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The storm that nobody in Central Jersey expected to hit at all had settled entirely before Natasha even got home from Calderu University. The sun had come and gone with the thunderstorm too, leaving nothing but an inky abyss for her to wander through with damp hair clinging to her neck. Her converse sloshed through puddles, her ankles vigilant enough to tense in the darkness to avoid twisting over rocks and gravel. It’s not cold, not chilly enough to see her exhales as she huffs through her parted lips, but the air has lost its lick of permanent warmth that it carried May through just last week. There’s a nip to the breeze as it shoves past her like she’s an intruder in its path, harsh and brisk and it draws attention to the damp spots on her arms and torso, the rain shower from earlier on catching her just before it ended as she slipped out of Stark Theatre with her sister on her heels.
The moon hangs overhead in the sky like a sticker on a child’s wall, bright and full as it reveals its craters to only those who stop and squint to notice. Natasha can’t help herself, she always stops. She has to. It’s a full moon tonight as she turns her eyes to watch Wanda through the window framed by white shutters. Their routine is screwed to shit, she’s home earlier than she should be and the brunette’s still frolicking around the house in pajamas, enveloped in the security of her own impenetrable world as she drags a rag across the shelving units in the living room, probably preparing to put up more of their slowly collected Halloween decor now that October creeps nearer and nearer.
It’s not late enough for the sky to be this dark overtop of Westview, it’s just barely four-thirty in the afternoon as Natasha reaches down into the water bottle sleeve on her backpack for the house keys she’d pointedly taken off of her keyring before she’d gotten out of the car, but tomorrow's expected to be heavy rain storms all throughout the early morning into the late afternoon so it doesn’t surprise her too much that the sun has fallen behind thick clouds already, the moon only visible because of the winds strong current blowing clouds out of the way every now and again. Fall is officially upon the armpit of America, there’s no denying the change of seasons anymore as leaves from Agatha and Rio’s yard fall over the white picket fence into hers and Wanda's.
Natasha can’t hear the music playing inside as she creeps up the porch steps, thankful that despite the premature darkness that had settled over town, Wanda had still remembered to turn the porch lights on for her, but she knows that its playing as she continues to peek into the house with a fond smile itching to break the smolder on her lips.
She doesn’t know how to feel right now; how to process her day. On one hand, she’s almost certain that she’d found the unknown girl on the other side of her laptop screen every Saturday night, but on the other, she’d gotten wind from her partners of funds definitively being cut from Fury’s project at the end of the quarter, and she doesn’t know if the identity of her online hyperfixation should outweigh the grief she feels for a man that watched her build her career piece by piece from what she knows — and he knows — was the ground up. It does. She knows that it does. Her fingers spin the wedding band around her index finger as she lingers on the porch.
All she wants to do is burst through the front door and tell Wanda that she was right all along, that the anonymous submissive who calls herself Junebug online is in fact just a college student who shakes like a leaf without order; instruction. Natasha had noticed that about you in the minutes you’d stood outside beside the thunderstorm. She’d noticed how you waited to see what everyone else did first before you acted, how your eyes watched her expressions and Yelena’s body language so intensely until you could mimic it yourself — or at least fall into an expression that you felt matched their energies appropriately.
Somehow, you weren’t what she envisioned for a camgirl in the slightest but after seeing you for those two and a half hours in the rain, you made all the right amount of sense to be the girl she’s developed strange feelings for. The feelings aren’t strange. Not really. Natasha knows exactly how to navigate them. She knows what they mean, where they come from, why she’s feeling them for you specifically. She knows her interest in the stream has transitioned far beyond any straightforward online relationship. She knows that now that she’s laid her eyes on you, felt your skin, heard your voice, seen your eyes, there’s no chance she can ever be okay with just getting glimpses of your body once a week again.
