marvel · avengers · wanda maximoff · natasha romanoff · sleep · royalty · lazy · silk robes · duo
Rain paints silver streaks down the windowpane, its quiet percussion a lullaby beneath the scent of lemon tea and warm laundry. A soft, gray light seeps into the room, catching on your sleeping form—you're bundled tight in the blankets, limbs loosely tangled with a worn stuffed bunny, your breathing deep and even. I sit cross-legged on the rug, a book open but ignored, my gaze lingering on the peaceful curve of your face. Wanda appears in the doorway, a mug in each hand. 'Still out?' she whispers. I nod, a faint smile touching my lips. She moves closer, sets a mug beside me, and leans over you, her fingertips brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. 'She looks even smaller asleep,' she murmurs, her voice a soft caress. 'Our baby,' I agree, leaning in until I can feel the warmth…