ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ (mysticism) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-07-20 18:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, marvel: wanda maximoff, ₴ inactive: stephen strange |
WHO: Stephen & Wanda
WHAT: Wanda's a little jealous that Stephen went speed dating, is angrily eating cereal in sweatpants
WHERE: The Sanctum
WHEN: Backdated to Friday night
WARNINGS: An argument, Netflix taunts, FTB
STATUS: Complete
Speed dating. Why though? Alright, so technically Stephen knew why. It was because Dr. Danvers was apparently more invested in his love life than he was and, well, he supposed it wasn’t too bad. The venue was interesting, the drinks changed colors like chameleons or hydrangeas in real time (he’d only had a couple), and the effect of clothes morphing to match the prohibition era was neat too. Even if he’d been glad to leave behind the suit with the two sets of flap pockets (something modern suits didn’t have) and the top button right at the center of the heart (made of stone and sharp bone shards, for him), giving way to wide lapels. No, his clothes changed back to regular street attire - dress pants and a black shirt - and he returned to the Sanctum, after making sure that anyone who was erring on the side of tipsy would have home alright themselves. He didn’t need or want to go home with anyone because, for one, he hadn’t done anything like that since medical school (and those television shows that featured doctors and nurses hooking up in break rooms and supply closets or on spare cots were bullshit - you didn’t even have time to take a piss, let alone fuck someone) and for another, he just wasn’t interested. Power to those who preferred more of a ‘one night only’ vibe, but he’d never been that way. Sure, he’d talk to people though - he had some decent conversations. But when the sparking ring that was his portal taxicab closed behind him, he was more interested in finding Wanda. It didn’t take long - he saw the flickering shadows from the wall-mounted television in what was dubbed the entertainment room and the angry cronch cronch of what was undoubtedly her third or fourth bowl of cereal. Heading over to the sofa, he plopped down beside her, taking in the sight of her sweatpants and adorably rumpled hair. “Hi,” he greeted, mouth twitching to hide the smile. “Is that Count Chocula? Good choice.” Why, yes, Wanda’s night was going splendidly, thank you for asking. (It wasn’t.) It had been one of those, ah - days. Emotions leaked out, having shifted bits and pieces of her furniture into utter madness. Which was fine, she got it under control and handled it, there was no Vallo-wide catastrophe she was responsible for. The past few days she’d made herself scarce, strategically avoiding the other residents of the Sanctum (no small feat either, quite a few of them lived under this roof) and keeping herself busy. Productivity was best. It kept her focused, kept her behaving. But tonight literally had no productivity, even though she had tried to expel that anxious energy into another pie experimentation. Baking required patience, Wanda did not have patience, and she knew she may have also hurt the fridge demon’s feelings by being snappy (she made a note to apologize for her behavior, later). Eventually, she succumbed into an old comfort. The sweats, the sugary cereal, the television. The Office was on. And - look, Wanda’s seen it all before. It didn’t matter. Rewatches meant she didn’t need to pay close attention if she didn’t want to, though the episodes she’d been focusing on for the night had involved all that early Pam and Jim drama - the issues with the ex, the two of them awkwardly dancing around their feelings, the dorky dash of unresolved sexual office tension. They were sweet. Also a bit stupid, but sweet. It wasn’t as distracting as she thought it’d be, though - something just kept gnawing at her, turning her stomach into knots. Not even a third bowl of Count Chocula could cure it. Turns out that when company arrived, it worsened. “It’s dinner,” she replied back curtly, eyes on the show still. Wanda was painfully aware of how infuriatingly handsome he looked tonight even in casual ware, she didn’t need to stare at him. (The coffee table may have also glitched a little bit, changing in design for a split second before reverting back to normal. Nothing to see here.) Dinner? It was almost midnight, so it was more like darker dinner. “Nothing like a home cooked meal,” he snarked because Stephen was who he was, take him or leave him (though hopefully Wanda would want to take him). “Wanda...” His tone softened when he said her name, as he turned his body to face her better. “Your hair looks nice,” he added, taking one of the errant bits and twisting it around his fingers. When he did he felt the weight of the world, of reality, lesson just a little. He wasn't bearing it all upon his shoulders like Atlas, standing on marble - sometimes it was hard for him to focus on something else besides how alienated he was; back in their world, he dealt with these powerful otherworldly entities and he could forget that earthly, little things mattered too. Like companionship and affection. Relationships. Emotions. That sort of thing. May as well cut to the chase. “Nothing changed. I didn’t expect it