You remind her of some of the fondest moments of her childhood, the memories dipped in sunshine and citrus scent at the back of her mind; the ones she begs Yelena to remind her of on nights when she can’t sleep and Wanda looks too peaceful to wake up. You’ve got eyes that look like their backyard in Ohio when the sun set too early and the wooden play structure became a haunted house instead of an oasis in reach of little hands. You’ve got hair that looks uncontrolled by heavy product or heat, so soft and slick like it’ll fly through the breeze if she rolls her windows down and takes you past the high school she grew up at to show off her athletic stomping grounds on a holiday trip home. You carry yourself like someone’s hurt you, but you still believe if you’re quiet enough instead of stronger, it’ll stop it from happening again.
It makes so much sense now that she knows. You make so much sense now that she’s putting all the pieces of the puzzle together; or at least the pieces she has access to right now. She wants to make it better for you, she wants to be the one to step in and make sure nobody hurts you instead of watching you just tiptoe around potential conflict on your own. She wants to hold your body, work you open and up. She wants to share you with Wanda, watch her wife take turns with your body, feel your hands grapple with the sheets trying to get to her too, begging to take both of them.
They’ve done this before — invite another body into their bed, but you’re different. You remind her of Ohio, of the backroads and the sunsets over the ranges where the domesticated cattle grazed on hay between hours at the petting zoo, but you’re so starkly your own individual in this world that pushes for unity and blind conformity. Your little yellow platform converse, the keychains on your backpack that she never did get a good look at, but somehow encapsulate the grungiest of fashion moments and the glitziest of city glamor from what she could make out. She hasn’t quite figured you out, there hasn’t been enough time, enough talking, enough anything, but you’ve sat at the forefront of her mind all day and she just can’t wait any longer to barrel over the threshold and tell Wanda all about it in detail.
Their routine is thrown off by a long shot. A water main leak kept Wanda out of the classroom, and despite the premature darkness that coats Westview in a blanket of stillness, it’s almost three hours earlier than Natasha should be arriving home for their typical Monday pizza night. Initially, she’d planned to take the short drive over to the offices and labs Yelena operates out of Jersey, but after the events of her morning and the unexpected rainstorm that dampened her permanently, she’d crawled into her car with a scowl and driven away in silence. She doesn’t visit the second location enough. She trusts Yelena to keep it afloat, and she’s grown to trust Kate to keep an eye on Yelena. There’s enough on her mind, enough on her plate, Wanda’s already sacrificed so much of her attention for the home base in New York, somethings she’s willing to compromise on.
“It’s open!” Wanda’s voice carries through the front door when Natasha steps close enough to grab the gold plated handle and steady it between her calloused palm. She almost has the key in the hole when the information dawns on her, and bashfully she turns the knob with her house key still clutched between her fingertips, aware of the fact that she’d been caught just watching from the porch. “Wanna tell me why I had to stop laundry to hop on that stream? And why you just spent ten minutes standing on the porch like a freak?”
“We’re feisty tonight. Got it.” Natasha nods, closing the door behind her body as she finally deflates on her feet, her shoulders hunching as the muscles in her back stretch with her spine and scream in subsequent relief almost instantaneously. She throws the house key to the side, not interested in the idea of putting it back onto her key ring right now, and reaches for her ponytail instead, yanking it out of her head without care for the baby hairs and split ends that get caught up in the fraying rubber peaking out at odd ends.
Wanda huffs through her nose, but there’s a hint of entertainment that just can’t hide itself in her eyes when Natasha glances across the room to look at her fully. “You had me join and then you tried to kick me out when you got a minute away from Yelena? Yeah, I’m feisty tonight!”
”But I let you back in.” The Russian smirks, not so nervous anymore as she watches Wanda scratch at her scalp across the living room, strands of brunette hair snagging on the edges diamond in the center of her wedding band.
The Sokovian’s lips curve upward for a single moment, caught off guard by Natasha’s conflicting composure in the entryway of their home. She’s tense. She hasn’t made it very far into the house, still lingering beside the catch-all table where her house keys been abandoned, but she dragged her feet the entire way to the corner of the console table from the threshold, too heavy in her own bones to pick them up off the floors. Her eyes twinkle with exuberant energy, negating the weight that shackles her visibly. A breathe of air escapes Wanda before any sound, her head shaking as she tries to make out where her wife’s mind is at and how it got there at all. “Natalia!” She scolds when she can find the words, her own eyes wide in disbelief and entertainment as they unmake the blonde who steps out of her converse without untying the laces, the events of her day loosening them around her ankles over the collective hours.
