I make sparks, in awesome ways

by snapooutofit

Summary:

With her jaw clenched, Natasha searched for her other necessary contact for everything to work perfectly. "Come on, little witch," she whispered, her voice almost a breath. "I know you can feel me," she thought, putting all her energy into that connection.

The answer was weak. A wave, almost a sigh in her mind. "Natasha?"

Wanda shook in her cell, a wave of hope filling her being, feeling her energy move, her powers reactivate.
Relief hit Natasha hard, almost leaving her breathless. "It's me, you're not alone. I'm coming for you."
____

Or: Before escaping to Norway, Natasha seeks out Wanda to free her and suggest they run away together. Hunted by national and international organizations, they must face the unknown while discovering what it means to trust and rely on each other.

Chapter 1: She's not alone.

Cold water splashes against Natasha's face, her hands trembling as she leans heavily against the edge of the sink. A broken mirror reflects her face; a woman who has seen and been through so much. Although her face shows weariness, bags under her green eyes from not having slept for many long days, her mind is like a computer, decoding her next moves, knowing her next steps very well.

An old radio is heard in the background, a reporter's voice informing, "The government continues to search for the whereabouts of Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Clint Barton. The international search group will continue the search for the famous fugitives..."

Natasha sighs, turning off the faucet, letting the water droplets fall down her face. She knew that someday this would happen; that going from a hero to a villain was a matter of time, as it was for her to go from a villain to a hero. But that wasn't what worried the widow, no.

The separation from her group of friends – from her family – had taken her by surprise. Where was everyone when one of them needed help?

She could count on one hand the number of times she exchanged words with the young witch. However, she couldn't allow the fact that she was captured, vulnerable, suffering God knows what things for the simple fact of being treated as a lethal weapon.

Like she was once treated.

Natasha grabbed her phone, hesitating for a few seconds before calling Ross. The line connected after a few seconds, his harsh voice, "Romanoff."

"You won't find me," she said calmly, her voice authoritative, with character. Knowing exactly what she was doing. "Stop wasting your time."

Ross took a few seconds before responding. "Romanoff, we have Maximoff," the man informed, "we've got the worst part," he muttered.

Natasha sighed, "If you think so..." she said, before ending the call.

The widow was, as always, 10 steps ahead of anyone. Of course, she knew exactly where they had Wanda kidnapped, and therefore had already asked for the necessary help to rescue her. Clint would never refuse to return to young Maximoff what her brother did for him.

In a matter of minutes, the two friends were on the perimeter of where the witch was. The starlight was enough to illuminate their bodies, Clint was connected, listening carefully to what his best friend was saying, following her plan perfectly.

With her jaw clenched, Natasha searched for her other necessary contact for everything to work perfectly. "Come on, little witch," she whispered, her voice almost a breath. "I know you can feel me," she thought, putting all her energy into that connection.

The answer was weak. A wave, almost a sigh in her mind. "Natasha?"

Wanda shook in her cell, a wave of hope filling her being, feeling her energy move, her powers reactivate.

Relief hit Natasha hard, almost leaving her breathless. "It's me, you're not alone. I'm coming for you."

A pause. Fear. Confusion. Wanda's mind is full of tiredness and pain. "I don't think I can, they have me in a straitjacket, an electric collar."

Natasha could feel Wanda's anguish in her body, her jaw tightened, feeling filled with rage inside. "Hey, it's okay, you can do it. Listen to me, okay? You're allowed to hear me, read my thoughts. I'll guide you out. Just hold on, I promise I'll get you out of here," she said tenderly through their connection.

Wanda whispered a timid "okay" after a long pause.

Natasha swallowed hard, her hands sweating as they hadn't in a long time. She considered that it was because Wanda was probably there, in her mind, with her. And that therefore any thought would now be shared with the witch.

With dexterity, she approached the building where they had her kidnapped. Clint was already taking care of his part; the idea was simple: not to cause a stir, just to take down the necessary officers to get Wanda out of that place. She had to admit, that when she had to attack silently was when she enjoyed her work the most; stealth missions were always her favorites.

"Hey, I took down the ones at the back entrance," she whispered through the walkie-talkie with Clint, "where are you?"

"I'm ready to start the distraction," her best friend commented in a whisper as well, "at your signal, Nat."

Natasha nodded, moving through the building's hallways in search of the young witch.

"Wanda?" she asked in her mind, "can you feel me? Am I close?"

The witch swallowed hard as she felt Natasha's presence so close to her. "I'm here," she sent through the connection, forcing herself and using her power to guide the widow.

She quickly saw her cross the hallway to her left, attacking the two guards who guarded the absolutely armored cell of the witch as if her life depended on it. Immediately, Natasha sent Clint the signal to start his distraction, and at the same time, she began searching the panel that the guards had in front of Wanda's cell, for a button that would allow the witch to leave.

"I'm here, I'm here, everything will be fine," she continued to whisper tenderly as Wanda watched her desperately, searching among the commands.

"That lever," Wanda indicated to her through her mind.

Once it was down, the cell doors opened and Natasha ran to help the young witch. "Hey," she whispered, removing the straitjacket, "if I take this off, can you deal with the collar yourself?" she asked as she unbuttoned the garment.

Wanda nodded, finally feeling her hands free and using her power to get rid of the collar. Her neck cracked once she could move it freely and Natasha looked at her with a sad smile. "It's over," the widow whispered, "let's get out of here." She offered her hand, which Wanda quickly took.

Notes:

Hi guuuuys, welcome to my new project! 💫

Lol, I know you must hate me because I should be updating my other works, butttt

I must confess I did an Ultron/Civil War/Black Widow rewatch, and I was so inspired to write a little slow burn between these two 🌚

Also, because my other works are fully centered on Nat and Wanda’s relationship already established, I kinda wanted to dive into how they got to know each other and maybe fall in love? 👀 We don’t know it’s too soon

Will I ever update my other works? PERHAPS. But right now, all my energy is going into this one, so updates will come sooner rather than later

I hope you guys like this! I’m so excited to share the next chapters. 💓 As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated! If you have any suggestions, please feel free to share them, andddd enjoy the ride! 🚀

Chapter 2: Norway.

Summary:

"Do you like Europe?" the widow asked softly, trying to break the ice.

Wanda hesitated before answering, "Why?" The question caught her off guard, and distrust seeped into her voice.

Wanda really had nowhere to go. In fact, she couldn't quite remember when she did. Her hands were sweating, gripping the edge of the seat as the car sped down the road. The hum of the engine and the gentle sway of the vehicle were the only sounds filling the silence.

