for incitatio

[carodejnica]

[ This wasn't supposed to happen. The life she'd built in Westview, as fictional and play-pretend as it might have been, was meant to be pain free and perfect, an idyllic and forever home for Wanda after spending the last twenty or so years wondering what the word even meant. She'd brought Vision back - or some version of Vision, the one that she'd needed the most - and she'd given them a marriage and children and everything she had only ever dreamed of or watched on tv as a young girl, long before Sokovia had been reduced to rubble and she'd suffered her first true loss in the form of her parents' untimely death.

It hadn't mattered in the slightest that nothing about Westview was real, or that she was constantly smoothing over the ever-changing cracks in the town's foundation while warding off Vision's mounting suspicions. It hadn't even bothered her when an intruder had managed to make their way past the forcefield; she'd taken care of that as best as she could and everything had - for the most part - gone completely back to normal.

Vision. The house that he'd built for her. Their two children. There had only been one thing missing, really, but she could barely even think about Pietro without her perfected control on the town slipping -

But then there was Agatha, and she'd taken everything from Wanda with a wave of one witchy hand. ]

NO! [ She's back home now, or what's left of it, and the startling emptiness of it all is further magnified by the way the walls, floors, and furniture are shifting all beneath and around her as great, painful bursts of magic spark at her slender fingertips, sending gold-flecked embers throughout the living room as she forces herself to bend at the waist, her tiny arms wrapping helplessly around her quivering, sorrow-wracked frame as she squeezes her eyes shut and sobs. She doesn't know what she's crying for anymore - Vision is gone, but had he ever really been there to begin with? Was it even him that she'd brought back in the first place, or some make belief version of him that she'd twisted with a mixture of longing and grief into a clueless husband? The children they'd borne and raised in a span of weeks; nothing about that had been real either, had it? No, Wanda realized with a sobering, devastating dawn of understanding; the only thing that was real here was her, and she was entirely alone.]

Pietro. [ His name, the one she hadn't allowed herself to speak since setting foot in Westview, falls from her lips now like a broken prayer, and there's no longer any way for her to hide her delicate Sokovian accent as she sounds out each syllable through an endless sea of tears. There's something building inside of her - a great, burning warmth of magic that she isn't able to contain fully between the small palms of her hands - and her mind is suddenly overwhelmed with a barrage of images she's spent the last three years trying so hard to suppress.

Icy blonde hair, cheekbones that arched like wings, stormy blue eyes that shone like fire blazing in the heart of a glacier when he was angry. Quick, clever, calloused hands that were never anything but gentle when they were on her -

Pietro. PietroPietroPietro. It's too much, suddenly, and she can no longer catch her breath through her tears; with a piercing, broken cry, the dam is collapsing, and from its rickety hold comes a barrage of magic so fierce and intense that it forces Wanda backwards into the soon-to-be ruin of her once-pristine home. Her vision blurs, and she has no idea what's happening, but she can only assume that she's tapped into whatever vestiges of her powers Agatha had been hinting at, and in that dizzying moment, she cares very little if she lives or dies - if only because there's no longer anything waiting for her at either end. ]

Comments

[incitatio]

( it happens in a matter of moments. one moment, there is nothing and the next, he's there. he doesn't know how or why but suddenly, he's in a house that he doesn't recognize, looking at his hands like he's never seen them before.

he turns them over, clenching and releasing them like they might give him the answers to all the questions he has. but they don't. he blinks, looking at the carpet beneath his feet and finally at the other person in the room.

if he doesn't know anything else, he knows her. she looks...different, he thinks. does he think that? there are gaps and black spots in his memory but he knows his sister, he knows wanda and that's wanda standing there, magic flowing from her like a fountain. he knows that she is powerful, that she is strong but he has never seen this.

that magic seems to swirl around him and all he can do is stand there and watch her, eyes dark and stance tense because he doesn't know if he should move closer to her and stop this.

he has the speed, he has the ability but he doesn't move. has she seen him? will she be happy to see him? he doesn't know. all he can do is stand there while her magic swirls and encircles him. )

[carodejnica]

[ She's never felt this way before. The magic flowing from her now is unlike anything she's been capable of in the past, and the sheer intensity of it is so astounding that it's almost painful. It envelops her, it overwhelms her, and it's as if she's bringing forth something from deep within that had previously been locked away for safekeeping. It isn't what made Westview's version of Vision. It isn't what created the twins, either. It's completely different, and it's stronger somehow, and by the time it finally starts to reach its end, Wanda is left gasping for breath - flushed, panting, and quivering from head to toe as she clutches one small hand to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.

