#{jarvis}

Technically you were sold off, unwanted by nearly everyone that you had known up until that point. Everyone, but Wanda.

She wanted you for amusement. She liked that you were different. Wanda wasn't like other little girls or maybe she was. You were uncertain, you hadn't been socialized; but you had a feeling she was different too. Even at that age Wanda craved power, ownership.

Those cravings were satiated by you. You were her pet, her project, like a doll she could play with. She clothed you, she named you, and she molded you into whatever it was she needed you to be at any given time.

You didn't speak at first, only listened. Not by choice, but because you hadn't learned.

No one wasted the time to teach you. However between Wanda, Pietro, and Erik , you would learn. It took time, a frustrating amount of time. A ridiculous amount of effort, and it was a taste of how vicious care could taste under this family.

A family made from scraps. Erik owned a corner of the city, if you could call it a city. It was a slum, a ghetto. He had affinity for bad decisions, gambling away his resources, collecting debt and stray children.

He could be abusive at times. Not all the time, but enough to make your spine go rigid upon a stretch of silence.

“Y/n.”

That was the name she had given you. It was fitting, unique like you. No more being identified solely by your race or your gender. A real tangible name. It was yours now, but ultimately everyone in the house knew it was hers.

You hum in response. It's a pattern that you have yet to break. Sounds still feeling more universally understood than the words they have given you.

“Let's go exploring today.”

She never asks you questions, it's always a command.

“Do you think it's wise to go out on father's name day? He will be tilted if you miss dinner,” Pietro has his full attention on Wanda.

The young girl shrugs, “We will be back much before then.”

Pietro's face turns on itself. His disdain plainly expressed, “I'm not risking his wrath. You should heed it more, Wanda.” He turns his gaze towards you, “As should you, Y/n. You have gained many skills since coming here yet, you lack a sense of autonomy.”

“Don't listen to him Y/n, he's just bitter about all of the fun we have together. A bitter and jealous boy.”

She doesn't give you a chance to respond. She hardly ever does. Instead she takes your hand in hers, leading you out of the house. You follow her obediently like always.

Wanda must love the sound of her own voice. It's something you figured early on, she never stops talking. You don't mind listening, you enjoy the sound of her voice too.

You enjoy a lot of things about her, but it's hard to tell if that is her doing or just another fault you were born with. You enjoy the playfulness in her eyes, the fairness of her skin, the slip of an accent that sounds out of place on her tongue (you know she'll outgrow it soon).

“Where are we going?” Your voice is soft on her ears.

Her smile widens, “I told you already, an adventure.”

The city disappears beneath your feet. Concrete turns into soft ground and buildings become trees. The forest greets you with a soundtrack of life in its purest form. Birds chirp, wind whistles, and everything is alive.

Wanda doesn't slow her pace, always moving forward, but simultaneously always glancing back to make sure you're still there. She rambles on about her father, her brother, her potential future.

“One day, I'll marry someone wealthy. Not like royal wealth, but maybe a diplomat. Someone that can take me away from the slums. An estate big enough for you and Piet to come along, I don't want to be lonely.”

Your brow furrows, “Should your husband not aid in your loneliness?”

Wanda rolls her eyes before they meet yours, “One person is not enough to stop the feeling.”

You turn your gaze to the ground, a puzzled expression displayed by your features, “Do you feel lonely now?”

That gets her steps to falter. She's still moving forward, but with less of a bounce in her step. At least she is at first, until she trips over a branch hidden by leaves in the ground.

Your reflexes are fast enough to stop her fall. Both of your hands on her sides, firm but not restrictive. She stares up at you, as you pull her back to an upright position.

“I am not lonely when we are together,” she says.

A heat rises to your face. “But I thought you said-”

“I know what I said,” she steps out of your grip. There's a pocket of silence before she speaks again, “You are not just some person. You are mine.”

She continues on like she hasn't said anything startling, like the words hold no deeper meaning. Maybe she knows that you don't understand the weight of the words yet. It makes it easier for her to ignore the feelings that she should not have.

Eventually the trees give way. There's an open field in front of you. Mostly open. There's a stone arch in the middle of it, but it's a fair distance away.

You play in the field as children do. You run, chasing each other. Exhaustion is nonexistent, just light and laughter, and each other.

The sun gets eclipsed by clouds at some point. What was a bright day becomes overcast and soon rain begins to fall. Hard.

This time you take her hand in yours, sprinting towards the stone arch, trying to gain any sort of protection from the rain.

You're soaked by the time you get to the cover. Your clothes are stuck to your skin, and the chill air does nothing to help.

“We have to go back,” the worry is Wanda’s voice is palpable. “We'll miss supper.”