Natasha drove with a calmness that seemed almost supernatural, Wanda appreciated. Her movements were fluid and precise, as if every curve and gear change were choreographed. Occasionally, she rested her head on her hand, gazing out the window with an inscrutable expression. Her breathing was calm, her heartbeat a steady, relaxed rhythm. Her right hand moved gracefully from the steering wheel to the gear stick, a silent and efficient dance. 

Wanda wondered if this was the real Natasha—so different from how she imagined her in day-to-day life. Quieter, more relaxed. As if every movement of her body was thought out in advance, even her breathing, which Wanda could hear over the rumbling of the car.

"Stop staring at me," the widow muttered, without taking her eyes off the road. Her words, though soft, echoed in the silence of the car, making Wanda flinch.

Wanda's cheeks flushed crimson at the accusation, and her eyes quickly darted down to her hands, which fidgeted nervously with the rings adorning her fingers. "I'm sorry," she murmured, almost in a whisper. She had rarely felt so embarrassed at being caught staring so intensely. She couldn’t explain why she did it, as if trying to read in Natasha’s body language an explanation for why she had decided to help her. Why she had helped her break free.

The redhead sighed, inwardly berating herself for being so cold and distant. "I'm the one who should be sorry..." she replied, her voice softer this time. She gave Wanda a quick glance before refocusing on the road. "I didn't mean to be rude." She said honestly, though with her own doubts as well.

Of course, Natasha was aware that they weren't friends, or even acquaintances. They had barely exchanged a few words since Wanda joined the team. But that didn't justify her attitude. Her mind tried to figure out what had made her decide to help the young witch, and of course, she realized: Wanda was as alone as she had once been, with no one to help her, no one to set her free. There were certain aspects of the Sokovian’s life that reminded her of her own youth.

Wanda was alone, vulnerable, and Natasha felt a pang of guilt for making her feel even more uncomfortable. 

"Do you like Europe?" the widow asked softly, trying to break the ice.

Wanda hesitated before answering, "Why?" The question caught her off guard, and distrust seeped into her voice.

Natasha sighed, organizing her words in her mind so as not to sound harsh or insensitive. "Well, considering the circumstances... I don't think you'd want to go back to the tower." 

Returning to the Tower meant being a prisoner again, like a bird in a cage, unable to use her powers or leave.

The witch nodded, looking at her timidly this time, not daring to maintain eye contact for long. "Do you know if Vision is okay?" she asked, her voice heavy with concern.

The redhead rolled her eyes almost unconsciously. "Of course not," she replied dryly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two women. Wanda felt her chest tighten, the familiar sensation of being a nuisance, a dead weight. It was a feeling that had accompanied her for much of her life.

"Hey, sorry for being so harsh," the widow apologized, noticing her companion's distress. "It was unnecessary. Do you want to stay with me?" she asked directly, without beating around the bush.

"Stay where?" Wanda asked, looking at her intently this time. Surprise and disbelief were reflected in her eyes.

Natasha sighed, before offering one of her characteristic smiles, a smile that always managed to disconcert Wanda. "Norway," she replied.

 

 

 

 

Getting to know this side of Natasha was something Wanda never would have imagined. Even less, the idea of fleeing together, of becoming fugitives, of living in a foreign country, sharing a confined space as if they were old friends.

The road to Natasha's home was filled with Nordic landscapes that seemed straight out of a fairy tale. Wanda found herself enjoying the beauty of the surroundings, a sensation she hadn't experienced in a long time. The boat trip brought back memories of Sokovia, and she felt a comforting warmth in her stomach when Natasha approached and offered her a coat, a gesture of kindness she deeply appreciated.

The journeys passed in a comfortable silence, interrupted only by Natasha's occasional questions, making sure Wanda was okay. Each time she received an affirmative answer, Natasha felt a relief she didn't remember experiencing before. A constant relief that only faded when she looked away from Wanda. 

After crossing the ocean by boat and several more road trips in different cars, discarding items like cell phones and various radios that could locate them, the journey finally came to an end. The streets in Norway are very quiet, Wanda noticed. Or at least this lost town Natasha had brought them to. On the horizon, only mountains could be seen, as if there were no beyond, as if they were truly enclosed by those great landmasses.

This somewhat relieved the witch. It felt like a great place to start a home.

"Welcome to our humble abode..." Natasha whispered, driving onto the land where her new home was located.

Wanda frowned at the sight of a motorhome with its lights off. Her head moved, searching for a background structure, something shaped like a house, with brick walls and all. But she just found more… field.

It was a simple van parked in the middle of a field.

"There's someone inside," she murmured, alert.

But Natasha simply laughed. "I know," she replied, parking the car and quickly getting out.

With the agility of a cat, the Widow approached the motorhome with a gun in her hand. Her senses were alert, prepared for anything that could happen.

Of course, she knew who should be inside, but she also didn't want to risk endangering Wanda... well, herself too. The first thing she found upon entering the van was the dining area, which was just as she had left it the last time she had been here. Some papers scattered on the table, an empty mug that had probably been full of coffee before.

There wasn't much to explore; the van had a horizontal layout. Next to the dining area was a sofa with a television that rarely could connect to the signal because it was so far from the nearest town in this rural area. On the other side of the dining area was the kitchen, small – almost two people couldn't fit – but comfortable enough to store everything needed to survive.

Then, passing the kitchen, and ignoring the small bathroom on one side, was the door leading to the bedroom.

Natasha swallowed hard, seeing a figure lying on her bed. She exhaled in relief upon recognizing her. Good. We're safe – she thought.

With dexterity and making enough noise, she entered the room.

"Can you get out of my bed?" she asked, kicking the foot of the man who lay sleeping peacefully in her bed.

"Jesus Christ, Natasha! You nearly scared me to death," Rick exclaimed, sitting up abruptly at the sight of the widow pointing a gun at him.

The redhead scoffed, putting her gun back in her boot and offering her friend a hand. "Did you bring everything I asked for?" she asked.

Rick nodded, heading to the kitchen, where Wanda waited, watching the scene with curiosity. "Wow, you certainly don't waste any time," he commented, giving his friend a knowing look.

Wanda frowned, and Natasha rolled her eyes, elbowing Rick. "She's just an acquaintance," she clarified.

