's encouragement. She opens the cupboard, telekinetically gently pulls two plates out, and places them on the counter. His squashed bread with burnt tips follows with her placing it on the plate she's designated as his and she slots her slice of bread into the toaster and pushes down on the lever.
She smiles proudly at him. ]
I'm getting better at it. One day I could do all the chores from the couch while I watch television.
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[There are no forthcoming apologies for the egg, even as she retaliates. Once Wanda moves away to give him more room, Pietro attempts to pay more attention to finishing breakfast, but glances over every few seconds to keep an eye on things, especially once the plates are out of the cupboard, and he's ready to rush over there and catch them should Wanda drop them. She doesn't even fumble, and when she looks so pleased about it, Pietro smiles back awkwardly like he's trying not to but can't help it.]
Don't get ahead of yourself. You got lucky. Tomorrow, you will be breaking dishes all over the floor.
[He waves her off, though he does like hearing her have some kind of ambition, even if it's simply to use her powers for domestic and mundane things. He's well aware it's the kind of life she wants, but he has a hard time considering it an actual possible future, despite having participated in some less-than-ideal form of it for years. His thoughts are just never there, as if their lives are still in some temporary flux and Pietro keeps waiting for something else. Turning off the stove, he takes little care with distributing his cooking to plates she'd set out - it leaves much to be desired, just an entire carton's worth of eggs, the yolks runny in places, fully cooked through in others, and liberally 'sprinkled' with far too much black pepper and turmeric. Wanda gets two of them slid onto her plate, looking sad and barren in comparison when Pietro piles the rest on top of the misshapen toast for himself.]
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Cocking her brow at his plate, she moves to grab it. ] This one is clearly mine.
[ But she tries to steal both of the plates to take to the table, not wanting Pietro to have to burden himself with such a mundane task after the took the time to cook them an assortment of eggs. She's grateful that he's given her at least one runny one—she much prefers to dip her toast into it and frustrate him than to eat the entire egg. ]
Hurry up before I drop your dish all over the floor.
[ Because she wants the chairs pulled out, they pull out themselves. ]
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[Pietro rolls his eyes as she walks away, and makes a show of trailing behind, though it annoys him to do so. Grabbing his chair firmly, he leaves that sluggish display behind to sit quickly, half expecting Wanda to pull it out from under him with one twitch of a finger. He slides her plate towards him, she'd chosen the one she wanted, hadn't she?]
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[ She shakes her head as she chuckles. She cannot eat all of this. There are too many eggs! And there's so much to eat… She pushes his plate toward him and eyes hers, wondering if she can inconspicuously steal it. ]
This is yours. You slaved away over the stove—and it is your birthday. I insist you have it.
[ It's only polite, of course—and that's what Wanda is: polite. She pushes the plate toward him, smiling sweetly. ]
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[He'll take that plate back, and for a moment act like he's going to eat that and Wanda's meal too, keeping her plate close to his his and hunching over a bit. Completely ignoring her, he cuts off a large piece of overcooked egg and toast with his fork. Then he looks up, and pushes her plate back towards her like he's offering her scraps as an afterthought, though it's offset by his his foot running up her leg under the table.]
I can part with that much. You should eat something.
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I eat.
[ Not as much as him, granted. His stomach is a bottomless pit, something she thinks the sceptre had taken into account before he had become faster than a bullet.
She picks up her knife and fork and slices into her egg to make the yolk spill. Tearing into her toast, she dips it and smiles happily. ]
I could eat you beneath the table, but I don't to spare your feelings. I'm quite nice.
[ She considers closing her legs, but Wanda parts them and extends her leg to try and touch his other one. If she responds, he'll win this game—and Wanda doesn't want him to win this particular one. ]
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You never did like to show off.
[Not nearly as much as Pietro does, not in the same way, Wanda's theatrics of a far less boisterous and self-important nature. She's issuing some kind of challenge with that drag of her foot over his calf, and he doesn't react for more than a split-second, one small twitch, then continuing on with what he'd started, determined to make her break first.]
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[ She smiles at him, not dropping her gaze to beneath the table. It's no secret that Wanda likes to hide behind Pietro. He's twelve minutes older and taller, and he'd been who she had hid behind when Stark's bomb kept beeping when her television had finally lost power. It's safe in his shadow, but it's also safe being in the wide open in front of him.
When he doesn't react to her foot, she applies a little more pressure as she slides her toes up his lower leg and presses her foot against his knee. Wanda eats her toast, pretending that she's not trying to make him fidget in his seat. ]
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Why do you do that? It's disgusting.
[He waves his hand disapprovingly at Wanda dipping her toast in the egg yolk. He's been eating pieces of toast with egg together and it's exactly the same thing, but there's no acknowledgement of it. Starting any sort of argument or complaint is just a distraction for himself.]
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Because you don't like it.
[ And she makes it a point to push her next small piece of toast into the egg yolk and eat it with a wide smile. If it's so disgusting, why does it taste so good and why are you eating it the same way? ]
Mm. Deliciously disgusting.
[ Wanda wishes to see him hit his knee again. She pushes her foot past his knee and along his upper thigh, applying some more pressure. Just in case he can't feel it. ]
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[He sighs in exasperation after she's admitted she does it solely because she thinks it annoys him, and he admonishes her with that as if he isn't equally as juvenile when it comes to their pointless sniping. Pietro shifts in his chair when her foot reaches his thigh, bringing his other leg back to trap hers between his.]
If you keep this up, you know we're not getting to the park.
[He started it.]
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But Wanda doesn't say as much, fearing that if she does, he'll clam shut and not let her have her fun without an audience. It's so much more fun to tease him when Olga and Alina and all of his friends aren't around. Less time for her to grow quietly sulky and flustered. ]
We will go later.
[ Wanda doesn't look away from him, allowing herself to smile slowly. She wiggles her foot between his, wanting to push further up his thigh to her desired destination. ]
We have all day, Pietro. It is only morning.
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The park is better in the afternoon.
[Pietro makes it sound like a begrudging concession, but he'd rather stay home too. At least for a while.]
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She rips her toast again and dips what she can into her yolk while watching him. He moves and her foot slides further up his thigh, and Wanda can easily read between the lines of his words without having to skim the surface of his mind.
She extends her foot until her toes brush against his crotch. She doesn't pull back, but keeps the pressure there, wondering if Pietro will shift back or snap or decide that while the park is best enjoyed in the afternoon, errands can be done in the morning. ]
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There are things to be done here this morning...
[Not really, and if there were, Pietro could clean the entire apartment in two minutes. The "we have chores to do" ploy is completely nonsensical for him to use. His gaze drifts over to the sun-catcher.]
And you need to find somewhere to hang that before it gets broken. I think maybe the bedroom.
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In a minute. I'm not finished yet.
[ wanda doesn't glance at the sun catcher, keeping her gaze focused on him. she has half a mind to withdraw her foot now and ensure that the sun catcher is safely tucked away, but she knows nothing will harm it. even if it was to fall, her sheer willpower will keep it in one piece.
besides, she's still eating—and wanda wants to ensure she eats the breakfast he had been so kind enough to cook on their shared birthday. she ensures to make a show of taking her time dipping her toast in what's left of the yolk and eats it, pushing her toes more firmly against his crotch. ]
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Oh, come on. It can't take you an hour to eat a piece of toast.
[He taps his thumb rapidly against the table and sighs restlessly like they really have been sitting here for an hour and not under ten minutes.]
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[ Wanda doesn't hold back her chuckle, although she's not quite sure if it's in amusement from his spoken exasperation or the fact that he's finally given in and pushed back against her foot. She applies pressure, careful not to hurt him, and continues to eat her toast until she purposefully leaves the crusts and the egg on her plate. Although it's tempting to spend an hour eating her breakfast, she knows Pietro won't sit for that long—and she doesn't wish to waste this day like that.
She sighs long and loud. ]
I think we should find somewhere to hang the sun catcher now.
[ She emphasises that with a press of her foot. ]
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Yes.
[Pietro's agreement is immediate and too-loud the moment she's done speaking and her foot pokes harder against him. Despite how good that feels, he moves in a hurry - pulling out his chair, leaning over the table to grab the crusts of Wanda's toast, gathering the leftover egg between them, and shoving it all in his mouth at once. He snatches the sun-catcher too, only to toss is casually back at Wanda from half-way across the room as he heads for the bedroom. It's fine, he's prepared to run back and catch it himself if she misses, but he has to keep her on her toes.]
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Thankfully, she catches it gently, relying on her powers to ensure it isn't harmed. She quickly assesses it to ensure there are no cracks, and when she spots none, she's lighter with relief. ]
Pietro!
[ She could kill him for that!
Gently gripping the sun catcher, she storms after him, red-hot anger making her skin burn. She moves quicker than she has before, almost as though she's absorbed some of his speed so she can ensure she catches him. ]
You could have broken it!
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Still, Pietro if nothing is not extremely aggravating at the worst of times, and he can's stop himself from scoffing like she's overreacting, crossing his arms casually despite being completely on edge, and shaking his head dismissively.]
You caught it.
[Everything is justified by the ends.]
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You threw it!
[ Wanda's not the best catcher by any means, her reflexes often slow unless in a situation that requires it. Sometimes she thinks she's slow because she knows Pietro will have her back. He's always there, always looking after her, always so much quicker.
But sometimes he can be so slow. Him not realising how much the sun catcher means to her is another example of how he sometimes moves as slow as a sloth is rumoured to.
Her fingers remain like normal fingers, lacking any red tendrils weaving between them. As angry as she can be, she never directs it toward Pietro. She prefers to petulantly ignore him and huff around the house instead. That's effective most of the time.
So, she does it now, glaring at him for one moment longer before turning her gaze away and walking toward the window. She holds the sun catcher up and eyes it, letting it spin gently to see how it might catch the afternoon light. Unhappy with where she's holding it, she turns slightly to her right and scrutinises that. It deserves the best spot in the room. ]
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It looks good there.
[His voice is quieter, but still doesn't hold enough softness in it, and he thinks those words might come across as merely a less demanding version of "just hang it up already," so he tries to fix that.]
If you... like it there.
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[ While Wanda still feels irritation at him for his carelessness, she doesn't hold onto it. It's impossible to. She's the softer one out of the two of them, the one who's often slow but can be quick to anger and quicker at letting things go, especially when it comes to Pietro. He's never malicious, never intentionally, and that's something Wanda often holds onto.
She smiles at the sun catcher before she nods. ] It'll go here.
[ Gently, she places it down on the nearest surface, making sure it's out of the sun so it doesn't fade too quickly and away from the edges so nothing topples onto it or causes it to leap to its death on the floor. They can hang it up later once she's found some sturdy string (the first type of string they find will never be good enough for Wanda) and ensure the breeze from the window won't knock it over.
She clears her throat before she steps away from him and opens the set of drawers where she keeps some of her clothes. ]
I need to get dressed for the park. [ Even though they had chosen to go in the afternoon, Wanda thinks this is the best way to move forward. But not before she turns to Pietro and regards him with a cocked brow. ] That is what you are wearing?
[ What he's wearing is perfectly fine, but Pietro doesn't need to know that right now. ]
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What? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me like this?
[While he doesn't exactly dress 'nice' at any time, he does take some semblance of care with things that don't clash and that fit properly. But his worn track pants and slightly baggy sweatshirt could be deemed somewhat sloppy, if he squinted, and now he's going to be self-conscious about it and she knows it, when he was completely fine with it less than a minute ago and this started as feigned offense.]
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[ She tilts her head upward as she peers up at him rather haughtily. Yes, there's a problem. Those are the clothes he wears when he's comfortable… and she knows that the girls and boys are going to like him in them, anyway. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything at all… but if she hadn't, he'd still be awkward and she'd still be even more awkward than before. ]
Why do you want to wear that sweatshirt? You could get it dirty. [ She gestures to it and drops her gaze to scrutinise it. ] You wear it around the house, not outside.
[ Mostly around the apartment. She knows he's worn it a few times outside when it's been laundry day or they've run very low on clean clothes, but that doesn't fit her story right now. ]
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[He dismisses that concern as if Wanda's a nagging mother, rolling his eyes, but he does take the sweatshirt off almost immediately, dropping it on the bed and going for the closet to pull out a jacket that is much more fitted with some eye-catching colourful details. Pietro smirks to himself while he nonchalantly questions her as she's still standing by the chest of drawers.]
Toss me those black pants in the bottom drawer, will you?
[She knows which ones - very tight and kind of uncomfortable, but they will draw far more attention, especially when he wears brightly coloured shoes with them, and he is absolutely going to.]
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Reluctantly, she turns to the drawers and opens them, first going through her clothes to find another pair of pants—the plaid red and white ones she never wears but Mischa had gotten for her as a gift—and a black shirt before she even thinks of opening his drawers to find his stupid black pants. She fishes them out and pegs them at him only because she suspects that they still haven't gotten any more comfortable despite the few times he's worn them. ]
Now you can play in the dirt and no one will know.
[ Wanda begins to shed herself of her makeshift pyjamas, changing her underwear and putting on a bra. And if it's one of her so-called best bras, well, the black just goes with the plain black shirt she wishes to wear. And it's her birthday. She can wear her best bra if she likes!
And she supposes it's his birthday, which means he can wear his stupid tight black pants that are very uncomfortable if he likes. ]
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Maybe I will get a little dirty.
[He says that loud enough for her to hear clearly, but still makes it sound like he's only muttering it to himself and oblivious to the innuendo in it. He's just as obvious about 'sneaking' a look while she puts on her bra, tugging at his pants where they're difficult to pull over his thighs. He has regrets, and immediately wants to take them off the moment he has the buttons fastened.]
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They do make his legs look very nice. ]
Are you planning to play in the dirt? [ She cocks her brow. It's easier to take his words at face value and at their most innocent. It'll either frustrate him or he'll enjoy it too much. ]
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If I run into some... friends to join me.
[Pietro will leave it up to Wanda to decide what he means by that pause before 'friends'.]
I'm very open to possibilities today, it is my birthday. Anything could happen, you know? But I know you like to stay clean. I'm sure you could find something to do by yourself.
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Wanda pivots and finds her own shoes, a pair of black boots that she'd much prefer were flats, but given the state of Sokovia and the park, the boots are safer to wear. If there's anything sharp and jagged, the boots' thick sole will at least protect her from it. And if they have to run…
She doesn't think there will be any need for running from anything unless it's a simple game of chase. ]
I hope Dimitri is there. [ She says it as innocently as she can muster as she ties up her shoes. ] I don't think he is busy today. Maybe he will want to sit with me and be clean while you go play in the dirt with your friends.
[ She's totally fine. Ross Geller fine. He can have friends. She's fine. ]
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Of course. I want you to enjoy yourself on your birthday.
[He leaves the bedroom, calling over his shoulder.]
I did hear Dimitri's been looking to contribute to a charitable cause. Exciting to think he might choose you, isn't it?
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Not that it'd matter. Going to the park means people will talk to him while she sits by herself and watches him laugh and have a good time and enjoy himself. Despite how angry she is at him, she wants him to have a good day, even if it doesn't include her. ]
We are going.
[ She closes the kitchen window and marches toward the front door. She doesn't bother with a jacket. Sitting in the park will warm her up… and maybe if she is cold, someone will be charitable enough to deem her worthy of having their jacket.
She opens the front door and crosses her arms against her chest as she glares at him and waits. ]
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I'm coming, I'm coming!
[He slips past Wanda out into the hallway just as one of the neighbours' doors opens - an elderly lady with a large upholstered bag trying to juggle that and a heavy circular tray of something covered in foil, fumbling with her key. Davida looks a bit frazzled as usual, grey hair escaping her brightly-patterned kerchief in limp curls as she mutters to herself about having so much to do and no time.]
Always in such a hurry, Wanda!
[Pietro's sure to sound disapproving and grumbling, like this is a routine complaint for him and he's tried of making it, as he raises an eyebrow at Davida and silently offers to take something. He turns back to Wanda as the old woman gratefully passes over the tray.]
I'm sorry, is this going to cut into your schedule, or can we think of other people for once?
[He only feels the smallest prick of remorse for making such a scene and painting Wanda as an impatient shrew just because the opportunity arose. Later, he'll experience more guilt about it and not be able to look Davida in the eye for a few days after using that poor woman as a pawn in his obnoxious bullshit.]
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He always finds the most opportune moments to embarrass her. Wanda's always struggled to grasp them and thieve them away from him, but he's too quick-witted and sees things before she does.
She ignores her furious blush. Davida is a woman who tends to keep to herself, but she appreciates the help when it's offered to her and values kindness and generosity over the way Pietro's intending to paint her.
Wanda approaches her, clasping her hands together in her own fit of nervousness. ]
Are you going to the store today? Maybe I can go for you. [ She smiles at her kindly, not glancing at Pietro as she shrugs a touch helplessly. ] Pietro is busy later. [ She chuckles and shakes her head. ] So many plans. I am surprised he has time to stop with his very busy schedule.
[ She'll never be as good as him, but Wanda knows practice makes perfect. It's what her sitcoms always said. ]
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Davida doesn't seem to take much stock in anything they may have been arguing about, giving Wanda a thankful smile and taking her up on her offer to get a few items from the store for later. After she's locked her door and put her keys securely in her tattered bag, she politely excuses herself and takes the tray back from Pietro without a word to him, shaking her head as she makes her way down the hallway, clearly done with their shenanigans but too sweet to comment on them.]
... Sorry.
[It's reluctant and dismissive muttering, but Wanda deserves one apology on her birthday, even if it's awkward.]
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With her head held high, she marches down the hallway and doesn't look back to see if Pietro is following. She imagines he is. He always does. Besides, they agreed to go to the park and that is where they will go.