“It's too far. We'll freeze.”

She begins to shake her head, “He's going to kill us.”

You crouch down, hugging your knees to your chest to try to get some warmth. “We'll start as soon as the rain lets up.”

You aren't shaking as bad as she is. The cold isn't new to you. It's not something that your body could forget. Maybe images of your family faded and perhaps you'd get lost on once familiar roads, but your body… it would never forget.

The auburn haired girl copies you. She sits beside you. Her shoulder against yours, knees touching lightly. Instinctively you throw your arm around her, pulling her closer to you.

Her head falls into the crook of your neck. You sit there together, waiting out the storm, knowing that there will be a hurricane waiting for you on the way back home.

It's dark when you get back. The rain never stopped, just got lighter. You're both drenched as you enter the house. The eerie silence only intensifies your nerves.

They're waiting at the dinner table. Pietro doesn't even look in your direction. He keeps his head straight ahead of him. You can see he's gripping the edge of the table trying to not show fear.

Erik on the other hand, he sits at the head of the table. Dinner in front of him. You can tell it's cold, he isn't happy.

“Father,” Wanda tests his title on her lips. “We got caught in the storm and-”

He stands, “Do you not care for me? Am I a wretched evil man?”

“No father, I-”

He raises his voice, “It has been hours! My name day, ruined! My dinner, ruined!”

He slams his fist on the table. The dishes scatter with the ferocity of the hit.

“Father I do not control the weather I-”

He smacks her. His hand connects flush across her face. She falls to the ground.

“STOP! It was my foolishness sir. I took us past the forest. I was unmindful of the date and time,” the words fly out of your mouth before he can do any more damage to her.

“Y/n, no,” her voice cracks as she struggles to stand.

Erik is already approaching you. His steps are heavy and unhurried. You don't move, you let him snatch you up by the front of your shirt.

Wanda cries out your name over and over. She tries to approach, but Pietro holds her back.

“You ungrateful waste. I take you in, despite all of your shortcomings, and this is how you repay me?” Saliva flies out of his mouth while he speaks.

You flinch at the volume of his voice.

His eyes go wild, “The nerve you have to flinch at me. Like I'm some monster, like I'm going to hurt you. Is that what you want? Answer me.”

You stay mute, body shaking as he holds you off the ground. You can't tell if it is from fear or the hours you spent in the cold.

“No! Father please, no,” Wanda pleads fall on deaf ears.

Erik only drops the grip on your shirt to snatch you up by the arm. He drags you out towards the backhouse.

Wanda screams. She screams and she cries in Pietro's arms. She flails against the boy, but his grip on her only tightens. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are locked on the front door.

Pietro flinches first when he hears the whip crack your skin. Wanda nearly crumples to the ground. The blonde is frozen in place. The second time he hears the whip is when he carries Wanda away.

You don't scream. You can't, you don't want them to hear and you don't want to anger Erik anymore than you already have.

You brace for every crack. Not knowing if tensing or trying to relax will ease any of the pain. Hot tears pour down your face, but you stay quiet. You lose count of how many times the whip breaks your skin.

The last time he hits you, you can't hold back the singular sob that escapes your lips. He tosses the whip down by your feet and walks away. You don't turn to watch him leave.

Wanda lies awake for hours. She waits until she thinks it safe to get out of bed. She slips out of the back door of the main house, to the back where she knew you'd be.

She enters quietly whispering your name. You don't answer her. She sees you lying uncomfortably stiff on the bed. She climbs in without hesitation.

Your back is facing her. Her eyes lock on the streaks of blood seeping through the fabric.

“You need not lie for my sake,” she whispers in horror. “The punishment will always be worse for you.”

She knows you're awake. For a moment she thinks you won't reply.

“I won't let him touch you,” you say it like it's scripture.

The words make her heart beat faster. She lies flat on her back next to you, she's decided that she's staying.

Her hand slowly inches over towards yours. You can feel it, but you don’t move. Her pinkie hooks around yours.

That was how your youth went; following her, listening to her, protecting her.

Erik wasn't kinder as you grew, but he recognized that you were not the same orphan he took in. You were bigger than him, stronger than him, but you'd never fight back. He took joy in attempting to break you, but became frustrated when he saw that you wouldn't give.

It wasn’t fun for him anymore, so he stopped for the most part. He kept his bitterness verbal.

It was hard not to be bitter when he let the estate go to shit. He spent all his money on drinks and gambling.

Wanda was the same as she had always been but older. To you, she was just as beautiful. She was still playful at heart and she still liked to run between the trees.