"Like so many others, Natasha..." Rick sighed, bending down to pull out a box full of supplies and weapons. "Sorry, I'm Rick," he introduced himself to Wanda, who nodded with her arms crossed. "Tough girl," he whispered to Natasha.

Natasha nudged him again, looking at the things inside the box. "Behave," she warned.

Wanda sighed, beginning to explore the motorhome. The place was small, but cozy, with a kitchen, a living room, a dining area, a bathroom, and... a bedroom with a double bed. The witch swallowed hard, reconsidering her decision to accompany Natasha.

What would happen now? Would they live together as roommates?

How long? How long until everything went back to normal? If it ever felt –normal– at any point. But Wanda couldn't help it, so many things had happened in such a short time that she longed to feel comfortable and safe, like she did in the tower. Accompanied by Vision.

Before she could answer her own questions, Rick's voice echoed again, saying goodbye to his friends. "Bye, Nat. If you need anything, call me. And, please, take care, we don't want a mini Widow running around," he joked, making Natasha's cheeks flush.

Wanda had never seen Natasha blush, and she had to admit it suited her.

"Sorry about that," the widow apologized, turning to Wanda. "He's an old friend, he... well, he thinks we...".

The witch waved her hand, dismissing it. "I like girls too," she confessed, as if that were what really worried Natasha.

"Okay..." Natasha replied, a little uncomfortable. "Well, welcome," she smiled sweetly, extending her arms to show her home. "It's small, I know, but it will be enough for us."

Wanda nodded, her eyes scanning every corner of the motorhome. "There's only one room," she commented, as if it were a minor detail.

Natasha glanced at the bedroom, next to the kitchen. "Yes," she replied, looking back at the witch. "Does it bother you that we sleep together?" she asked, genuinely concerned for Wanda's comfort, who quickly shook her head. "I can sleep on the couch if you'd prefer, I mean, it's not that big but–"

"No, of course not," the witch replied, offering a warm smile. "Thank you, Natasha," she whispered, almost like a sigh. "For everything."

The widow nodded, too embarrassed to accept the sincere thanks. Her body tensed, but she let out a smile that was too sweet for the witch's taste, who this time allowed herself to observe her a little more than usual.

"I have something to show you..." Natasha whispered, heading towards the motorhome door.

 

 

 

 

A few meters away, there was a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains and green meadows. Wanda gasped at the sight of the landscape, making the widow turn to look at her. Natasha, with her hands in her jacket pockets and a loose braid falling down her back, made the landscape even more beautiful. Wanda bit her lower lip, her eyes jumping from the crystal-clear water of the lake to Natasha, and then to the mountains rising in the distance.

"This is beautiful," Wanda whispered, gazing towards the horizon.

"I know..." Natasha replied, looking at Wanda. "We can go for a dip when it gets hot," she suggested, her voice sounding a little softer than usual.

The witch looked at her, nodding.

Perhaps it was too soon to confess that she didn't know how to swim...

Notes:

Hey guys! How are you? 💗

Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you so much for your kudos 💓 comments are always open for suggestions, thoughts, or just anything you want to share. I promise I always read them 🥹

Honestly, I’ve been writing almost every day (which, if you know me, is a lot), so I’m aiming to update weekly. Would you prefer a specific day? I was thinking fridays, but let me know if you have another day in mind!

See you next friday? It’s a date

Chapter 3: We can share.

Summary:

"I like this one..." Natasha said, holding up a plaid skirt to catch Wanda's attention, who was absorbed looking at the shirts on the rack. When the witch looked at her, a light blush tinted her cheeks.

"A bit cliché," she responded shyly, diverting her gaze to another rack.

The first nights, blaming accumulated fatigue, Natasha would fall into a peaceful sleep the moment she touched the bed. Perhaps subconsciously, with the powerful witch by her side, she felt safe.

Both women were beginning to believe that no one else could make them feel as secure as they did with each other. And that terrified the widow a little.

It unsettled her to find herself so often observing Wanda in her day-to-day life. She smiled at the thought that maybe Wanda acted this way at the tower too—maybe taking a little longer brushing her teeth, enjoying cooking but hating to wash dishes. And she never noticed. 

Wanda slept curled up with a pillow at night. Her features relaxed, her mouth slightly open to breathe deeply, her arms and one leg wrapped around the pillow. Natasha found herself wondering if Wanda used to sleep that way with someone else. Did she spend her nights with Vision? The mere thought almost turned her stomach.

Natasha sighed, gazing out the window. The night was calm, not much to do, seven days of sharing a small space had passed, and everything felt surprisingly natural.

She shivered at how comfortable she was feeling.

Wanda is a sweet person, Natasha thought. Considerate and generous. She cooks incredibly well and is very attentive to details. Maybe a little messy, Natasha smiled tenderly, remembering how Wanda's side of the closet was often a disaster.

And it was endearing how happy Wanda was with her new clothes. Although the witch had no problem sharing clothes with Natasha, she didn't want to invade too much of her privacy—plus, Natasha's clothes fit tighter compared to Wanda's usual style. So when Rick arrived on the second day with their fake new IDs, credit cards, and some cash, the first thing they did was visit the local town to buy essentials, including clothes for Wanda.

"I like this one..." Natasha said, holding up a plaid skirt to catch Wanda's attention, who was absorbed looking at the shirts on the rack. When the witch looked at her, a light blush tinted her cheeks.

"A bit cliché," she responded shyly, diverting her gaze to another rack.

Natasha rolled her eyes with a playful smile, decisively taking the skirt. "It'll look good on you," she murmured, scanning for more clothes.

Wanda sighed, observing the selection Natasha had made: two skirts, several pants, mostly black shirts, and a pair of sneakers. "I still need underwear," she murmured, shivering slightly at the thought of how intimate that felt.

Natasha joined her, looking over Wanda's clothing selection from over her shoulder. "Yes, you do," she agreed with a playful smile, making Wanda blush even more. "We can share the rest," she offered warmly, taking the clothes from Wanda's hands. "I'll go pay for this, you go pick out some panties," she said with a wink, heading to the register.

The witch let out a nervous laugh as she approached the underwear rack. A faint blush spread across her neck at the thought of Natasha seeing her underwear in the wardrobe. She tried to choose discreet sets, but her hands trembled slightly as she examined them.

"Hmm," Natasha murmured, watching Wanda's selection with the bags in her hands. Her eyes paused on a black lace set. "Always be prepared," she said with a cheeky smile, handing the set to Wanda.

The witch took it, feeling a slight tingle in her fingers as they brushed the fabric. "Natasha..." she murmured in a warning tone.