There, in the ruin of her once-pristine living room, is the manifestation of Wanda's greatest and most terrible loss. Pietro, whose silver-blond hair is storm-tossed enough even without his sister's magic to tousle it further, stands before her as if the last three years had never happened, as if she hadn't watched him die. ]

Pietro. [ His name again, but this time it's escaping Wanda in a trembling rush of disbelief. The magic has ceased, though its warmth still emanates from the tips of her fingers, and her long-lashed, claret green eyes are wide, shocked, and frantic. It was unmistakably her twin brother she was looking at now; she could have lived a thousand lifetimes and she still would have recognized Pietro time and time again. His strong arms, his broad shoulders - the wintry contrast of his face, as if it had been artfully shaped from enchanted materials. He used to remind her of a rebel angel sometimes, with all the beauty of both heaven and hell combined, though she'd never told him as much - to keep his ego from growing, she'd insisted privately to herself, but it had always felt as if there was something more. Something she couldn't admit.

But he was here now. At the end of the world, he was here. ]

Are you - Pietro, I'm - [ Shakily, clumsily, with the legs of a newborn faun, Wanda steps towards him, and she hasn't realized that she's slipped fully into speaking Sokovian - a language she'd all but forgotten until now. Her blood was pounding through her body like a river through a broken dam, and she choked on a tremulous little sob as she reached for him instinctively - for his arms, first, as she frantically felt her way up every toned, corded muscles, and then over to his chest; she could feel his heartbeat as if it was her own, and by the time her trembling hands found their way to his face, the pads of her thumbs stroking fervently into his stubble, it was all Wanda could do to look up at him and say tearfully - ] Tell me that you're real. [ She swallowed shakily, painfully, and her fingertips slid down again, this time so that she could press her tiny hands to his shoulders, pushing against him hard in an almost hysterical attempt to prove his stability. ] Tell me that you're real, Pietro. That this isn't just another dream. Please.

[incitatio]

( he doesn't know what to do once her magic ceases and it is just the two of them in a place he doesn't recognize. but his surroundings fade away as she talks, as she starts to come closer to him.

when she touches him, he shudders not out of revulsion but out of relief. he remembers so little but he remembers her touch and he remembers how easily she could calm him even when his anger was out of control and ready to rip into whoever stepped in front of them. but a touch from her was enough to pull him back in and center him.

she had been the only one to be able to do it especially since he'd had a lot of anger.

swallowing, he looks down at the hands on his shoulders and then he's reaching for her, trying to pull her against him and feel her body flush against his. he has questions, he's confused but he needs this. )

I am real. ( what else could he be? he doesn't know how but he's here, he's real and they're together. ) Wanda.

[carodejnica]

[ He certainly feels real, and as he tells her as much, it's as if a small piece of her heart has been snagged like a bit of cloth on a thorn; it tugs at her in the way that she's always been drawn to Pietro. Long before Vision - long before the Avengers, long before HYDRA - it had been just the two of them and the life they'd struggled to build from the rubble of Sokovia, and in this moment now, it was once again just the two of them together as well. His shoulders, strong and sturdy and lightly-muscled, tremble where she touches him, and she swears that her pulse is beating in time with his. He draws her close, and Wanda finds herself choking on yet another broken sob; she can feel his hands, large and rough as they seek out both solace and purpose upon her body, and she's already meeting him halfway - tossing her arms around his neck and crying into his chest.

She doesn't care if this isn't really him, or if she's once again just managed to make a mangled mess of things. Right now, the only thing that matters to Wanda is Pietro. ]

Pietro - Pietro, you are real. You're here. [ When she lifts her head, it's to look up at him with tears in her eyes, and her fervent words are as much of a way to convince herself of his presence as it is to reassure him. Shakily, she brings one of her hands - careful, so careful not to singe him with the magic that's only just barely ebbed away - and she strokes the side of his face with aching, reverent tenderness. ] I wish I could explain to you what has happened, but I don't have the words. Not in Sokovian, and certainly not in English. [ Her voice is soft and weak, and it's all she can do to brush the silken pad of her thumb along Pietro's bottom lip; she's missed him so much, and she can't seem to stop touching him long enough to take a step back. The living room is a mess, but - then again, so is everything else, but Pietro is alive.

