Archive of Our Own

It was a scary realisation. You'd been asleep on top of her on the couch after a week-long mission away, her fingers dragging through your hair having lulled you to sleep, when she'd shifted to get a little more comfortable. The action had stirred you awake, but you'd just pressed yourself closer to her, mumbled a soft, "Stop movin', baby."

She'd settled herself, pushed her hand through your hair again and murmured an apology. You'd just hummed, turned your head so you could nuzzle into her neck and whispered, "'s okay," against her skin before pushing out a deep breath and promptly falling back asleep. How such a simple moment had brought about a realisation as big as I'm in love with my best friend was beyond her, but by the next morning, the panic had set in.

It made her avoid you for two days afterwards in hopes that she was just overthinking the feelings and that distancing herself would make them go away, and when you finally caught her in the kitchen, her hands wouldn't stop trembling. She reiterated the whole I'm just overthinking it sentiment as pressed her palms flat against the marble countertop to try and hide the shaking, but then came your voice, and then your touch. You took her hands in your own to stop them from shaking, so understanding of her distance even though she couldn't give you a reason for it, and Wanda knew with startling clarity that the feelings were very much real.

You didn't push her to talk, instead just held her until she stopped trembling, and she knew there was no fighting it anymore.

-

Stark's parties have never really been Wanda's favourite bonus to being an Avenger. Too many people she doesn't know, too much mingling with those people just to keep up a good image for the absolutely ruthless press; the only upsides were the drinks that she didn't have to pay for and the quiet moments with the team once all the guests have left. Usually, she makes it far enough to join everyone in giggling and talking like a bunch of teenagers at a sleepover, but it doesn't seem like tonight will be one of those nights.

She's just escaped a conversation with a particular talkative socialite who had excused herself to chase after an old friend who she'd spotted leaving. The moment the woman had left, Wanda became all too aware of her current predicament; the way her head is pounding and her chest feels so incredibly tight and the way her knees are wobbly. She closes her eyes for a few moments to try and calm herself, and when they open she finds you across the room, standing at the bar with Bruce and a woman she doesn't recognise.

You're grinning until you find her eyes, and the smile drops in concern. Wanda holds your eyes for a long moment, hoping you'll understand that she's embarrassingly close to losing it without having to expel any energy on projecting her voice into your head.

Thankfully, you understand almost immediately. She watches you excuse yourself, shaking the woman's hand before pacing across the room, ducking away from conversations until you reach her. She sighs in relief the moment she can smell your perfume, the hand on her arm anchoring her to the earth.

"Hey," you ask softly, "you okay?"

She swallows thickly. "I - I don't want to be here anymore," she says, voice tight. You nod, gently squeezing her arm before sliding your hand into hers.

"Let's go get our coats, yeah? We'll go get some coffee."

Wanda nods, squeezing your hand and sort of zoning out as you drag her through the party. Before she knows it, she’s in the elevator and you’re helping her put her coat on, gently knocking her trembling hands away when she can’t manage to do up the buttons.

She thinks you make some sort of remark that was meant to make her smile, but she doesn't process a single word. Your smile fades a little, lips twisting in concern as you tug her beanie down over her ears before taking her hand again just as the elevator doors ding open. As you cross the foyer and exit the building, the cold chill of the night air is enough to snap her out of her reverie, her hand tightening around yours instinctively.

She breathes a little easier when you squeeze her fingers right back, thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of her hand.

You make small talk as you walk to the 24-hour diner a few blocks away from the Tower, and by the time she has a warm cup of coffee in her hands, she feels a million times better. There’s a lull in the conversation after a while; you’re looking distractedly out the window, eyes following the cars that drive by, and Wanda finds herself captivated as she stares at you.

Your fingers, adorned with rings, are drumming against the tabletop, your coat dumped haphazardly next to you. The blazer you’re wearing is perfectly tailored, accentuating your shoulders in a way that’s devastatingly attractive. Your satin button-up sags forward a little as you rest your chin against your hand, and the light catches on the chain hanging around your neck. Her eyes flick back up to your face, and when you finally notice her staring and smile gently at her, cheeks flushing a little under the attention, she almost lets the words slip out of her mouth: I’m in love with you.