Others didn't see her like that anymore. They saw a young woman, someone to be courted, someone to be married off. You understood, but it gave you a pit in your stomach. It was something ugly inside you that you had to keep shoving down, and down, and down again.

You refused to let it surface. You didn't want her to see it. It was silly to think that you could hide from her. Of course she had known, because you belonged to her.

“New neighbors just around the way. They've bought the old haven property. I hear it's a diplomat of some sort,” Erik says, like it changes everything.

“Someone for you to marry sister,” Pietro teases.

“If I were to marry, who would keep the house clean?”

Erik waves his hand dismissively, “Y/n.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, “Y/n does everything else father. The lofting, the fixing, the maintenance, anything else and they'll keel over.”

“Maybe then you'd marry,” Pietro mutters under his breath.

That's when you enter through the front door, covered in sweat, wood perched on your shoulder. Your breathing is ragged.

“I brought firewood.”

“Good, start up the pit.”

You walk further into the house, each step heavier than the last. Wanda watches you, drinking in the image, letting her mind wander. It is her right, that's what she keeps telling herself.

No matter how tall you grow, no matter the density of your muscles, you are hers. You'd always belong to her, she's allowed to look.

She is allowed to fantasize, to dream about you in ways that no other is allowed to.

She's allowed to touch.

It's the only thought she ignores. The desire burns in her to feel you, to be closer, but it's taboo isn't it? More taboo than ownership. She's already claimed you in name and in action. If she took your body, it'd be greedy

She was kind to allow you to have that to yourself. The one thing about you that you actually owned. She knew you'd give it to her, but it would ruin you.

Eventually she probably would go off and get married; have a husband that loved her, and would want a life with her. She knew your heart, your deepest secret.

The possessiveness.

It was mutual. Not in the sense that you were hers and she was yours, but rather that you both agreed that you belonged to her. Why would she need anyone else when someone like you belongs to her?

She crafted your devotion like a man lays brick at the base of home.

“Maybe I shall go see him. It's only the neighborly thing to do.”

The wood thuds against the floor as it slides off your shoulder. The displeasure on your face is palpable, but you stay silent.

You get on your knees. It's not necessary for you to light the fire, but you do it anyway. You keep eye contact with Wanda as you go down.

You toss the wood into the pit one log at a time. She hates you for it. The way she can see the muscles strain under your shirt. The way your tongue keeps darting over your bottom lip. The grunts that leave your mouth.

You're playing dirty, but she doesn't play.

You see her head for the front door.

“A match.”

She pauses though she is halfway across the room. She moves sharply, grabbing a singular match off of the table.

Her steps echo across the floor, heel on concrete. She enters your space. Wanda's closer than she needs to be. You know, she knows it, and Pietro knows it too.

She leans over to hand you the match. Her cleavage comes into your line of sight. You swallow hard a new lawyer of sweat appearing over your forehead. You wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I will freeze if you take any longer,” Erik breaks the tension with a slurred sentence.

You strike the match and she walks out of the door, before the flames can rise.

She doesn't come back that night. You wait up for her, Pietro does the same. The two of you weren’t brotherly, but you were friendly.

The blonde knew that only he would ever be Wanda’s brother. You were something entirely different. Her pet, her project, the title is irrelevant, the only part that holds weight is “her”.

“Do you think she will marry him?”

It's the most vulnerable you've sounded around the man. Here, on the outside porch as you wait for the woman of the house to return. He notes how you whine less when you are berated and beaten than in her absence.

“If she was smart she would.”

You tilt your head, “Do you doubt her intelligence?”

He smirks, “Emotionally, no. Practically, it's hard to say. Wanda is often driven by emotion.”

“You think of emotions as foolish?”

He stares right at you, “Depends on who they're pointed at.”

You look at your hands that are folded tightly together. “Have you got something to say?”

He shakes his head a little. “Nothing that will change anything.”

You stand first, placing a hand on his shoulder. You pat it twice before retiring to the backhouse. Sleep won't come and you are aware of that, but lying down is better than sitting on that porch.

The next morning you find out she's been injured; a small fall, a rolled ankle. The man plans to keep her until she's healed.

“I can go get her.”

Erik laughs, “For what? She's perfectly safe, in a lovely home, with a wealthy man.”

“I can carry her back here. It'd take less than a day's travel,” you insist.

Pietro's hand lands on your shoulder, “I don't doubt your abilities. You're strong, capable, but Wanda is already where she needs to be. If she were meant to come home they would've sent her already.”

You shrug him off. You look between the two men and for the first time you scoff. It's quiet, Erik doesn't hear it, but Pietro does.

You exit the house, going straight to work. It is the only thing you can do to release the unsteadiness building inside you.

