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I don’t own anything.
Sylvie had never known such peace until she had stumbled through a portal that took her to a witch’s cottage.
The fairytale’s were wrong; not all witch’s cottages should be avoided at all costs, especially not the one that belongs to Wanda Maximoff.
For quite sometime, they tried to navigate around one another’s iron clad walls.
Their standoffish nature keeping them apart for quite sometime.
Eventually, stories shared started to thaw the ice between them in the end, conversations on an icy porch.
Tears that were shed on the Scarlet Witch’s plush couch.
As their trust in one another grew over time, so did their mutual respect for one another and eventually, feelings deeper than trust and respect.
Once trust and respect had been established; there was room for more and it all began with simple acts of service.
Some nights, Wanda would cook up food from ancient Sokovian recipes for Sylvie and leave her leftovers the next day with little notes written in her best handwriting.
Other nights, Sylvie would conjure up the softest blankets for Wanda when the Witch would be in dire need of a good nights sleep after allowing the Darkhold to drain her.
Most nights there’d be warm mugs of a steaming hot drink left around by both of them for the other.
Or sweet tasting fruit drinks made by Sylvie for Wanda and herself on the warmer days.
Joining one another on the couch whenever they just needed a moment to stop and just exist around one another.
Constant affirmations and long conversations, wrapped in each other’s arms on the most comfortable bed in any reality.
Unfortunately, the most harrowing, most haunting of nightmares tend to plague both women.
Sylvie had become used to being silent when she awoke, gasping from whatever horror had been shown to her.
She’d had to hold back her screams in order to survive for so long that it’s second nature to her.
Unlike Wanda, who would always wake up crying out, pain tearing through her as Sylvie would try to stop her from tearing the place apart.
The night Sylvie is drawn out of a peaceful sleep, she gives herself some time to register the nightmare.
Glancing down to where Wanda’s head rests upon her chest, she begins to card her fingers through the Witch‘s silky hair.
More often than not, they’d sleep in this exact same position every night.
Wanda had quietly admitted some time ago that it brings her great comfort to sleep in Sylvie’s arms.
Her head pressed against the Enchantress’s chest in order to listen to Sylvie’s heartbeat.
The comforting sound reassuring Wanda that she’s not alone, that Sylvie is there and that during the midnight hours in which they lie together, she is unlikely to lose another person she loves so dearly.
Other nights, Sylvie would do the exact same thing.
To remind herself that Wanda is there, that the TVA haven’t trapped her in some harrowing dimension, forcing her to be alone. To be forever burdened by the gnawing pain that’s followed her since the destruction of her timeline.
Existing in Wanda’s timeline, her life entwined with the Scarlet Witch’s, has more than likely butchered the supposed sacred timeline beyond all recognition.
She doesn’t care.
Never has, never will.
“Are you alright?” Wanda murmurs sleepily.
“I’m fine, love. Don’t you worry about me.” Sylvie presses her lips to the top of the Witch’s head.
“Hmm.” Wanda shifts a little, until she’s looking up at Sylvie.
“That’s not possible, I’ll always worry.” Wanda strokes the Enchantress’s cheek with her fingers.
“What was it about?”
“You tell me, magic fingers.” Sylvie turns her head to press small kisses to the tips of Wanda’s fingers.
“You know I wouldn’t look.” Wanda reminds her softly.
It’s an unspoken rule between them that they never snoop though one another’s minds.
They use their words, they allow themselves the chance to discuss the pain their nightmares had dragged up to the surface.
“I know.” Sylvie replies, trying to keep an arm around Wanda as she sits up.
“Don’t really feel like talking about it though.” She admits, leaning into Wanda’s palm.
Wanda understands completely and shifts to assume the position they find themselves in whenever the other awakens from a nightmare and doesn’t want to speak.
Mere seconds later, Sylvie finds herself being gently tugged into Wanda’s arms, leaning into the witch as much as she can, Sylvie tries to relax as the Witch starts to carefully comb through her short blonde waves.
Her touch reassuring and her presence comforting Sylvie.
Wanda whispers words of love into her ear in more than one language, affectionate Sokovian phrases to calm her partner, whilst her long fingers make work of untangling the few knots in Sylvie’s hair.
It’s only when the tears start to drip down the Enchantress’s cheeks that her vision, blurred by tears is met by the red wisps of the Scarlet Witch’s power.
The comforting red haze passing through her skin via Wanda’s loving touch until they’re not in their bed.
When they’re in a meadow, stretching out for miles before them.
Enjoying a delicious picnic whilst they watch Wanda’s twins chase after one another.
Listening to the sounds of Loki and Mobius tease each other on a jet ski somewhere in the near distance.
Whilst they sit with a young blonde girl between them, a daughter they’d eventually have.
Completely content and basking in the serenity of a warm summers evening.
Utterly at peace, enjoying the riches of a good life spent with one another and a family they’d create.
Fears of creating mayhem with timelines laid to rest, as they embark on their journey together.
Their journey to a near impossible dream of existing in peace.