She’s so caught off guard by the waitress’s question of, “Y’all wanna refill?” that she jumps, and the smile on your mouth turns teasing before you turn your attention to the server, politely declining for the both of you and instead handing over your card to pay for the bill.

Once the waitress returns with your card, you start to stand, and Wanda follows wordlessly, tugging her coat back on. When the door swings shut behind you, you find her hand and tangle your fingers together. Wanda exhales softly, leaning into your side and wrapping her other hand around your arm as you start the walk back to the Tower.

“Feel better?” you ask after a little while.

Wanda nods. “Yes,” she murmurs. “Thank you.” You hum in acknowledgment, squeezing her hand. But then you stop moving all of a sudden, neck craned upwards, a frown on your mouth. “What?”

You huff a laugh. “Look up.”

Bang.

Wanda startles, head snapping up, but breathes a laugh when colourful fireworks start to explode above Avengers Tower. For a moment, both of you just watch, shoulders brushing.

“That cannot be legal,” Wanda comments after a particularly large firework.

You hum. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Tony charmed the Mayor into lighting the fireworks himself,” you retort. Wanda grins, watching the show until she feels a gentle tug on her hand.

“Okay, c’mon, let’s get back inside before we freeze to death,” you say. She drags her eyes away from the light show, catching your gaze, and the shiver that runs down her spine isn’t a reaction to the cold.

-

Wanda enjoys babysitting. You do not.

You're quiet as you made the two of you breakfast, and she could tell you were thrilled that baby Nathaniel hadn't woken up as early as Clint had warned he might. Lyla was still asleep too, and Wanda was more pleased than she'd ever tell you at the prospect of getting some alone time with you.

She watches with admiration as you work, making sure the scrambled eggs don't stick to the bottom of the pan, humming along to the soft music filtering in from the living room. You're in the matching-set of Captain America pyjamas that Sam had gotten you as a gag gift last year and she's wearing an old, faded band t-shirt of yours, and for a moment, Wanda lets herself pretend that this morning is her normal. She imagines that every morning, she wakes with you next to her, your arm slung across her waist; she imagines that every morning, you both lounge in bed until her stomach rumbles at the thought of eggs on avocado toast, which you take the liberty of cooking for her.

The whole scene in front of her is painfully domestic, and it makes her heart twist with equal parts adoration and apprehension.

Her feelings are only growing deeper and more intense, and she fears the day you find out and inevitably distance yourself, or worse, the day she watches you fall in love with someone else. She chews anxiously on her lip, clutching onto the warm mug of tea in her hands as she slips into thought.

“Hey, sweetheart, you alright?”

She blinks, snapping back into the here and now to find your face, watching her carefully. She swallows around the lump in her throat, nodding softly and offering up a small smile.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I'm still waking up, I think.” You linger on her for a moment longer before nodding a little, still not seeming entirely convinced even as you turn your attention back to the stove. Wanda swallows hard, aims to change the topic. “When's breakfast ready?”

You take the bait. “Just gotta wait for the toast to—” The toast pops. "There we go." You turn off the heat before you step over, cursing softly as you pull it out of the toaster. “Stupid old toast burnt our toast.”

Wanda chuckles, placing her mostly-empty mug down and stepping over to you to inspect the plate donning the bread. It’s still completely edible; you’re just being dramatic. “Relax, your highness, it’s still toast.”

Your pout only deepens. “But it’s burnt.”

“We won’t even be able to taste it with the eggs,” she reasons. “It’s okay.”

You hum, disgruntled, and Wanda isn’t quite sure what possesses her to do what she does next. She rises a little on her toes and presses a soft kiss against your cheek. Your breath hitches, and for a moment, Wanda panics. But before she can step away and scramble to apologise, you stop her with a hand on her waist, turning to face her.

The kitchen feels a million times smaller all of a sudden.

Her eyes flutter shut when your lips press against her skin, the plate cluttering a little as Wanda clumsily puts it back down as a shudder runs through her whole body, and when you shift your head just enough that your nose brushes against hers, Wanda thinks that maybe, just maybe—

A crackly cry rings out through the baby monitor.

You pull away quickly, the moment broken, and Wanda misses the warmth of you immediately. You can't meet your eyes as you step through the kitchen, pausing only when you remember the eggs still sitting in the pan.

