marvel oneshots

wandanat | take this to bed ( a/c )

summary - natasha and wanda are your safe place, and you'll gladly let them take you to bed.

word count - 1.7k

You've always hated waking up in bed alone; especially when you didn't have to. After a few movies that Wanda picked out, you'd fallen asleep between her and Natasha on the couch in the common room, but at some point during the night, your two lovers must have moved you to your bedroom and left for a last minute mission.

You hate when they don't say goodbye. Mostly because you expect to wake up to Natasha's blunt nails tickling your back and Wanda breathing into your neck, or to the smell of french toast and cinnamon lingering in the air. When Wanda gets homesick, cooking your favorite foods allows her to feel closer to you and her mother. Sometimes, if she's feeling suffocated by her grief, she'll make a dish from her childhood and tell you and Natasha all about Pietro and her parents.

Your heart aches when you wake up alone, both from the separation anxiety you never really got over as a child, and knowing that they were off in the world somewhere most likely getting hurt. But, no matter how much you pouted and begged, they wouldn't cave. They know how touch and go your relationship with sleep is, they also know that you sleep best when it's between them. They'd never put your health in jeopardy just to say goodbye. Selfishly, after a last minute mission to Quebec last winter that forced you to sleep alone for three nights, you'd tried guilting them into reasoning with you. They hadn't taken kindly to your reminder that there was always a chance they wouldn't come back home, and your ass ended up on the farthest side of the bed depraved of cuddles for twenty minutes before Natasha felt bad.

Today was no different. At five, just four hours after you'd fallen asleep in Natasha's lap on the couch, you rolled onto your stomach, feeling for Wanda, but your redheaded witch wasn't in reach. Startled by the cold sheets and empty bed, you reluctantly opened your eyes, half expecting to see the worst. You'd never actually seen Wanda or Natasha come home with more than a few cuts and bruises, for which you're eternally thankful, but with your wandering mind you've convinced yourself that when you wake up alone, their dead or severely injured bodies will be leaking pools of blood into the hardwood floor around your bed. It's a thought that keeps you up for days even after they come home. They always come home.

Instead of lifeless green eyes, you notice Natasha's handwriting. She's left a note on her nightstand, your name scripted beautifully in black ink. Last time they left overnight, it was Wanda's handwriting scribbled down. Unconsciously, you feel yourself smiling as you reach for the envelope, completely enamored. Everytime they leave you a note, whether it be for this reason or just because they want to, you fall more and more in love with them and the way they write your name; always perfect, never rushed. This time, the letter was dull: they'll be back sometime in the early afternoon, they love you, and they're sorry.

You frowned, tracing her delicate lettering before moving on. Your days always move slower when you let yourself sulk and wait around for them. The floor was like an ice brick beneath your bare feet, a cold shock running up your spine. Goosebumps traveled down your arms, the baby hairs on the back of your neck rising. Tiptoeing around the bedroom to Natasha's side of the wardrobe, you grabbed one of her favorite shirts. The soft fabric came down to your mid thighs, so you grabbed a pair of Wanda's athleisure shorts as well. You left your clothes in a ball on the floor, knowing how much it drives Natasha crazy and missing the way her arms slink around your waist and pull you back into her chest while you change. You swept your hair up into a ponytail, deflating after the simple task of getting dressed was completed. You were never good at entertaining yourself as a child, and that inability transferred into your adult life easily.

You did find things to do, though. Eventually you left the bedroom, after straightening up Wanda's disorganized closet and folding Natasha's clothes (that you washed three days ago). You even vacuumed the rugs in the living area, humming a song beneath your breath, before deciding to try and make an early lunch. When you've gotten so little sleep like you did last night, you were never really hungry until much later in the day, but you know how much it means to your girls when you try to stomach something, even if it's light. You'd settled on celery and cream cheese, taking the plate back to the living room where you'd left your novel sometime last week. Reading isn't the same as when your lovers are with you, you quickly realize. Natasha doesn't pull you into her chest and pretend like she's not reading over your shoulder, and Wanda isn't here to grab your ankles and pull them into her lap to rub the soles of your aching feet. You're all alone, the emptiness of the couch reminds you, and it weighs on your empty stomach, which suddenly feels entirely repulsed at the prospect of eating anything.