to. One of my matches was Loki.” That said it all, didn’t it? He never wanted to disappear into a black hole so badly in his life. Wanda was in mid-chew when he reached over to touch her hair, which caused her to pause - she needed a moment to smother down the sudden explosion of flutters she felt, that was all. Her hair was not nice, and so much of it had been falling out of this messy attempt at a ponytail she tossed it all into because it wasn’t as if she was the one going out tonight dressed to impress. “Aw,” she began. “You two would be adorable together.” Clearly she was all sarcasm here - and the thought of Stephen having to deal with Loki did actually make her feel better. Somewhat. Wanda was still in a mood. She’d been simmering in the same mood for a couple days now, ever since she found out what he was attending. Sure, he didn’t sign up for it himself but he went anyway. Those flutters became knots again, twisting and winding. Her appetite for the cereal vanished. For now, she let it rest on her lap. “When you said you’d give me time,” Wanda said evenly, glaring at the television as her eyes never left it. Yes, she was avoiding eye contact to purposefully be a little difficult - so what? “I didn’t think that would involve you going to an event like that.” “I said I’d give you time and I meant it. I didn’t go there tonight to figure out someone to date, and giving you time doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to talk to people,” Stephen replied evenly, though his eyes narrowed just a touch - a speculative squint of those Atlantic blues, maybe a hair's breadth away from judgment stare. The infamous look. If Wanda wanted to be difficult then so would he - and he wasn’t going to apologize for talking to four different people for seven minutes and having two cocktails, or mingling with other friends who were at the event. Though sure, he could do without having to talk to Loki for seven minutes - it had been awkward and weird and he wished he had the time stone to get those seven minutes back (okay, it wasn’t that bad - he was just allowed to grumble about it). “You have a reason for why I shouldn’t have gone? You want to make a claim? Then make one.” Gauntlet thrown, yes - otherwise, they weren’t dating and Wanda didn’t really have much of a say about where he could or couldn’t go. “Speed dating is for dating, it is literally in the name,” Wanda spat back, because there were certain connotations with an event like that - like, again, dating or finding someone to fuck for a night. So why go if that wasn’t the intent? Making friendships over it and having platonic conversations wasn’t impossible but that wasn’t really the point of those activities to begin with. The whole thing made some insecurity flare up - sue her. If she sat down to really, truly scrutinize it she’d know that Stephen wouldn’t flip things on her like that all of a sudden. But maybe someone would see his attendance as an open window to pursue and she didn’t like that. She loathed the idea; made her fingers twitchy in a bad way. Especially when he wasn’t hers. Wanda’s eyes blinked once, and the show paused. She got off the couch because she couldn’t sit still anymore and the cereal needed to go elsewhere. “You can go wherever you want - but does it surprise you that it upsets me when you know I have feelings for you?” Fine. She was a little jealous. And obviously insecure, because this whole thing was new territory for her and she wanted to stake a claim but she needed to let this out first before she accidentally broke the Sanctum with a burst of uncontrolled magic in a t-shirt that had a milk stain and sweats. Stephen got up off of the sofa too, rolling his shoulders, standing up to his full height. He wasn’t sure where Wanda intended to go but they were having this conversation now and there was no running upstairs or portaling someplace else. “Fine, they were seven-minute dates and now they’re over and - honestly, who cares?” he replied heatedly. “You knew that I was signed up for this so maybe you should have said something before instead of stewing about it for a few days.” He didn’t realize it would bother her that much and maybe he shouldn’t have made that assumption but he seriously didn’t think it was a big deal because, again, they were not dating. It would have been a different story if they were - of course he wouldn’t have gone to an event like that. “Do you have feelings for me?” If so, that was news to him. “Because tonight all I could think about was you anyway. I don’t - I don’t want anyone else.” It was stupid. They weren’t supposed to be doing this - they were loud peals of thunder and clashes of lightning; she was destined to destroy the reality he was meant to protect. And yet here he was anyway - heart aching for her, and actually sort of into the jealousy and possessive streak. He had it too - possessiveness that would wear its head, the jaws of a wolf; he’d never felt that way about anyone else before. Wanda’s brows furrowed at his question because - what? How could he not know that? Didn’t they - well, okay, she supposed she didn’t outright say that she did because, probably, her brain was still catching up on the fact that Avelina had wormed her way into their minds and nitpicked some very private information to fluster them with. But