The thought of it made you sick. Wanda, playing princess in a house of fine things. She's pretending to be everything she's not with a goal in mind. The goal of gaining a husband, having a status, claiming someone else as hers.

You are hers.

That's the only thought repeating throughout your mind for six weeks. Every time you swing your axe, every time you gut a pig, and every time you try to sleep.

You aren't there when she first returns. Of course you aren't, you're working. Doing extra hours, extra labor, anything to fill the space of her absence.

However, you arrive at the estate some time after she has. You see her first as you quietly enter the room. She's talking excitedly to her father and brother.

She looks different. Her clothes, her hair, her make up, she doesn’t belong here anymore. You're sure of it when you see the ring on her finger.

Your back presses against the wood on the door frame. The sound has eyes snapping in your direction. You only focus on hers.

“Fantastic news Y/n. Wanda is going to marry Sir Jarvis,” Erik presents the news beaming with pride. It looks unnatural on him.

“Congratulations.”

You don't approach her, the distance feels safe.

“Thank you.” She's embarrassed to say it, you can tell.

You leave after that, deciding there is more work to be done.

It's late at night when she goes to the backhouse. She goes up to your room to find it the same as it's always been. You'd outgrown the bed ages ago. It's as if you are a giant staying in a baby's crib.

She watches you sleep, standing at the edge of the bed. The material of your sleep shirt is tight enough for her to see the faint scars left on your back.

Her scars.

She hears a noise under your floor boards. Curiosity gets the best of her and she wanders from the edge of your bed. Further out into the room she sees them in the gaps of your floor; two servants.

They are partaking in devious acts. Acts a lady should never see. Yet, Wanda can't pull her eyes away from it. She watches them, breath strained, as they please each other. It isn't plain like it had been described to her. She sees leather, and chains, and…

She doesn't see anything else. Your hand covers her eyes. They have woken you, it isn't the first time.

You expect her to startle at your touch but she doesn't. She can still hear them and not being able to see doesn't take away what she's feeling between her legs.

If anything her senses multiply knowing you're here. Your weight hovers over her, your breathing tickles the back of your neck, she's surrounded by you.

When morning comes Wanda is off. She's headed somewhere you're familiar with. It feels like she's begging you to go after her, so you do.

You find her with back pressed against a stone mount. Her hand is hidden between her legs. You see it from a distance, but you deserve to see it up close.

“Wanda,” you call her name softly.

You're on the side of the rock that her back is against.

“Leave me alone, Y/n.”

You swallow hard, “I can not. Wanda, you stand here in the open, in a place where only I'd look.”

“I wish to be alone,” she shouts.

There's amusement laced through your tone, “You're lying.”

She stomps away, “I am not.”

You go after her, “Yes, you are.”

She keeps going, not bothering to look back. You follow silently until she turns to face you abruptly.

“What do you want from me!”

You survey her, the wildness in her eyes, the frizziness of her, it only makes you smile.

“You're looking more and more like the girl I grew up with, less like the one who's to be married.”

You take a step into her space and she doesn't move away. She only looks up at you.

“Y/n,” the name is gentle on her lips.

“Wanda, I give. I do not wish to play this game any longer. We've danced around it since the beginning. How can the end belong to anyone but us?”

She begins to tremble, though there is no breeze. She's not ready for this, whatever it is. She doesn't want to lose you, but to claim you is to throw away a guaranteed future of prosper.

“I am engaged,” the words fall from her lips.

You grab her wrist, the wrist belonging to the hand that disappeared between her legs. She stutters but she doesn't pull it from your grasp.

She pretends the stutter is a protest. You know her hand could slip out of grip with little effort. You know that she is deciding not to stop you.

You maintain eye contact with her as the fingers enter your mouth. Her sodden fingers, the taste of her lingers on the digits. You suck them sensually, your eyes only close for a second as you grunt at her flavor.

They come out of your mouth with a satisfying pop. Her hand drops but only to lie against your chest. She leans into you, she shouldn't, but she does.

“We can't,” she whispers.

“Why not?”

You hold her closer to you, close enough that your lips graze when you speak. You can feel the rises and falls of her chest against yours.

“Is it my skin, my status, or my womanhood?”

“I-”

You cut her off, “Or my manliness.”

“Does my lack of conformity unsettle you?”

Her hand, that hand, reaches to caress your cheek. “You could never unsettle me.”

You dip your head to kiss her. She leans in at first, but something stops her. She pulls back, she restrains her want. She remembers that your body is supposed to be yours. That she is not supposed to touch.

You chase her lips, she lets them touch but never truly peck. Your foreheads press together, both breathing intensely.