”Okay! Fine!” Her lips thin out into a smile before she sobers, darkens exteriorly as she falls back into her mind for only a second before even her eyes reflect the clarity of finding words to express her day's discoveries. Wanda snorts, watching in fondness as Natasha tries to collect herself like a flustered young adult. It’s been a handful of years since she’s seen her like this in any capacity at all, and the tender strings of her heart play a ballad of fond nostalgia as she remembers when it had been her turn to earn Natasha’s emotional confliction like this. “I’m ninety percent certain that Yelena’s been best fucking friends with Junie since at least last Christmas.”
“Junie?” Wanda squints, her head lulling to the side as she throws the rag she’d been holding onto over beside the picture frames on the shelf, ringing her hands that smell faintly of pine sol together as she contemplates the familiarity of the name. Natasha waits patiently, like she doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. “Bug?” She asks eventually when it clicks, stunning green eyes laced with potent confusion as bits and pieces of the story are left unsaid.
“I leave you alone with her for ten minutes and suddenly it’s just bug.” It’s Natasha’s turn to squint, because that subtle change hadn’t been lost on her that afternoon when she’d manage to slip away from Kate and Yelena for five minutes just to just the stream from her phone.
Wanda throws her hands up, her eyes ablaze though lacking heat as she fights a grin. “Says the woman who walked in here and called her Junie.”
“That’s what she introduced herself to me as!” Natasha defends herself before she backtracks, the wheels turning in her head and so evidently in the blues and greens of her eyes. “Or, well, actually she introduced herself as June, but Yelena, and Kate, by the way, the intern we took on last year, called her Junie. It’s cute, it fits her.” Natasha shakes her head pointedly when she realizes she’s deviating from her intended path again, too consumed with every minor detail of you that flashes before her eyes without interruption now. “Anyway, that’s not the point of what I’m trying to say to you. My love, are you hearing me when I tell you I had a full conversation with her today before my talk this morning or are you just looking at me like that because you missed me and I look like a wet rat.”
“I missed you, huh? I never said that.” Wanda hums, cheeks twinging pink as she realizes that Natasha’s not entirely wrong to call her out on her blatant staring. She hadn’t really been listening the words that were coming out of her wife’s mouth. She’d heard them, acknowledged them with a nod of silent confirmation, but only in the face of silence from her partner does the weight of them dawn on her. ”I knew she was a college student!” She bubbles suddenly when all the little pieces of information Natasha had dropped on her pieced themselves together in her head, her heart stuttering in her chest as she thinks about all that you and Natasha could’ve done and discussed in the minutes before her meeting.
“Mmm.” The blonde hums, amusement swirling in her eyes as she finally starts to move again, creeping closer to the brunette who stands still like a fixed beacon in the darkness; a reliable point of safety to refer back to at any moment.
Rough hands circle around small, delicate hips encased in cotton shorts and a t-shirt that’s survived all stages of their life together. Natasha snorts as she reads the faded words on the front, holding Wanda an arms length away just to trace her eyes along the peeling edges of the vinyl, some small pizzeria from their college days. She remembers in detail how they’d ordered two shirley temples and the extra large pie that comes with a complimentary shirt if you eat it within fifteen minutes. That’d been one of their quickest dates in history; or it should've been considering Natasha ate seven slices and Wanda ate three in twelve minutes, but they’d taken Natasha’s car behind a bowling alley and spent too long discussing the traumatic things that’d led them to their respective career goals.
Natasha needs the reminder that their love is fixed, unchanging, a constant. They’ve done this before, invited submissives into their bed, their hearts, but no initial jump into polyamory had ever felt this raw and unearthed before. Her nerves feel exposed to the heat circulating through the house, the sensation dry and hot as she suffocates her slowly. It’s not too cold outside yet, some days are definitely warmer than others, but Wanda’s been sneaking down the upstairs hallway when Natasha’s not looking to warm the house to a low seventy-two when the air outside gets just nippy enough to defend the extra blanket.