Natasha handed her the wallet with an innocent smile. "Go pay, little witch," she said with a wink.

As Wanda headed to the register, Natasha watched her figure, noting how the jeans clung to her hips and how the shirt she'd borrowed looked tight, highlighting her curves. She smiled, recalling how in her early days on the team, Wanda had claimed one of her jackets. And– never gave back. 

At the counter, Wanda felt Natasha's gaze on her, intensifying her nerves. She paid quickly, avoiding eye contact with the cashier, who gave her a knowing smile.

Outside the store, Natasha was waiting with a triumphant smile. "Did you grab another lingerie set?" she asked, nodding to the bag holding the lace set.

Wanda rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. "Shut up," she murmured, playfully hitting Natasha's arm.

"Do you want to drive home?" Natasha asked her, playing with the car key between her fingers, "Home" sounding very tender in her voice.

A smile spread across Wanda's face at the thought that she now shared a home with the Widow, and no, it wasn't the tower. And no. There weren't any other people either, it was a home solely for the two of them. "I don't know how to drive," she confessed timidly.

Natasha nodded, turning her gaze to the witch. "I'll teach you, someday," she promised.

 

 

 

 

The relationship between the two women grew closer. Although it was too soon to call it a friendship, the truth was that they complemented each other exceptionally well. Maybe they sought comfort in not wanting to bother the other with their presence, but considering they were living in a small motorhome with limited places to hide from each other, they spent every day practically glued together.

And the truth was, it didn’t bother them in the slightest.

Everything was new for both of them, being the first time they lived with someone they didn’t completely know.

"What's your favorite food?" Wanda asked, organizing the pantry after they returned from shopping in town.

Natasha shrugged, "It would have to be something Soviet..." she thought aloud. "It's been so long since I've had something like that, I couldn't say for sure."

Wanda thought for a moment in silence, a can of legumes in her hand. "We have time to rediscover it..." she offered in her soft voice.

The widow smiled. "Maximoff, are you saying you're going to cook me something different every day?" she questioned, raising her brow.

Wanda laughed, her laugh a soft melody that warmed Natasha's chest. "Every day is a lot of days," she whispered.

"Until they find us..." Natasha sighed, leaning against the counter to observe the witch.

"Do you think it will take long?" Wanda asked, leaning against the opposite counter, facing Natasha. "The distance, the search for us? Being fugitives?"

Natasha pressed her lips into a thin line and shrugged. "I don't know..." she muttered. "This life doesn't bother me," she confessed, meeting Wanda's eyes. "If you want to leave, you can. We'll stay in contact to make sure you're safe."

"I don't want to leave," Wanda frowned. "I don't want to go back to the tower either. I just want to know that Steve, Sam, and Vision are okay..."

"You're very close to Vision, aren't you?" Natasha asked, curiosity clear in her words.

The blush on Wanda's cheeks didn't go unnoticed by Natasha, who bit her bottom lip to avoid saying something she'd regret. "Yeah, something like that," Wanda responded timidly, her eyes dropping to the floor.

Natasha nodded, a strange heat tightening her chest. "I'll try to contact them, so you can be at ease," she said gently, prompting Wanda to meet her gaze. The shy smile Wanda gave her was enough.

Natasha nodded and headed to the van's door. "I'll take a walk. When I get back, we can cook together," she said, sending Wanda a wink that made her smile.

Wanda didn't understand why Natasha made her blush so much. She decided to believe it was because of the Russian's strong and intimidating personality—because she commanded presence like no other woman she'd ever seen.

But Natasha is a very fun person too, Wanda discovered. Beyond her sharp, sarcastic humor, she had a charismatic personality, even warm, and sometimes her humor was almost naive. 

Wanda liked this Natasha—more than she should, she found herself thinking.

 

 

 

 

Later that evening, as laughter echoed in the small van, Wanda threw herself back dramatically. "Natasha! Stop cheating!" she grumbled, pouting as the widow won yet another round.

Natasha laughed heartily. "How could I cheat in tic-tac-toe? You're just terrible at it," she countered, marking the scores on the paper.

The Sokovian rolled her eyes. "I'm bad at it, but you're cheating."

"No, darling, I win because I'm good. I don't need to cheat," Natasha retorted, taking another sip of her beer.

Wanda sighed, leaning back to look at the Russian. A playful smile adorned her lips, slightly swollen and chapped—perhaps from the cold, or maybe because Natasha bit them often, Wanda discovered.

Natasha slid the paper back over, smiling sweetly at the doodles and words on Wanda's side. "You have beautiful handwriting," she complimented.

Wanda smiled, signing the paper again, her "Wanda M." in delicate, ultra-feminine cursive. "Thanks," she whispered. "Show me yours," she offered, handing her the pen.

Natasha thought for a moment before writing.

Natalia, Wanda read, frowning slightly at the unfamiliarity.

Wanda’s fingers paused over the paper, her gaze flicking up beneath dark lashes. "Natalia," she said softly, the name curling in her accent, gentle and warm.

Natasha’s smile twitched, slow and almost lazy. "I like the way you say it," she said, her voice low, thoughtful. “It’s my real name.”

Wanda blinked, caught off guard, her cheeks warming. She ducked her head slightly, letting her fingers trace the edge of the paper. "It’s a cool name," she offered, quiet but sincere. "It suits you."

Natasha’s grin edged into something teasing. "Careful. That sounded dangerously close to a compliment."

Wanda glanced up, her lips tugging into a shy smile. "Maybe it was."

For a second, Natasha just watched her, the teasing fading into something quieter. But it passed quickly, and she reached for her beer, leaning back in her chair. "You give compliments way too easily."

Wanda shrugged, eyes flicking down. "You haven’t known me long enough to be sure of that."

"Long enough to know you’re bad at tic-tac-toe," Natasha said, the grin returning.

Wanda sighed, rolling her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "Maybe I just let you win."

Natasha chuckled. "Sure you did."

They shared a glance that lingered longer than it should, comfortable but uncertain, as if both of them were aware of a thread pulling tight between them but weren’t ready to name it.

Wanda picked up the pen again, twirling it between her fingers. "You didn’t finish your turn," she said, her voice light but expectant.

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. "My turn?"

Wanda nudged the paper toward her, her smile soft but playful. "To return the compliment."

Natasha hesitated, eyes flicking from the paper to Wanda’s face. Her fingers brushed against Wanda’s as she reached for the pen, the touch brief but enough to make Wanda’s breath catch slightly.