“Do you not love me? Tell me that you don't.”

She opens her eyes, yours are closed. Her thumb pads across your check. “You stand to make a liar out of me.”

“I stand to be what I have always been, yours.”

She steps out of your hold. “But I am not yours.”

She leaves you there, in the middle of a place that was once special to you. Your eyes stay closed, you squeeze them tightly together. You cannot see her walk away from you, abandoning her once prized possession.

The only person she can talk to about this is Pietro. He knows it all, he's seen them both, he is impartial in Wanda’s opinion.

So she vents to him. She goes and weighs the pros and cons of marrying Sir Jarvis versus the pros and cons of being with you.

Jarvis is the obvious choice. He's high status, he can care for her entire family, and he is kind to her.

But Jarvis is not you.

“Okay, let's give it a proper thought then. Why can't you be with Y/n?” Pietro asks the question with intent.

You stand on the outside of the window. Wanda has her back facing you, but Pietro looks you right in the eyes.

“It would degrade me to marry Y/n. It would be a waste of everything that I could be if I chose Jarvis.”

Her words tear through you like a bullet. Being with you would degrade her. It feels like your heart has shattered into your stomach.

You rarely let yourself cry but you can't seem to hold back the tears that are stinging your eyes.

You walk away from the window. Pietro's eyes trace your movements. He's grateful that you left because only a moment later Wanda speaks again.

“I do not care about wasted potential. I love Y/n. I am not concerned with her womanhood or manliness, with her prestige or status, and I am least of all concerned with her Blackness. She is mine, the only person that makes me feel like I'm not alone.”

You leave that night.

When morning comes Wanda looks for you. She wants to tell you that she chooses you, that the marriage will not happen. She doesn't find you. Pietro tries to tell her, her father does too, but she doesn't believe them.

You would not leave her, you could not leave her. She waited for hours trying to get a glimpse of you returning over the horizon.

You didn't come, not for five years.

When you returned it was not the same way you left. Out of spite you acquired your own wealth.

You wear nice clothes, your hair is styled, and there's a smugness behind your eyes. Of course you're smug, you just bought the slums from Erik .

Wanda isn't there nor is Pietro, they're with Sir Jarvis. They stay at his estate. It makes sense Wanda did marry the man.

Erik tells them of your return. Wanda is on her way as soon as she hears the news. You meet her half way there.

She's glowing and you hate it. You've missed her, how could you not? She practically programmed you to react to her this way.

“Y/n,” she breathes life into the name.

“Marriage looks good on you,” you comment.

She's taken aback, but recovers quickly, “Wealth looks good on you.”

“I can acquire anything with time.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Is that what you believe?”

You nod. “It's what I know to be true.”

Your confidence throws Wanda for a loop. She's not a fan of being surprised by you. She feels entitled to know everything.

“Come to dinner, I'm sure Pietro will be glad to see you.”

A thin smile crossed your features. “Then he may be the only one.”

“You know that is false,” she regards you incredulously.

You step into her space just like last time she doesn’t step back. Her head tilts to look up at you. You don't touch her, mostly because you know how much she wants you to.

“Then tell me, without all of the pretense.”

“There has not been a single day that has passed without you crossing my mind,” she says.

“Only at day, or do you have darker thoughts at night?”

The glint in your eyes is the only thing keeping her away.

“Dinner,” she repeats again, before taking a step back.

There is tension at the dining table. Wanda doesn't see it, all she sees is you. She talks about you excitedly. The liveliness is something that she's been missing these last years. It's noticeable to everyone.

“So Y/n, I've heard that you have acquired the slums from Erik .” Jarvis tries polite conversation.

“I have.” The answer is dry on your tongue.

The blonde man smiles, “That is quite impressive. I know that it can be challenging for people of your disposition to gain such status. It's a wonder that you have.”

You know it's supposed to be a compliment. Wanda and Pietro know it's an insult.

“You're very impressive Miss Y/n.”

The words come from Anna Marie, the younger sister of Jarvis. Her youth is not lost on you. She's marrying age, and you can feel every time her gaze lands on you throughout the night. Conventionally she's attractive, and if you wanted her to, she could add to your wealth.

“Thank you, but it is all just hard work. I've always worked, I knew that it would benefit me in the end,” you send her a charming smile.

Wanda notes the exchange. A fury boils at the bottom of her stomach, one she quells with a sip of her wine. She pivots energetically, ready to flex her knowledge of you. A small warning to Anna Marie.

“Y/n does not care for titles like Miss or even sir, simply just Y/n,” she stares at you while she speaks.

You shrug your shoulders dismissively, “I do not care to fight them either. Call me what you want, it bothers me none.”