She does spare a glance when she takes the corner. ]
We are going to be late for your plans.
[ His very busy plans where he can spend his time flirting while she doesn't have to witness it. Davida's unknowingly given her a birthday gift. ]
Everyone's waiting for you.
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I could continue with my plans...
[Very vaguely defined plans that aren't looking as inviting now as doing Davida's shopping, for reasons Pietro isn't going to think too hard on.]
Or help you at the store. You know you can't reach the high shelves and you have to ask someone to help. It's a hassle.
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I can ask for help, Pietro. There are many tall people at the store.
[ Luckily for them, the Stark bombs hadn't wiped out the entire staff of the small supermarket that remains standing and thriving. It's almost as if Stark wishes to see the Sokovian residents continue to feed themselves and live amongst all the shelling. ]
Besides, you are going to have fun with your friends at the park, no? They will want to wish you a happy birthday, maybe sing. The girls will.
[ And that makes Wanda feel sourer than she'd like to admit. Good thing she keeps her back to him as she makes her way to the stairs. She dislikes the elevator. ]
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Alright. It's your decision.
[Pietro hates the elevator too - it's slow even to a normal person, gets stuck between floors sometimes when the building's electric goes out intermittently, smells like piss - but he's taking it, just because Wanda isn't, pressing the button and already dreading the agonising wait for it to ascend to the fifth floor. He could be down on the street already in the time it took him to hit the stupid button.]
I might be late. If certain people are there. You know.
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I know.
[ She doesn't mean to sound sad. Sometimes she wishes Pietro was less likeable, but then he wouldn't be Pietro.
She opens the stairwell door and lets it slam behind her as she makes her way down the flights of stairs. If Wanda hurries down as though she wishes to get to the ground floor first, well… no one could blame her. Being separated from Pietro, even when he's frustrating, prompts the anxious butterflies to swarm in her gut. She likes to know where he is at all times and it's impossible to know that when he's stuck between floors.
When she finally reaches the ground floor, Wanda doesn't try to pretend that she's not flustered and is in search of him and his stupid face. She may not be fast, but thankfully their building's elevator is slower than her most of the time. ]
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Can't go anywhere by yourself, can you? Come on, get moving.
[Nevermind they were headed different places or that his hand is shaking too much. Neither of these things are being talked about. Pietro intends to drag Wanda to the park anyway, where he can expend the restless energy he'd built up in the elevator. They can shop for Davida later. Together.]
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Gripping his hand tightly to try and stop it from shaking, Wanda furrows her brows as she tries to keep up with his hurried pace. This is Pietro being Pietro, but she thinks the elevator's left him rattled. ]
I have been waiting for you. [ For just a few seconds, if not close to a minute. Despite having run down the stairs, Wanda's still Wanda. She doesn't carry momentum the same way Pietro does.
She tries to step in front of him so she can push the building's door open. She squints against the bright sun and presses her other hand as a shield above her eyes as she tries to steer him toward the park. It'll be short-lived given his love for leading.
She looks up at the sky. It's clear with no smog of bomb smoke. Wanda can't help but smile. ] I think it will be a nice day today.
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[Which is why as soon as she's started pulling him in the right direction, he takes that moment she watches the sky to dart ahead and make sure he stays a couple of paces in front, as far as he can while still holding her hand.]
We should get there while it's still nice!
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Wanda doesn't try to get in front of him, letting him drag her along (although she does her best to try and keep up with him; it's always hard, given he has longer legs and is just faster). She doesn't pull her hand from his despite considering it briefly. ]
It will be nice even if we get there later.
[ It's a silly hope, considering nothing is permanent in Sokovia, but Wanda likes to think optimistically. Glasses remain half full. For Pietro, she doesn't think they were ever full. ]
I can prove it. You go to the park, I'll go shopping, and then when I come to the park, it'll still be nice.
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Why don't you do that?
[It's an actual suggestion and bears no hint of sarcasm.]
I will meet you later. We can sit on the benches and watch people.
[Pietro will make fun of them, of course, but it's still something bordering on relaxing and just spending time with Wanda in a quieter way. He'll have burned off energy by then and be more likely to sit still for a prolonged amount of time.]
Bring me something good from the store.
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But she still frowns… and quickly smoothes out her expression in case he thinks she's going to argue. The promise of watching people together is just that—a nice promise.
She stops. ]
I wonder if they have good hats. [ She hums thoughtfully. She's determined to get him a hat these days so he can shield his face and maybe stop luring people toward him. Some people need to be repelled; it's good for his confidence to be rejected. ]
I will see you, then. [ She lets go of his hand in what she feels is too jerky of a movement. ] Make sure you save the best bench. The one near the flowers is much nicer than the one near the entrance. But don't go for the one beneath the tree. The branches look like they are about to fall off.
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I like the one by the entrance.
[But he'll be waiting where she specified, by the patch of flowers, stretching his legs across the seat so no one else joins him, incessantly tapping his fingers on the back of the bench.]
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She makes her way to the park with a couple of brown paper bags in hand. Thankfully, nothing is perishable or needs to be refrigerated. It's easy to find Pietro, even though she had been looking for him amongst the small clusters of their friends. She's grateful there isn't a need to protest today. While some of their other friends aren't here and are using their voices to scream and shout, she's happy to see that some of their friends are at the park to celebrate their birthday. It's the small moments that matter most to Wanda.
She places the bags down on the ground by the leg of the bench and grabs a smaller bag from inside one of them, opening it up as she remains standing near Pietro's legs. ]
I thought you were going to sit at the entrance.
[ She holds out the opened bag to him. Inside are several small donuts—some cinnamon, some with icing, and a couple with jam inside. ]
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Then he'd caught up with Jakob, who had barely escaped that stairwell collapse but his wife hadn't - a lonely man, and though he's very boring and Pietro tuned him out half-way through, it was worth the time to see him less disheartened for a while. Pietro will never be the most eloquent person, but his conversation skills lean towards amicability and catching cues of where he should interject, rather than actually supplying anyone with good advice or helpful insights. Sometimes people just need someone to talk to, and he gives that to them. He'd still been leaning against a chain-link fence and smoking one of Jakob's cigarettes that he thought he shouldn't refuse when he'd first spotted Wanda across the park, and that's when he'd gone to the bench to sit there like he'd been waiting forever for her and not just the one minute before she she came upon him. He glances up briefly when she stops by the bench.]
It was occupied.
[It wasn't. Pietro contemplates making her ask him to move, but decides against it, sitting up and giving her half of the bench while snatching the bag from her hands, fishing inside for one of the jam-filled donuts, and biting into it with a mumbled thanks. Then he snorts, still talking with his mouth full.]
You took your time.
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I wanted to make sure I got everything for Davida.
[ Unlike some, she doesn't rush her shopping. While Wanda's not the type to walk up and down every aisle, she's the type to be distracted by random thoughts and scenarios the items around her inspire her to come up with. She may have bought some items for them, but she won't go into it until they're back home and he can sigh and grow exasperated once more with her buying too many things and even more duplicates of things they're going to need by the next week.
She sits and holds her hand out for her usual cinnamon donut. ]
And I was talking to Vasili. He might come around to the park once he sees his mother. [ She nudges Pietro gently with her elbow. ] He says happy birthday.
[ As much as Wanda wants to keep some things to herself, she thinks it's important that Pietro knows people care. Sometimes it's nice to have a reminder, even if it comes from an unexpected place. ]
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Yeah?
[It is nice to hear, even if Pietro doesn't act like it, simply shrugging it off and making an annoyed noise at Wanda's elbow-nudging. Vasili is a genuinely nice person and very tolerant, but Pietro had definitely pissed him off the last time they'd spoken, over something trivial he's sure, but doesn't actually remember what it was about - an unfortunately very common scenario for them and has been since they were kids. It's awkward now sometimes, because Pietro feels guilty for keeping up with appearances and not realising until it's too late that he'd said something too insensitive or completely tactless when he knows the state of things with Vasili's family.]
How is his mother?
[He tries to make it sound like he doesn't already know the answer is "not good" at the very least.]
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[ Wanda lets her words trail off as she keeps her head bowed and rips her donut. She eats her small bit, turning to face Pietro although she keeps her gaze on his hands. She wishes she had something positive to follow it up with, but instead, she lets her shoulders sag. ]
Not good.
[ One day, she wishes to have good news. That the people around her aren't suffering anymore, that someone she likes isn't going to lose their mother just like she and Pietro lost theirs. She likes Vasili's mother a lot, given she used to be friends with their mother. Her not getting any better feels like yet another personal slight from Stark. ]
But he says that she enjoys the books from the secondhand bookshop still. She has a growing pile of books she's read that he needs to read soon. [ She smiles at that.
Ripping her donut again, she pops that piece into her mouth. ] You should say hello. [ Whatever insensitive thing Pietro said to upset Vasili must be long gone by now. Sometimes she wishes Pietro didn't run from everything. ]
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[Anytime they'd seen her even as children, Vasili's mother had a book on hand - while she watched her son at the park, while standing in line at the supermarket, a thin paperback sticking out of one pocket or another as she carried a basket of clothes down the street, ready to spend the afternoon reading at the laundromat. Pietro has only recently started to appreciate books, even if it's mostly for killing time and mild entertainment value. He'd never had the attention span for them before, and preferred television despite Wanda's sitcom obsession, and music. Now those are worse - plodding and droning on for him, music sounds weird and it's just noise. He's consequently read more books since HYDRA than he probably had in his entire life previously. Taking another jam-filled donut from the bag, he finally sets it down between them where Wanda can grab a second one herself if she ever gets around to actually finishing the first.]
I will...
[He says it like it's going to be a sacrifice, but he'll go through with it.]
It stayed nice.
[He lifts one fingers towards the sky, shifting to lean further back against the bench and fold one leg underneath him. It's the beginning of maybe a half-hour of fidgeting before he absolutely has to get up, but he's prepared to have a nice quiet time with Wanda just sitting here and talking casually, something he's sure she wishes he'd make an effort to do more often.]
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Looking up at the sky, Wanda smiles. With a quarter of her donut left, it does seem like it's going to be a nice day. After this morning, she thinks they both deserve it. It's nice to be outside rather than cooped up, even if Wanda likes the indoors more than Pietro. ]
Was this your birthday wish?
[ She looks at him, cocking her brow softly. He's not meant to confirm or deny or, by her superstitions, it means the wish he made when he blew out his candle won't come true. ]
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[A nice day, with Wanda, and being able to sit still for more than ten minutes... maybe.]
Besides, you know I cannot tell you. Finish your donut. Wait-
[He's breaking his streak of peaceful bench-sitting already to run off somewhere, but he's back in twenty seconds with one tiny candle and a cigarette lighter - taking the other cinnamon donut out of the bag and presenting it to Wanda, candle aflame and stuck in at a slightly tilted angle.]
You didn't get to make one.
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She smiles widely and laughs. But she did! Secretly! Piggybacking off of his wish, whatever it is.
With her donut thankfully finished (she's not that slow all the time!), she delicately takes the donut in his hand, not wishing to knock the candle out and ruin this. ]
I wish for… [ Making a show of catching herself, she keeps her wish to herself. It's similar to the one she wishes for every year. Just a good year with Pietro where nothing happens to him aside from a bad mood here or there.
She blows out her candle and smiles at him. ]
Thank you for my birthday donut. [ She wrinkles her nose. ] Even though I bought it. Does that mean I need to thank myself?
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And where did that money come from?
[He throws up his hand in mock exasperation, which doesn't translate much differently than real exasperation with him, but Wanda can usually tell the difference.]
No, you thank me.
[It could have been his money, could have been hers. Neither one of them has an actual job, unless Wanda's been moonlighting. He steals, he knows she does odds and ends for people like shopping, helping with someone's kids. There's not many secrets Wanda could keep from him, so Pietro maintains his conviction that 80% of their collected money stashed in an old tin in the back of the bedroom closet comes from his efforts alone.]
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Instead, she nods, pursing her lips playfully. ] You're right. [ And the way she thanks him is simple: she kisses his cheek.
Biting into her donut, she ignores the cinnamon around her mouth as she shifts happily on the bench from side to side before settling back against it. She's happy. She's actually happy. Even if in a few hours that happiness will burst, she'll remember sitting at the park on a nice day with Pietro and feeling happy. ]
Thank you, Pietro.
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You're welcome. Happy Birthday, Wanda.
[He can say it as many times as he wants today. A moment later, Pietro furrows his eyebrows and scratches at the side of his mouth, nodding to her.]
You've got cinnamon all over. Right there. Eat properly, we're in public.
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Really? Where?
[ Why bother eating properly when she can exasperate him and possibly make him laugh?
She wipes her hand against her face again, feigning concern as though she's got paint on her hands and not invisible bits of cinnamon. ]
Did I get it? Is it gone?
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[On purpose and in a painfully obvious way, which is why he laughs. Turning to face her, shifting closer on the bench, and cupping her jaw in his hand, Pietro runs his thumb across the light dusting of cinnamon.]
I got it. Hm... Most of it. There is still some right here.
[The tiniest bit on her lower lip, or so he implies. And he licks it away with his tongue only after he's taken the opportunity to kiss her, slowly and gently, and where anyone can see them right in the middle of the park.]
Now it's gone.
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She thinks of gently scolding him, but Wanda stares at him instead. If he's feeling so bold as to be so affectionate in public when the girls he likes to tease and flirt with and thinks about taking it further with right near them, then she thinks it'd be rude of her to reprimand him for weighing the pros and cons of such an act. And a part of her feels possessive. This is hers. No one else gets Pietro dusting stupid cinnamon off their face but her.
She licks her lips and glances at the park before looking down at the half-eaten donut in her hands. ]
What would I do without you? Aside from walking around with cinnamon on my face on such a nice day.
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You'd be so lost.
[He brushes a loose strand of Wanda's hair behind her ear as she stares at her donut.]
Utterly hopeless.
[None of it holds anything but soft affection.]
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[ She tsks and shakes her head as though that's the worst thing that could ever happen. But if something was to happen to Pietro, if she was to lose him, she knows she wouldn't be able to leave their apartment. She'd be so utterly hopeless and helpless without him. It's not something she wishes to burden him with when he carries so much already.
She looks at him and sighs loudly, drooping her shoulders. She rests her head against his shoulder, knowing that he'll nudge her off when staying still becomes too troubling for him. ]
It's a good thing you gave me that sun catcher. At least I'll be able to find my way home with that.
[ The suncatcher's close to overtaking him as her favourite thing ever. ]
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You got me figured out. That was my plan with it all along.
[He fishes for another donut almost absently, and his free hand finds hers to entwine their fingers, though he's already back to typical provocation with his words.]
Oh, but you didn't hang it up in the window, did you? What if I go off tonight with Zrinka and you can't find our apartment? You'll have to sleep in the street.
[Zrinka, who is conveniently not in the park to have witnessed Pietro's earlier display and therefore will potentially still respond to flirting and attention enough to irritate Wanda.]
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Zrinka is nice and noticeably missing. Perhaps that's why he names her specifically; if any of the girls saw his display from a few minutes ago, they'll be gossiping, perhaps plotting to get Pietro alone to ask for the finder details, or believing Wanda had been the one to do something so inappropriate. Sometimes Wanda wishes she didn't feel this little twisting tug in her gut every time he mentioned one of his girls.
When she sighs, it's intentional and dramatic. ] Then I guess I sleep on the street. Or I wander all around Sokovia until I find it while you are busy with Zrinka. [ She tsks, shaking her head. ] Too busy to make sure your little sister finds her way home on her birthday. That is very cruel, Pietro.
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Trying to guilt me for something I haven't even done yet, and I am the one who is cruel?
[The last donut is now his. Pietro tears it almost in half and offers the smaller piece to Wanda that he expects her to refuse while he continues.]
I will take you home first then. The least I can do on your birthday.
[The clear solution.]
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So chivalrous despite your old age.
[ To her, especially. She wonders how she can make him choose to not go out after he supposedly drops her off. While Wanda's aware some of her plans are never needed as Pietro always seems to think better of what he originally intended to do, she likes to make them just in case. ]
You will walk me home and then leave on my birthday. Tsk.
[ She eats the rest of her donut and holds her hand out for the donut she had originally refused. ]
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I am getting old. It would do me no good to stay out too late... and it is a long walk back. I may have to stay. You know, tired old bones...
[But he snorts when she holds out her hand, and pops the rest of the donut in his mouth, shrugging. Too late, it's his.]
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Oh.
[ She furrows her brows as she leans away from him so she can look him over. There's some cinnamon on his face that she reaches out to wipe away with her thumb without thought. She makes a show of scrutinising him before leaning close to him again and pressing her ear against his chest. ]
I think I hear it. Lots of noise, like the Tinman from Oz. It's like creaking. [ She rubs his upper thigh. ] You are getting so old, Pietro.
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So old. And you are a tease, Wanda. We're in public.
[He whispers the last part, but as soon as he does, he covers her hand, keeping it pressed against his thigh. He raises his eyebrows pointedly.]
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She should pull back and rest against the back of the seat, but no one's paying attention to them. No one says anything and no one thinks anything, either. All anyone can seemingly think about is how the park is still standing, when the next riot will be, and what they'll do if the police so much as raise their batons at them again. ]
How am I a tease? [ She laughs lightly, but she's not as clueless as she wants to portray. She squeezes his thigh and shifts her hand beneath his, moving it up as she keeps her gaze on his face. ] I am sitting here, cleaning up a mess you made of jam on your thigh. [ She shakes her head. ] I am not teasing.
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Oh, did I drop some?
[His voice carries, and he spreads his thighs a little, trying to get her hand to shift to a more scandalous position 'accidentally'. He shouldn't have worn such tight pants, they're not helping in his plans and he just kind of squirms instead of doing it with any fluidity or appeal.]