"You’re… a good cook," Natasha said, her grin lazy, like she was testing her.

Wanda let out a soft grumble, though her smile didn’t fade. "That’s it?"

Natasha chuckled. "What? It’s true."

Wanda tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly but still amused. "I was hoping for something more… daring."

Natasha hummed, as if considering, but her gaze stayed steady. There was a pause, a moment of quiet calculation.

"Alright," she said, voice low, but light enough to seem casual. "You’re… interesting."

Wanda blinked, caught off guard. "Interesting?"

Natasha’s smile deepened, but there was something unreadable behind it. "Yeah," she said, as if that explained everything.

But it didn’t. Not really. And Natasha didn’t offer more. She just leaned back, taking another sip of her beer, like it wasn’t a big deal.

Wanda opened her mouth to press, to ask, but stopped herself. Instead, she glanced back at the paper, her smile soft but thoughtful.

Interesting.

The word lingered, curling under her skin, making her wonder if it was meant the way it sounded—or if it was just another game she hadn’t learned how to win yet.

Notes:

omg nat is such a tease 🫠

hi babes, are you liking this? 👀 it's so strange to me to be posting chapter 3 without them kissing already lol

Chapter 4: Trust the ride, trust the drive.

Summary:

"Are you listening?" Natasha's low voice cut through Wanda's daydream.

Wanda blinked, caught staring. "Sorry, I was just thinking about how to do all those things at once."

Natasha turned to Wanda, her gaze sharp but teasing. "Do you know the basics of a car?"

Wanda shook her head, a small laugh escaping her. "What would the basics be?"

The widow rolled her eyes. "The accelerator, clutch, brake," she listed, her gaze shifting from each mentioned part back to Wanda's eyes. "Gear shift?"

"Nat," Wanda said with innocent honesty, "I know nothing."

Natasha chuckled under her breath. "Well, this is going to take some time."

Patience was one of Natasha's defining traits, especially when it came to teaching Wanda. She never rushed, allowing the Sokovian to absorb information at her own pace. She explained every detail—the purpose of shifting gears, why the clutch mattered, how reverse worked, steering basics—breaking down every essential part of starting and driving a car as if she was an expert. 

Wanda believed she was, in fact. She also thought this probably wouldn’t be the first time Natasha was teaching someone how to drive, and she couldn’t help but feel the heat rising in the lower part of her stomach as she imagined Natasha in this same situation with another woman.

Still, Wanda tried to listen carefully, even though it wasn’t easy. Natasha's presence was a distraction in itself. Her scent, the gleam of her red curls catching the breeze, the casual way she carried herself—it all made Wanda's mind wander to places far from gear shifts and clutches.

Her mind couldn’t help but wander freely, imagining what it would be like to trap her fingers between those red strands, bring her face closer, and silence her by pressing her lips against hers, giving her a smile right there, so close...

"Are you listening?" Natasha's low voice cut through Wanda's daydream.

Wanda blinked, caught staring. "Sorry, I was just thinking about how to do all those things at once."

Natasha's smile was half-knowing, half-playful. "Sure. Come on, out."

Wanda frowned but obeyed, stepping from the car as Natasha circled around. When the widow slipped into the passenger seat, Wanda's stomach twisted with nerves.

"Come here," Natasha said, patting the seat beside her. The driver's seat.

Wanda hesitated before walking around the car. Gripping the door handle, she noticed how sweaty her hands were. She took a deep breath and got into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Now what?" she asked, trying for innocence.

Natasha's grin widened. "You're already doing something wrong."

Wanda's brow furrowed. "What did I do?"

"More like what you didn't do," Natasha corrected. She leaned in gently, her presence invading all of Wanda’s personal space. The heat of her body created an almost inexplicable sensation—just as overwhelming as it was insufficient. Wanda's breath hitched, caught between the heat of Natasha's proximity and the tantalizing closeness of their faces.

Natasha’s hands reached their target, gently grabbing the seatbelt and fastening it into place with a teasing smile. Her fingers brushed against Wanda’s body as they traced the path of the belt—almost as if showcasing her work.

"Now you're safe." She said, "This is the first thing you should do right after entering the car."

As Natasha settled back into her seat, Wanda sat frozen, pulse racing. The seconds stretched, loaded with unspoken tension.

"You could've just told me," Wanda managed, her voice softer.

Natasha's smile could melt steel. "And where's the fun in that?" she teased, brushing her hair back with an infuriating ease. "Alright, start the car."

Wanda turned the key, the engine rumbling to life. Her foot pressed on the brake, as instructed, while lowering the handbrake with her hand.

"Good," Natasha praised, and Wanda's cheeks burned. "Now let's move. Shift to first."

Wanda tried to put it in first, pressing the clutch at the same time, but the car stopped immediately. "Damn it," she sighed, embarrassed. 

"Hey, it's okay, calm down." Natasha contained her, "the first time is always difficult," she explained, looking her in the eyes with a glimmer of understanding that warmed the witch's chest. "Come on, again..." 

Wanda took a breath. For the second time, she started the car, pressed the clutch and put it in first, touching the accelerator a little with her foot. 

"Very good, see? You did it!" Natasha muttered proudly, causing Wanda to now smile from ear to ear, a small laugh warmed the Widow’s chest. In that moment, Natasha made a silent promise to herself—she wanted to hear that laugh again. And worse, she wanted to be the reason for it. She had to blink repeatedly to pull herself together.

"Now we're going to move on to second, okay?" 

Wanda hesitated for a few seconds, keeping her eyes on the road. Swallowing hard, her trembling hand moved to the gear shift. Uncertainty flooded her body as she tried to focus on the emptiness of the highway—the only thing that gave her peace was knowing they were the only ones driving along this nearly forgotten stretch of road in this nearly forgotten town.

Her fingers patted the gear shift again, as if searching for courage in its touch, trying to understand its mechanics through her hands. As always, for her.

"How?" Wanda asked, her voice unsteady.

Natasha placed her hand over the witch’s, guiding the movement with such calmness that it almost felt tender. The warmth of her skin brought a smile to Wanda’s lips as she pressed the clutch with her foot, suddenly recalling the instructions as if her brain had come to life on its own. The touch was light, yet its effect was persistent, sending strong pulses through their hearts.

The Russian grew concerned, thinking that maybe—if Wanda stayed perfectly silent and focused—just maybe, she could hear her heartbeat.