“Um, do you wanna, uh—” You jab a thumb over your shoulder. “I'm - I'm gonna...”

“I'll make you up a plate,” Wanda says, voice a little too shaky for her own liking. Your jaw clenches, and for a moment you linger as if to say something more, but then think better of it and turn on your heel, following Nathaniel's cries up the stairs.

Wanda lets out a heavy breath as soon as you’re out of sight, her cheek still burning where your lips had been, heart pounding uncomfortably hard against her ribcage. She pushes a hand back through her hair before busying herself with preparing breakfast, and as she’s setting the plates down on the dining table, you come into view, rocking and hushing a disgruntled Nathaniel.

“Oh, I know, baby, it’s so hard,” you mutter, hand patting gently against his bum. “So, so hard bein’ a little baby with no responsibilities, huh?” He grunts in response, hand curling into the bottom of your hair and tugging. “Ow! Asshole.”

It’s enough to make Wanda smile again, and she steps over to you. “Here,” she murmurs, already reaching for him as she catches your eyes, “let me.”

You swallow thickly, looking at her as she guides Nathaniel into her arms, watching her in a way that makes it hard to breathe. She offers up a small smile, which you return, but before she can turn away, you step closer, cupping her cheek with one hand before leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. She exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut, heart hammering impossibly hard as you drop a few more soft kisses to her skin; above her eyebrow, the corner of her eye, her cheek. Nathaniel is briefly forgotten as she leans into the kisses, heart skipping.

But then you step away, asking if she wants a glass of juice, and Wanda has to put an unreasonable amount of effort into making sure her voice doesn’t tremble when she replies.

-

The kisses become a common occurrence.

You kiss her cheek when wishing her hello or goodbye when you’re in a hurry to get to training or wherever else, kiss away her tears after a nightmare, kiss the top of her head as she drifts off to sleep on top of you. She kisses your cheek as a thank you, kisses the back of your hand when you lace your fingers together, kisses the aches and bruises you gain from missions or training with Natasha.

Wanda relishes in the thrill of each touch, loves that when you’re bickering about something stupid as you’re walking down the street or through the grocery store, a kiss has become an accompaniment to an apology. Even if sometimes, when she’s laying alone in bed as the knowledge of them just being friendly kisses weighs on her heart, she still loves them. She’d rather have those brief presses of lips against skin than nothing at all.

But gradually, your kisses become more and more dangerous. They linger against her skin, and each kiss to her cheek becomes more of a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her heart leaps each time, jaw tightening to fight the urge to turn her head just that tiniest bit.

Even other members of the team have started to notice; Natasha shoots her a suggestive look as you shuffle away, Vision tilts his head in confusion and mutters about strange human behaviour, Steve smothers a smile before making a uncharacteristically sly comment, and Sam splays his hands out as if to ask When did that happen? and each time, Wanda shakes her head dismissively and does her best to hide her blush.

Knowing that other people notice it somehow makes it worse, makes it cut that little bit deeper, but still, she aches for it, aches for you in an almost innate way. Which is why, after a conversation with a terribly knowing Natasha, she seeks you out, walks right to your room and enters without a knock.

You’re sitting up against the headboard, book in hand, and your whole face lights up when you realise it’s her before your smile dims a little with concern, a gentle, “You alright, baby?” filling her ears as she locks the door behind her. Wanda’s hands tremble, Nat’s words bouncing around in her skull: She is very much in love with you too, and you’re both stupid.

She thinks that maybe, Natasha might be a little bit right.

She crawls onto the bed wordlessly, slipping beneath the covers with only one goal in mind. She pulls the book out of your hands and tugs you down until you’re laying on your back so she can half lay on top of you, arm wrapping around your middle. You let her manhandle you the way she wants, huffing out a small laugh when she nuzzles into your neck, her way of telling you that you can move.

Wanda sighs softly as your hand trails up and down her spine a few times before stroking over her hair and finally settling at the back of her neck. You stroke your thumb along her skin, and Wanda’s whole body relaxes, letting out a long breath.

“You okay?” you ask in a whisper.

Wanda hums an affirmative, nuzzles further into you. “Just wanted you,” she mumbles, and maybe she should’ve said a little more, or said something different entirely, but your breath catches and your hand stutters in its soothing motion, and Wanda’s own heart leaps.