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Looking down at his leg, she shakes her head and clucks her tongue. ]
So clumsy, Pietro. Sometimes I think you can never leave the house.
[ Rather than pull her hand away and place it where she knows he wants it, she glides her palm up his thigh, right up to the crease of his hip. Wanda considers making that where the jam has allegedly dropped, but she instead brushes her fingers against his crotch, the pressure light at first before she makes it reminiscent of how she had pressed her foot into him earlier. ]
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[He scoffs, shifting again to press up against her fingers. They hadn't gotten anywhere this morning, and his reactions are quick as a result.]
I think you're just rubbing it in. You always make more of a mess.
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[ She smiles at him, arching her brow slightly as she does just that: pressing her fingers against his crotch, she moves her fingertips in a circular motion. Perhaps she should stop, but… Pietro is encouraging it and not closing his legs and batting her hand away. And Wanda feels braver than she often does, encouraged by him and his lack of tripping over his feet and embarrassing her too much.
She furrows her brows and tsks to continue pretending that he's still got jam on his crotch. She's clearly not making it any better. Wanda proposes she has to press harder. ]
Since I always make messes. I think it makes sense I would want to make a point of your mess, no? It would be unkind if I didn't.
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You're making your point.
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It makes Wanda a touch paranoid, but it's not enough to make her withdraw her hand. She barely gets to touch Pietro like this. She doesn't get to lean against him as the girls do, and she wants it for herself.
She clears her throat and looks down at his crotch, sighing at the make-believe mark she's meant to be rubbing. She slides her hand until she's pressing the heel of her palm against him, and she rubs more firmly now, feeling a little more in control of her motions.
Quietly, ] Do you want to stop?
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[It's an immediate answer, he doesn't even need to think about it. It's always in the back of his mind, that they might be judged for it, that they already are even if Pietro downplays everything he does with Wanda where someone might see, and flirts shamelessly to distract from it just as much as he does it to make her jealous. No one's watching. No one cares. Why can't they have this? It's their birthday. He moves his hand up her arm, lightly stroking with his fingers, encouraging.]
I want you.
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We can wait until we are home for you to come in your pants, Pietro.
[ She ignores the heat of her skin. That's what's going to happen, isn't it? She'll keep rubbing at his crotch and he'll come in his stupidly tight pants he had worn for all the other girls, and then he'll walk her home and they'll most likely do it again.
She should remove her hand, but Wanda only presses down harder. The idea of making that happen prompts her to sit up a little taller. ]
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Don't say it like that.
[Pietro doesn't shy away from directness often, but when it's Wanda making such statements blatantly out in the open, he's both flustered and perhaps unfortunately for him, very stimulated. Though he'd protested over her choice of words, he only spreads his thighs further and grinds more obviously against her hand. It's exactly what's going to happen, but she doesn't need to announce it when Gertie and Jelka are right over there - engrossed in conversation and not even looking their way, but - Pietro turns his attention back to what's important here: making a nonchalant comment like he isn't going to embarrass himself on a public bench in less than two minutes.]
Besides, I am doing you a favour. You're getting a reason for me to go home with you and not stop by and see Zrinka.
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[ Wanda considers pulling her hand away, but she only presses down harder. He shouldn't be thinking of Zrinka right now when she's rubbing his cock through his pants. She furrows her brows, feeling as though steam's threatening to shoot from her ears. He always has to ruin these moments by bringing in the world around them like that.
Instead of pulling her hand away, she lightens her touch considerably and keeps her hand against his thigh as though she's merely sitting beside him. He wants her to continue touching him with the same level of intensity, and Wanda considers doing him a favour and preventing him from enjoying himself in the park on a nice day. In a roundabout way, they've only inspired each other.
She looks away from him, setting her jaw, and acts as though she's preoccupied with surveying those around them instead. ]
Maybe you should go see Zrinka.
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I think I will, now that you suggested it. Maybe later I'll tell you how it went. You could learn a lot from her.
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But he always has to ruin it. Or maybe she does with her expectations that he won't always leave her behind.
She sits up straight and still doesn't look at him. She wishes for someone to look their way as though that's something of protection, and she finds that Jelka glances at them for the first time, even if her gaze doesn't stay. ]
Maybe you should stay with Zrinka. Have a nice time. Celebrate your birthday. [ With a decisive little nod, ] I will be fine at home.
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He only waits long enough in awkward silence until he can get up without his erection being too obvious. He likes attention, but not that much and doesn't want it right now. When he does stand, he gaze is fixed over the park and not anywhere near Wanda, but he can feel her, her presence itself boring holes in his back. He almost says something, half of a syllable before he stops himself and just sighs, walking away.
Pietro doesn't see Zrinka, but looks for Vasili, who hadn't quite made it to the park yet. It's somehow easier to make amends there, far less trouble than he tends to have with Wanda. When they're done talking, he goes straight home. It's best. It's not much, and he may never admit to it aloud, but he recognises he's been insufferable for most of the day, as she likes to claim so often, and that the few moments he hadn't been doesn't make up for the rest of it.]
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Perhaps she should've stayed at the park and enjoyed herself. She doesn't mind Jelka, even if she sometimes wishes the other girl wouldn't manipulate the conversation to speak of Pietro. Maybe she should've stayed and proved to herself and Pietro that she doesn't need him by her side to be able to fit in with some of their friends. But as she hesitates in the hallway, Wanda doesn't turn on her foot to return to the park. She's had enough pretending for the day.
When Wanda's in their apartment, she's unsurprised not to find Pietro there. He said he'd be busy, after all, and Zrinka was doing her a favour by keeping him out of her hair. Perhaps she'd have the entire apartment to herself for the night. A rarity—and sometimes something Wanda greatly enjoyed. She undresses and slips out of the plaid pants, finding it useless to stay in them. She swaps them for her plaid pyjama shorts from the morning and searches the apartment for sturdy rope or wires to hang her suncatcher up in front of the window. And when that task is done, she sits cross-legged on the couch and turns on Just Shoot Me! for a change in a fictional universe.
She doesn't turn her head when he enters the apartment and she doesn't lower the volume of the television, either. ]
How is Zrinka?
[ She's proud that her voice holds no malice. It's not Zrinka's fault Pietro likes her. ]
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I don't know. I was with Vasili.
[He leaves no room for comments as he heads directly for the bedroom, to swap his uncomfortable tight jeans for the sloppy track pants he'd left on the floor this morning. The suncatcher sways slightly where she'd hung it, filtering the afternoon light into a warmer yellow in abstract shapes over the floor and the wall. He returns shortly, stopping behind Wanda on the couch to briefly run his fingers along her temple and kiss the top of her head.]
I'm sorry.
[It's very quiet, and immediately after, he climbs over the back of the couch and takes up whatever space is left available to him, as if he hadn't said it at all and doesn't expect to be acknowledged.]
The sunflower looks good.
[That has a more conversational tone to it, but Pietro's eyes are on the screen, in case Wanda chooses to ignore him completely and he can pretend he's engrossed in Just Shoot Me! and not waiting for crumbs of actual attention.]
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It does.
[ She smiles softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She'd been intending to wait for him to help her hang it up, but there were some things that Wanda knew she could do by herself. Hanging that up had been one of them. She didn't need her big brother to help her find the wire or to be the one to hang it up because she'd declare him to be significantly taller than her.
She turns to face him, ignoring Nina insulting Dennis despite it being her favourite part of the show. ]
Why did you not go see Zrinka?
[ Even if the question often falls in the category of things that remain unspoken or even in the category of the answer being blatantly obvious, Wanda wants to see if he answers. It's a risk. Sometimes the answer is Pietro getting up and off the couch and going somewhere else. ]
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I'd never planned to.
[If he'd run into her, maybe, but not purposefully sought her out, not like he'd implied.]
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Hm.
[ She clasps her hands together and looks at the television screen without registering anything. It doesn't make her feel any better, but it's stopped making her feel worse. She had dreaded him coming home and boasting about how lovely Zrinka is. She's a nice girl who Wanda hates resenting.
She brushes some of her hair away from her face. ]
I am still mad at you.
[ It's only fair to tell him, even if there's no anger in her voice. ]
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When are you not?
[It's a dramatic exclamation, though he's not nearly as annoyed as he lets on. He slides down on the couch, crossing his arms and making sure he looks disgruntled.]
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I'm not always mad at you!
[ She frowns at him, feeling a touch defensive. Perhaps that's his plan. She's no longer as guarded as she had been moments ago. Sometimes Pietro has such a talent for crawling beneath her skin and needling her that she forgets the act she wants to portray.
Wanda huffs and shakes her head. She mutters, ] You are so infuriating.
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[He laughs to himself, unfortunately loudly, because all it took was that one thing to set her off again, and their constant back and forth all day has come to the point of absurdity. Still, he presses one more button, because he can.]
Maybe I am not so infuriating as you are uptight.
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I am not uptight!
[ Except, well… out of the two of them, she knows she's not the most relaxed or willing to go with the flow.
Crossing her arms against her chest, she hmphs as she tilts her head up and looks away from him in a stubborn refusal to be uptight. It doesn't work, of course. ]
I'm going to ignore you now.
[ That'll do it. ]
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Come on, don't do that. I was joking.
[Wanda knows it's the one thing that gets to him in a different way, he'd rather have her screaming at him than pretending he doesn't exist. He pouts just a little, an expression he would never classify as such himself, and shifts to press his back against the arm of the couch, keeping one leg folded underneath him, and one stretching out. He pokes Wanda's thigh with his foot.]
You can't ignore me.
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It's on the tip of her tongue to inform him that she can ignore him, but that's the loophole she often falls prey to when she wishes to pretend he's not near her. Perhaps she's grown wiser in her old age.
Wanda makes a point of sighing heavily and, without looking, shoves at his foot with her palm. ]
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[He stretches the last syllable out in not quite a whine, like he used to do when they were kids and she'd refused to play with him anymore after he'd annoyed her too much. It's subsequently followed by incessant fidgeting that shakes the couch, and more prodding with his foot. Her hand can't deter him. It's childish and irritating and he knows it, but he's banking on nostalgia making it skew towards endearing instead.]
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But then she whispers, ] Stop it.
[ Why does he have to move so much? She shoves at his foot, knowing that it'll stay pressed against her thigh regardless of what she does. That's what often breaks her. Pietro's stubborn refusal to listen and his need to poke and fidget until she's the one who's exasperated and not him.
Regardless, she smacks his leg for good measure. ]
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I've stopped. No more.
[He holds up his hands in surrender, but is already shifting his feet, trying to decide which way is best to cross his ankles if he's going to stay in one position for the rest of this episode. Nothing feels quite perfect, it will just be a minute...]
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[ Wanda grabs hold of his feet and positions them in a way that's comfortable for her. While she may sit cross-legged, he's long and pointy and everything about him is annoying.
She rests them against her thigh and pokes the arch of his foot to punish him. Rather than resting her hands on her knees, she wraps them tightly around his ankles so he can't move… even though he still can. Her strength is nothing in comparison to his. ]
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[She hits on a pressure point that annoys him so much. It doesn't tickle, it doesn't hurt, but there's a pulse of some sensation that makes him want to squirm. He could pull his feet away, but that's giving in and he settles for curling his toes and whining about it.]
Haven't you been insufferable enough tonight? Just watch your show.
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[ She can't help but huff incredulously. Pietro has been nothing but! And she supposes that's the reason for his deflection. As oblivious as he pretends to be, she knows he notices almost everything. He may be a blur to others, but the world around him has always remained so sharp. ]
I will show you insufferable. [ This time, she does huff loudly. She grips his ankle with one hand. ] You come and ruin my show. You will pay.
[ In retaliation, she brushes her nails against the arch of his foot in the hopes to tickle him. This is more than deserved. ]
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[The last word ends in a higher pitched strangled noise as she drags her nails over that same spot on his arch. His leg jerks once, involuntarily, but Pietro doesn't pull his ankle out of her grasp. Wanda's speaking to him again and paying attention, and he can suffer for that. For a moment at least.]
I ruined nothing. You were barely watching it. Couldn't take your eyes off me from the second I got home.
[It comes out far less flippant and dismissive than he wants it to, his voice wavers too often. Trying too hard to contain most of his urges to writhe and twitch, he brings his arm up to clutch at the back of the couch in an effort to keep still.]
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[ Wanda considers letting go of his foot and looking away from him, returning to ignoring him… but this is entirely too much fun. She hates that she can't stay mad at him—or, at least, ignore him. Pietro is a flame she constantly flutters to, but rather than being burned, he just… does this. Utter annoyance.
She glides her nails up and down his foot, from his heel to the tips of his toes. Up and down, uncaring if he moves or wriggles. This is his punishment for being exasperating for the day. ]
I can take my eyes off you, Pietro. See?
[ And she does just that, looking determinedly away from him. ]
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Alright. You have made your point. You're perfectly capable of ignoring me, Wanda. I'm sorry. I was being annoying, irritating, obnoxious, frustrating, insufferable, pick one. Just stop.
[He still won't pull his foot back himself, as if it's some kind of proof that he understands she was, or is, rightfully very aggravated with him and he deserves this.]
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I pick them all.
[ Perhaps it's unfair, but Wanda thinks she's in the right to declare that he's annoying, irritating, obnoxious, frustrating, and insufferable, and he's been all those things today when he should've been happy and content and at least a little exasperating.
She stops dragging her nails along the arch of his foot, although she does dig her thumb and fingers into it. She doubts he's going to tug his foot away. If he was, he'd have done so already. ]
Do you want to know what I wished for?
[ She hardly sounds angry. Wanda never tells him her wishes, not until the day is at least over. If it's a big wish, she leaves him in the dark, truly believing in the superstition that informing someone of a wish will see it never come true.
But she thinks he deserves to know, even if it leaves him feeling particularly uplifted. ]
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If you want to tell me.
[He says it like it's something risky to engage in and not meaningless superstition.]
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[ It's very much along the lines of what he's expected. Wanda's not that unpredictable. She likes what she likes, and she often sticks to the familiar. All she wanted for her birthday was to spend it with Pietro, even though that's almost every other day.
She digs her fingers into his foot and considers leaving it at that, but that sounds like something pointed when she doesn't wish for it to be. Yes, he's been a terror, but Wanda's still gotten her wish. ]
Like this. [ She looks down at his foot, feeling a little sheepish. ] I like this.
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I always wish for that.
[The words are quieter and soft, with deeper meaning behind them. It makes him uncomfortable, the feelings that threaten to flood his chest at his admission, so he wiggles his toes at her for a distraction.]
Not this part.
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[ Wanda wishes to frown, but she smiles at him instead. It's like a cage of butterflies have been unleashed in her chest and threaten to carry her up and off the couch. Pietro's never as vulnerable with his feelings as she is, but in the instances that he is, she wishes to treasure them.
After considering acknowledging his slip of honesty, she decides to do so in a much quieter manner than outright speaking of it. She twists slightly to face him, no longer wishing to erect a wall between them.
She digs her thumb into his foot. ] This is a good part. You don't like massages?
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Is that what you call it?
[He makes a frustrated noise and presses his foot harder against her thumb.]
You're doing it all wrong. Do you know how much more insufferable I will be if you bruise my foot so much it hurts to walk?
[He shrugs exaggeratedly, holding his palms up.]
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[ See? Her evil masterplan is at work here, although, Wanda's aware of how frustrating and annoying he'll be if he's immobile. That doesn't stop her from digging her thumb into the heel of his foot. He's not pulling away, and even if he did, she's not quite sure she'd let him anymore. (Of course, she'd show mercy on his feet, but he's not leaving this couch until she wishes him to. He owes her that much.)
Cocking her head upward, she arches her brow in challenge. ]
If you know how to do it better, then tell me.
[ She doubts it. She digs her fingers into his heel and foot, wanting to turn him into jelly. ]
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I don't know, just not that.
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[ She says it fondly. While Pietro doesn't know everything all the time, she suspects he knows this. He's simply playing hard to get. Grabbing his other foot with her other hand, she digs her thumb into his arch to try and fight a two-front battle for as long as he'll allow it.
She continues to rub at his foot, liking the fact that he's squirming. Perhaps he'll lose this unspoken battle and bolt off the couch… or maybe he'll stick it out, ignoring his growing exasperation. She hopes it's the latter. Today has been a day where they've spent too much time turning their backs on one another. ]
It's your birthday. Tell me what you want if this is not that.
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Lighter, and stop sometimes. It's too much if you don't... space it out.
[His focus is back on the television, this is an awkward conversation to participate in while he can't stop writhing and digging his fingers into the couch, and he needs more distractions.]
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You don't like it? Or is it simply too much?
[ Both are two very important distinctions. From what he's said, she imagines it's the latter.
Instead of rubbing his arch, she walks her fingers along his foot in an attempt to have him roll his eyes in exasperation. It's light, as he's requested, and it's silly, as she wants it to be. ]
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... Too much.
[He's technically not admitting that some of her 'massaging' is above baseline tolerable.]
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She keeps her touch light as she glances at the foot that's escaped her for now. She'll grant it, especially considering Pietro's answered her question honestly. She doesn't want him to associate placing his feet on her lap with something unenjoyable. ]
You should tell me more when it's too much, Pietro. [ It's only a gentle scolding, one that she hopes he takes to heart. She looks down at his foot and sweeps her fingers along the top of it, giving his arch a break. ] I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.
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[It's a rhetorical and dismissive question he doesn't want an answer to. Pietro keeps his eyes on the television, but he's not watching it. Once she moves on to a difference spot for a change, the tension in muscles lessens and random twitches subside for the time being. After a moment, he elaborates on things, looking for the right words to explain without potentially making Wanda feel like she's done something that really bothered him as much as he's let on. It isn't torture, but it could be, so easily, and maybe she should know that.]
