In some nebulous time between her fugitive status and the Wakanda takeover, a reluctant hero meets a guy from Oakland, with scars both invisible and visible and a lot of anger to deal with. She closes her eyes and thinks about the Stark Industry bombs that destroyed her home and family, the warzone her country became. The warzone she left when she broke ties with Hydra. She thinks about the dead body of her brother, taken from the ruins.
Her path to redemption is not an easy one. Her heart aches without her missing other half. If anything, she at least indulges in these moments away from the work and the struggling, stealing away to meet Erik. He's a distraction, but there is something more to him, like sharp teeth and a history she wants to uncover but resists the urge to peer into his mind. That isn't how you make friends.
Wrapped in a towel only, Wanda leans against the bathtub as warm water begins to fill it, arms folded loosely over her chest as the smell of smoke wafts in from the other room. She uncrosses her ankles. "It smells interesting."
On a certain level, he isn't sure which of them is in more over their heads here. They're both people on a mission; that fire, that purpose burns vivid red behind her eyes and a figurative ochre behind his, he can see it, feel it even. They both are invisible on the ground, burner phones with late-night texts from an unknown number. They disappear for days at a time only to resurface and collide once again.
A chuckle emanates from the other room. Sometimes he looks into her eyes and feels she could peel back his soul, layer by layer, and he might be inclined to let her. To see what she says of what she finds there. Sometimes he forgets that she was a prisoner of war in her own homeland, a weapon of destruction in another, and that means she doesn't know what weed smells like.
He comes in towards the bathroom, leaning against the door. He's got on dark blue sweatpants and nothing else, bare feet making very little sound on the hardwood floors. "Cannabis. You take the flowers, these...tightly formed buds and grind them up, smoke them." He smiles then, a bit dangerous, a bit softer because it's Wanda. "You wanna try?"
She isn't sure if any of this is what she should be doing, with no home to speak of, no family, just a bunch of men who act like they could be her uncles and Natasha Romanoff. HYDRA was a means to an end, and with that end abandoned, where does that leave Wanda?
Finding trouble. She has never done anything like this, so serious and concerned, pulling on the back of her brother's collar once in a while. Those were their roles. She has to be a singular person without him.
Part of that means that she's discovering 'normal' things that others might have been exposed to had they grown up literally anywhere else but Sokovia. Her eyes unabashedly wander up his form when he approaches and she smiles back, tentative and curious.
He nods and turns back into the bedroom before returning with a small plate containing a pile of green, and a cherry-flavored wrapper from a Black & Mild. Sitting the small plate down he leans in and kisses her first, soft but nonetheless possessive, before rolling a joint for her.
"You don't have to finish it," he explains, "you might not like the high, but that's a'ight." No judgement. It's not for everyone.
He shows her how to hold it, telling her to breathe in, stop, breathe in some clean air and then push it out easily. He's hoping it won't set her to coughing too badly.
She finds herself fascinated by the way his hands move, deft in application and wrapping. She's so focused on how he works that his kiss takes her by surprise and, in a way, it's oddly charming, or at least leaves her a bit enamored. The girl isn't so naive that she misunderstands him; after all, she can read minds, but she has come to enjoy these moments, soft and warm and almost normal.
With a twitch of her lips, she thinks she's ready to inhale and does so, slowly, half full until she fills the rest of the space in her lungs with fresh air. Swaying lightly, Wanda closes her eyes and briefly lets it settle in her body before she exhales through her nose and mouth, filling the space between them with smoke.
"Mm."
With a sharper kiss, she thanks him only to pull away to both remove her towel and turn off the running water with one hand.
"Damn," Erik mutters, both at the figure Wanda cuts with or without the towel and at that kiss, heady and full of smoke. He likes what he sees and sweatpants don't tend to leave much room for the imagination to decide just how that affects him].
Half the point of wearing them, honestly.
He holds up his hand to take the blunt from her, if she wants to give it up; if she doesn't, he doesn't mind. Either way he'll also offer her a hand into the bathtub, before settling on the floor at it's edge.
It's a change for her, being with him, being this exposed to someone else; and perhaps she should get to know him better, and perhaps she should listen to a few of those warning bells going off about him and some of his more extreme views but. Then again. She was in that place herself, placing her anger in causes she believed would give her that revenge she so desired.
They say she's redeemable. Wanda isn't so sure.
She doesn't think about that as she places the joint between his fingers again, helping herself into the tub with a soft sigh as she sinks into the water. Briefly, she disappears to wet her hair, reappearing with a grin that's altogether coy and inviting.
One of the things about Erik's extreme views is that he sees Sokovia and it's people to be just as much the victim as his own people, trapped in the United States' racist institutions with no clear way out. Refugees from the most fucked up situation brought about by war and arms dealers, Erik has no idea how Wanda can stand to work with Stark after everything he's done but...
Some people are much more patient than he is. Wanda is definitely in that category.