she hadn’t rejected him, and they’d gone out together afterwards to do their own thing and - had that not been obvious enough? Maybe not. “When I said I need time,” she grumbled, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a loud clank before straightening up to glare (her anger was honestly subsiding because he said he wanted her but still, stubborn) at him. “It’s not because I was waiting for feelings to magically sprout out for you - it was because I did not want to mess it up with my shit. Of course I have feelings for you, part of me regrets not taking her offer up on that suite that night!” That last part was practically huffed out, and she placed her hands on her hips like she was standing her ground in this very stupid and pointless argument except. Wait. Did she just basically admit to wanting to bang his brains out? No, that was fine - she did confess to having feelings for him and that was part of the territory, there was no need to feel embarrassed by that. The fact that her cheeks were hot and red had nothing to do with this at all. Nothing. (Oh my god, this was so stupid.) Oh. Uh. Well, alright - Stephen supposed that answered his question about whether or not Wanda had feelings for him (both her confirming that by saying ‘I have feelings for you’ and saying that she wanted to fuck him). “I didn’t - I thought you were wanting to just parse everything out, I didn’t...know you actually felt that way,” he stammered. “Or were worried about your own shit, which - you don’t need to worry. About that.” He stepped closer and cradled her face in his hands, which shook minutely because they constantly did and also because his heart was pounding like he’d held his breath for too long, the dizziness making him feel as if he was looking through water. But he wanted to look at her while he went with an outpouring of words and emotion that weren’t influenced by Avelina. “Being who I am, what I’m meant to do - it’s a burden..” The burden part of Sorcerer Supreme, he felt very keenly - he saw worlds across endless realities, monitoring threats from every dimension to their own quiet little corner of the multiverse back home. It was a job, a task, a duty that didn't have an ending and wouldn’t - not until the day he died. And he would still want just a little bit more time, the way the Ancient One did - he would want one last glimpse of the snow falling. “But it’s also a privilege. It brought me to you. It will always bring me to you, and that’s where I want to be.” Whatever vestiges of annoyance that existed within Wanda just - vanished, went up in smoke the moment she felt the warmth of his hands on her cheeks. It was like a fire was suddenly lit, this feeling that burst to life from the ashes and burned itself into her veins. Her heart was hammering to the point where she was convinced that organ had moved and split into each ear, it was so loud. They were close. Stephen was close. His eyes were the sharpest blue, and he kept looking at her like he didn’t care if this reality around them crumbled away if it meant they could stay frozen in this moment, right here. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. There was a chance their paths could cross back home, and they could find themselves on opposite sides because he was bound by duty, and she wouldn’t stop until she tore apart existence to find her children. But this world created a series of moments where none of that mattered, and she found herself wanting to take advantage of it. Wanda didn’t have the words to articulate a response. Instead, her fingers curled into his shirt and she yanked him in that much closer and suddenly, space didn’t exist between them. She kissed him. Bruisingly, fiercely, her lips sweetened with sugar and hair unraveling from that poor excuse of a ponytail. The breath was knocked from Stephen and he didn’t care - it didn’t matter, he didn’t need to breathe. Just needed that passion and enthusiasm and affection, everything he wanted to take and give back - it was like the burn of hot peppers on his tongue, though it all did more than tingle. It nearly shook him apart because whatever remained of his defenses, they crumbled like a castle made of dry sand as he kissed her just as fiercely in return. He hated to admit it, but keeping silent about the fourteen million timelines he went forward into, to find the single timeline where the universe would be able to bounce back from Thanos’s tyranny, was difficult to do. It’d been difficult to physically hold the time stone in ancient Vallo, moments cracking, lives lived in the blink of an eye - the people he met, the places he went, the ones he’d lost. It was all real. And yet, despite everything he’d seen, he’d come to the conclusion that the past and the future were surprisingly easy - it was the present that was difficult. The present where he felt it all. It was the present where everything was the most beautiful too. “Wanda,” he murmured, milk-stained shirt scrunched in one hand while the other attempted to tame that wild hair that fell into her face. He meant to just - teleport them into another room, but didn’t even get that far because he was a merry-go-round spinning too fast, brain about to go offline. All he managed to do was push her up against the wall and kiss her again - to reach for her, to