I do not tell you because... it is always too much, very quickly. After only a minute or two with some things, like you've been going at it for an hour without letting up. That is what it feels like for me.
[He picks at a frayed thread at the seam of the couch cushion, more incessantly than idly, because it frustrates him to admit to things like this. It's some form of weakness he doesn't need her to become overly concerned about.]
I don't want you to think I'm annoyed with you all the time. It's not you, it's me.
[The last part is lifted from Friends or Cheers most likely, he can't remember which, but it's fitting.]
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So should I mix it up? Touch your toes for a little bit and then move to your ankle and come back to your toes again? Or should I leave the toes alone for good after?
[ Using his foot as an example is probably easiest, given it's what she had been touching to tease him with. Wanda doesn't physically act on it to demonstrate her question, though, not wishing to irritate him with her touch if he still needs a few moments to relax.
She wants to ask him about it more, but she doesn't want to press. Despite him being as quick as a bullet, this is something he's approached tentatively, and it's something she thinks she needs to explore at the pace he sets. ]
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Wanda, it's not really that big of a deal.
[Pietro waves one hand as if he hadn't just told her that it is sometimes.]
Yes. Mix it up. Not the same place for too long, not the same... pattern, repetitive touch.
[His stomach twists with the awkward embarrassment of continuing to address this topic, and it's somehow more uncomfortable to talk about than it would have been to let her continue the way she was going and never mention his problems with it.]
If you want to go slow with something, you could... it would be good if you stopped for a little? It can just be seconds, not long for you.
[He runs his hand through his hair in irritation, mostly with himself, because he needs to make a caveat or they'll have another discussion later.]
But I like it sometimes, when you don't. Stop. You know, when...
[During certain activities.]
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You will tell me when to stop? During…
[ Wanda wiggles her eyebrows and smiles. It's completely immature, but she wishes to hear him laugh away some of the tension he feels. ]
So, like this, hm?
[ Wanda removes her hands from his foot and sweeps her fingers along the arch of his foot a few times before gliding them to the top. She slides her hand to his ankle before gliding up to his calf and returning to his ankle again. Perhaps what she has to do is not focus solely on one area. It's what she does best, focusing on thoughts, and trying to dig into them until she finds what she needs. But for Pietro, perhaps she has to expand it to much more. ]
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You know I can stop you.
[Physically, easily. Presumably. He never does, and he's not actually answering Wanda's question, moving right along to focusing on her touch. It lingers, as always, but not to a degree where Pietro feels like his skin is too itchy and constricting and he wants to escape it. Slow traces of her fingers just long enough to drag sparks of electric sensation through nerves, sensations that fade before they're overwhelming. He may shift a little, but there's far less squirming, and his voice holds no hint of whining or discomfort.]
Like that.
[He moves his other foot again, to press against her thigh, meant as a comforting gesture of trust and proof that Wanda isn't upsetting him and he's just lying about it.]
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You have such long legs.
[ Unsurprising, really, given how long legs are advantageous for moving so fast and for being so tall. Despite them looking lean and twig-like to her, she likes that she can feel his strong muscles. ]
Is this what I should have done in the park? Touch you all over?
[ Rather than in just one spot. While she's not entirely sure how she would've done that, she's bold enough to ask now. ]
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Oh, you like them now, do you?
[He shrugs at her question, raising an eyebrow and biting his lip in thought, making a show of it. The park hadn't been too much for him, as far as they'd gotten.]
I don't know. You may have to experiment with that the next time I spill jam.
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I can still see jam.
[ After a moment, she ducks her gaze to his pants. It hardly matters if the imaginary jam is there or not. It's there for the sole purpose of this, although it's up to him if he wants to venture there again. With him open and sharing, she wishes to learn more. Who knows if the next time she touches him if he'd be as willing to give her guidance on where to touch him and when to stop to prevent him from feeling overstimulated? ]
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[There's laughter in his voice that he tries not to make too obvious. Wanda is extremely transparent, he wasn't even wearing these pants earlier. Pietro looks down at his thigh as if searching for that imaginary jam, though. He fingers a spot along the top of his inner thigh, as obvious as he can get.]
Oh, there it is.
[His playing along sounds more light-hearted to him, and he's starting to think he may have been more irritated by the things Wanda does than he'd thought, or irritated with himself for never bringing it up and continuing to get exasperated over what he could have so easily fixed.]
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[ Transferring it from pants to pants—not that Wanda's particularly realised. She's detail-oriented, but sometimes even things like putting on a new pair of pants slip through the cracks of her attention. She doubts it really matters. There's imaginary jam on his pants and he's playing along with her ruse. ]
Move. I can't reach from here.
[ She lets go of his foot despite not wishing to part from him and clicks her fingers impatiently. ]
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Alright. Get on with it. Jam stains, you know.
[Nevermind the fact if the mystery jam did exist, they'd only be rubbing it in and making it worse.]
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Placing her hand against his knee, she slides it down his thigh and curves her hand against the crease of his hip. Although he wishes for her to get on with it, she wants to take her time. Learn how to touch him in ways that don't only bring her satisfaction.
She glides her hand to palm his crotch and gives him a gentle squeeze. ]
Hm. These pants feel very nice.
[ She chuckles as she slowly rubs him. ]
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This is.. nice too.
[He reaches for a strand of her hair to play with.]
But after a minute, it will feel... itchy.
[Euphemistically, but he has no better word for overloaded sensation receptors firing too often in his brain.]
And I want a harder touch to fix it, to make it different.
[He waves his hand vaguely.]
Do you know what I mean?
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I think so.
[ Does she wait until he tells her the sensation has grown too 'itchy' or does she firm up her touch? Wanda watches him for a moment before she does that, turning her gentle rubbing into something a little more harder and purposeful. She glances down at her hand before looking back up at him.
Rather than just rub, she gropes him with intention now. ]
Different enough?
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Mm. Yes.
[He reaches out to run his hand along her arm, because he can't just sit here, even if it's an experiment.]
Now, you will tell me when I do something that is too much for you, yes? At any time.
[He tries to be pointed with his last comment, it applies to any situation.]
If you keep forgiving me so easily for things you don't like, I will keep doing them.
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I have a list of things.
[ She tells him matter-of-factly, tilting her chin upward as she smiles softly at him in a clear sign of teasing. ]
Many things. I don't know if I have time to list them before we sleep.
[ Wanda slows her hand movement, but ensures it remains firm. She properly rubs him, feeling the outline of his cock through his pants. She imagines this will feel good for now until she has to lighten her touch for him. ]
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Forget it if it's an entire list, no time for that.
[Pietro's clearly focused on other things by this point, pressing his hardening cock up against her hand more forcefully the moment she slows down.]
I think you've got the hang of this, but maybe... I could stand a little more teasing. I you wanted.
[It's some kind of concession, permission to do things as she likes sometimes with the assurance that he'll stop her if necessary.]
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[ At first, she considers not stopping what she's doing. She likes that he's pushing up against her. He may speak, but she tries to listen to his body now, to see if there are movements or hesitancies that she can pick up on before he even thinks to speak of what he wants.
But she slows her hand, lightening her touch, and hopes it prompts him to buck up into her hand for more friction and warmth. ]
It was nice touching you in the park. [ Wanda ignores her flush. The park had been risky, but… it had been nice. Different. Perhaps in line with what they've discussed now. ]
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Liked that, did you?
[He runs his fingers along her arm again, lightly dragging his nails, trying to make her shiver. Though now that she's brought his attention back to what happened earlier, he has an important question.]
Wanda... no one was watching, not even a glance until...
[Jelka. But he doesn't want to say her name and get them off on another tangent.]
Did you do that, make everyone look away?
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A funny coincidence? Doubtful. Everyone likes to look at Pietro. The girls do. Every and any chance they get, they look. ]
We wouldn't have been able to do that if people were looking.
[ Her heart picks up in its rhythm. He doesn't sound angry. He simply sounds curious. ]
I didn't do it on purpose. If it was me.
[ But who else could it have been? Wanda deliberately stays out of everyone's minds no matter how taxing it can be. But she's the only one with the ability to plant thoughts and discourage actions so subtly one would think it was their own. Hadn't that been what Strucker had liked most about her powers? That's all he wished to replicate. An army of soldiers who could control the enemy. ]
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I think it was you. A mass suggestion like they talked about.
[The ideas he thought a little too fanciful, that someone like Wanda could control an entire enemy army like a hivemind. But it could be possible.]
Maybe something simple, you just thought it, "don't look" or "no one can see us".
[She hadn't meant to, anxious thoughts on what she wanted to happen maybe being projected as a command without her active participation in it. He shifts away from those thoughts, he doesn't want to make it sound like he's concerned about it at all, how something like that could be done accidentally, so he goes for dismissive like they'd been talking about nothing important.]
You probably saved us some embarrassment there, yeah? Go harder again, you're slacking off.
[He bucks up into her hand for emphasis.]
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She pushes her hand down harder, digging the heel of her palm into his crotch. She curls her fingers around the shape of his cock and massages him harder than before. ]
I did think it.
[ After weighing up the possibility of leaving it be, she doesn't. She doesn't want to. What if Pietro is worried she'll do it again? If he is, he'd say as much. Pietro's hardly shy in voicing his opinions. ]
"Don't look. No one can see. No one is interested." I knew they were going to look if I didn't.
[ And Wanda's selfish and greedy for time with Pietro, even when they have spent most of their time together before and will spend time together in the after. ]
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[He hisses that out as her fingers dig in, there's too much fabric in the way now, and even the harder touches are starting to frustrate him as his arousal grows, more prominent heat pulsing down through his abdomen. He's still listening, but it filters in peripherally and his active attention is elsewhere as he squirms slightly, both wanting more and less.]
If you could do that with more precision, that would be great.
[He means that in reference to her powers used in a strategic fighting way, but considering what they're doing right now, it could apply to other things just as easily.]
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Tabling her powers for when he's not distracted by his arousal, Wanda gives him a firm squeeze. ]
Take off your pants, Pietro.
[ She removes her hand from his crotch. ]
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Enough with the interruptions, let's go.
[He's very tempted to touch himself, one hand hovering over the leaking tip of his cock, but he won't. It's just another hint for her to hurry up or she'll miss out.]
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Batting his hand away, she makes as though she's going to grab his cock, but Wanda lets her hand brush lightly against his belly before she takes her hand away. She breaks her cross-legged position and drops onto the floor. Smacking his leg to encourage him to widen them, she sits between them and rises on her knees.
Similarly to how he often teases her, Wanda ignores his cock for now and kisses his knee before moving up the length of his inner thigh. She rests her hands against his thighs, squeezing him tightly to try and give him a harder touch to go along with the soft press of her mouth. ]
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Shit.
[It's a quiet exhale of an exclamation, and he's finding it very difficult to keep his hands off his cock if she won't touch it. He digs his fingers into the arm of the couch, but his other hand still creeps along his hip, waiting for the right moment to stroke his fingers over his shaft, when she won't notice.]
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[ Wanda doesn't lift her head from where she perches against his inner thigh. She could easily turn and touch his cock, but given that he's inevitably going to touch himself, she decides to bide her time. Besides, in its own way, this is payback for his earlier moments of being utterly exasperating.
She continues to squeeze his knee as she nips at his skin, smiling now that she has the upper hand. Finally. Still, she doesn't pull away from his thigh, letting her lips brush against his skin. ]
If you do, I will go sit on the other side of the couch and keep my hands and mouth to myself.
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Can I touch you?
[It's spoken churlishly, irritated at himself for even asking, for putting that decision in her hands without protest, but her ultimatum is not to be considered and he doesn't want to do something else she'll disapprove of and stop for. Not at this stage.]
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Despite knowing her answer, Wanda makes a show of humming loudly in a bid to pretend she's contemplating it. ]
Yes.
[ She considers her terms but decides to give him free rein. Sometimes it's fun to give Pietro no boundaries. Most of the time, it's utterly exasperating. ]
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[That answer surprises him, but he doesn't hesitate to run his fingers over her arm, slow and soft for as long as he can manage it. Pietro may have some issues with continual touch, but it's when he can't control it, touching her doesn't bring the same build up of sensations that slip into overstimulation. She might not even notice when he pauses, or shifts the force of his fingers slightly, strokes along one barely different path over the same patch of skin. It's different.]
This helps too, you know.
[He may as well volunteer information while he's thinking about it, because tomorrow they'll never touch on it again.]
Something to focus on when it starts to get too much. It's why I like to play with your hair.
[He has other reasons for that too, but occupying his fingers by twisting the soft tendrils around them tempers a lot of the edging sometimes.]
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[ Although, that's as obvious as water being wet. Wanda can be angry at him and the moment he plays with her hair, she's pleased. She could be incapable of sleep, and the moment he threads his fingers through her hair, she's dreaming. ]
Even when you knot it, which is all the time. [ She chuckles against his thigh before grazing her teeth against his skin. All this talk is distracting her, but it's only encouraging her edging even more. But it does help her in the one task she's set herself: bruise him where only he can see it as a reminder that he's hers. She sucks on his skin, determined to leave a blemish. ]
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[Pietro sucks in a breath and his fingers stall momentarily in their stroking, the hint of teeth and her hot mouth against his skin makes his thigh muscle twitch. Wanda might be slower and more meticulous with marking than he tends to be, but he appreciates both of those things for the moment, feeling that patch of skin heat up and tingle.]
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[ And he encourages her to be bold and go after what she wants, which is stirring him. She stays at his thigh for a few moments before she deems her work complete. His bruise will hopefully show, and if not… she thinks it's only fair that she gets to try it again. ]
Don't pull too hard.
[ Wanda doesn't look up at him when she grasps his cock in her hand. Rubbing her thumb gently against it, she strokes him a few times before she moves her head away from his thigh. Perhaps he'll wish she stuck to kissing and sucking his thigh instead; when she takes his cock into her mouth, it's only shallow. She licks at the head and grips his thigh with her other hand. ]
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[He scoffs, taking her warning as permission to tangle his fingers in her hair, which he does, only tugging gently, despite wanting to yank on it the second she grabs his cock. He tightens his grip on the soft strands, freezing in his movements while she starts licking at just the tip of his cock. A frustrated noise spills out of his throat, a gruff kind of half-whine, and he can't help from pushing his hips forward just a little.]
Fuck, do you have to be so slow?
[His complaint is tinged with just as much lust as irritation, and he starts winding her hair around his fingers again.]
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Wanda smiles and doesn't pull away despite being tempted to. That'd definitely frustrate him, but she wishes for his frustration to build in a specific way. She wants him to keep checking himself every time he wants to tug on her hair, and she wants to know that moment when he stops being so tightly wound up and in control. Instead, she simply taps her fingers against his thigh to convey her response.
She continues to drag her tongue along the head of his cock before she slides a little more into her mouth. She intends to make this achingly slow until he genuinely tells her to stop moving at such a sloth-like pace. Wanda wants him to feel everything; rushing only results in him not enjoying the way her tongue curls around the side of him. ]
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You are infuriating.
[It's spoken affectionately, despite the scratchy whisper of a tone.]
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Wanda purposefully moves slowly. She takes more of him into her mouth, but hardly as much or as deep as he wants. She slides her tongue against him and hollows her cheeks slightly to suck. But everything she does is slow and soft, much like how she likes to treat him. She considers going harder, but Pietro squirming and cursing above her is much more appetising.
Ignoring the curl of heat in her low belly, Wanda digs her hand against his thigh as she ensures not to squeeze him too tight in her other hand. She moves her head along his cock, back and forth in what she hopes is agonisingly slow. ]
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Wanda, just...
[He won't beg yet, they've just started from her point of view, though he starts to move more insistently, inching his hips forward and trying to be subtle about it.]
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At the shift of his hips, she decides to take that as his verbal request to change it up slightly. While she wants to continue torturing him—it's always so much fun having Pietro come apart beneath or on top of her—she doesn't take him any further into her mouth but sucks harder. Sometimes she can be too light, and Wanda wishes for him to feel her all around him, from the hot warmth of her mouth to the way she glides her tongue along him as she moves her head. ]
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[It's enough of a change to bring more arousal than frustration, and Pietro makes note than she had been listening to him and trying to mix it up. He tightens his grip on her hair, but still doesn't pull, and as she sucks deeper, a wave of heat from his abdomen rushes straight down to his cock. Every rough glide of Wanda's tongue over his heated flesh makes his stomach muscles twitch and he squirms a little. He sighs in annoyance to offset that sign of enjoyment.]
Can't you go a little faster?
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But because he's asked for it, Wanda does it, wondering when Pietro will soon regret ever telling her that he grows frustrated at her slowness every time she takes it on board and changes her speed. She almost pulls him entirely from her mouth before she sucks on him again, moving her head a little faster to try and give him some of the friction that he's after. She doesn't soften her mouth, intending to make him feel tense and hot all over by the warm heat of her.
Moving her hand from his thigh, she blindly slides it up his hip and to his belly, curling her fingers into his skin to try and feel the movement of his muscles. She glides her nails against him, wanting him to stop thinking and demanding and simply relax into her giving him more than just one sensation. ]
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She digs her nails into his belly as she takes more of him into her mouth. As delightful as it is to tease him inch by inch, when Wanda pulls away from his cock, the next time she takes him into her mouth, it's all the way. She hollows out her cheeks and sucks hard, wanting to feel him buck breath her and lose what little semblance of control he has. Pietro has been so good in abiding by her terms, but she had proposed them so he'd break them.
She moans and shifts on her knees, and curls her fingers into his stomach hard enough to leave white lines. ]
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Fuck.