She’s not trying to convey the message that Wanda alone isn’t enough for her anymore, because she knows that in the end if it came down to swearing off any other submissive to just live the life she’s already built at her best friend’s side, she’d choose Wanda in a heartbeat without even having to think about the answer or the means to do so. But, she can’t deny the feelings she’s gradually developed for the woman that’s not just on the other side of her laptop screen anymore. She can’t deny that over the months, before she’d even come face to face with you, she’d opened her mind up to the idea of going there again with someone else. It wouldn’t just be for her, she’s thought about this extensively, turned it over in her head again and again when she can’t sleep and also can't bring herself to reach for the phone to call Yelena, but Wanda’s already fast asleep beside her comfortably. She’s scared to admit that she wants this, that she’s ready and somewhat eager to have another body besides Wanda’s to hold beneath her fingers again, that maybe… she wants more than just that this time around. This feels different, you’re different. Natasha doesn’t know what this situation is doing to her, but she feels unmade in her own house as she digs the pads of her fingers into Wanda’s hips and pulls her closer until their chests brush — pebbled nipples neither of them had noticed before brushing against each other in the collision.
“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno, moya lyubov’. (You look beautiful, my love)” Natasha breathes softly, captivated by Wanda’s simple beauty illuminated by only the lights they’ve decided fit the vibe of their home, their house, their rules and their love. She drags the tip of her nose down the sokovians, focusing intently to even faintly feel the texture of clogged pores and oily skin against hers. This is the woman that she’s vowed to spend the rest of her life with, but they both need more and she knows it. Not only does she know it, but she thinks that she might just have someone at the forefront of her mind.
Sure, over the months that she’s been watching your streams routinely, she’s passed the idea over in her head about really having you in her bed. She’s thought about Wanda having a chance to assert control over scenes and warm bodies, she’s thought about being the one to dominate the both of you at the same time. She’s gone to lengths to great that there’s a comprehensive list in her phone of kink she thinks you might like, but haven’t ever introduced on Saturday nights. There’s always been an acknowledgment that she cares in some way for you, but again, aware of that fact that she sounds like a broken record in her head as she holds Wanda’s face between her hands like delicate glass, she thinks that seeing you physically changed something she hadn’t expected to ever feel again. She’s thought about you infiltrating their lives before, but now she wants you woven into the seams and fine lines, integrated at holiday parties and hanging off of her arm in slow moments.
“Your talk went well?” Wanda draws in a sharp breath as Natasha leans closer, refusing to let any measure of space separate them in this moment. She knows where this is going, she knows that look, that desperate squeeze of fingers trying to ground themselves. Wanda would be lying if she said it was killing her to not just throw out the seal of approval without a conversation, but she knows that despite the anxiety churning away in Natasha’s brain, a conversation about what this will all come to mean for them is the only way she’ll find comfort in the feelings stirring inside of her. She always has the answers, always has everything under control, but Wanda’s known for months that this was going to end one of two ways for Natasha. It was going to end with her forgetting about the livestreams after weeks of repetition, or it was going to end like this; with her heart bleeding out onto the pavement and no exit wound in sight from the shot.
Natasha sighs shakily, wondering how she ever got so lucky to have found Wanda or have known Wanda at all. “My talk went well. Kate’s a pro with the software now, which I wasn’t expecting going into today, but Yelena seems to really be doing her a lot of good.” Natasha explains eventually, her forehead still flush against Wanda’s as they stand still in the living room just a few feet away from the center of the space.
”Tell me about her. You want to.” Wanda hums, her thumb caressing Nataha’s cheek as she attempts to siphon the warmth her partner provides in this steady quiet moment. Even with the heat on, even with her torso covered by a t-shirt that hangs toward the center of her thighs, nothing is warm enough, or as perfect, as the warmth that Natasha provides just by standing next to her in any weather, any season, any conditions. Wanda has security in few things in life, but she knows for certain that if Natasha’s next to her, she won't have a moment to be cold.
