For @littlestartopaz, Wanda/Vision, C (“Please, don’t leave”) and G (“I almost lost
you”) from this, post CA:CW
Time for pain, children.
Blame it on the fact that I found this gloriously accurate post full of
thoughts about Wanda’s stint in the Raft. In which Wanda has some trauma from being wrongfully imprisoned by a bunch of dickheads, and doesn’t talk much anymore.
“Wanda,”
Steve said quietly, wrapping his hand around hers—he had tried to steer her by
an elbow at first, the old habits of the forties coming up under stress, but
she had stumbled back so quickly she’d barely missed falling off a curb. “Come on, let’s go.” He gave a tug and she drifted after him,
silent. He steered her toward the couch
in their newest hideout and she let him push her down until she was sitting
down, her hair pulled back into a tidy braid and her hands linked tightly
together in her lap. A blanket settled
over her shoulders—Sam—and she slowly pulled her legs up to her chest, binding
her arms tightly around her knees.
“We’re
just going to be in the next room, kid,” Sam said, resting one hand on her
shoulder, and waited, as if to give her a space to reply. When she said nothing, he squeezed her
shoulder and followed Steve out of the room.
Wanda waited until they were gone and reached out with her fingers to
catch the blanket and tug the corners over her hands.
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Request from @littlestartopaz: I has a Plunnie for thee. Little snit bits between Wanda and Vision at the compound about Vision learning to do things like when it’s okay to go into someone’s room. Or being the only one to knock on the wall like it’s a door. Or that one time he knocked on the floor under her bed because she was having nightmares and scared the shit out of her.
Pre-Civil War, so no spoilers.
“Pardon me, Miss Maximoff, Captain Rogers asked me to–”
“Hey!” Wanda yelped in alarm, casting a hand out toward him. Red light lashed out and left scorch marks on the wall, passing through him harmlessly. He looked startled, eyes widening as he hung there halfway through the solid wall, and she dropped her arm, scowling. “Do you mind?” she asked, tightening her grip on the towel wound around her chest. Her hair dripped down her shoulder, a neat twist, and she could feel each drop of water leaving a cold track over her skin. “It’s polite to knock if someone’s door is closed.”
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Anonymous asked: Vision/Wanda "We are snowed in and the power's out, how do avoid hypothermia." Mini-fic PLEASE??? Also, mid-air kissing if it isn't too much trouble?
All right *cracks knuckles* gonna do kind of a combo to hit as many of those aspects as possible. Post-Civil War, minor spoilers, I guess, and I’m assuming they’re not all actually holed up in Wakanda.
The apartment T’challa had acquired for them–in Brooklyn, because Steve left it up to Sam and Sam had pointed out the advantages of knowing the terrain–was middling in size, but it seemed echoingly huge at night. Wanda hadn’t realized just how quickly she had grown used to the quiet noise of the others in the compound, someone always on hand to sit with no matter how late she was awake. Insomnia and nightmares were rampant among the Avengers, and she was no exception, but now…now there was no one. Steve was in his room, probably awake himself and trying to work their way out of this impossible problem. Sam was better at sleeping than most of them, only really awake about one night in seven. Lang was gone, Clint was out on a recon mission to check up on an old contact. Barnes–Bucky–was still comatose in Wakanda, while they tried to find a cure for seventy years of brainwashing and torture. She had offered her services, nervous, and T’challa had agreed to keep her in mind as a last resort–Wanda’s experience was all putting stuff in, but she could probably learn to take things out. Until they found a solution, though, the man with the metal arm and the haunted blue eyes would stay in his glass coffin.
And Wanda was awake and alone and cold, at three in the morning on a Saturday, sitting on a couch and staring at a dark television.
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