Work Text:
Vision stood at the kitchen counter, completely stumped by this recipe he held in his hands. There were so many foods he had never heard of- flour?- and all he had was his brief remembrance of photos from his time as Jarvis.
Why was he doing this? For Wanda. In fact, he’d do just about anything for her. He had been listening to a lot of music lately, the music she liked. All it did was remind him of her. It’s a strange thing, never being able to get someone off his mind. She was always there, just beyond the corners of his mind. How soft her skin looked, how her hair fell in waves over her face when she bent her head, how beads of sweat trickled down her neck when she worked out or ran. Vision shook his head. Back to the recipe.
It had only taken him a few trips to the computer in the ‘office’ (as Ms. Romanoff called it) to figure out how to cook chicken, which hadn’t turned out exactly as planned. It was a lot darker than the pictures had suggested and he wasn’t sure why. The recipe had also said ‘salt and pepper to taste’ which he couldn’t do. Or never tried. It was frustrating being so new.
“A pinch of paprika,” He murmured to himself. Looking over at the two plates he’d spread the seasonings out on, so he could see them. Wanda liked spicy things, and he knew from somewhere that cyan pepper was spicy, but now he couldn’t remember which plate he’d put the paprika on. “A pinch.” He repeated, taking a guess and taking a pinch of one of the red powders.
“Is that paprikash?” Wanda walked into the room, looking a little more cheerful than she had before. He didn’t look up, still focusing on adding the last few spices.
“I thought it might lift your spirits.” She walked into the kitchen next to him, peering at his work. She smiled and let out a small sound, possibly of pleasant surprise or amusement, he wasn’t sure which. She stirred the pot. His internal temperature seemed to have raised quite a bit as she drew closer and he stepped aside, suddenly self-conscious of the small mess he’d made. She blew on the spoon, a slightly random gesture he thought, and lifted it to her lips. Why were her lips so beautiful? He shook himself mentally, stay focused. She tasted it.
He had honestly imagined her eyes rolling back in pleasure as she tasted the perfect dish, but instead, she smiled, a funny smile. It wasn’t an especially happy smile, or as if she thought he was funny smile, but, perhaps amusement?
“Spirits lifted.” She said, smiling to herself and licking her lips. When she looked at him, he knew it was bad.
“In my defense, I haven’t actually eaten anything before, so…” He was stuttering. She made him so nervous. He had wanted to please her so badly.
“May I?” She asked. For a split second, he didn’t register her words but then stepped aside.
“Please.” She was just so… perfect. Yes. The perfect balance of emotion and energy, beauty, and pain. She was, in a sense, even more beautiful when she was in pain, though he hated to see her like that. He thought she was wonderful. Full of wonder at the world, at herself, at him sometimes, and also she herself was full of wonderful power, beautiful power.