“I can’t do Sharon again.” She whispers painfully, tears stinging her eyes before she closes them tightly. She’s shed too many tears over Sharon Carter in her life, especially for only burning hot and steady for a year before she up and left in the middle of the night, claiming Natasha — not Wanda, Natasha — couldn’t pour enough of herself into another relationship when she already holds work and Wanda on uneven pedestals. “I can’t be the reason you lose somebody to care about again.”
“I have told you a million times, and I will continue to say the same thing until I’m blue in the face and six feet under; it was not your fault. Have I ever asked you to change the way you love me?” Natasha tries to look away, the muscles in her neck tense to crane to the right, but Wanda keeps her grip steady, unwilling to relent and lose sight of the brilliant green-blue eyes she’s only barely getting to glimpse at beneath her thick lashes as it is. “Natasha, have I asked you to change the way you love me?”
Natasha hates this every time it happens. She hates when she feels weightless between Wanda’s hands, when her heart is beating so fast in her chest that she can’t decipher if the warmth on her cheeks is from the tender hands that love her, or the blush she can’t help but submit to against her will. “No.” She answers eventually, because they’ve done this before, they’ve done this countless times really. Not as frequently, not even within the last six months, but over the years of knowing Sharon and having known Sharon, it’s been a recurring theme in Natasha’s inability to let herself open her heart up again. Wanda won’t relent until Natasha gives her the answer she wants, and the answer that is the fundamental truth despite all the lies and manipulation that had been spun in their disastrous falling apart.
“No. I haven’t. That’s right.” Wanda’s voice is soft but stern, a representation of the years she’s spent learning the education system and the most effective ways to handle explosive students. Natasha never gets tired of hearing the strain in her voice when she puts on this hat, this side of herself that she only gets to explode eight hours out of the day. “Sharon left because she couldn’t handle two romantic relationships and an entire life of her own at the same time. Sharon left because she couldn’t stand that you found me first, that you married me and not her, that no matter how hard she tried to get you to hate me, you always took my side. She wanted to hurt you, and you’re still letting her. I’m over it, I’m over her. I’ve learned a lot of things about myself and us since she walked out, and neither of us thrive in a relationship that's built off of competition and insecurity. You love a brat, my love. You don’t love an inconsiderate woman with an attitude problem.”
“I want to kiss you.” Natasha whispers, unsure of what else there is to say when Wanda cradles her so gently but pointedly in the same baited breath, the proximity of their faces working against her despite the years they’ve been together. Natasha thinks that's a good sign, a strong sign. She never witnessed the affection of healthy marriage growing up, she’s not sure what to look for when things start to go wrong, or how they should feel when they’re so perfectly right, but she things that this thing right here with Wanda that they built around textbooks and coffee grounds is what every poet talked about when they wrote their greatest pieces.
“So kiss me.” Wanda pleads, eyes already closing as she leans in first, willing to be the one to face rejection if now isn’t the time, if Natasha still needs a minute to spiral before she’s willing to be pacified and comforted. She’s wrong to be doubtful, uncertain. Natasha meets her in the middle with passion, desperation. Her tongue is warm, and it smells faintly of cinnamon as it sweeps across Wanda’s bottom lip and begs for entrance, pushing forward when it's rewarded and lapping at the rough tongue it finds in its search.
Wanda’s pajama shorts are thin, it becomes prevalent to note that detail when Natasha moves her grip to take handfuls of the brunette’s ass, her fingers tracing the lace edges that confirm to her wife’s trimmed labia. Wanda groans at the sensation that shoots through her at the first brush of fingers beside her aching cunt, still turned on from the scene she’d watched unfold hours ago without returning any pleasure to herself like she’d wanted to.
“Fuck, baby, I want you.” Natasha detaches from the kiss only to trail her lips down Wanda’s neck, leaving a glistening trail of saliva in her path as she kisses down the Sokovians neck breathlessly, her chest rising and falling with short shallow breaths that only encapsulate her desire to connect with Wanda how only she’s allowed to.