Which, in reality, would be impossible, because Wanda’s own had created a deafening hum in her ears. Her body felt hypersensitive. The touch of Natasha’s hand over hers—so soft, so delicate—and the best part of all…

"I'll help you," Natasha said softly. "You can press the accelerator."

"Nat, I'm scared," Wanda confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha shook her head, looking at her. "Everything will be fine," she assured her gently. "You're a witch; if something happens, you can stop the car with your powers, right? Or do you only throw them from a parking lot?" she tried to joke.

Although Wanda laughed, a blush still crept over her cheeks. "Sorry about that," the young Sokovian murmured, hearing Natasha grunt.

"Don't even remind me," sighed the widow. "Let's shift to third," she instructed. Once again, when Wanda placed her hand on the gear shift, Natasha did the same, their fingers nearly intertwining. Wanda bit her lower lip, a surge of warmth igniting under her skin. Why did this simple touch from Natasha feel so... warm? Comforting? Desired? Romantic?

"Since we're on the highway, we can't practice turning," Natasha said. "But I promise, in the next lesson, we'll practice in town."

Wanda nodded, her anticipation sparking at the thought of future lessons if it meant brushing Natasha's hand again.

 

 

 

But reaching the next lesson for another chance at contact wasn't necessary. Natasha had a way of melting her far more often than expected. It had started with that brief touch in the car, but over the days, physical contact became their unspoken language. 

Although a somewhat foreign language to both of them. Unknown in their stories, yet so deeply desired at the same time. As if an old country had been waiting for them to become part of this new identity. One in which every accidental touch generates a bright sensation in their stomachs that neither of them could explain.

Wanda struggled with these new, unfamiliar feelings. Natasha's presence ignited something she couldn't control, and Natasha only seemed to intensify it. Her touches become more frequent, less calculated, maybe even unconscious, driven by something beyond logic.

To get Wanda's attention while she read on the van's sofa, Natasha would squeeze her knee. When reaching for something behind Wanda, her hand would settle, warm and firm, against her waist—pressing her close, holding her for just a second too long.

Wanda felt like a lovesick teenager. She couldn't stop blushing whenever Natasha touched her. Her breath would hitch, craving that brief contact to linger. She even found herself positioning strategically, hoping to entice Natasha to reach for her again.

And it worked. Every time.

"Last batch," Wanda said, handing a freshly washed plate to Natasha as she continued rinsing utensils.

Natasha nodded, taking it and drying it with a towel. "Didn't realize making a salad could mess up so many dishes," she teased, placing the plate where it belonged.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Next time, you can cook and see how messy you get," she challenged, handing over a few spoons.

"Hey, I wasn't blaming you," Natasha said, pinching Wanda's waist, drawing a surprised laugh as Wanda squirmed from the tickles.

In retaliation, Wanda flicked her wet fingers at Natasha, splashing her with droplets of water. Natasha scrunched her face, her eyes closing in playful defeat. Wanda had to fight the urge to ki—hm, not again. "Sure sounded like you were," she mused, turning back to the dishes.

"Just an observation," Natasha replied smoothly, resuming her task. 

Wanda felt the warmth still lingering where Natasha’s fingers had grazed her waist. She bit the inside of her cheek, focusing hard on the suds in the sink, though her heart wasn't cooperating.

"Your observations are dangerous," Wanda said lightly, though her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

“Speaking of observations…” Natasha hung the towel and turned, her smirk sharp. "I think you like doing dishes with me."

Wanda arched an eyebrow, hands still submerged in the soapy water. "What makes you think that?"

Natasha shrugged, leaning casually against the counter. "Because every time I try to dry the last plate, you find something else to wash. I’m starting to think you’re dragging this out."

Wanda scoffed, grabbing a spoon a little too dramatically. "Maybe I just like clean cutlery."

"Mm-hm," Natasha said, though her grin suggested otherwise. "Sure. Or maybe you just like the company."

Wanda shot her a look, but her cheeks betrayed her, heating before she could stop it. She dipped the spoon under the water quickly, hoping the motion hid her fluster. "Maybe I just like annoying you."

Natasha chuckled, stepping closer, close enough that Wanda could feel the warmth of her presence. "You think this annoys me?" she asked, her voice low and playful.

Wanda risked a glance up, caught off guard by how close Natasha was. How easy her smile looked. How effortless it seemed for her to stand there like that, like the space between them wasn’t tightening.

Wanda swallowed. "It should."

Natasha’s grin widened. "It doesn’t."

And before Wanda could think of a clever response, Natasha reached out and flicked a tiny bit of water at her face.

Wanda gasped, laughing despite herself. "You did not just—"

"I did," Natasha said, stepping back just as Wanda retaliated, splashing water toward her. But Natasha was faster, already ducking behind the counter, her laughter echoing through the kitchen.

"You’re impossible," Wanda said, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand but smiling, the warmth in her chest betraying her irritation.

"And you’re slow," Natasha teased, peeking out with a grin.

Wanda shook her head, laughing softly. "You're going to regret that."

"Oh, I hope so," Natasha said, her gaze lingering for a second too long—playful, but almost daring, as if challenging Wanda to keep this game going.

Wanda wanted to stay here—in this moment that felt light and easy, where closeness didn’t need words and silence wasn’t heavy. It was safe. Simple. But the words caught in her throat, so she just turned back to the sink, masking the ache with a crooked, silly smile.

"Last time I ate this, it was with my fake family," Natasha said, her voice soft, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something that lingered.

Wanda stilled, her fingers pausing under the stream of water. She turned off the faucet, letting her hands drip, her gaze distant. "I used to eat this with my family too," she said quietly, her voice laced with something tender and bruised. The rawness in it tugged at Natasha, a thread pulling tight.

Natasha didn’t speak. She just stepped closer, lifting a towel and catching Wanda’s hands gently. The fabric was already damp, but she didn’t care. She dried Wanda’s fingers anyway, slow and careful, as if touch could speak where words faltered. Their hands tangled—skin brushing cloth, emotion brushing skin.

Wanda's eyes lifted, glimmering with something Natasha couldn’t quite name. Old memories, maybe. Or maybe something just beginning.

Natasha sighed, eyes lingering on Wanda's. "I'm sure they're proud of you," she whispered, her voice gentle as a caress.

Wanda almost melted, her heart fluttering painfully. "Thank you," she whispered back, her words heavy with emotion.