[That comes out almost in a gasp as he's proven wrong, and he clutches the arm of the chair so hard his knuckles turn white. Wanda's mouth is hot and wet, the pressure of suction intense. It doesn't take long for all of his nerves to crackle and his hips jerk involuntarily, but he tries to pull back from thrusting hard into her mouth. When she moans, reverberating around him, he yanks on her hair, releasing a half-strangled noise that might have been an attempt at her name.]
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Wanda moans again when he yanks on her hair, although this time the sound is long and low. She breathes heavily through her nose and ignores the ache between her legs and the heat clamming at her nape. She takes him a little deeper before she pulls back, expecting that he'll start jerking his hips again. She wants to remain as in control as possible. Doing so means going slow, but she doesn't want to irritate him when she wants to pleasure him instead. Finding that middle ground's going to be a lesson in itself, but she tries to heed Pietro's wishes by sucking hard on the head of his cock and curling her fingers into his belly as though that's enough of a signal that she doesn't mind him yanking or pushing his hips into her. ]
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Shit, Wanda. You're... fuck.
[Anything positive or praising he may have wanted to say gets lost in translation from his brain to his mouth, and she only gets inarticulate vulgarity for her efforts.]
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Smiling, she sucks harder, moving along his shaft as she takes him deeper into her mouth. She controls her breathing as best as she can, especially when she lets the head of his cock hit the back of her throat. She curls her fingers tightly against his belly, scraping hard now as though she's capable of leaving any permanent marks on him.
She hums for good measure—and The Brady Bunch theme, at that. ]
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And to guarantee that he'll continue to evade the grasp of his control, she's quick to glide her hand down his belly and snake it beneath him to gently stroke one of his balls. ]
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Remaining between his legs, she lifts up on her knees and rests her hands against his. She smiles at him and ignores her flush and her heated skin. She wants him to match her, although she suspects he's already feeling very hot from almost destroying their couch. ]
I think that was a very good birthday gift. Not as good at the suncatcher, though.
[ Nothing would compare to the suncatcher, not even if he got her a castle in the prettiest part of the world. Not even if he gave her the sun itself.
But this surely does beat the silly cupcake and candle she got him earlier. ]
Look at this. [ She tsks as she frowns at the arm of the couch. There's nothing there but small indents from his fingers. Inspired by him being his most exasperating self, she clucks her tongue before she scolds him. ] You need to be more careful.
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You like that suncatcher more than me, don't you?
[It's rhetorical, but now that he can manage words again, Pietro has to take every opportunity to comment. And he has another for the finger marks she points out, running his hand over them to try and smooth the fabric back.]
What? There is barely anything there. And that was careful. I could have set it on fire, you know.
[He only thinks about that right now, but friction from extreme vibration is dangerous, maybe he really could have. He's going to claim that either way, regardless of actual possibility.]
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Looking at the armrest, she rolls her eyes. ] And that is a good thing? You cannot go around setting everything on fire because you cannot control yourself, Pietro!
[ She shakes her head as though he's absolutely silly for not thinking about that. Granted, they have other furniture—the bed, the kitchen table and chairs, even the counters. But it's more fun when she's hyperbolic. Pietro often gets a twitch whenever she is.
Wanda digs her nails into his knees as she makes a point of struggling to get up so she can push all of her weight into him. She mutters, ] Maybe you should have gotten a spanking instead.
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I have not set anything on fire!
[Yet. Wanda has. Pietro remembers that lamp she'd accidentally shorted out two days after they left the HYDRA base, hit it with a stray blast of that weird red energy, and one part of the shade had caught fire for all of half a second, quickly fizzling out into a black mark and nothing more. But it still counts, and it's more than he's ever done. He hisses as she digs her nails into his knees and leans all her weight on him, scoffing at her comment.]
For what? I've done nothing here.
[Except for a myriad of obnoxious things throughout the day that he's conveniently 'forgotten'.]
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You insulted my television show. You took up the entire couch! [ Granted, she did have her spot in the corner, but he had been pressing his feet all over her and invading her space! ] You ruin my favourite arm of the couch. [ A lie. She likes the arm she had been sitting against more than the one he had almost set on fire. ]
And I am tired and you make me stand.
[ Clucking her tongue, she shakes her head as she curls her fingers into his knees as though that's enough of a punishment. ]
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I've done such horrible things to you, Wanda. Can you ever forgive me for taking up the entire couch?
[Pietro can't keep it up for long though, and he snorts, batting gently at one of her hands.]
Enough. Get off. You can stand by yourself, you're just being lazy.
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[ To both those things. No forgiveness and no, she's not moving.
She leans as much of her weight against his legs before she climbs onto his lap and slumps as heavily as possible with her arms looped around his neck as though she's capable of keeping him anchored in place. And she is, she knows this. If she so much as wants him to stay in this one spot, she knows he would even if it causes him such grief. ]
My knees hurt. You don't even care after I took such good care of you, Pietro. So ungrateful in your old age. Tsk.
[ She nips his ear sharply for good measure. ]
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You were the one who wanted to-
[He pauses to suppress a pleased noise as she bites his ear.]
You are responsible for your own knees.
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[ Of course, she is. She's the one who decided to move when she could've ordered him to do so. And he would've obliged. Pietro is nothing if not a sucker for intimacy.
But a manipulative part of Wanda had wanted the image of her on her knees sucking his dick to be seared into his memory. ]
I thought you were responsible for taking care of me. Do you not want to do that anymore in your old age?
[ Wanda's well aware that she's setting herself up for an insult and him disowning her. It's how it always goes: she sets him up and he swings, and he either takes it too far or not far at all. Considering today, she hopes it's the latter.
Remaining slumped against him, she absently plays with his hair at his nape. ]
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[He says that with a bit of a snap to it, fidgeting because the heat of her body is getting uncomfortable. Yet Pietro means none of it, and he sighs in exasperation afterward.]
But until then... you know I'm going to take care of you, and I should have thought about your poor knees on that hard floor. Happy? Now. How do I make it up to you, on your birthday?
[He slides one hand further down her back to cup her ass firmly. Clearly, his ideas of 'making it up' to her are primarily self-serving.]
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You don't sound very sincere, Pietro. [ She presses her lips together as she peers down at him without any amusement. With a huff, ] My knees hurt and you are feeling me up instead.
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[He tries to sound genuinely confused, and continues to grope.]
Are you sure?
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[ She shifts against him and glares at him. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she tries to hurt him, but it's impossible to hurt someone made of steel. ]
That is not my knee!
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[Pietro admonishes her and rolls his eyes, but he removes his hand from her ass without even one more squeeze. If Wanda wants attention to her knees, that's what she'll get. He shifts their positions quickly, gently half-shoving and half-lifting her off his lap to a sitting position on the couch, then takes up the rest of it, like she claimed he'd done before, lying on his stomach and propping himself up on one elbow. With his free hand, he reaches out to run his fingers down her thigh, and stops at her knee, where he rubs softly.]
Now you have nothing more to complain about.
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Wanda sprawls against the corner of the couch with one foot curved precariously on the edge while she digs the other into the cushions. There's nothing at all ladylike about how she's positioned on the couch, but she doubts he particularly cares. She doesn't. If she was to move about, she's sure he'd grow even more exasperated and stop touching her. She peers down at him and eyes him suspiciously. There's nothing innocent about what he's doing. ]
It hurts.
[ She tilts her chin up as she declares it, peering down her nose at him. ]
A lot. I may never walk again if you don't take care of it.
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[There's more than a hint of exasperated whining in it, and he moves his hand off her knee to kiss it instead. It's ridiculous, but he mostly just wants her to be quiet for two minutes.]
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It hurts less now. Except here. [ She leans forward to brush her fingertips against the side of her knee. ] Ouch.
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Here?
[He kisses the indicated spot, slowly, sucking at her skin until he's bruised it and made it worse. Maybe it actually hurts now when he pulls back to poke at his mark.]
Is that better?
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[ Yes, it is. Wanda stares down at him as she considers what she wishes to say next. How long will he let her do this before he sighs in exasperation and leaves her on the couch? Perhaps she shouldn't push it… but she wouldn't be her if she didn't. ]
Here too. It's very uncomfortable. [ She taps her fingers behind her knee. ]
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I am tired. [ Her voice isn't as demanding as she'd like, especially with how her gaze softens and she stares at him. ] Will you take me to bed?
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[Pietro has no protest for that. They're always on the couch lately, and it's annoying. She never turns off the television, there's not enough room, and the cushions are worn and scratchy. He doesn't tell Wanda to get up, because he knows take me to bed means he's expected to carry her there, whether or not she has the excuse of her poor knees. And he does so, quickly scooping her up in his arms despite the awkward angle to get a good hold, and dropping her off in the middle of the bed a moment later.]
There. Do your knees still hurt, or are we moving on?
[He stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed like he's issuing an ultimatum, but he's still going to do whatever she says.]
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Well, her knees still hurt, but Wanda knows that's only going to frustrate him the more she whips it. Resting on her elbows, she peers up at him before her gaze drifts to the suncatcher still in its place by the window. She wishes for the sun to glow against it every single time she looks at it.
Wanda frowns. ]
All of me hurts now after you threw me!
[ See? She can change things up in her old age. ]
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[He waves one hand dismissively, discounting her accusations.]
It was a gentle toss.
[Climbing up on the bed, he lies on his side, propped up on one elbow, and looks down at her.]
You were squirming anyway, and you can't hold that against me.
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[ See? It's still his fault! She looks pointedly up at him before she rolls onto her side to face him. Resting her elbow against the bed, she leans her cheek against her open palm and makes a show of rolling her eyes at him.
She nudges his calf gently with her foot. ]
Did you enjoy your birthday, Pietro?
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I always do. I get my wish every year.
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[ She jabs at his arm hard with two fingers. It's a losing game she's playing; he's stronger and faster and rises to each poke, but Wanda can't help herself. She wants to get a rise out of him now after snapping at his bait over and over today. ]
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How quickly you forget in your old age. What did I tell you I wished for?
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[ She shoves him gently and ensures to poke at his shoulder roughly so he can't see the heat flooding her face. ]
Or changed your mind. [ Wanda doesn't look at him yet, although she does poke him once more in the arm, lightly this time. ] You can still change your wish but you can't once your birthday is over.
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Hm... No. No, I made the wish that I wanted. I'm keeping it.
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Telling him as much is asking for him to roll his eyes in exasperation, so she keeps that secret tucked closely to her chest. He probably already knows. Not because of it being a "twin thing", but because Pietro understands her better than most people. Not even her friends understand why she loves to escape so much.
Wanda extends her arms above her head and fakes a big, loud yawn, using it as an excuse to kick him. ]
It has been tiring looking after you and your senility, Pietro. Maybe a part of your wish will be to make it up to me.
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I'll make it up to you tomorrow.
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[ Because that's all she wants at the end of this day.
Snaking her foot between his legs, she hooks it around his calf. Just in case he thinks to slither away, he won't be able to. She draws her fingers down the slope of his nose and bops the tip. ]
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[It's only a light protest and he does exactly that anyway, making sure to trap her arms so she can't keep poking him.]
Stop. You said you were tired. Go to sleep.
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I'm wide awake now because of you!
[ But Wanda makes a show of closing her eyes as she tries to very slowly fidget to poke him. It's hard to. His arms are like very tight vines. ]
Squeezing me like this. You are such a bad cuddle.
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All of this complaining, and you wonder why I am old before my time. The grey hair comes from you, and I have found six more today.
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[ With her arms now free, she glides her hands through his hair roughly before she starts to tug at the tips. When she isolates an allegedly grey strand, she clucks her tongue in pity. ]
It's a good thing you look decent grey.
[ Not good. Not handsome. Wanda needs to leave herself some wriggle room here to insult him. ]
Wrinkles are coming in, too. [ With her other hand, she brushes the pads of her fingers firmly between his brows. ]
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[He scoffs, mildly offended, and he would claim he's several tiers above decent if he didn't think it would only provoke more comments out of her. He takes her hand in his and moves it away from his face even as he furrows his brows deeper to make the lines more prominent.]
Those are also your fault.
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I'll claim the very ugly wrinkles, although you looking half-decent while going grey is your fault.
[ He's dropped in good looks in a span of a minute. Wanda pushes up off the bed with her elbow to roll into him so she can see all these grey hairs and wrinkles close up. ]
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[ Although Wanda wriggles on top of him, she threads her hands forcefully beneath his back to cuddle him to her. Resting her head against his shoulder, she sighs loudly and stops moving. Sometimes she wonders if her staying still is as annoying as her fidgeting.
After everything she's learned today, she thinks it's only fair she tests this out, too. ]
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Then find something softer to lie on. Like the floor.
[He shoves at her a little, as if he might be contemplating shoving off the bed entirely.]
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[ Despite saying that, she doesn't roll off him to encourage him to do that. They've spent so much of today apart and together to be ripped apart again. She's lying here on her bony pillow. She tugs her hands out from underneath him and rests them against his chest. Lying impossibly still, Wanda, if she was actually a fast sleeper, could be believed to be asleep. ]
I will get you a padded shoulder shirt next birthday so this is more comfortable for me.
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Are you done?
[Pietro winds a section of her hair around one finger, idly playing with it, but ready to tug if Wanda continues to be obnoxious.]
I may have to change my wish after all if you won't be quiet.
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You can't anymore. The deadline has passed. Seems you are too slow, Pietro. So sad.
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[He looks at her with resignation.]
I was so close.
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So sad for poor, sad Pietro.
[ Even if he had the chance to be rid of her, he wouldn't. She knows that even on her worst of days. She knew that today, deep down.
Wanda bows her head and kisses his shoulder, uncaring that her lips meet fabric. ]
Maybe next year you will be lucky, and then you'll spend all your birthdays wishing for that cool, little sister that you wish you were more like and had kissed more.
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So nothing changes. Getting rid of you would be a wasted wish. Your point is made.
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[ And she knows he would even if he insists he wouldn't. She'd regret wishing him away even on his most annoying and ridiculously aggravating days. Who else would tangle her hair up and ignore the knots he's made to go and tangle more of her hair? No one. Not even her next stupid crush. ]
Don't knot my hair!
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[He says it with finality like she'll never get the knot out, but he's already threading his fingers into it to fix it, too gently for the way he sounds annoyed by her complaint.]
I thought you were tired? Let an old man sleep.
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[ She sighs loudly, even though she can tell from how he touches her that he's untangling the knot he's created. Wanda closes her eyes and smiles, liking that this is a ramification of her usual wish.
Although she's tempted to blindly run her hand across his face and into his hair, she keeps both hands tucked against her chest and his. ]
You need a haircut. You look very ugly today.
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Well, I'm tired now, of listening to you.
[He pulls on the hair he'd just freed from its knot.]
I might go sleep on the couch.
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[ She ensures to lie heavily on top of him as though he's not stronger and quicker and able to shove her off. She relaxes against him, boneless and hopefully heavy enough to discourage him from slipping away and onto the couch. ]
I'll stop now. No more talking. I promise.
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Good.
[He needs to have the last word, it's his birthday.]
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After a few moments, she begins to hum The Addams Family theme song. While she promised to not talk, she didn't promise to be completely quiet. ]
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But as he snores, she pretends that she's barely awake and shoves her hand in his face, blindly searching for his mouth. There's his nose, then his forehead, and oh, there's the mouth. She pushes her hand firmly over his lips so she can hum again in quiet. ]
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[ It's quiet, but it's audible enough for him to hear. She presses her hand flat against his mouth in retaliation as she keeps her cheek tucked against his chest. It's stupid, she knows; she'll lose this fight as she often loses most fights. He has the upper hand due to his position, and while she can win by poking him in the eye… that's hardly what she wishes to do.
But she does poke him on the tip of his nose. It's deserved. ]
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No more humming. Or poking. Or you will be sleeping on the couch.
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I will not sleep on the couch.
[ She's sleeping here, right here. Wanda does her best to wipe her smile from her face so she can peer up at him sternly. ]
Where I go, you go. If I go on the couch, you go on the couch. It was my other birthday wish.
[ And you can't break wishes, Pietro! ]
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[Pietro doesn't trust her to, so he steals her method of ensuring it and just covers her mouth with his hand. He's done here, shifting off of her just enough not to keep her entirely pinned, but held securely.]
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Except, after what feels like five long minutes to her, she licks his hand. ]
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I'm not tired anymore. I think I will go out, see some people I did not catch at the park today.
[It's a different tactic, and ill-advised, but Wanda has annoyed him enough for it.]
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[ She clenches her jaw and wraps her legs around his middle, locking him in the best she can. With her arm free, she loops it around his back to pull him down. Wanda doesn't care how the position makes her feel; it's utterly ridiculous to cling to him in such a way, but it's his fault. ]
You have spent enough time with everyone else today, Pietro. It's my turn.
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[He doesn't mind all her clinging though, despite sounding exasperated, and makes no move to pull away or disentangle himself. His tone is far less admonishing than it could be, soft and resigned, and before she can say anything else to irritate him, he leans in to kiss her, lingering and a little rough.]
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And he is right now. Wanda opens her mouth beneath his and glides her hand up his nape into his hair, closing her fingers around the fluffy strands to tug and scrape her nails against his scalp. She sighs happily, keeping her legs wrapped around him despite the awkward tension it puts on her lower back. She doesn't want him to think he can kiss her and run off. ]
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[ Wanda tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes, absently brushing her nails against where his neck melds into his back. She sucks in her chest as though that's enough to run away from him, but Pietro has always been faster and quick on the draw than her.
She murmurs, ] That's ticklish.
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[It's muttered against her skin, and he doesn't let up on her neck, nor her ribs. She deserves this.]
This is payback.