“So take me.” Wanda moans, her head thrown back in pleasure as Natasha suckles softly on the sweet spot breath her left earlobe, careful not to mark the skin that needs to be shown off the children in only a handful of hours, but diligent of her appreciation as she worships what her tongue and lips can touch. “I’m yours. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter anything, I will always be yours. Kým sa navždy nerozlúčime. (Till forever do us part)”
“On the couch. I want you now. I want you here.” It’s the closest to begging that Natasha gets, and Wanda never tries to take advantage of her vulnerability on nights like tonight. She pecks the blonde’s lips one last time, the essence of vaseline still coating the skin, before she peels her body away from the warm touch still between her legs and holding her hair to make her way toward the couch. “I don’t want you to worry about me tonight. I just want to feel you. I just want you to let me feel you and make you feel good. Okay? Is that okay?”
Wanda doesn’t hesitate to pull the t-shirt over her head and discard it onto the floor in an unorganized heap. Her shorts are the next thing to go, sliding down her legs with no real tension once she eases the elastic waistband past her hips with soft fingertips. Natasha watches her like she’s a slow drying masterpiece, marveling over every inch of her skin as it’s exposed beneath the lighting.
“What are you doing?” Wanda frowns when instead of coming straight to the couch, the blonde makes a b-line for the windows at the front of the house and yanks the blinds closed. Wanda can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve done that since moving in, and it was only done the first time to make sure that the curtains actually moved along the bar smoothly.
“Did you know that you can see everything from the end of the driveway? The pictures, the shelves, you in those shorts. You can show off for the neighbors tomorrow. Tonight, you’re only mine.” There’s a desperation in Natasha’s eyes that Wanda hasn’t seen in a while, and her belly twists with the kind of excitement she hasn’t felt in a while. The kind where it doesn’t matter to her how long this lasts, how hard Natasha goes, if she even orgasms at all. Her breath catches in her throat as she sits beneath the brunette’s stare like she’s the only person on earth, but she yearns to hear more about the woman they’ve both been daydreaming about for a while now.
“Tell me about her.” Wanda pleads again when Natasha lets her weight drop onto the couch, one knee pressed into the back of the furniture piece while the other remains straight, her foot supporting the remnants of her weight as she leans over Wanda and lets her breath fan over parted lips glimmering with saliva that might not be just hers.
“You want me to tell you about her? Want me to sit here and feel you and tell you about another woman?” Natasha groans because despite the number of years she’s known Wanda, she never fails to be surprised by how genuinely perfect the woman in. She has her short comings, she has her ticks, and her downfalls like everyone else, but despite all of that, somehow she’s still perfection wrapped up in a deep mahagony bottle scented like something amber and warm.
“Please.” Wanda pleads, only because she knows its what Natasha needs to hear. She needs to be reassured that this is okay, that they’re both ready and willing to make this jump into something different if it turns out right.
Natasha doesn’t have the words to respond immediately, but instead her fingers fill the silence by finding Wadna’s panties and easing them down her open thighs, her hips rising off of the couch cushions to make it easier on the blonde who wouldn’t have been able to articulate directions for taking them off on her own anyway in this state. “She was right up front.” Natasha says eventually, her breath hitching as her fingers run through Wanda’s folds, parting them open until her index finger bumps a pebbled bud slick with glistening arousal even beneath the shadows casted by her clothed body. “Her hair was in a ponytail, she had on yellow platform converse. She’s tiny, her jeans were cuffed and still dragging on the ground.” Natasha groans as she lets herself fall back on the image of you this morning. She’s been fighting it all day, forcing herself not to get too ahead of everything but now that it’s all out in the open, she has no inhibitions anymore. “Her lips… she bites her lips sometimes when she’s listening to you, and when she concentrates her tongue pokes out. She must’ve had lipgloss on, something sheer, maybe shimmery, but thick. She.. she smacked her lips together at one point and I almost thought it’d be goopy, but it just shimmered and her eyes. Wands, you should’ve seen her eyes. The only thing I’ve been able to think about since I got the notification for the stream was what they look like when she cums—“
“Oh, fuck.” Wanda groans when Natasha pushed three fingers past her entrance with no attempt at easing the stretch even slightly. Her intentions aren’t purely selfish even if she knows Wanda’s resisting violent impulses against reaching up to touch her harder, demand more and less and something other than what she’s actively being given.
