[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  "Done," I said.

  I opened my pocket dimension (the one I just created) and checked.

  Floating in the void was the Darkhold. And a few other trinkets I decided to keep as loot. Agatha herself? Dispersed into the cosmic background radiation. She was now just a statistical anomaly in the carbon count of the atmosphere.

  I looked at the audience.

  "Oh, were you expecting a magical duel?" I smirked. "A 'clash of the titans'? Sorry to ruin your entertainment, but I'm a Class VI Reality Bender, not a stage magician. I don't have time for her three hundred year old 'purple spark' nonsense. She was a threat to Wanda's peace. Now? She's a statistical zero. I've deleted her from the script. If you wanted a boss fight, go watch a movie. I'm busy living a life."

  I pushed off the tree.

  "Now," I said, checking my watch. "I actually need to buy that juice. Or my cover story is trash."

  I walked to the corner store. I stood in the aisle.

  "Tart Cherry," I muttered. "Or... Cranberry? Pomegranate? What is the most convincing 'I need this for health' juice?"

  I grabbed one of each. Five bottles. Just to be safe.

  "Overkill is underrated," I decided, paying the confused cashier.

  …

  I walked back into the house.

  "Wanda, I'm home!" I called out, kicking the door shut. "And I have enough antioxidants to live forever!"

  Silence.

  "Wanda?"

  No answer.

  I walked into the kitchen. I set the bags down.

  "Wanda?"

  Still nothing.

  I frowned. "Did she fall into the closet? Did the clothes revolt?"

  I walked up the stairs. The door to my room was slightly ajar.

  I pushed it open.

  "Hey, did you finish the… "

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I stopped.

  The room was bathed in the dim light. The clothes were perfectly folded in stacks on the dresser. The closet door was closed.

  And on the bed...

  Wanda was curled up in a ball, fast asleep. She was clutching my pillow like a teddy bear. Her hair was spread out over my side of the mattress.

  My heart did a somersault.

  "Well," I whispered. "How cute is that."

  I stood there for a minute, just watching her. She looked so peaceful. So completely at home in my space.

  I walked quietly over to the bed. I sat down on the edge, careful not to jostle the mattress.

  She let out a soft sigh and burrowed deeper into the duvet.

  I looked at you.

  This is my bed. My very comfortable bed. It is currently 8 PM. I am tired. And she is asleep.

  Option A: Wake her up. Send her to her room. Risk the 'grumpy waked up witch' scenario.

  Option B: Sleep on the couch. Result: Back pain and resentment.

  Option C...

  I looked at the empty space beside her.

  Option C: I live here. This is my bed. I have done nothing wrong.

  I stood up. I quietly stripped off my jeans and shirt, changing into a pair of soft sleep shorts and a t- shirt.

  I pulled back the covers on the empty side.

  "Don't look at me like that," I whispered to the air. "You can't blame me for this. It's a logistical necessity. I'm not waking her up. That would be rude."

  I slid into bed.

  It was warm. Her body heat had created a cozy microclimate under the duvet.

  I settled in, turning on my side to face her.

  She was inches away.

  Suddenly, she rolled over.

  She threw an arm over my waist. She pressed her face into my chest. She tangled her legs with mine.

  I froze.

  Okay. This is... this is advanced cuddling.

  I carefully wrapped my arm around her back, pulling her closer.

  "I tried," I mouthed to the audience. "You saw me. I tried to just lay here. But she attacked me with snuggles. I am a victim of circumstance."

  I rested my chin on the top of her head. I closed my eyes.

  "Goodnight, audience," I whispered. "Jealousy is a sin, you know."

  I let out a happy breath.

  And then, I let myself drift off.

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  She had woken up the moment the mattress dipped. She had sensed his presence the moment he walked into the room.

  Through the screen of her lashes, she watched him. He was standing by the bed, stripping off his jeans and shirt to change into sleepwear.

  The sight of his back, the muscles shifting under his skin in the moonlight, made her heart hammer against her ribs… thump, thump, thump. She had to force her breathing to remain slow, fighting the urge to sit up and stare openly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as he moved toward the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. She felt the shift in the air and the overwhelming proximity of his heat as he slid under the duvet.

  He hesitated. She could feel him lying there, trying to keep a respectful distance.

  No, she thought, a possessive joy blooming in her chest.

  She waited for a beat, then feigned a shift in her sleep. She rolled over, seeking the heat source. She threw an arm over his waist, pressed her face into the solid warmth of his chest and tangled her legs with his.

  She felt him freeze. Then, slowly, his arm came around her back. He pulled her in tighter, holding her against him.

  It felt warm. It felt like he belonged to her.

  She waited until his breathing evened out. Until she was sure he was drifting.

  Then, she opened her eyes.

  It was dark, but she could see his face in the moonlight.

  He was beautiful.

  She moved her hand slowly, inching it up his chest until her fingers rested on his cheek. His stubble was rough against her skin.

  She traced the line of his lips.

  My Baker, she thought.

  I will never let you go, she promised him silently.

  She snuggled closer, burying her face in his neck, breathing in his scent.

  "Mine," she whispered against his skin.

  She closed her eyes again, letting the rhythm of his heart lull her back to sleep.

  Thump thump (him).

  Thump thump (her).

  Mine mine.