Natasha nodded, releasing Wanda’s hands but brushing her body close, just to stretch the towel over the counter. When she stepped back, a teasing smile curved her lips before she turned toward the bedroom, leaving Wanda behind with her racing thoughts.

Her family. How much she missed them. 

Natasha. The woman who was starting to undo her with every glance, every touch. 

And... Vision… Oh my God, Vision.

Notes:

GUUUUYS

I’m obsessed with this fanfic sjkdjsjd i know it’s a little weird to say that about my own work, but honestly i don’t know i just can’t stop writing lol

I’m sure you’re going to love the upcoming chapters. Just be patient; it’s a little slower than what you’re used to from me, but i promise it’s worth it

I feel like publishing everything right now 😩 but i have a long trip coming up, and i won’t be able to write, so I’d rather release the chapters little by little to keep a steady pace.

As always, kudos and comments are highly appreciated! If you have any suggestions, feel free to share them too. Sending you all lots of love! See you next Friday ☺️💓

(omg chapter 4 on the 4th—yes, it was all planned in case you didn’t notice ;) )

PD: have you notice the little reference on that towel scene? 👀 is that actually romantic or is it just me romanticizing drying someone’s hands? *sighs* I think everything about hands is romantic to me

Chapter 5: Guess who decided to show up.

Summary:

Natasha exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face as she tossed the knife onto the table. Not this again.

"How did you get in?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"I did pretty well today, didn’t I? What do you think?" Wanda’s voice brimmed with excitement, her steps light, accompanied by playful little hops that made something inside Natasha soften—though she’d never admit it.

Instead, she rolled her eyes. She couldn’t let her carefully crafted façade crack just because of a young witch with bright green eyes, an annoyingly beautiful smile, an incredible body… "Sure. You dodged a lot of pedestrians. Very impressive."

Wanda playfully bumped her arm against Natasha’s. "You looked truly at peace in the passenger seat," she teased, her tone dripping with amusement.

Natasha smirked—sarcastic, of course—as she climbed the steps into the motorhome. "Don’t get cocky. You still don’t have a driver’s license."

But the second she pushed open the door, something moved—fast.

Natasha’s instincts kicked in before she could think. She shoved Wanda against the side of the vehicle, shielding her with one arm while the other flicked out a knife from—God knows where—stepping into the van ready to strike at…

"What happened to you, sis? You used to be more careful with your security…"

The voice sent a jolt through her. Natasha, blade in hand, turned sharply toward the intruder… only to find Yelena standing by the window, watching her with a smug grin.

"Do you know how long it took me to break in?" she asked, holding up a single finger. "Two seconds. Do you know how long you could’ve taken to shoot me? Also two. And yet, here I am—alive, unharmed. Tsk, tsk, tsk, Natasha."

Yelena Belova. 26 years old. Blonde. 5’4"—three centimeters taller than her older sister, a fact she’d never let Natasha forget.

Natasha exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face as she tossed the knife onto the table. Not this again.

"How did you get in?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"I have my ways." Yelena shrugged before collapsing onto the couch like she owned the place. “GOD, It makes me so happy that you finally decided to leave your stupid job,” she declared, kicking her feet up on the armrest. Her eyes were bright with genuine excitement beneath the sarcasm.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I didn’t quit my job.”

“No, but seriously,” the blonde insisted. “This lonely life suits you so much better.” Her words made Natasha’s face fall again. “Besides, now you’ll have more time to spend with me!”

There was something about Yelena’s words that tugged at her heart. As if the younger Russian had spent years waiting—hoping—for her sister to free herself from her work, just so they could finally be together. Natasha sighed.

“I didn’t quit my job,” she repeated. “We’re on a… break,” she added, considering her last word carefully.

Yelena rolled her eyes before stepping closer and wrapping Natasha in a hug. “I’m just so happy that you’re okay,” she whispered. “Now we can finally go out for beers like the old days. Just you and—”

Yelena didn’t get to finish her sentence.

A close noise from outside the apartment made her pause, and Natasha immediately tensed. It was subtle—the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to move—but Yelena caught it.

The blonde tilted her head, suspicion creeping into her expression. Interesting.

“Wait a second…” she muttered, her sharp gaze flickering toward the hallway. “Are we alone here?”

Natasha exhaled, already exhausted. “Yelena—”

Ignoring her, Yelena pushed past, her eyes scanning the apartment with the precision of someone trained to notice the smallest inconsistencies. That’s when she spotted it.

A second toothbrush in the bathroom.

Her smirk was instant.

“Oh, interesting ,” she drawled, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. “There are two toothbrushes in your bathroom. Care to explain?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin. “None of your business.”

Her voice was low. Firm.

Before Yelena could push further—

"Nat?"

A soft voice came from the doorway, making Yelena’s head snap up, curiosity flashing in her eyes.

Then, a slow, teasing smirk spread across her lips.

"Oh… you must be ‘None of your business.’" the blonde teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Natasha turned, her gaze sharp yet inviting, offering a subtle nod of her head toward the door. “It’s fine,” she murmured, her voice low, her eyes lingering on Wanda as she stepped inside, the confusion evident on her face. “Wanda, this is Yelena, my sister…” she introduced, her words hanging in the air. “Yelena, this is Wanda…”

“Your girlfriend?” Yelena’s question was light, playful, as she rose to greet Wanda with an extended hand.

Natasha shook her head, the movement almost instinctive. “She’s my coworker. We work together in–”

“Oh, right!” Yelena’s expression shifted to one of sudden realization, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re the witch!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with an almost reverent surprise, as though she were finally connecting the dots to a long-forgotten puzzle.

Wanda’s smile was soft, almost hesitant, as she met Yelena’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” she murmured, the warmth in her tone belying the slight tension in her body.

Yelena, never one to hold back, winked playfully. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

The air in the room seemed to shift, thickening with an unspoken tension. Natasha felt it—an uneasy, almost suffocating presence that weighed heavily on her chest. She cleared her throat, her gaze shifting from Wanda to Yelena, almost instinctively stepping between them, the protective instinct flaring inside her. “What brings you here?” she asked, her voice clipped, her attention now fully on her sister.

“I heard you were off gallivanting around the world, playing fugitive, so I thought, ‘Why not find you myself?’” Yelena said, her voice teasing, her smile daring as she threw a quick glance at Natasha, who remained unamused.

“Are you going to turn us in?” Wanda’s voice, soft and innocent, slipped through the air, her body inching closer to Natasha’s as her hand reached for the widow’s—a silent plea for reassurance, for safety.