“Where will you be staying during your visit?” Jarvis changes the subject.

You pick at the food. “At home, with Erik .”

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up, "Nonsense, it is in a worse state than it has ever been. I am sure Jarvis would not be opposed to having you stay here for the time being. We have plenty of space. Right, dearest?”

Jarvis looks first at his wife and then at you. “If you wish to stay, you are welcomed here Y/n.”

“I am appreciative of the invitation but I belong home. I must get reacclimated with the shortcomings of the estate if I plan to improve it.”

Jarvis nods like it is in understanding, but the relief in his eyes is palpable, “Do you plan to bring labor to help you?”

Your gaze sharpens, “I do not exploit labor of this time. I will pay no man that does not provide his own hands to the service.”

No slave labor.

“You can't possibly mean to restore it all on your own,” Pietro speaks for the first time.

You chuckle, “I do. I have time, knowledge, skill and like I said I have always worked. This will be no different.”

“That is very noble of you Y/n,” Anna Marie compliments you yet again.

“Thank you.”

The next time you see Wanda, it's to tell her that her father has died. Pietro and Wanda make the journey to the slums at once.

The three of you stand over his body, ugly and bloated. No one says anything, no one cries, you just stare.

“Did you ever come see him?” You ask them.

“Very few times,” Pietro answers.

“Jarvis was kind enough to give him allowance, but you know father. He was never one to save.”

Pietro is the first to speak the truth, “He was a beastly man.”

“A monster,” you whisper.

That's the first time they see you act in a way that is familiar to them since your return. The armor you built in the last five years slips away just for a moment. There you are, a young child, fresh wounds on your back.

Wanda kicks the carcass, just once. Pietro spits on the dead man. You watch, before reluctantly moving to pick up the body.

“Shall we bury him?”

You carry him out of the city. The woods are more dense than you remember, but it will suffice.

They help you dig in silence. When the hole is deep enough you place the body in it. You cover it back up.

You all stand over it, covered in dirt and sweat.

“He was cruel. He was pitiful. He was uncaring,” is what you say.

Pietro's fists clench at his, “Father did little for any one else's benefit.”

“Good riddance.”

Wanda turns to go back first, Pietro second, and lastly you.

It is late when you arrive back.

“It is not your usual luxury but you are welcome to stay for the night,” you offer them.

Pietro sighs, “Will you stay here tonight?”

“I will,” you answer him.

“Then we will stay with you. It was once our home too.”

It is not like when you were children. Bitterness has fallen through, there is no longer a need for survival. Conversation eventually happens naturally and it is pleasant between you and the blonde man.

“You do not court anyone Pietro? I am baffled, I was always certain if you ever left this place the women would follow.”

He's honest, “I never said I was not seeing anyone. There is a woman at the Jarvis estate.”

You squint your eyes, “Anna Marie?”

He rebuttals fast, “Absolutely not. She is infatuated with you at the moment and I for one do not play second fiddle.”

That gets you to laugh, real and unrestrained.

“She is very pretty. Young and eager,” you reply.

Wanda cuts in, “And she would be foolish to give you any of her time.”

You wave your hand dismissively, “Some people enjoy foolish things. Pietro, your woman, I am not letting you escape this.”

He chuckles, “Well, she… she works in the kitchen.”

You can not hold your gasp, “A servant? Of my ailment?”

“You have no ailment,” he says. “But yes, her skin is dark.”

“Her name?” You ask further.

There's already a grin etching on his face as he says it, “Monica.”

Wanda interjects, “And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?”

Pietro rolls his eyes, “You fill your time with Jarvis or Anna Marie. You do not seek me out.”

“I brought you with me,” she counters.

“And for that I am grateful, but Wanda we will not pretend like I have ever been your preferred company.”

That sets something off in her, “You are my brother!”

“I am, but Wanda you must know that I have never been your priority. You only harp onto things you can play with and I have never consented to being your toy.”

You lean back into your seat. “He's right, you know.”

She turns her attention to you, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that as soon as the game slides out of your control, you no longer wish to play,” you keep your tongue sharp.

She lets out an unamused huff of air, “That's rich coming from the person that ran away.”

That makes you sit up straight. “Well, what would you have liked me to do Wanda? I could not stay here and watch you play this game of pretend.”

“I wouldn't be pretending, we would've been together.”

You stand, “You are a liar.”

“I have never been,” there's a fire brewing in her eyes.

“You bring up the fact that I ran. You ran first.”

“I was engaged!”

You argue back, “Then I fail to see what would've changed. In fact, I heard you. You said being with me would degrade you. It is unfair that you ask me to stay, knowing you would never pick me.”