And every single light in the house seemed to catch fire in his eyes. ]

Tell me the last thing that you remember. [ Her gaze turns pleading, and her delicate hand slides upwards to cradle the back of his neck, and she stands on the very tips of her toes so that she can bring his forehead down to hers; once again she has to sink her teeth into the rosy plush of her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. ] The last thing that you saw, big brother, before you were here with me. Please.

[incitatio]

( that should be an easy question to answer, shouldn't it? he should know what he remembers before this place and seeing her standing across from her in a home that he doesn't recognize. it's hard to think, to talk when she's so close to him and what he does know is that this is all that he's wanted in the world.

and now that he has it, he doesn't want to do much else but sink into it, into her. but she's asked him a question and he has to answer her. she seems shaky, delicate against him even though he knows she is anything but. perhaps this is just the way she's with him, able to let those guards down and let him in where so many other people get blocked out.

he takes a shaky breath and peers down at her, reaching up to brush fingers against her cheek almost reverently. )

I don't know. ( he tries to think back but there's blocks, blackness, and then there's her. ) I remember you. That is all I remember, Wanda.

[carodejnica]

[ It's such a small thing, the sudden sensation of Pietro's calloused fingers smoothing out across the apple of her cheek, and yet it causes Wanda's breath to catch in the back of her throat, and she feels her heartbeat racing hummingbird-fast. Affection was something that they'd always shared with one another in spades - it wasn't as if they had anyone else in the world to love them - but after everything that had happened, after Pietro had died and a part of Wanda had perished right along with him...having his hands on her now felt startlingly different. Intimate, even, and suddenly she's brought back to the confusing, twisted dreams she'd endured in the days, weeks, months, and years that had followed his death, the ones that she'd wake up from in the middle of the night, flushed and dewy with sweat as a terrible ache pounded between her creamy, nectar-slicked thighs.

This wasn't the same, though, and yet her body was reacting in the exact same way, and it wasn't as if she could blame it on an out of control dream. She was wide awake, and Pietro was here, and all she wanted was to be closer to him. As close as one person could possibly be to another. ]

That's okay. That's enough for now. You don't have to remember anything else. [ she reassures him as a rush, and both of her shaking hands are on either side of his face again, cradling his stubble-lined cheek between her small, warm palms as if he's the most precious thing she's ever touched. They've always been protective over one another, even to a fault, and right now, Wanda feels as if she has to protect him from herself, and all the terrible things that had happened since his untimely death. She doesn't want to talk about Thanos. She doesn't want to talk about Vision, either. There's a part of her that fears desperately that her Pietro, right here and right now in the universe she's created, is entirely fictional, and therefore...temporary.

And that, she decides in a moment of dizzying clarity, is enough to dictate what she does next. ] I missed you so much. [ Her voice is soft and tremulous, as she remains up on the tips of her toes, her body twining upwards against his like a flower stretching towards the sun, and as she squeezes her eyes shut, she allows her hands to tentatively curl up in the fabric of his shirt where it stretches across his broad chest, and with a small, broken sound, Wanda tilts her head upward, allowing her long, honey-red locks of hair to cascade down the dainty length of her back as she brings her mouth to his. The first brush of her lips to Pietro's is enough to draw a wounded, hurting little noise from Wanda, almost a whimper, but her hands tighten instinctively in the cotton of his shirt, as if she's terrified he's going to pull away, and she kisses him harder, with a fervent sort of desperation she's never felt before...even with Vision. ] Pietro...Pietro, please.

[incitatio]

( despite her reassurances, pietro feels like maybe he hasn't answered that question correctly. if what he says isn't wrong, he doesn't think she would have rushed to tell him that it was okay. he wants to ask her about that but he doesn't. not right now.

she's looking at him like he's the most priceless thing on this planet and he feels like he doesn't deserve it. he's not, he's never been anything as important as that but in her eyes, he feels it.

and then she kisses him.

and then he kisses him and he loses his breath and doesn't know what to do but stand there stupidly, hands holding onto her. that single touch seems to ignite something his belly and though he doesn't react to the first kiss, he does when she comes in closer to him again.

he reciprocates, mouth pressing in against hers in a desperate urgent manner that comes from some place he doesn't even understand. it's a spot that he knows she'll be the only one to reach and he knows that he wants her to be the only one there.