[It might not get to her as much, constant stimulation and too-light touches, but he's going to try to draw out enough whining that he feels satisfied with revenge for not letting go of his foot on the couch.]
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[ She knows what.
Wanda shifts beneath him and clears her throat gently. While she wants to arch away from him, she shifts into his hand. She'll regret that later, but while his fingers are featherlight and ticklish, she much enjoys the way he's touching her. ]
I have been nothing but be nice to you, Pietro.
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[She knows. As she presses closer against his hand, he pulls it back to maintain only a ghosting touch, settling the other firmly on her abdomen to keep her in place. He slows his fingers even more, and returns to the same places that get more shivers or twitches he can feel.]
Nice? Please, you are a horrible sister. The worst, so mean to me.
[It's the kind of thing she's more apt to complain about, and it sounds less sincere or whiny coming from him, but this is his attempt to mimic her, as poor as it is.]
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[ She gasps, although it's not from her feigning offence at his ridiculous claim. Wanda wriggles beneath him as she tries to glare up at him—and finds that she can't, not with how he touches her lightly. This isn't the way Pietro often touches her; he's firmer, more impatient, but now he's being a pest. And she likes it. ]
I have been nothing but the best. How would you know what a horrible sister is like? You have always had the nicest, kindest and most generous sister.
[ She makes a point of wriggling and pushing against his hand as though that proves her point. ]
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[He furrows his eyebrows and frowns at her wriggling.]
Can't wait even two minutes to get what you want.
[Pietro chooses one spot at her side, a soft place between two ribs, and drags one finger along that slight dip, over and over without shifting his pace or the pressure.]
I'm going as slow as I can, but imagine it is worse than this. And I will do this for twenty minutes.
[He won't, because he can't stay focused that long, but he's making a point.]
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But she won't ruin this for him. Instead, she wriggles some more. ]
You are being too slow, Pietro! I want it before our next birthday.
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Stop whining or it might be two birthdays.
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I am not whining. I'm giving you constructive feedback!
[ She glares up at him and shifts beneath him, making it a point to wriggle so his hand slips against her skin. She much likes where he's placed his hand. ]
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Okay, we're done with this.
[Pietro abandons all attempts at demonstrating the slow torture, moving his hand down from her ribs to settle firmly at her hip. He knows Wanda liked what he was doing with his thumb, so he stops that, pulling her shirt up to expose more skin, leaning down to kiss and nip above her navel while trailing his fingers far more hurriedly up her stomach and to the curve of her breast instead.]
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Pietro!
[ She laughs and wriggles before she stills. Threading her hands through his hair, she arches slightly off the bed before she stops moving entirely. While she doesn't think he's going to abandon her for the couch or floor, Pietro's as temperamental as she is, and if he's feeling spiteful, he'll leave her to take to the very edge of the bed and ignore her. And that goes against her wish for the day. ]
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Come on, take your clothes off, we don't have all night.
[He's been half undressed since the couch, and she needs to catch up.]
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Wanda does her best to sit up as much as she can with him on top of her. Removing her shirt is a game of trying not to elbow him squarely in the face, but she tugs it up and off and undoes her bra.
With her fingers tucked into her shorts, she looks at him pointedly. ]
How am I meant to take them off if you are there, Pietro? You set me up for failure with your demands.
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[Yet he moves obediently, shifting to sitting beside her - radiating impatience all the same, and still getting in the way a little with roaming fingers over her hip as she tugs her shorts down.]
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[ To successfully fail. There's a big difference!
She tugs her shorts down and kicks them off, along with her panties, too. Wanda lies naked beneath him as she sighs in exasperation. Wanda hardly feels irritated at all, but it's fun meeting his exasperation with her own. ]
Come here.
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[It annoys him to no end when she implies he's slow and lagging behind, but despite that protest, he settles himself between her thighs, hands running up her sides.]
What do you want?
[He makes it sound like her 'come here' was an inconvenient obligation.]
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[ She peers up at him with a defiant tilt of her chin. Him, as always. It's an answer that will frustrate him for sure, but Wanda doesn't care because it's the truth. ]
Here.
[ She taps her fingers against her right shoulder. ]
It hurts, too. Maybe you will kiss it better?
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She laughs lightly and sucks in a shaky breath, shifting beneath him as she tilts her head to the side and sucks her stomach in. His touch is ticklish and not at all as demanding as it often is. It's something she likes, the way he's predictably unpredictable and unpredictably unpredictable at times. She never knows what she's going to get when he's acting impatient.
She digs a hand into his hair, gripping hard at the thick and fluffy strands. She wants to keep his head tucked against her neck forever. ]
I won't be able to go outside if you give me a hickey there, Pietro.
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Good. I can have a day to myself while you stay home.
[His fingers slide lower, then move to her inner thigh to pinch and fondle roughly.]
I will get more done. Be productive.
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And what will you do?
[ It comes out breathier than she'd like.
Wanda parts her legs in what she hopes to be an inconspicuous manner. She doesn't need him to either ask her to do so or even point it out. ]
You cannot be trusted to shop alone. You never get the right bread.
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It is bread! It does not matter which kind I get. They are all the same!
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There is different bread, Pietro.
[ She's determined to see this stupid conversation out, especially to distract him from the way she lifts her hips up and digs her hand in his hair in encouragement for him to keep touching her.
Wanda tries to keep her voice steady, but she utterly fails. ]
Wholegrain… Gluten free… You always get the bread about to expire.
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[He bites harder, but that's mostly due to her tightening her grip on his hair. Once he's found where he wants his thumb, running roughly over her clit, he slides two fingers inside her with little warning.]
... It's cheaper when it is to expire. You eat it when I get it.
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Shut up.
[ She gasps it out and wishes that her voice was firmer and stronger, but Wanda bucks her hips up, digging her feet into the bed as she wishes for him to slide in deeper. ]
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Are you turned on by bread? Do I need to buy you a baguette next time?
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[ She's never going to hear the end of this, is she? She's dug her grave; she figures she'll enjoy being trapped inside it, especially with how he's choosing to help her dig right now. ]
A baguette will be nice to— [ How she's even speaking is beyond her capacity to think right now. She shifts her hips upward and closes her eyes, red sparking behind her eyelids. She drags her nails down his back as though that's enough of a punishment for him being a pain in the ass. ] —to smack you with! Violence against Pietro with bread is a very, very— [ Her breath hitches. ] A very big turn-on for me.
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Maybe we skip the bread.
[He brings his free hand to his back, pressing her fingers harder into his skin.]
But you could a be a little more violent.
[His thumb vibrates at her clit, but his thrusting fingers are still and slow.]
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She jerks beneath him and closes her thighs around his hand to keep him trapped there. Her skin's hot and her breathing's grown impossibly shallow. ]
Stop.
[ Although, she doesn't want him to. But it's best if he does so that she can think. ]
I cannot give you what you want if you keep doing that, Pietro. [ Even though she really likes it, she wants to drive him insane instead. For emphasis, she digs her nails as sharply as she can into his back and drags them down his spine. ]
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[His tone verges on mockery, as he's achieving what he'd wanted, one-upping her for her earlier torture on the couch. Pietro does stop the vibration though, leaving his fingers and thumb where they are, but unmoving, trapped between her hot thighs. Yes. Fuck. His response is more of a low moan than a hiss this time and he arcs his back into the bite of her nails.]
Shit, Wanda.
[His fingers twitch inside her involuntarily.]
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[ It's always too much with him. He gives too much and she takes too much, but Wanda will never change the way that they work when she gets to have all of him. Especially when she gets to have him like this.
She drags her nails up his back again before digging them in as she trails them long and slow down the length of his spine. She doesn't stop once she reaches the small of his back, enjoying tracing the shape of his ass as she digs her nails in.
With her breath hitching, Wanda growls, ] What do you want, Pietro? It's your birthday; I'll give it to you.
[ She wants it to sound as though this is a one-off when she'd happily give him anything wants at any time during the year. ]
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Fuck.
[It's all he gets out at first, too distracted by her hands on his ass and that growl in her throat. When he does have something coherent to say, it's not demands or instructions, but what he wants the result of it all to be.]
I want to feel you tomorrow, still, all over me.
[So even if he does go out alone like he said he would, the memory of Wanda's fingers will be imprinted in his skin, and every time he moves they'll remind him who he belongs to. He'd never say as much, not unless it's dragged from him under duress, and he chooses to be somewhat vague enough that he can deny he asked for it later.]
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[ Wanda emphasises her feigned disappointment by dragging her nails heavily along his spine. She keeps her other hand palming his ass as she considers what she wishes to do. She has always liked being soft and gentle with him, liking how he often grows biting and frustrated, but she can do this, too. The idea of leaving a mark on him sparks heat to rise to her skin and spark deep in her belly.
She palms his ass roughly before she removes her hand. It's an awkward position with her being under him, but Wanda makes it work. With her feet planted on the bed and her legs spread to cradle him, she brings her hand down to smack his ass. ]
Did you like that?
[ While her voice might be firm, she doesn't mean for it to be. If he wants her to be rough, she'll be rough within the limits that he wants, even if it's just trailing her nails sharply all over him. ]
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Yes.
[It's embarrassing to admit and he can't meet her eyes. He'd had her under his control just moments ago, and it's turned around so quickly. But he'd asked for it. Wanda is the only person who can scatter his thoughts so easily and have him wondering how he got somewhere.]
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[ She smiles softly at him and brushes her thumb against his bottom lip. She doesn't need super hearing or telepathy to know that Pietro's embarrassed. He's her favourite book to page through and study, and she likes to think she knows him well enough to recognise his moods in the deep darkness and with absolutely no sound. ]
I like that you like it. I want to do it again, but only if you want me to.
[ He's always going to be safe with her. ]
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I want you to. Didn't you say I deserved a spanking earlier?
[So it's clearly her fault he's into this at all, from her simple suggestions.]
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[ She smiles and chuckles at that, poking her tongue out between her teeth for a moment. That she did, and he thinks he deserves one for being so horribly behaved, especially on a day like today. ]
I think you deserve many, but… one will do tonight.
[ Biting her bottom lip, she peers up at him as she considers quickly what she wishes to do next. Considering he's clearly embarrassed by wanting this, Wanda decides that suggesting she spank him over her lap waits for another day. She wants him to be comfortable, and this position works.
She trails her nail along his spine to his lower back and along the swell of his ass, drawing shapes as she watches him with a small smile. It's no fun if he expects it. ]
You've been so naughty today, Pietro. Do you think you will learn anything if I spank you?
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Probably not.
[He's just going to be honest.]
I'm difficult to teach.
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[ The fidgeting tells her all she needs to know. He does want this, not that she particularly doubted that, and that he's anticipating it. Wanda wouldn't be Wanda if she didn't make him wait for it. Teasing it out is more fun than simply giving it to him when he expects it.
And so she brings her hand down to smack him and lets it linger as she rubs her fingers against his skin, not wanting to let any sting linger uncomfortably for too long. ]
But I think that I will try. I hope you don't mind.
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I don't mind. I just don't think you're capable of making me learn a lesson.
[Even now, he still has to provoke when he can, his tone one of preemptive disapproval of Wanda's abilities in that area.]
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Tsk, Pietro.
[ She crinkles her brows as though she's upset, although it's impossibly hard to sell it what with her curving the corners of her lips upward. ]
If you don't learn, it's because you're a horrible student. I'll teach you even if it takes many, many lessons.
[ As long as he wants it, of course. Wanda rubs his skin, not wanting to make him feel too uncomfortable, before she brings her hand down again. ]
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[He sucks in a breath instead of finishing his thought, as the fourth time she spanks him is when he starts feeling it constantly, a hot prickling and lingering throbbing that makes him twitch under her fingers, unsure if he wants to pull away or press harder against them. He settles for wriggling.]
Might take a while to get through.
[Pietro slides his hand down between them to firmly grasp and stroke his cock, embarrassment over this fading. No one's going to know about this but Wanda, and she won't judge him.]
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For now, she lets Pietro get away with it, knowing how important having some semblance of control is for him. She hums, letting her gaze drop to where he pumps himself, and looks up at him again. ]
You're lucky that I am a very patient and stubborn person when it comes to you.
[ She doesn't spank him again, instead taking the time to massage his ass before she even considers it again. And when she does, she smacks the other cheek. ]
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[Pietro knows she shouldn't mention anyone else, even if there are no specific names, but he does and he can't take it back. He finds a rhythm with his strokes that works with the kneading of her fingers. He's too focused there that he can't stop a high pitched mewl from coming out of his mouth when she does hit him again. It's sharp, that strike, like the initial one had been, against flesh that hasn't been sensitised to it. After he swallows that noise he'll never acknowledge, he runs thumb over the leaking tip of his cock.]
I see you have learned about variety and switching things up.
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[ She sighs dramatically and shakes her head as though that's such a pity. She gropes his ass, enjoying the fact that he's letting her. As frustrated as he might grow at the pace she often falls back into, she knows it's never at her. It's just a consequence of being the most impatient and exasperating man alive. ]
So very poor. You're lucky that you have me, Pietro.
[ Wanda smacks him again and gropes his cheek hard, liking that she doesn't have to be overly soft with him. She wants to hear that sound again. ]
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[Except how to make new noises, apparently, as he has to cut off another one, biting his lip. He grips his cock hard almost involuntarily, a twitch in response to her smacking, a pause before he continues stroking himself and squirming against her fingers.]
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But for now, Wanda focuses on the moment. Glancing down between their bodies, she pokes her tongue out between her lips as she considers.
Ignoring the heat flushing her face, she lifts her gaze to his. ]
If you come on me, I'll have to punish you later.
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You never let me have any fun.
[He's sure to make that sound whiny and annoying.]
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You're the reason why you don't have fun, Pietro.
[ And that earns him another smack as she shakes her head. He's so insufferable Complains and complains and when she wants him to do something, he complains some more.
Rather than wedge her hand between them, Wanda does what she never lets herself do unless she needs to pull him away from a dangerous situation fast: she flexes her fingers and wraps his hand with a tendril of red, and pulls his hand back to his cock. He can fight it if he wants; Wanda will never try to control him like she does everyone else. ]
You don't want to?
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[It's cut off by a strangled noise as Wanda spanks him again, and Pietro squirms a little afterwards, uncomfortable and irritated by the stinging heat all starting to blend together. But his cock twitches. He stills momentarily, because that's new, her magical guidance, tendrils of red moving his hand. An immediate pulse of heat runs through his abdomen and there's no resistance. He eagerly wraps his fingers around his cock again.]
I want to.
[It's just going to be harder not to come before she wants him to, but she knows that and Pietro suspects it's partially why she insists he does have 'fun'.]
You are always making things difficult for me, you know.
[His tone is affectionate though, and not at all whining now.]
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How?
[ Despite lying down, she tilts her head to the side as though she's standing before him. He's left the door wide open for her to be exasperating, and she intends to take advantage of that. ]
I am here, naked. I'm being very nice to you. I'm helping you learn a lesson. [ Smiling up at him, she shakes her head. ] I want the best for you, Pietro.
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[That comes out more petulant that Pietro wants it to, and ends too breathy as he runs his thumbnail over the tip of his cock again. He makes a frustrated noise and rolls his eyes as Wanda lists off everything she's doing for him that he shouldn't be complaining about, negating his implications that she's making anything difficult at all. But he's going to keep complaining despite it, pushing because he can.]
You do all of those things because you know I like them, and then you want me to wait. While you're naked. Right there in front of me.
[He can't be as dramatic about it half-lying on top of her, but he makes a point of pumping his cock for emphasis.]
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[ Despite what he might think, she likes to draw things out so that she has more time with him. Over the years, she's learned she's had to compete with others. Wanda has never liked losing.
But she doesn't smack him again, watching as he touches himself. She likes seeing the flurry of expressions flutter over his face. He can be so expressive when he slows down and lets someone take notice.
She drags the tip of her nail along his spine. ]
Don't you like how I've been touching you?
[ And with her other hand, she gropes his ass roughly, smiling at how she can move him just a little. ]
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I do.
[A whine lingers in it, despite his best efforts.]
I like everything you do to me.
[Which is embarrassing to admit when he's not being sarcastic about it or having some other layer of protection against unfiltered truth. His face feels too hot, and it's much exposure to have said that, so he shrugs then, dismissive of everything he'd just stated.]
But I also enjoy complaining about it, and you will just have to deal with me.
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She cocks her head to the side. ]
Will I?
[ Making a show of thinking it over, she hums and shakes her head. ]
It's not good to complain all the time. What if I take your complaints to heart?
[ Wanda trails her nail over his lower back before drawing loops along the swell of his ass. She snores to push down firmly. ]
You might not get what you want.
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You think I am not enjoying myself if I complain too much...
[He nods, and shrugs slightly. Wanda has a point, and he will begrudgingly acknowledge it.]
Is that your lesson, that it's my own fault if I don't get what I want?
[He might learn something after all... and retain it for all of five minutes.]
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[ Now he's getting it. The more he complains, the less he's likely to get what he wants because she's choosing to deny him or he's pushed the wrong button. But Wanda doesn't want him to think of the latter. It's no fun—and she's having a lot of fun. ]
I don't think it's a lesson you'll learn in one day. It's very complex.
[ And the implication is that Pietro Maximoff will struggle to understand its complexities in just one sitting. It's best that they have multiple lessons so that he can understand every layer of it.
Glancing between them, Wanda peers up at him. ]
Do you want me to do it again?