Natasha could very well be right.

Still, Wanda asks, “Can I stay?”

You hum quietly, tilting your head to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

Wanda exhales again, closes her eyes, and it isn’t long before sleep takes her.

In the morning, she wakes before the sun rises. At some point during the night, the two of you had shuffled apart, but not far enough that Wanda doesn’t wake with your arm flung over her waist. She almost prefers it this way, she thinks. The sun is barely just peeking over the horizon, the sky still dark but just starting to turn hues of pink and orange, and Wanda gets to watch the low light dance over your skin. She gets to drink in the intimacy of just watching you as you sleep, unburdened just for a while by the life of being world-saving superheroes.

She can’t fight the urge to roll onto her side and reach for you, nimble fingers pushing the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear, thumb tracing along the shell of your ear. She knows it’s likely the touch will wake you, but she selfishly craves your waking company.

As she strokes the back of her fingers along your jawline, she watches you stir awake. Your eyelids flutter but don’t open, a small hum filling the space between you. Your arm tightens around her waist and pulls her close.

“Tickles,” you murmur, voice husky with sleep.

“Sorry,” Wanda whispers, but she doesn’t stop the slow movements.

There’s a few seconds of silence, and then you ask, “Wha’ time’s it?”

“Early,” she murmurs, shifting her hand to drag her fingers through your hair. “Sun’s just coming up.”

You sigh softly, stirring further at the revelation, and your eyes flutter open. Wanda feels warm the moment your eyes find hers and a small, sleepy smile curls at your lips. She smiles, too. Her heart stutters when you lift a hand to brush your knuckles tenderly under her chin and along her jaw, your eyes watching the movement closely.

“Hi,” you whisper, and Wanda smiles, biting a little on the inside of her lip.

“Hey,” she breathes out, ghosting her fingers along your cheek again.

But then, as you fall into silence and Wanda strokes her fingers over your cheek, your soft expression changes. It shifts into this strange look that Wanda doesn’t really understand; you’re watching her closely, eyebrows drawn together, the crinkle in your forehead making an appearance.

Wanda blinks, shifts her hand up to smooth out the crinkle with her thumb. “What is it?”

You lick your lip, pausing for a beat before saying in this soft little voice, “You’re my best friend.”

Wanda understands immediately. In most circumstances like her own, those four words are the last thing anyone wants to hear, but right now, they're music to her ears. Her heart flutters inside her ribcage, her throat tightens, and it takes everything in her not to cry at the overwhelming feeling of it all.

“You just... you matter so much to me,” you add, eyes on hers. “You know that, right?”

She bites down on her lip with a small nod, hand sliding down to rest against your neck, thumb ghosting along your jaw, and leans in close. She presses a tender kiss to your forehead, revels in the shaky breath you let out. She drops her chin and kisses your cheek, once, twice, three times, until you huff a laugh and pull her against you.

She breathes in, out. She hooks her leg over your hip and slips her arm under your head as you snuggle into her chest, holding you impossibly close. Your hand slips under her shirt, lazily stroking at the warm skin of her back, and Wanda just wants to sink into you and never leave.

“Go back to sleep,” you murmur, “‘s early.”

She presses a lingering kiss to the top to your head. Nat had invited her on an early morning run, so she knows she should probably get up now just to avoid that initial drowsiness that Natasha seemed to be immune to. But then you exhale softly, lips brushing along her collarbone.

“Wanna stay here forever,” you mumble, seemingly to yourself. Wanda hums, can’t help the smile that pulls at her lips, and gently tugs on the ends of your hair.

She can miss going on that run, she decides with finality. Natasha will understand.

-

She hears it in the comfortable silence that stirs between you as you sit shoulder to shoulder on your shared bed, both doing your own thing, content with just being in each other’s company.

She feels it in the way you let her play with the fingers of your hand whenever she’s nervous or whenever she just wants to, regardless of what you’re doing or who you’re talking to.

She sees it in the dark, when she reaches blindly for you just to find your own hand reaching for her, too.

She can’t recall the exact moment she’d fallen for you, but each time you press your lips to hers and leave her breathless, each time she falls apart around your fingers, each time you run your fingers through her hair until she drifts off to sleep, she thanks her lucky stars that somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for her too.