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wandasfifthwife · 6 hours

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nightmares ✩‧₊˚

— hockey player/coach!wanda x afab!reader

you’re prone to dream, meaning sometimes a nightmare gets thrown in the mix. one night you have a heavy one, one that keeps you up every night in fears to ever have it again. your lack of sleep comes to play when you snap at wanda and end up sleeping on her couch. wanda comes face-to-face with the issue when you come into her room late at night, crying from a nightmare

tw: HEAVY TOPICS, mentions that r’s mother was physically&mentally abusive, nightmare has a SLIGHT description, angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, argument (w&r), nightmare, love confessions, r thinks they’re going to breakup, fluffy ending, NOT PROOFREAD

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It can be difficult to separate a dream from reality. Once you’ve reached the stage, it becomes real until something triggers you that it’s only a dream. Some have been weird, others wonderful—times when it’s sexual and you’re waking up, begging Wands for release—but there’s moments when they’re terrifying. You’ve not told her about those, deciding to keep it a secret in fear Wanda may see you negatively. So far you’ve done well, keeping your distance from her—running out from the room when you felt it was too intense, knowing so when the tears would cloud your vision.

As far as you know, she’s been unaware. Her body would lay still when you’d shuffle from the bed, removing yourself from her side and into the cold air of her apartment. She stayed in the same position when you came back most times, chest pushing up and down from her heavy breathing. You’re thankful at times for her deep sleeping tendencies. After about a month of hiding your nightmares you’ve come to realize it takes a lot for Wanda to wake up from her sleep.

One particular night, for reasons you don’t understand, you had a nightmare about your mother. It had felt real, the dream blending with reality and feeling like a memory you should’ve had. You had woken up with a start, instant sobs chasing out of you and filling your room. Your phone laid nearby, Wanda’s contact available, but instead you still decided it were better to phone another friend instead of her. Your mother found your dreams annoying and you feel stupid going to your brother and his wife to cry about a nightmare at your age.

The feeling from that particular nightmare stuck with you, scaring you from falling asleep. Since then you’ve been staying awake as long as possible, fearing falling asleep would bring back the pain it had caused. The effect of not sleeping due to the string of nightmares has now affected your everything. Your attitude, reaction—time, and energy has all depleted, everything has fallen out the window.

Worst is, Wanda had noticed. Shes grown worried, reaching out and asking what was wrong if you’d like to talk to her. You turned her down each time, relaying it to stress at work. And each time you turned her down you felt your heart cry, desperate for her possible comfort. All you really want to happen is to hear her to validate your feelings, arms wrapped around you—but instead you have it all boiling under the surface like a volcano ready to erupt.

She had offered for you to stay over at her place tonight. You hesitated, nervous she may come to realize your sleep-deprivation, but you eventually gave in.

“I have a game I’d like to watch later tonight. Marissa’s on the team, remember her?”

“Yeah, Carmen’s wife?”

She nods, closing the front door behind her, making sure to lock it, “yeah, she plays too. I’d like to see how good she is. See if she’s better than me.”

Normally you would laugh and push her over when she’d spill her cheesy jokes, but all you could offer was half a smile. You watch as her face fell slightly, faltering from her confident look.

She brushes it off, “I have leftovers in the fridge if you’d like some.”

“Oh no, that’s okay. I ate earlier.”

A lie.

“Well it’s there if you’d like any.”

She pushes past, heading towards her room to scroll through the options until she found the one that shows hockey games, specially the one she was hoping to play. It went silent after you both got in her bed, bodies lying by each other. You felt her attention slipping off the game, eyes flickering between the screen and your ever growing eyebags.

“Hey,” she says, tone soft, “have you been sleeping well?”

“I have long shifts at work, but I still get sleep—”

“Don’t mean to pry, but baby you’ve been seeming a bit off—maybe that job isn’t very good for you.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t mean to upset you, I’m just worried,” she states, voice softer if possible.

“I’m fine, Wanda.”

Your tone and the use of her name snaps something in her. She’s leaning onto her elbow, focused on you entirely—a contrast from her quick glances.

“Okay. What actually has been going on? It’s been like what—two weeks of this? If this is all from your job I really hope you quit it soon.”

You scoff, “so I have to quit my job because I, ‘don’t get enough sleep,’ but you can keep yours after breaking multiple bones? Sure, makes so much sense.”

“Injuries heal, but not getting enough sleep or anything will completely destroy you. Have you ever looked at yourself lately? You’re a shell of what you were.”

“It’s just a busy season,” you lie further, “it’s not forever, ease off.”

“I really don’t like where this is going, I’m only trying to help you.”

“Help me? No you’re not? You’re just trying to control me. Please, I’m fine.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” her volume raises, “do you really think I’d do something like that? You’ve been wondering around like a zombie long enough—sorry for being a good girlfriend and wanting to ask if you’re alright.”