”You did such a good job with her today.” Natasha drops her face into Wanda’s neck, tired of staying up on her own, over being so far away from the warmth of her wife that she’s been yearning for since before noon. “Talked her through it so good. God, I’ve missed watching you take control. You liked having control again today? Liked thinking all by yourself about how you could make her cum?”
“I haven’t stoppped… Oh, fuck!” Wanda’s back arches off the couch and up into Natasha’s chest as fingers curl into her g-spot roughly, slipping into her walls at a speed that’s moderate, but a force that’s rough and deep and stroking every single important nerve within her pulsing and clenching walls. “I haven’t stopped thinking about her since t-then. Fuck, I’m going to cum!” She can’t keep her body still beneath Natasha’s as she grinds her hips into the hand that fucks her cunt open, trying to work them deeper into herself but never really getting anything other than additional stimulation on her clit when she manages to catch Natasha’s palm in her grinding.
“Cum for me, Wanda. Fuck, cum on my fingers. Let me feel you. Come on, my love, let go on my fingers. Soak them for me.” The low vibrato of Natasha’s voice tickles Wanda’s neck, the blonde’s face still pressed into her sensitive tingling skin that tense with the muscles in her belly as she allows herself to feel everything more intently than she had been, permission to let go disintegrating her restraint as she shamelessly chases her orgasm on her wife’s fingers. “Fuck, pussy’s so tight around my fingers, you just can’t get enough. Fuck fuck fuck, there you go. There you go.” Natasha keeps hammering her fingers into Wanda’s cunt, aware of the overstimulation festering in her clit and abused g-spot, but she holds down thrashing hips with one hand and lets the other feel the rush of wetness that sloshes and squelches beneath and around her fingers as she twists them inside of the brunette dazedly; not ready to pull herself away just yet. “Alright, alright, relax. Just relax.”
”Come here. You’re not close enough.” Wanda huffs, her cheeks puffed and blushing as she catches her breath sprawled out across the couch with sweat gleaming on her skin. She pulls Natasha down until their chests are flush again, exhaling contently only when the deep pressure she’s familiar with crushes her body into the cushions protectively. “How do you feel now?” Wanda runs her fingers through Natasha’s hair, pulling gently at the knots and tangles that her fingers get caught in.
“Better.” Natasha sighs, pulling her arms tight around Wanda’s body as much as she’s able without entirely shifting her weight away from the brunette. “I feel better. I…I would like to see if there’s even a possibility of her wanting to be anything with us.”
Wanda hums, gleaming with pride over Natasha’s whispered statement in the illuminated darkness of their living room. “She interested in an internship?”
Natasha snorts, “I’m not going to employee her into our bed, Wanda.”
“Well figure something out. Another night. Right now, you need to get your cute ass into the shower. I’m not going to pretend you don’t smell like outside rain anymore.” Wanda smiles softly, aware of how Natasha feels about waiting to shower when she’s so obviously a mess, but unable to help herself as she wiggles beneath the Russian.
“You’re still my favorite person.” Natasha stresses, eyes panicked for just a moment before they settle, focused on Wanda’s.
“I never doubted that for a second, nor was I ever concerned that would be the case for a minute. I want this too, Nat. You can let yourself feel it now.” Wanda smiles, hands framing her wife’s delicate face as she gives full permission to explode this avenue however her heart and mind desires. Wanda’s not scared, she’s not threatened. She has no reason to be and no motivation to pour into questioning the never changing foundation of Natasha’s commitment to her. If the sky is still blue, Natasha Romanoff will still be her wife.
“Alright. I’m going to go shower, you coming?”
“I already took two today, but I will stay down here and make us that pizza I picked up when I swung by Shoprite.” Natasha squints for a moment at the detail of two showers before she remembers, and she smirks despite the weight of emotions and revelations on her chest, yet to be washed away by the hot stream of water in the shower.
“Sounds like a plan. One more kiss?” Natasha puckers her lips, and Wanda giggles like a school girl, leaning up to peck the Russians before she bats her away with finality.
“I’m serious, go shower!”
“Okay, okay. I’m going.”