This is where Pietro freezes. The temperature in the room has risen exceptionally but he feels himself shiver. There is nowhere for him to escape.

“I said more! I said much, much more.”

“What?”

She crosses the room, her hand caresses your cheek, “I said that you are mine. I didn’t care about your status, or your sex, or your Blackness. I had chosen you. I will always choose you.”

She leans in, movements stuttering, but you turn your head before she can kiss you. Your eyes land on the silent man who watches this unfold. Her lips touch your cheek instead.

“You saw me that night.”

Wanda's brow pinches together, “What?”

“He saw me in the window.”

Wanda turns to face him too.

“I did what I thought was right at the time,” he doesn't meet either of your eyes.

Wanda steps away from you, towards him. Her steps are slow, menacing, they remind you of Erik .

“You played God.”

He stands abruptly, “I did, just once. You played God all the time, every day. Here you are still playing the part.”

“How could you do this to me?” Wanda cries out.

Pietro throws his hands up, “Oh please, Y/n came back. It wasn’t something I doubted. I did this for us.”

“You are a snake.”

He slams his hand on the table, “I am your brother! I no longer wished for us to stay here. I was tired of living under Erik , there was no one saving me from my beatings. I took them on my own. I faced it all on my own. I saw the opportunity for us to leave this, and I decided that it was good for us.”

He turns to you, “And I am sorry. I truly am, but we were never siblings. You were not allowed to belong to any one else in any capacity. I knew it, Erik knew it, everyone in town knew it. No matter what, the only relationship that you had here was with Wanda. It was no fault of your own, it was hers.”

“I will kill you.” Wanda attempts to lunge at the man.

You're quicker, your arms encircle her waist holding her as she screams.

“You will do no such thing,” you whisper in her ear.

“Five years Pietro! Five years of treachery!”

“You acclimated fine. At first, yes it was strange. Can you honestly say you have no love in your heart for Sir Jarvis? You've eaten with him, traveled with him, you have lain with him.”

The last part is enough for you to loosen your hold. Wanda slips out and her palm connects harshly with Pietro's cheek.

There's hate in her eyes, pure and unfiltered. Her voice drops dangerously low, “He is a kind man. Perhaps even a great one, but my feelings for him are born from obligation. The marriage is faulty in this way. He sees me as his, and I have never belonged to anyone.”

He looks past Wanda, his eyes meeting yours. “Do you hear her Y/n? She says she picks you, she's choosing you, but you can never have her. She is unwilling to give, and she has always been. Why fantasize about giving her your name, when she will give you nothing in return. Anna Marie would give herself to you freely without the mess of this.”

She slaps him again. His teeth gnaw at the side of his mouth. He contains his anger or attempts to. Wanda takes his jaw in her grip.

“That whore can not possibly handle Y/n. Even if she could, I forbade it. No one can have Y/n, she is mine. All parts of her. Her name, her scars, her desires, her body; they are mine. I gave them to her and time does not corrode that.”

She pushes his face away from her.

“You are mad,” he says to Wanda. “Y/n, we are not children anymore. You need not stand for this.”

“I am hers. I was raised to be; I want to be. It is my only desire,” you let the words hang in the air.

There's a smugness in Wanda’s eyes. Pietro sets his jaw.

“You are unwell.”

You nod, gaze lingering on the ground, “I know what I am. I no longer wish to fight or continue this discussion in a room where a man lay dead hours ago.”

Your statement sucks the animosity out of the room.

“But-”

You silence her with a look. “His spirit is here, haunting our narrative. I do not enjoy seeing either of you mimic him.”

They bow their heads. Pietro speaks first, “You are right.”

“It is in our best interest to resume in the morning. We have little time and much to figure out.”

It's instinctive for you to move towards the backhouse. It's unnecessary now, but familiarity is binding.

Wanda watches you go, knowing that she will follow the same path soon.

“You don't deserve her.” Pietro keeps his voice low, “You know it in your heart. Y/n is pure, innocent-”

Wanda chuckles darkly. “You do not know her Piet. You were not at her hip, as I was. You know nothing of who she is when isn't protecting me from father. Yes, she is noble, much more so than I, but did you not hear her? She wants to be mine. Let that thought lull you to sleep.”

The auburn haired woman exits the house the same way you did.

The backhouse is slightly different than she recalled. You have already started fixing it up. She supposes it made sense for you to start in the back, it was your safe space.

You are waiting for her in the middle of the room. She approaches you with sure steps.

“You will not go back to him,” you're telling her, not asking.

“I won't.”

Her hands land on your shoulders. You look down at her, desire swirling in your eyes.

“Tell me that he was not yours,” your voice breaks at the end of your sentence.