“A good girlfriend wouldn’t pester after they’ve been told that their partner is fine like fifty fucking times. So you’re actually just a terrible girlfriend.”

You feel like you’ve been dragged under freezing water after seeing the change in her expression—Hurt flashing behind her eyes for a second before they harden.

You feel your heart beat quicken when you realize she’s shut herself off from the conversation. The hurt blends into anger seeing her look straight ahead, acting like you’re not there. She’s obvious to the storm forming within you, not realizing that by avoiding you she’s making it worse. You did ask her to leave you alone, but by staying silent you fear she doesn’t want to fight for you anymore—you fear she’s giving up.

“Then leave for all I care.”

And you do, climbing off her bed and slamming her bedroom door behind you. You fight against the tears, feeling frustrated when a few fall. You had plans to leave, drive back to your own place until you looked the time. It’s too dangerous to leave, walking alone in any parking lot at this time would be terrifying.

You’re left to open her sliding door closet in the hallway, grabbing a few blankets to make a makeshift bed on her couch. The entire time you’re stuck wiping at your face, missing a few as you’ve realized the couch pillows have a few dark spots. It’s entirely uncomfortable compared to her bed, mainly because you’re missing her. Greatly.

You never argue. They’re uncommon, and most times you’re both good at communicating after taking a break. Now you’re scrambling to remember every word spoken, fearing the worst. You’re crying harder when you think she’s breaking up with you, that when you leave in the morning you may never return. She did tell you to leave, right? Did she mean leave for the night or forever?

You bawl until you feel that it’s all you have in you. The growing killer of a headache brings you to a tired state, begging you to sleep. It’s maybe an hour later, judging by how the tv sounds have been shut off. You fell asleep to the sounds of her shuffling around, turning a light off or shutting a drawer.

It seems to be a day of fears because that night you had another nightmare of your mother. Instead of you being on the hospital bed, it was Wanda. You had just been let in to see her after her injury, the room was empty beside her and your mother. Instead of you being tossed and hit by your mother, it was Wanda.

You could barely process what was happening before your eyes were snapping open. One deep heave later and you’re ugly crying, hands gripping the blankets closer to you, pressing them into your eyes. It’s not real, you try to remind yourself that, but it’s not working. Any time you closed your eyes the imagines would flash again, bringing forth the rush of emotions each time.

You have no one to seek for comfort. Your friends and brother have heard enough, and you’ve just got into a fight with Wanda—why would she care? If she found out about your nightmares she may use it against you, hurtle the insult you had just used against her only a few hours ago.

All that being said you still found yourself in front of her door, opening and letting yourself in. You stand by the bed, sniffling and calling out her name. It often comes out like a whine, voice cracking at the end.

“Wanda please, wake up,” you wailed, pulling her arm towards you.

She finally stirs, “yes?”

You can’t speak all of a sudden. Nothing but deep shaky breaths escaping you. She’s silent, but obviously awake from the sheets moving around. The sound comforts your first concern about her and if she was still here.

“I’m so sorry,” you get out, breathy and in a rush.

“Shh. Here—climb in.”

You slot yourself under the sheets, shaking once you feel her hold you close.

“I’m—sorry, I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, if you leave—”

She already felt her heart ache when she woke up to your wobbly voice, but hearing these kinds of cries from you makes her heart break into pieces. The cry you had let out brings tears to her own eyes.

“I’m not leaving you.”

You’re gripping at the back of her shirt, almost choking her from the way you’re pulling down on it.

“I called you a terrible girlfriend,” you fight back tears to get your sentence out, “I’m a terrible girlfriend. All you were trying to do was help—and you still are.”

“I help you because I love you.”

She places a kiss to your head, pressing another to your cheek and feeling the wetness there.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already apologized and I’ve already forgiven you.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry for not communicating openly about something for a while. I feared to tell you because I didn’t want you to judge me or think I’m a burden,” you sniffle, “sounds stupid, but I have nightmares, specially ones about my mother.”

She tenses at the mention, but stays quiet.

“I think maybe going to sleep with high emotions triggered it. But I’ve never had one with you until tonight. It scared me.”

“How long?”

“Month and a half, I think.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Was scared you’d reject me.”

She laughs humorouslessly, “why?”

“Don’t know, guess I got nervous you’d think I was annoying. Scared me even more when you told me to leave, I thought—“

“I shouldn’t have said something vague like that. I’m sorry too, I wish I could take it back—especially seeing how it’s affected you.”

You fall into a comfortable silence. Her hand draws circles on your back, calming you with each touch. It’s everything you’ve been needing. Her breath hitting your head, hands touching you, and her scent wrapped around you.

“I love you,” she rasps, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“Love you too.”

“From now on if you have a nightmare, wake me up so I can be here for you. I want to care for you, let me care for you. You’re not a burden for showing your emotions, don’t hide them.”

You hum, “best girlfriend anyone could ask for,” and she laughs shortly.

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