Fire and Smoke - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Chapter 78

"I'm just kidding!" Wanda adds loudly, now slightly awkwardly, her cheeks blushing, looking down at the cup of tea cradled between her hands whilst my heart seems to have joined the Circe du Soleil.

"Yeah, I know." I answer her equally awkwardly, shifting slightly on the couch, not fully believing she wouldn't just undo my clothes, or unmagic them as she so eloquently put it. I wonder if she has to actively hold up the spell to keep me clothed, or if I'm safe. I cast a glance down at myself. Not naked. That's a win. But did she just flirt, or is she making fun of me because she-

"This is awkward." Wanda states, her voice cracking slightly after a silent moment consisting of her staring at her tea and me staring at my hands in my lap, my brain trying to decipher Wanda's intentions.

I look up at her and she glances up at me through her lashes, before finding the eye contact too intimate, forcing her to look down again. I wonder what I am expected to reply. I wonder if she's just having a laugh, listening in on my pathetic thoughts, or if we're in the same boat. On one hand, she isn't wrong. This is awkward as hell. But on the other hand, it does sting a little bit that she feels uncomfortable enough to warrant actually speaking it out loud.

"I know." I despondently settle with, fiddling with my fingers in order to have something to do.

I feel Wanda's eyes on me, finding freedom in my apparent fascination with my extremities. I keep looking down, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward by catching her staring at me. I feel briefly self-conscious, wondering what she must think of me, sitting there, hunched over like I am, probably still splattered with my own blood, a virtual stranger to her in the middle of nothing but vast emptiness. It makes me a little sad, feeling so out of place around her. I never felt like this before. Sure, we've had our awkward moments, but something has just simply changed between us.

"I'm..." Wanda begins, her voice catching slightly in the back of her throat and now I cannot help my curiosity; I just have to look up.

Wanda's not looking at me anymore but is leaning back against the back of the couch, her head tilted just slightly back as she's looking out of the window, her expression vacant, her inner turmoil not breaking through her facade. The light from that lone little lamp on my side of the couch is casting a faint, orange glow on half of her face, the other half remaining dark in the shadows. The light is faint, but not faint enough for me to see her randomly dotted freckles on her face. It's so weird seeing her like this, the image of a person I've forever committed to memory, knowing exactly where each of those freckles sits on her skin, and yet she's so unreachable, so far and strange.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she tries to find the words to describe whatever it is she's struggling to find the words for, her eyebrows furrowing slightly in that familiar manner. Her eyes keep fast on the window, their orbs shiny and reflective, mirroring the world around her in a distorted manner. Even as her cheekbones cast sharp shadows on her face, making her look gaunt and tired, she still somehow manages to look prettier than ever before. I wish I could hug her small form, hold her, kiss her lips, and break my heart for her. I can't help the feeling of slight shame mixed with my stomach tightening at the seemingly forbidden thoughts running through my head. I shouldn't look at her like that. Or think of her like that. Not anymore. It doesn't serve either of us.

Thankfully, Wanda doesn't seem to tune in to the personal radio inside of my head as she seems too preoccupied with what is going on inside her own head. I wonder if any of it makes sense to her at all, or if she's just grasping at straws. It's impossible to know how much Hydra corrupted. If only I could just look into her head, to understand, to understand her. Maybe then I could do something to help her. Instead, she just remains as far from me as ever before whilst only being an armslength away from me. I hate myself for only being able to provide her with a sad cup of tea on the other side of her closed door. She should be given so much more. My attempts at helping her are bleak and pathetic compared to what she did for me. And I should do so much more. So much more because I put her here.