Wanda raises up on her tiptoes.

“You are the only one that has ever been mine.” Her lips brush yours as she answers.

Your hands fit delicately above the curves of her hips. “Have you been lonely?”

"Ever since you left.” Her eyes are darting across your features, slowly, full of intent.

“And now?” Your breath tickles her lips.

Wanda can't hold back any longer. She presses her lips firmly against yours. She nearly stumbles forward from the force, but your hold on her just tightens. You meet her vigor with your own intensity.

The need is ever present on both sides. You lift her and she squeals as you place her on the bed. Your knees are hurriedly planted against the floor.

It is no longer the small bed that you slept in all your life. It is much larger, enough for two people, possibly more.

You don't stop kissing her, only moving from her lips to her neck. Your fingers fumble with the laces of her bodice.

“Rip them.”

You do as she says. Her top falls. You keep kissing, further down. Your lips touch every inch of skin that you can see.

Across her chest, down her abdomen, below her belly button. You give attention to the parts of her that need you. Your hands, steady as they massage and tease her.

A sweat begins to form across her forehead. She tugs at the arms of your shirt. You stop kissing her to take it off.

All that can be heard is breathing. Your eyes are blown, staring at her skirt as though it has every answer.

“Were you still lonely when he touched you?”

Her face flushes, “I would imagine it was you.”

Your hands travel up her legs under the skirt. Damp isn't the right word. Sodden is more accurate.

You remember the taste of her. It has been haunting you for five years. This time it's your fingers instead of hers. Your fingers slip under the fabric, just to gather her essence.

She bucks her hips, chasing for more than a simple touch. You remove your hand and she whines. It's a pretty sound, but it dies out when she watches you put your fingers in your mouth.

Her mouth opens, but no sounds escape it.

“I have not forgotten your flavor.”

You move to gather more, this time lifting your fingers to her mouth. She holds your gaze as her mouth wraps around your fingers.

“So sweet.”

Your fingers stay in her mouth as your head goes under her skirt. Her tongue flicks around and in between the digits.

You copy the motions of her tongue with your own. The first teasing lick already has her trembling. She doesn't stop and neither do you. One of her hands finds the back of your head, keeping you in place. Not like you were planning an escape.

She’s chasing something that Jarvis could never properly give her. Something that you have stirred inside of her with your presence alone. Her hips rock against your face.

“Fuck, Y/n,” she spasms, your fingers finallyslipping out of her lips.

You stop, finally coming up for air. She doesn't allow you much time to catch your breath, before she's pulling you on top of her.

Your lips connect ferociously. Tongue, teeth, primal sounds, and a claim. Her claim on you.

“Show me everything.” Wanda's hands are already unbuckling your pants. You stand, pulling them down, your underwear with it.

Wanda stands too, fully dropping her skirt. She circles you, and you let her. She stops when she's face to face with your back.

It's scarred, from the lashing you have taken for her. She feels them first with her hand. You don't flinch at her touch.

“Mine,” she kisses one.

Then another, then another, until she has kissed every scar on your back. She presses her front against your back. She holds you from behind. One of her hands rests on the middle of your chest.

She drags it down your abdomen and between your legs.

Her hand rests there, before she decides to slow work you up, “Mine.”

You can feel her breath on the back of your neck. You're quiet, even though it's hard to be. Your lip is caught between your teeth.

Wanda kisses your shoulder. “I want to hear you. You never have to be quiet with me, I will not silence you.”

The sounds that fall from your lips are pure ecstasy to her. They are small, quiet, and needy. She likes that they sound like little whines, it spurs her on.

“That's it, you're so good for me. Now give me what's mine.”

She doubles her efforts though her wrist is cramping. She sucks and kisses along your shoulders. It all feels too good.

Your body goes stiff when it happens. There's a slight tremble in your legs, but you keep them planted.

Wanda doesn't release her hold on, she simply turns you around. Your lips connect sweetly, just a peck.

Your foreheads rest against each other.

“I am yours, completely.”

Your eyes are closed, so are hers.

She slips her hands into yours. “We must go.”

That gets you to open your eyes. “Go where?”

“Away from here. Far from Sir Jarvis, from Anna Marie, from Pietro; somewhere it can just be us.”

She hasn't opened her eyes. She's squeezing your hands, she fears that you will turn her away.

You press a soft kiss against her forehead. “Are you certain?”

The green of her irises shine when she opens them. “Yes. I have felt enough loneliness for a lifetime.”

“You will never be lonely with me,” there's a playful glint in your eyes.

A tender grin begins to spread across her face, “I know, because you are my love.”

“You are everything to me.”