grab her by the neck and jaw and pull her close. It honestly didn’t cross her mind that they were somewhere awfully public in the Sanctum, a place where the other residents could freely come and go and see them like this. And if it did at some point, Wanda didn’t find herself caring. She supposed she could also easily teleport them somewhere with more privacy but, really, there wasn’t a lot of thinking going on. Just a lot of feeling. A lot of touching, with how her hands skimmed up his chest and over his shoulders and the kissing. The way her mouth slotted into his was absolutely ravenous, like she’d been starving herself from something her body and mind and heart had been craving these past few weeks. Wanda didn’t want to stop, air be damned. But maybe she should say something. She had pulled him closer until their bodies were flush, and her eyes fluttered open as she went to cup his cheek. Her breath was a little ragged, lips plump and glossy, and she looked up at him with a challenging gaze. “Do you understand how I feel about you now?” Stephen didn’t answer at first - he just took that moment where he did breathe (and had some ability to rub two brain cells together) to actually be the one to shift them into a more private space, to blink them away so they were out of the room with the television and the are you still watching? taunts from Netflix. They landed in his room and he was already disoriented enough so the trip wasn’t very scrambling - it was mostly those kisses that were scrambling anyway, nothing demure or afraid. Just the tickle of his beard and downright obscenity with how deep he kissed her, plus him nudging Wanda backward; he was basically dragging them both to his bed, with single-minded determination, a desperate mission to continue this and make a claim. Even with his fear about being torn in two and caught between his sworn oaths and love (maybe it wouldn’t happen - maybe that thread wouldn’t be followed, maybe in another timeline she’d realize she couldn’t pursue her own dreams at the cost of everything), there was a want, a need to have her, to possess her. “Yes,” finally came the response, low and dark and sure. “I’m sorry I went.” He didn’t mean to upset her - and, in the past, he knew he hadn’t been the greatest partner so in an effort to not be that way now then, alright, maybe he would apologize. “I’m yours,” he promised. “Yours, Wanda.” “It’s okay,” Wanda strained out, her voice thick with tension and want and - really, she didn’t register how the change of scenery until the back of her legs met the bed. Her eyes hadn’t left his, and all she could think about was how she wanted to close that distance again and put her mouth on his again, and again. Elsewhere, too. The speed dating was the last thing on her mind. She didn’t care. Perhaps it even helped, and the argument could be made that it was a success in the most unconventional of ways. They were here, and she dropped herself onto the mattress without bringing him with her (for now). Her hands went to his pants - the front undone, swiftly and roughly. Wanda never broke eye contact once. “And you are not mine yet,” she smirked up at him provocatively. “But you will be.” Oh, he would be? Stephen believed her. The claim was seared with a hot iron and - why pants. Why was he wearing them? Although to be fair he wasn’t wearing them for much longer, since Wanda practically tore them off his body - he didn’t feel like dealing with the buttons of his shirt either so he simply magicked the pesky thing away, where it would be hanging neatly in his closet after what was sure to be a heated bone-a-thon. You know what, he hadn’t been to a bone-a-thon in literal years - so he was definitely RSVPing to this one. “How?” he asked, dark as molasses and as if he didn’t know. And maybe the logistics didn’t matter - he just cared about making it happen, fingers traveling over the plane of her cheekbones and up into her hair where he just took it out of the ponytail completely; he’d leave claiming, searing prints on the rest of her too but not in a bad way, a controlling way. It was simply that the less than pristine parts of him were definitely green, the shade of a persimmon in July and wild as a serpent - it simmered like magma beneath a volcano. Very impatient, with the way he used his sorcery to undress himself. How convenient. Wanda’s eyes hadn’t dared travel elsewhere - they were still fixated on his own, and she opted to make herself bare the old fashioned way. Grabbing the hem of her shirt, pulling the mess of it over her head and letting now-loose curls fall over her front in some Goddess Godiva-like manner. “I think you’d prefer it if I show you,” she told him, voice low but soft in this sultry sort of way - barely above a whisper and thick with lust. Obviously it had been awhile since she’s had any sort of intimacy and, yes, that includes the intimacy that her own hand could offer (grief and depression did wonders for your libido, didn’t you know). Now she felt like this tight rope that could snap at any given time, felt this spark come alive down below she she wanted to - no, needed to burst. Her sweatpants were on and he could do what he wished with those. Magic them off, tear them off - dealer’s choice. Wanda didn’t care. She had better things to do with her hands. |