He's leaning against the edge of the tub, watching her with not a little bit of heat while taking another drag of the blunt and blowing air away from her. The invite doesn't have to be extended twice; the sweatpants are off in a blink and he's carefully climbing in as to not send water in every direction, hands braced against the side of the bathtub.
Once he's in leans forward and offers her a kiss, before leaning back and taking one of her feet in his hands and pressing into the ball gently with his thumb, trying to gauge how stiff the muscles there are. "Thanks."
The world is an incredible mess. She knows that people do what they must in order to survive.
But there are moments in which one can find softness. Here they are, their edges sanded down just a bit, enough for them to seek out that intimacy they occasionally crave. Wanda smiles as she watches him move, the corners of her eyes, not as dark as her family's eyes, crinkling just so.
"That feels nice," she whispers, feeling each of her muscles relax just after one hit, some of those worried thoughts in her brain quieting, dulling themselves to a mere murmur.
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prompt 1 of 2
no subject
In some nebulous time between her fugitive status and the Wakanda takeover, a reluctant hero meets a guy from Oakland, with scars both invisible and visible and a lot of anger to deal with. She closes her eyes and thinks about the Stark Industry bombs that destroyed her home and family, the warzone her country became. The warzone she left when she broke ties with Hydra. She thinks about the dead body of her brother, taken from the ruins.
Her path to redemption is not an easy one. Her heart aches without her missing other half. If anything, she at least indulges in these moments away from the work and the struggling, stealing away to meet Erik. He's a distraction, but there is something more to him, like sharp teeth and a history she wants to uncover but resists the urge to peer into his mind. That isn't how you make friends.
Wrapped in a towel only, Wanda leans against the bathtub as warm water begins to fill it, arms folded loosely over her chest as the smell of smoke wafts in from the other room. She uncrosses her ankles. "It smells interesting."
no subject
A chuckle emanates from the other room. Sometimes he looks into her eyes and feels she could peel back his soul, layer by layer, and he might be inclined to let her. To see what she says of what she finds there. Sometimes he forgets that she was a prisoner of war in her own homeland, a weapon of destruction in another, and that means she doesn't know what weed smells like.
He comes in towards the bathroom, leaning against the door. He's got on dark blue sweatpants and nothing else, bare feet making very little sound on the hardwood floors. "Cannabis. You take the flowers, these...tightly formed buds and grind them up, smoke them." He smiles then, a bit dangerous, a bit softer because it's Wanda. "You wanna try?"
So many things start with that question.
no subject
Finding trouble. She has never done anything like this, so serious and concerned, pulling on the back of her brother's collar once in a while. Those were their roles. She has to be a singular person without him.
Part of that means that she's discovering 'normal' things that others might have been exposed to had they grown up literally anywhere else but Sokovia. Her eyes unabashedly wander up his form when he approaches and she smiles back, tentative and curious.
"Just a little."
no subject
"You don't have to finish it," he explains, "you might not like the high, but that's a'ight." No judgement. It's not for everyone.
He shows her how to hold it, telling her to breathe in, stop, breathe in some clean air and then push it out easily. He's hoping it won't set her to coughing too badly.
no subject
With a twitch of her lips, she thinks she's ready to inhale and does so, slowly, half full until she fills the rest of the space in her lungs with fresh air. Swaying lightly, Wanda closes her eyes and briefly lets it settle in her body before she exhales through her nose and mouth, filling the space between them with smoke.
"Mm."
With a sharper kiss, she thanks him only to pull away to both remove her towel and turn off the running water with one hand.
no subject
Half the point of wearing them, honestly.
He holds up his hand to take the blunt from her, if she wants to give it up; if she doesn't, he doesn't mind. Either way he'll also offer her a hand into the bathtub, before settling on the floor at it's edge.
no subject
They say she's redeemable. Wanda isn't so sure.
She doesn't think about that as she places the joint between his fingers again, helping herself into the tub with a soft sigh as she sinks into the water. Briefly, she disappears to wet her hair, reappearing with a grin that's altogether coy and inviting.
"Come in."
no subject
Some people are much more patient than he is. Wanda is definitely in that category.
He's leaning against the edge of the tub, watching her with not a little bit of heat while taking another drag of the blunt and blowing air away from her. The invite doesn't have to be extended twice; the sweatpants are off in a blink and he's carefully climbing in as to not send water in every direction, hands braced against the side of the bathtub.
Once he's in leans forward and offers her a kiss, before leaning back and taking one of her feet in his hands and pressing into the ball gently with his thumb, trying to gauge how stiff the muscles there are. "Thanks."
no subject
But there are moments in which one can find softness. Here they are, their edges sanded down just a bit, enough for them to seek out that intimacy they occasionally crave. Wanda smiles as she watches him move, the corners of her eyes, not as dark as her family's eyes, crinkling just so.
"That feels nice," she whispers, feeling each of her muscles relax just after one hit, some of those worried thoughts in her brain quieting, dulling themselves to a mere murmur.