[ Smacking him. She draws her fingers along his ass as though that's enough to convey what she means. She can stop if he's had enough; she doesn't wish to push him too far. ]
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[His words come between heavy breaths as he strokes himself more firmly, still keeping it slow, and digging his nails in lightly. He can't get too close to the edge yet, not when he needs to hold off until she says so. Heat pools in his stomach while he thinks about it, how he's willing to do that for her almost every time she wants, how much he likes it, and how much he complains that he doesn't sometimes. It is complex, the back and forth on things, and Pietro loses all of his ability to speak about things directly when they're intimate. He gives mixed signals in his frustration or shifts interest abruptly that might come off as aversion to something. She's getting him to think right now and he's irritated with himself for not doing it sooner. He nods slightly, trying not to press up against her fingers.]
Yes. Keep going.
[Instead of complaining that she's taking too much time, or making him wait, or being a tease, he just asks for what he wants.]
Harder.
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She presses her finger firmly into the swell of his ass, cheekily drawing a W before she even thinks to take it away. And the moment she does, she brings it down, harder than before. The resounding smack makes her jolt, but it's not out of any fear; it's how she's turned on by him letting her do this to him. ]
Was that hard enough?
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Yes.
[Pietro could make some snarky and vague comment insinuating he wants it even harder, or that Wanda's failing at her task somehow just to be contrary, but he doesn't and she isn't, and so it shouldn't be said. It's some kind of achievement that he heeds those secondary countering thoughts for once and doesn't push impulsively.]
It's hard enough. Fuck, Wanda. Do it again. I want...
[It's rapidly spoken, and then trailed off as he bites back a moan, squeezing his cock too hard.]
Let me come soon.
[He will acknowledge none of his begging and pathetic actions here tomorrow.]
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[ She smiles sweetly at him. It's not a lie; he can come any time he likes, but she wants an implication behind her smile. A promise of more after, especially if he wants it again, of her being a little more firm with him now that she understands what he likes. Right now, she wants him to enjoy himself.
This isn't the first time he's begged—it's always hidden in his mini-tantrums and exasperating comments—but it's the first time Wanda can remember Pietro doing so without pushing her buttons.
And when Wanda smacks him again, she does so harder and on the other cheek. ]
It's your birthday, Pietro. You can do whatever you want.
[ She digs her fingernails into his skin as she rubs the tender skin. But instead of letting him come down from it, she smacks him again on the other cheek, hard enough for her hand to sting. ]
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I think you've learned some of your lesson for today.
[ She smiles up at him, ignoring the mess he's made between them and on her. Dragging the heel of her palm up and down his spine, Wanda shifts beneath him and stays where she is. ]
I liked it. Did you?
[ She wants to get ahead of him in case he's worried she didn't enjoy any of that. ]
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Only some of?
[Pietro sounds half way indignant about that, but the expression in his eyes is soft. He arcs into her hand on his spine, searching her face for the truth in her words. That he hadn't made this awkward somehow. Wanda did like it, as she says.]
Yes. You are very good to me.
[It's a rare compliment from him, usually kept in his own thoughts, but he doesn't want to be sarcastic or dismissive about this when it was something new and unplanned.]
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Instead, Wanda nods. ]
Only some.
[ And sighs heavily, even though she's not annoyed at all. Wanda continues to trail her fingers up and down his spine gently. ]
You're not a very good student, Pietro. You never listen. How do I know you have learned anything if we don't repeat things over and over?
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What? Did you say something?
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Just something about what I wanted you to do to me.
[ She sighs heavily and shakes her head as though it's utterly disappointing he doesn't recall. And it's a shame that he doesn't, truly is. ]
I forgot what it was now. Too bad you did not hear it.
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It is too bad.
[He frowns slightly and mirrors her disappointment, then shrugs.]
For you. But maybe you will remember tomorrow, and I can give you want you want then.
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Hopefully my old age hasn't set in by then.
[ She walks her fingers up to the top of his spine before she digs her nails in and slowly drags them down the ridges, wondering if that'll earn her another hiss. ]
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No matter how old you get, you will never be as old as me. So it can't 'set in'.
[Pietro knows that he makes no sense, but it's late.]
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[ She likes that sound; she wants to hear it again. Copying what she did before, she walks her fingers firmly and speedily up his spine and along his nape. Tucking them into his hair, she drags her nails quickly down his back. ]
I am wise, and with wisdom comes age. Considering I am wiser than you, well…
[ She shrugs. Her logic is great. ]
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When you put it that way... you're an old hag, I agree.
[It's somehow insulting both himself and her by recognising her wisdom.]
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[ Doesn't that make him the oldest of hags? She'd suggest as much, but the movement of his hand distracts her. She frowns and, without thinking, wraps a vine of red magic around his wrist and tugs it back. While it's his birthday, Wanda refuses to let Pietro get away with everything. ]
You were behaving so well for an old man. Tsk.
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It is your fault I can't behave, teasing me like this.
[He presses his back against her nails for emphasis, and as a bid to distract her from where his free hand is creeping, though he knows she feels it sliding against her skin on the way to his hardening cock.]
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[ She sighs in exasperation and shakes her head. He's incorrigible, he really is… and he's knowingly or unknowingly handing her a great deal of power. She won't let him forget who he blames for his lack of control.
Just as she's about to drag her nails across his back again, he misbehaves. ]
Nuh-uh.
[ Without even looking at his hand, she curls her fingers against his back and red appears around his wrist, forcing his arm out from between their bodies and planting it with a jerk on the bed. The red doesn't disappear this time. ]
How many times must I tell you to listen, hm?
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Just a few more times. I think I might pick it up then.
[Nothing in his tone implies he thinks he actually will. He makes sure to keep eye contact, a challenge reflected in his, as he starts to move his hips and grind slowly against her thigh.]
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Gasping roughly, she shifts her thigh but doesn't move it away. Lifting her leg up slightly in silent encouragement for him to grind against her, she shakes her head and pretends that she's not enabling him at all.
She peers up at him sternly, frowning as though he's truly getting on her last nerve. ]
I will tie you to the bed if you keep trying to touch yourself, Pietro.
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I'm not touching myself.
[Technically, it's true. He's getting around that blatantly and continues to do so, grinding more intently. Clearly, Wanda approves of this, lifting her leg for him to get a better angle. It's not a transgression.]
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But Wanda wants to take this away from Pietro to see how he reacts. Without warning, she extends her leg out to melt her thigh into the bed and away from him as much as possible. ]
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Wanda...
[It comes out too whiny of a complaint, and he writhes a little, but she's taken his good angles and it's just frustrating when he was trying to build up to something. And what's more irritating is that the frustration itself somehow brings twinges of arousal through his abdomen, and he knows it's because she's taking control and directing things without giving in to him. She wins if he touches himself, but he's going to, he knows it. It's inevitable. Despite Pietro's best efforts to keep his hands where they are, his determination only lasts 37 seconds — he's quick with it this time, so he can get a few rough strokes in before Wanda does something about it.]
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She doesn't snatch his hand away despite wanting to. Instead, she does as she's done before, looping a thick red string of magic around his wrists and pulling his hands away from between their bodies and off his cock. Rather than plant them on either side of her head, she wills magic to push him onto his back so she can straddle him and pin his hands above his head with her magic. ]
I warned you, Pietro.
[ Ensuring to settle right on top of his cock, she plants her hands on his chest and digs her nails into his skin. ]
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Then you do something about it.
[If he can't touch himself, she has to. It's only fair. Though his tone isn't demanding, falling more into sulking as his fingers twitch and he fidgets, twisting his wrists as if he might slide one easily out of her oddly solid tendrils of magic.]
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[ Wanda shakes her head as she smiles down at him. Of course, he'll be able to get out of her magical binds if he truly wants to, but she doubts that's what he desires. She's never really done this before; she's never used her powers against him in this manner. She's never thought about it.
Pressing her palms flat against his chest, she pushes down against him before she starts to roll her hips against his cock. Inhaling sharply, she closes her eyes as she rocks against him. It's so blatantly unlike herself, but Wanda's always felt empowered and inspired when left to her own devices with Pietro. ]
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[It escapes in a half sucked-in breath as Wanda starts to rock against him. Too slow, but part of him thinks that's worth it to get to watch her like this. Pietro can take in every shift in her expression, every tiny shiver in her body that might escape anyone else's eyes. There are few things he likes more than seeing her taking pleasure she wants for herself without being shy about it or holding back.]
You're so hot like this.
[He means it, but he makes it sound like that fact is annoying him, and he tries to move his hips to control hers, to shift them to a faster rhythm.]
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[ Curling her nails into his chest, Wanda stares down at him as she considers pushing her hips down into his. And she does so, damning to hell her own uncertainties. If Pietro's going to be a pest, then she can be one, too. And it'll help her ignore how her skin's hot all over from his words. ]
You had your chance to lead this and you hovered and misbehaved instead.
[ Wanda punctuates that with a purposeful slow and hard roll of her hips. She ignores her shiver and soft gasp at how good it feels to rub her clit against his cock. ]
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You made it so easy to.
[It sounds accusatory, and he's absolutely blaming his lack of self-control on her.]
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[ She pretends to be offended, lifting her brows and peering down at him incredulously. But what she hopes he never discovers is how heat pools in her belly at his confession. Pietro's offered her so many truths this evening that she feels she needs more hands to cup them all. She'll keep them safe, tucked away in her journals and other important possessions that she hopes the bombs will never take from her.
As punishment, she pushes her hips down firmly against him, inhaling shakily and closing her eyes as she purposefully grinds against him. She'd go faster, but that would simply reward undeserving behaviour. ]
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[He gets that confirmation of her culpability out while he can, before her slow and heavy grinding has his speech devolving into nothing but whines, frustrated noises, and occasional low moans. Pietro tries to keep still despite the building tension and heightened awareness that comes with constant stimulation that never goes far enough, and he manages for the most part, ignoring how hot and uncomfortable his skin feels, the itch to take control back, and the desire to run his hands all over her body as she moves so slowly against him.]
Wanda, please...
[He doesn't finish, and didn't even want to say that much, but it forced itself out of his mouth with a whine in his throat.]
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[ Before, she'd have simply given in and given him what he wanted. But Wanda's having entirely too much fun rocking against him and teasing him. He's given her too much power this evening. He's let her grip the reins so fiercely they're almost embedded into her palms. ]
If you want something, you know to ask, Pietro.
[ And she emphasises that with the slow, firm rolling of her hips against his cock. ]
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Just fuck me, Wanda!
[It's too loud, and not asking, and Pietro needs to amend it.]
Would you... please... let me... I want to be inside you.
[That's still not asking really, but he's deeming it good enough.]
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She nods. Her voice comes out quietly. ]
Because you've been good.
[ And because he's asked, and because she wants it, too.
She pushes against her knees, lifting up so that she can easily grasp his cock in her hand. She doesn't break eye contact with him despite wanting to hide away from being so bold. When she guides him to her and sinks down onto him, she closes her eyes and parts her lips and doesn't try to silence her own moan.
Then she starts to move, a couple of slow rolls of her hips before she pushes her hands against his belly and starts to move up and down his cock. ]
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Fuck shit yes.
[They come out as half-groaned pseudo words too fast and strung together, but coherency is hard. As is letting her do everything, and he moves his hips up to meet her, keeping it as slow as he can to stay at the pace she sets and not overstep the control he's allowed her to take.]
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She rocks her hips hard, keeping each undulation slow but firm. She knows he wants it faster, but Wanda likes the way he moves inside of her at this pace and intensity.
Although she wishes for her voice to be firm, it comes out breathy and soft. ]
Do I let you go? Or do I have my way with you instead? So many hard decisions, Pietro.
[ And he'd happily pull her magic back from his wrists if he so much as wanted it. She's surprised her magic has lingered even though her concentration has shifted elsewhere. ]
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Have your way with me.
[It's a ridiculous phrase that belongs elsewhere, to some fantasy romance novel maiden, but Pietro will make it work in their tiny and far from romantic bedroom with flaking plaster on the ceiling, crooked floorboards, and a bed frame that creaks.]
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Wanda smiles down at him before she presses her palm flat and firm against his chest. She'd much rather ride him slowly, see how long he lasts before he grows irritated and impatient and tries to take over, but that's how she often behaves with him when she gets to dictate their intimacy. She likes savouring it while he likes rushing through it, desperate to heed all of his instincts and insatiable appetite.
She's slow at first before she shifts her knees and gets comfortable straddling him. Pushing against his chest, she starts to move faster. She'll never be as fast as him, but she can be rougher than she usually is. Curling her fingers into his skin, she doesn't try and swallow down her noises. She pants sharply. Her skin warms and grows red. The sound of skin slapping against skin prompts heat to flood throughout her. With each undulation, she groans at the way he stretches her. She almost pulls off his cock completely before she pushes down, making him go as deep as he can inside of her.
Wanda glances away before she wills herself to peer down at him. If he can bare himself to her this evening, she can do the same. She's always liked to hide away, even from him in these moments, but instead, Wanda lifts her head up as she peers down at him. Red flashes beneath her eyes. ]
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Oh shit...
[That comes out quietly in a harsh breath, and it's full of admiration and lust as Pietro watches her. That glow is new, Wanda's noises are louder and unrestrained, and she's showing herself to him completely. He doesn't hold his own moans back either, not where he would usually bite his lip and try to stifle high pitched whines and squeaks that embarrass him. His efforts to keep with her rhythm begin to fail as she grinds herself down and lets him in so deep, and his movements become more insistent, only to slow again when she looks down at him with red in her eyes. It pierces him, and he stops trying to speed things up, but he does complain, words tumbling out before he really thinks about it, a haze of arousal clouding his brain.]
You could have your way a little faster. You are like a turtle.
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My knees hurt and you call me a turtle.
[ It comes out too breathily for her, but Wanda doesn't care. Her skin feels hot, her face is flushed, and her hair's sticking to her back and shoulders. She shakes her head, the ends of her hair brushing against his chest. She digs her fingers into his shoulders tightly, wanting to bruise him. When she tilts her head, she starts to move up and down his cock again, harder this time and as quick as she can muster, which must still feel slow to him. She doesn't look up at him, instead watching the way he disappears inside of her. ]
You've come twice now, Pietro. I am a generous turtle you should maybe be nicer to.
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[He rolls his eyes, because he never believed they hurt, and really, that was ages ago and she's bringing it up again. He hisses as her fingers dig into his shoulders, and his breathing hitches and stutters once she starts to move faster and harder. It's good enough, he thinks, to draw out an orgasm soon. All he dares do to help it along is shift the angle of his hips slightly. There won't be any more attempts at taking control or demanding things, because he wants to come a third time.]
I'm sorry... You are a very generous turtle.
[He can't say it with any amount of sincerity, but he manages not to laugh.]
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[ Wanda would laugh herself, but with him changing the angle of his hips, she can't help but gasp it out and make it sound utterly pathetic. She slows the rocking of her hips for moment before she continues to fuck herself on him. She inhales roughly, digging her nails into his shoulders as she uses him to help her move along his cock. He's enjoyed the roughness earlier; she doubts he'll mind that she's trying to embed bruises into his skin that won't heal over in a matter of hours. ]
You've been nothing but mean.
[ But even that comes out slow and like she's not committed to even saying the words. She's not. Wanda closes her eyes and pants, moaning loudly without a care if she's loud enough for her voice to seep through the walls. ]
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I'm not... mean...
[It's a flimsy statement more than a protest though, and a complete lie. He knows he is, and can't stop himself from saying any insulting things that come to him most of the time. But Wanda understands that, and she tolerates far more from him than she should have to. Her moaning sends a sudden spark of heat directly through his cock, and that's the point he can't hold off anymore, pushed over the edge finally as she clenches tight around him, every muscle tensing as he comes.]
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Curling her fingers into his chest, she smiles down at him before she bows forward and brushes some of his hair away from his damp temple and kisses the corner of his mouth. His skin's a nice light shade of her scarlet power. She doesn't know how she does it, but she calls back those red ropes from his hands so that he can move freely—except for where she remains perched against his hips.
She kisses the other corner of his mouth to establish balance. And because she can. She has a feeling he'll let her.
Softly, she teases, ] Very, very mean. But it is a good thing that I'm a good teacher and will spank this out of you.
[ And she ignores how that prompts heat to curl in her belly. Now she gets to do something for Pietro that he likes. ]
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You will have to be persistent. I forget things.
[He tugs on her hair then to pull her down just a little more, so he can kiss her roughly and insistently, taking back some of the control he'd relinquished.]
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Moaning low in her throat at the tug of her hair, she smiles against his lips before she decides to break the kiss by sucking on his bottom lip. He might be trying to regain control, but Wanda's had a good taste of it and she doesn't feel like handing it over so easily. ]
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You don't want me to go a fourth time, do you? Stop teasing.
[It's her turn, and then maybe they can sleep.]
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[ She does. Will he be so satiated and boneless that he doesn't move for the majority of tomorrow? It's something she's curious about. He's let her have him before, over and over, but there's always been a limit to it. ]
Stop moving. You are meant to enjoy the after.
[ She pushes her hips down firmly against his, ignoring that she gasps, and presses her hands hard on his shoulders. ]
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[He doesn't stop moving, not after all the time he'd just spent trying not to, urging things along before he gets too aroused again. Ignoring her firm grip on his shoulders, he moves his hand from her hair to her hip, digging his fingers in at the bone, intent on marking her too.]
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Pietro.
[ It comes out more as a reprimand than she'd like. This is the problem with him; when he touches her, she becomes all out of sorts. Gentleness becomes roughness and impatience becomes patient. He really is to blame for many things.
She peers down at him before she roughly tugs in a breath. ]
I think if you're to grip, you're to grip harder.
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Harder? You want it harder?
[It's not the time to mock her choice, but he does, simply because it's unexpected. Pietro doesn't hesitate to dig his fingers in far more firmly than he would normally go, at her hip and at her back. He's taking the opportunity he's been given.]