the thought comes to him just as he is dragging her body closer to him that she is his sister and that this isn't supposed to be. but pietro immediately dismisses that because this is how it's supposed to be. she is his and he is hers and if he remembers nothing else, he remembers that.

she doesn't need to be terrified, she doesn't need to plead because he's not going anywhere and he wants this just as much as she does. )

[carodejnica]

[ It wouldn't be possible for him to hate her even half as much as she already hates herself, right? If he pushes her away now, or tells her any and all of the awful things she'd once been convinced that he would if she ever acted on her feelings in the past, then it would be exactly what she deserved, and she wouldn't resent him for it one bit. She's already lost him once, and she can't bear the possibility of losing him again; if this moment with him is all she's going to get, if it's even real and not another one of Agatha's terrifying fever dreams - then Wanda refuses to allow it to go to waste.

But he doesn't push her away, or tell her to stop. He's shocked, at first, that much as true, and the stiffening of his body up against her own very nearly sends Wanda into a state of full panic. She's prepared to step back and apologize, to blame her actions on a mixture of stress-induced delirium and the sheer wonderment that he's even alive, but - no sooner has the thought even crossed her mind is Pietro responding, and not at all in the way she'd feared. ]

Pietro. Pietro, Pietro, Pietro... [ She manages to whimper his name softly, tearfully between kisses, because she can feel his perfect hands clutching onto her tiny waist to tug her flush against him, and the heat of his body is every bit as addictive and intoxicating as the warmth of his mouth. She's still on the very tips of her toes, but there's a certain sort of frenziedness roaring in her veins like blood now, a terrible need that's stronger than anything she's ever felt before. Her fingertips slide feverishly into his silvery hair, and she tugs him down to her fretfully, all the while parting her quickly-bruising lips so that she can slide her eager little tongue almost frantically past the seam of his. ]

Don't stop - please. Big brother... [ Her living room is in ruins and Westview is quite literally on the verge of falling apart as well, but none of that matters to Wanda in the slightest. Her lush, curvy thighs are trembling, and between them, the glistening slit of her cunt is slick and wet, and clinging hotly to the dampened cotton of her panties. Her hips rock forward of their own accord, clumsy and full of need, and she kisses Pietro again, and again, and again, all the while sliding her hands down to push gently at the broad expanse of his chest, until he's up against the nearest wall and she's tugging desperately at the hem of his shirt. ]

I've wanted this for so long. You, and... [ She breaks their kiss long enough to bite down tentatively at the swell of her rosy bottom lip, and she looks up at him - flushed, wide-eyed, and panting softly enough to cause the full, perky curves of her breasts to rise and fall against his chest. Her slender fingertips hesitate at the bottom of his shirt. ] I love you, Pietro. [ It's said in Sokovian, the very same way they'd always said it to one another prior to his death, in the confusing, fearful moments in the dark when they were too close and too much but they were all the other had . ] I love you more than anything in the entire world.

[incitatio]

( everything seems to fall into place when she kisses him. his initial reaction, surprise and confusion, quickly gives way to an urgent need that stokes higher and higher with each touch. he doesn't stop kissing her, doesn't stop touching her and when he feels her tongue at his lips, he opens to her, letting her in and sinking into how good and right and needed that feels.

he hasn't had a chance to really look around, see where they are but he doesn't think he has to. he let's her control things and she does just that, talking to him gently and then moving him backwards against a wall. his back hits it with a solid thump and then he's pulling her against him again, body flush and mouth curving back down to his.

he can feel himself hardening in his pants, an urgent need building in his belly that he knows she'll be the only one to satisfy. every word she says buries itself into his skin and every time she murmurs his name seems to make his heart thump faster. )

I love you too. ( if he knows nothing else, he knows that. he will always know that and then he reaches down and peels his shirt off, doing it for her so she doesn't have to be nervous. once that's done, he reaches for her again and twist them, turning until it's her back at the wall and then he's surging forward, pressing a thigh between both of her legs and mouthing at her neck, wanting to feel her pulse under his lips and wanting to give her something to grind against.

are there things to speak about? yes. does he know what's going on? not completely but what he knows is that whatever this is, she's here and that's what matters. she wants him and that's all that he needs in this world and he intends to take whatever she's willing to give him. )