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[ She flushes furiously and tugs in a harsh breath. Considering how he's been so adamant she be rough, well… she wants to see what the fuss is about. And he's always manhandling her when they're out and about. This would be no different. ]
I'm not made of glass and I don't always want to be treated like I am.
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Do you want more?
[One of his hands vibrates, and he raises an eyebrow. He hasn't tried to focus vibration solely with his cock, and might not be able to do it with any semblance of precision like his fingers or his tongue, but the suggestion is there.]
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Yes.
[ Her voice is quiet and shy. She supposes this is why he doubts she wants him to be rougher, but she does. He's made her feel unafraid now that he's requested it, and perhaps Wanda wishes to be reminded that Pietro simply can't restrain himself when it comes to her. ]
But I don't want to fuck you this way. [ She ignores how her face flushes and she wishes to hide behind her hands. If he can be brave, so can she. ] Not with me on top.
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Tell me if it's too much.
[His words waver and have a buzzy echo to them, and when he starts to thrust, it's sharp and driving, trusting Wanda won't let him go more roughly than she really wants him to, won't let him hurt her. It's trust that's difficult to give, but Pietro has left a lot of trust in her hands tonight already.]
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She shifts against the bed, widening her legs as she tries to push her hips up to his. She watches him, thinking he looks a little different now. He's not as sharp as he often is, which she supposes is the vibrations. Does he feel different? Does he feel anything?
Pressing her feet into the bed, she doesn't try t still the movements of her body as he thrusts. She trails her fingertips along his biceps, liking the fluttery sensation travelling down her arms. She keeps her fingertips pressed against his skin, liking how his vibrations don't stop the moment she touches him.
Swallowing a moan, she peers up at him with wonder. Her lips part as she pants, uncaring if her words come out in twisted moans and all too quietly. ]
Does it hurt to do this?
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No. It doesn't hurt.
[Not like his hand when it shakes on its own, when he can't control it. This is deliberate, and he can't really explain what it does feel like, but he tries.]
It is like... before a shock from static.
[Energy build up without being released, waiting for that ignition. A charge. Something. If he knew anything about kinetics, if HYDRA had ever explained the details of things they researched and wrote of up files about, he might have a better description to go on.]
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It doesn't hurt me, either.
[ In case he worries she asks because it does. It doesn't. It feels good. Better than she realised vibrations could feel. It's a little strange to think that he's the reason why, but… it also syncs in perfectly.
She inhales sharply and holds her breath before she forces herself to relax. The sensations are almost as tingly as her hand had been when smacking him. ]
You're like a vibrator.
[ She blushes and laughs, although her laughter quickly morphs into a moan where she can't quite catch her breath. She jerks her hips upward. ]
Maybe better? [ She purses her lips and makes a show of shrugging. ] I don't know.
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[It's an embarrassing comparison, but he snorts, trying to hold back any laugh of his own. Between this and the spanking, Pietro is ignoring this night ever happened come tomorrow. Wanda dreamt it, and he will stick by that claim even if he still sports obvious bruises.]
It is better.
[And he punctuates that with pushing himself a little further, increasing the speed of vibration and his thrusts, his hands firmly grasping her sides underneath her ribs.]
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No.
[ Wanda doesn't try to string her words together coherently. Arching her back, she wraps her legs around the back of his thighs to try and keep him locked inside of her. ]
Okay. Subpar. You could be a better vibrator.
[ Where Pietro feels embarrassment, Wanda feels, well… pure heat. Her bones feel liquid. She bucks her hips up, wishing to chase that vibration and feel it even more. She releases a growl low in her throat and sounds she's never made before as his thrusts shift her against the bed. ]
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[Mostly because Pietro doesn't want to stop even on principle, intent on orgasm number four as much as he is on pleasing Wanda. He keeps his thrusts more rapid and contained instead of pulling out far, heeding her legs wrapped around his thighs like he knows exactly why she does it. Her growling sends heat through his abdomen, it's rough and unrestrained and different, and all Pietro wants is to draw more of those noises from her.]
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[ Wanda doesn't know what she even wants to say. Please don't stop? Please know that the insults will always be on the tip of her tongue? She isn't quite sure if anything's even there as she gasps and parts her lips, tilting her head back as she claws at his back. With one hand in his hair, she grips the strands hard and digs her heels into his back. Her entire body vibrates alongside his. Because of his. It leaves her feeling hot and wanting to know that this is Pietro inside of her, able to make the tips of her toes and fingers feel like they're on fire.
Her body tenses and she shudders as she comes hard, gripping his back so tightly she can feel the crescent shapes her nails leave behind embed into his skin. ]
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[It comes out in a quiet and breathless low groan as she grabs his hair tightly, digging her fingernails and heels into his back. He's making her come undone and it's a beautiful thing to watch, Wanda falling apart and completely letting go. When she comes, it's so hard and immediate, clenching around his vibrating cock, and the friction is so much more prominent, Pietro can barely hold on himself. But he does, just for a moment longer. Everything feels too hot too soon, and the vibrations increase momentarily before they stop entirely, abruptly, and he follows her orgasm with his own, his fingers clutching her side so hard he's sure they'll leave distinct marks.]
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Why did you stop?
[ She smacks his back weakly. ]
I've never felt anything like that ever.
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It is your fault I lost control of it.
[Absolutely her fault she squeezed so hard, and he shifts to move his cock inside her as a reminder.]
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[ Except, well… that admission makes her feel hot all over. She keeps her legs tied around him, not wanting to let him go. She keeps her hand against his back.
After clearing her throat, she purses her lips. ]
Maybe if you were better…
[ She shrugs, looking away. If he was better, she wouldn't be able to wrap her legs around him. ]
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[He looks disheartened, but continues stroking below her ribs, starting low vibrations in his fingers.]
One day, I will be gone and you will never find a good enough replacement.
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Don't say such shit, Pietro!
[ Wanda's not one for swearing unless the situation calls for it. And this? This calls for it. Speaking such horrible things…
She grips his bicep and wraps one of her feet over his calves. ]
Where you go, I go. I will follow you even into the grave. You will never be without me.
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[He says it gently though, and reaches back to try and pull her foot loose.]
I'm tired, Wanda.
[That comes out more whiny than he wants to.]
Untangle yourself and let an old man sleep.
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[ She doesn't untangle her foot, shoving it into his back as a reminder that she's here and she's present. She'll wrap around him like a barnacle if she wants to—and so she does, even though she can't with her arms. Instead, she ruffles his hair. ]
You vibrate a little and now you need to sleep? Such a tease.
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[His attempt at a stern frown is more of a pout.]
... Do you want to do it again?
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Do you not want to?
[ If she says 'yes', he can tease her. Wanda doesn't wish to give him such an opening again. ]
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Of course I do. I am not yet satisfied. You need to do a better job.
[He runs his hands up to her chest, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, and starts the vibrations again, sudden and intense. With her legs still wrapped tightly around him, he works with little space again, but the speed of vibration should make up for lack of very driving thrusts.]
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No, not this way.
[ She ignores the flush to her chest and neck. Darting her gaze briefly away from his, she peers up at him again. She grasps uselessly for his wrists despite knowing he can easily pull out of her hold. ]
I want it a different way. I want you behind me. [ She pushes his face gently with her hand to try and dissuade him from looking at her. ] Your face is too ugly to look at.
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[Pietro's tone is exasperated, but he stops the vibrations and takes his hands off her breasts, planting them on either side of her instead, and pulling back away from her hands at his face.]
We will do it your way, but you need to let me move.
[He squirms, rather impatiently, waiting for her to uncoil the death-grip of her legs.]
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You want to do it?
[ She does her best not to acknowledge how hot she feels. Considering tonight seems to be the night when Pietro trusts her to explore something different, she thinks it's only fair she places that in his hands.
But that doesn't mean she won't blush as she shoves at his shoulder to get him to move. ]
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[It somehow seems both less and more intimate to do it this way, and tonight is apparently for exploring. Pietro takes a moment just to look down at her, flushed and pushing at his shoulder.]
Give me time, I'm old.
[He does move, but takes it upon himself to quickly position her as he likes, on her knees underneath him. His breath is hot at the back of her neck as he brushes her hair aside, tangling his fingers in it.]
Is this how you want it?
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Yes.
[ It comes out softer than she means for it to. ]
The girls said that this felt nice.
[ She purposefully doesn't mention any specific names, not wanting Pietro to lose sight of what they're doing. Now isn't the time for him to tease her in such a way.
Readjusting her knees on the bed, she clears her throat gently. ]
So, I wanted to see. But I don't want you to disappear. [ She flushes hotly again, liking the fact that his hand is in her hair and he's still warm against her back. ] I like you like this… over me. But don't knot my hair.
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I won't knot your hair.
[He leaves it alone, untangling his fingers to brace himself on the bed with one hand, snaking an arm around Wanda's waist and holding her to him as he positions himself. A different angle, different sensations, and his thrusts start slowly, long and deep. As much as Pietro likes to see her face and read the expression in her eyes, embracing her this way has its own appeal, and for some reason he wants to be gentle about it, exploratory.]
I like holding you like this.
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She closes her eyes and moans lowly as he begins to move inside of her. The angle's so different to what she's used to. It's strange not to be able to read his expression above or below her and to be able to nitpick at him and literally poke him. Instead, things feel heightened. She can focus on the way he holds her and feels up against her.
She doesn't raise her voice. ]
I like it, too.
[ And it's easier to keep her blushing to herself, given he can't see her face. Wanda closes her eyes and parts her lips, panting softly as she experimentally shifts back against him. ]
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[His exclamation is softer than it usually is, and perhaps it's a good thing they're trying this after his fourth orgasm, where he isn't especially impatient and won't start to hurry things along. At least not yet. He tightens his hold on her, fingers splayed across her stomach, and the vibrations start again.]
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Wanda moans and tightens the muscles of her stomach, wanting to feel his hands grip at her. She rocks back against him and makes a noise of pleasure low in her throat. ]
Is it okay for you?
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[He shudders slightly, and tries to suppress embarrassing whining when all of her muscles tighten and she clenches so hard around him. It's worth every bit of extra energy expenditure to facilitate that.]
Yes, it's good...
[His breath hitches and comes heavier.]
This is the last time.
[Despite saying so, like he might not last much longer, he speeds up his thrusts, encouraged by her moaning and the fluttering of her muscles underneath him. He's determined to end this birthday on a very good note.]
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[ It'd sound more like a reprimand if she didn't speak so breathily—and if she cared for it to sound like one. Wanda grips the bedspread tightly, tilting her head back as she closes her eyes. It's strange not being able to see him, but she can imagine him clear as day, the pink flush to his cheeks, the way his hair's a mess on his head. She doubts she's gotten a detail wrong in her recollection of him. ]
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[He punctuates that with a particularly sharp thrust, tightening his hold on her possessively, there's something more raw about doing it this way and Pietro runs with that instinctive feeling. Shifting his weight mostly to his knees, he takes his hand off the bed to grab her hair and pull. It's less gentle than he intended, but he won't knot it.]
Always wanting so much, Wanda. I don't know why I put up with you.
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Because I am cute.
[ A fact she thinks he's well-versed in.
Shoving her hips back more fiercely than she had intended, Wanda keens and pants roughly, unable to catch her breath. ]
Cuter than you, for sure.
[ As strong as she wants her voice to be, it shakes and comes out as a hoarse whisper. ]
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[He can't finish his thought all at once, a low groan escaping at that keening noise she makes. She's slamming back against him hard and it's so difficult to stay focused on anything when it's rough and forceful. He hadn't even had to ask for Wanda to go harder, and for once, Pietro wants to make this last as long as he can, willing himself not to slip over the edge yet.]
Cute like this, when I can't see your ugly face.
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You're obsessed with my ugly face.
[ The words come out slower than she'd like, almost like she's forgotten how to speak.
Balancing her weight on a shaky hand, she reaches between them to brush her fingers against her clit. She jerks against him. ]
Pietro…
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[Not. But Pietro never gets it out, feeling her twitch around him like that takes all of his coherency and ability to speak away from him for a moment. They have to do this more often. He holds tightly to her hair as his hand shakes too much, and he knows he's not going to be able to hold out as long as he wants to.]
Fuck. Wanda.
[This time, he manages not to completely stop the vibrations, but they slow when his muscles tense and he leaves his cock buried deep inside her as he comes.]
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You can't seem to get enough of me and my ugly face, Pietro.
[ Wanda gasps, tensing her belly and shoving her hips back into him. She's waited for him before, not wanting to overstimulate him, but she figures she doesn't owe him such a kind luxury anymore. ]
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[It's a hiss of a noise, with a whiny edge to it. Everything is too much, and Wanda doesn't give him any time to ride things out as much as he wants to. It takes Pietro a moment to get back to it, letting her do all the work until he can make his body follow his commands again, and continue to drive into her.]
Will you hurry up?
[He sounds half exasperated and half desperate.]
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[ And clearly as sensitive, too. Wanda considers dropping her hand and deciding that that's enough, but he's worked her up and she likes the fact that his cock feels different from this angle, and so she pushes back against him. He's already ridden out his orgasm three times now. Taking away the chance for the fourth is a kindness.
Before she can follow it up with something smart, Wanda's body tenses as she shudders. She moans, making a guttural sound that doesn't sound like it belongs to either one of them. She bows her head and presses her forehead hard against the bed as she comes, purposefully tightening around him to punish him for being so impatient and annoying. ]
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We are done.
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You come a million and one times and you are suddenly done?
[ She's done, too. As excited as she is to be with him, her stamina is nothing in comparison to his. His is never-ending and impatient.
With him moving away, Wanda clumsily rolls over and drops onto her back, uncaring that her legs are twisted with him between them. ]
We should do that again.
[ Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after that. Sometime in the future. She ducks her gaze away from his before she makes herself look at him, heat flushing her already red cheeks. ]
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[He argues as if that's a reasonable amount, though he feels the opposite. Looking down at her red face, he brushes his thumb across her cheek and then settles heavily on top of her. Pietro thinks about making a comment on the return of her shyness and the way she had been so bold when she wanted things, but he doesn't. He has no energy for another conversation that goes in circles.]
We will. There are a lot of things we should do again.
[He smirks before kissing her forehead gently, and then rolling off just enough to lie half beside her, but not break the connection of his skin to hers.]
Happy Birthday.
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[ She smiles and wrinkles her nose, brushing her fingers through his unruly, soft hair. She ensures to drag her nails over his scalp, enjoying that he's now quiet and still. It won't last for long. ]
If you misbehave, at least I know how to best punish you.
[ Again, she ignores her furious blush. She'd liked it. She doesn't want him to think she hadn't. ]
We should do that until you learn your lesson.
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There was a lesson to be learned?
[After a contemplative 'hm', he shrugs.]
Well, that was hours ago, wasn't I? Of course I have forgotten. You may have to remind me tomorrow.
[He squirms a little, just to feel the reminders still there, tender spots and bruises, and evidence of Wanda.]
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You are hopeless, Pietro. What will I ever do with you?
[ Aside from keep him for herself. She's happy to be selfish in this instant. ]
If you're too hopeless, I'll have to change our lessons. I don't think you'd want that.
[ Less spanking. Less allowing her to be the one who actually gets to dominate. She likes the flush of power she feels at that, at him trusting her enough to let himself be vulnerable and submit. ]
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There is maybe a shred of hope for me.
[It sounds like a concession, because he very much liked those lessons, and he should be honest about it. He can learn that much at least.]
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[ She holds her hand up, almost pressing her index and thumb together. There's a small space between both fingers as Wanda narrows her eyes to inspect it. But it'll always be big enough to earn him a spanking as long as he wants it. Saying as much is too easy.
She grunts and makes a show of wriggling beneath him. ]
Your arm is heavy. Are you trying to crush me?
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Go. To. Sleep. I am tired.
[The latter comes out as a whine.]
i'm here-ish. (give ya gal a wishlist, as i realize i cannot decide upon a starting point.)
wishlist item #1 out of 999903890284023: we're fixing pre-mom
She calls for him.
Her boys call for her, but she calls for him. She can't do this alone anymore. Tucked away in a secluded part of what's left of Sokovia, Wanda's orchard thrives and her sheep bleat, but the world around her feels so stagnant. There's no movement. There's nothing to cause the hairs on her arms to rise. It's like time doesn't move here, even when she lets the day shift into the night and the night shift into the day.
She sits on the porch of her house—a two-storey, like they always thought they'd move into when the war was over (although, that was her and her dreams of living the life her sitcoms promised)—and waits for something in the air to shift.
This time, she won't get it wrong. She'll be conscious of what she does here. The world she's created is perfect—the temperature's warm but not too warm, and the nights are cool but not too cool. No one disturbs her here. It's quiet without the onslaught of bombs. There's no one here to slip her nightmares into.
She plays absently with her blackened fingers while watching her sheep trot in the distance. The twigs of her apples barely move in the wind. She hopes that after all this time, he'll heed her. He has to; Pietro has always come when she's called, even when her voice hasn't slipped past her lips.
Necromancy is the darkest of magic, but Wanda's been in the dark for the last ten years. She thinks it's about time the light shone on them again. She thinks it's about time that she took back what was hers. If Stark can snap the world back five years later to keep his legacy intact, why can't she resurrect her world?
When there's a shift in the air and the invisible barrier around her orchard is infiltrated by something sharp, she holds her breath and waits for him.
And when he appears, she can't see him through her blurry vision. The tip of her nose is already pink, even though she refuses to shed tears. She doesn't rise; Wanda's forgotten how to use her limbs.
"You missed breakfast," she says, her Slavic accent back into place. It feels right, like she's finally home.
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So you confirm you are becoming Rusty Man a year earlier than intended?
Interesting.
[ If only she were a scientist, she'd do something scientific with this. ]
Did you want to hear another one?
Or are you precious about losing another life?