The touch sent a shock through Natasha’s chest. Wanda, so close, so vulnerable. She could feel the witch’s heartbeat, her quiet need for protection, and it tightened something deep inside her. Yet, her eyes never wavered from Yelena’s, who was looking at them both with that same knowing, mischievous smile.

“She won’t,” Natasha said firmly, her confidence wrapped in the certainty of her own words, as Yelena simply nodded, her grin widening.

Yelena relented with a grin. “Relax. Your little domestic secret is safe with me.”

Then she looked Wanda up and down again—curious, intrigued.

“I like her,” Yelena added. “She’s got that spooky ‘I could curse you in your sleep’ vibe. Very cool.”

Wanda gave a modest shrug. “Only if you deserve it.”

Yelena laughed.

Natasha did not.

 

 

 

 

Yelena was a much more eccentric person than Natasha, Wanda observed. The hours she had spent in the truck with them had been enough to spark conversations that were entertaining enough. Wanda couldn’t help it—Natasha’s sister made her laugh a lot, too much, in the redhead’s opinion. Ever since Yelena had set her sights on Wanda, Natasha hadn’t been able to shake the serious expression off her face.

What was wrong with her? It was hard to put into words.

The mix of… joy? At seeing her sister again blended with something unreadable. Something was bothering her, setting her on edge.

And she didn’t know why she felt it had something to do with Wanda.

The Widow sighed, watching as her sister and her… friend? Chatted away after lunch, having an extended conversation—the kind she was used to sharing with Wanda, where they reminisced about their pasts and found common ground.

After all, Wanda and Yelena had more in common than Natasha did with her. Given that they were the exact same age, it made sense.

A sharp intake of breath, then Yelena’s voice cut through the thoughts swirling in Natasha’s mind: “Damn, I watched those cartoons too!” she exclaimed, a look of surprise on her face. “You watched them? Remember, Nat? When we were with Melina and Alexei? We used to watch them together, and you hated them…”

Natasha nodded, her mind pulling her back to that memory that had already started to fade in her affected recollection. “Nu, pogodi” she murmured, trying to join the conversation.

Yelena laughed. “Yes! The wolf chasing the bunny—you always said the wolf reminded you of Alexei.”

Wanda smiled at Natasha’s attempt, but her eyes betrayed the flicker of concern that the witch could not hide. She knew something was off with her roommate; she could feel it. After spending so much time together, Natasha’s energy had become a constant presence, one that Wanda had learned to read like a book. No need to delve into her mind; all it took was staying on the periphery, attentive to what the widow was willing to share.

“We made Chicken Paprikash together the other day,” Wanda told her, her finger pointing from Natasha to herself. The blonde nodded in acknowledgment.

Yelena laughed, “Nat’s always been more of a Goulash person,” she explained, “I love Chicken Paprikash, but right now I’m obsessed with mac and cheese…” she added, causing the witch to burst into laughter.

Natasha furrowed her brow. The truth was, the Paprikash they had made with Wanda had quickly become one of her favorite dishes without much effort. But she let it slide… It wasn’t the right moment to discuss it, or at least, that’s how she felt.

“I’m from Sokovia, it’s right next to Russia, that’s why we share so much,” Wanda explained to Yelena, who offered her hand for a high-five.

The redhead sighed, almost unconsciously (or more aware than she’d like to admit), leaning her arm against the back of Wanda’s chair. Her body language was clear; it was as though she was trying to remind the witch that she existed, that she was there, closer than ever, and that it mattered to her that Wanda noticed.

What Natasha didn’t realize was that Wanda was paying attention to her as never before. The perfume, the closeness—it stirred something inside her that was incredibly difficult to describe. She loved it when Natasha did these things: when she sought her touch, when she subtly reminded her that she was near.

God, how much she enjoyed this more... possessive side of Natasha. It created a warmth in her body that traveled from the top of her head down to her stomach. Making her tremble. A desire settling in, hard to control... that strong arm there, behind her body, almost like claiming her. Damn, was she hot…

The witch settled against the back of the chair, her head nearly resting on the widow’s arm, which now seemed to carry a victorious smile.

After a long discussion about traditions, foods, and Soviet customs—one that was mainly led by Wanda and Yelena, with Natasha chiming in occasionally—the blonde stood up from her seat.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m heading to the bathroom,” she murmured humorously, causing Wanda to laugh and Natasha to roll her eyes.

Wanda seized this moment of solitude to lean against Natasha’s arm, looking at her intently, so close. “Are you okay? You seem… off,” she whispered softly, observing the widow’s every gesture.

Natasha met her gaze, their eyes locking, the green of the witch’s eyes so close.

She felt her body tremble. Something was happening. Damn it. Something was happening, and she couldn’t figure out what it was. She wished she could ask Wanda to read her mind, to see if she could put words to the emotions Natasha couldn’t.

Her eyes traveled across Wanda’s face, a face she now knew well. She knew her large, green eyes, her small nose, her full, pink lips—plump, soft. The freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, the delicate, tiny moles by the corners of her lips and on her cheekbones.

The widow closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m going to get some fresh air, okay?” she informed her, standing up from her seat.

Wanda furrowed her brow, watching Natasha’s figure disappear through the door.

 

 

 

 

It was needless to say that Natasha didn’t understand what was happening to her. Yelena had always been a weakness for the redhead, her love for her sister was undeniable. They loved each other above any blood ties they could have, even more than they had ever loved their fake parents, Melina and Alexei.

Yelena had always been her weakness—until today, when Natasha felt as though she were… her competition?

And what did Wanda have to do with all of this?

God, Natasha felt like her head was going to explode.

“Nat…?” Wanda’s voice startled her. Natasha had her hands hidden in the pockets of her jacket, gazing out at the horizon, sitting on the ground at the back of the field where the van was parked.

“Hey,” the widow murmured softly, looking at her.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked with concern, approaching her and sitting beside her.

Natasha nodded. “I’m fine,” she murmured. “It’s just that sometimes Yelena can be a bit... intense,” she explained.

"She's really funny," Wanda remarked, a soft laugh escaping her as she remembered the younger Russian’s comments.

Natasha nodded, "She’s always been like that…" she murmured nostalgically.

Wanda whispered, “I’m really happy you have your sister with you,” and gently nudged her with her shoulder, her body close.

The air between them shifted, thickening. Natasha could feel the warmth radiating off Wanda, could smell the faint sweetness of her perfume mixed with the freshness of the grass beneath them. Her proximity was making Natasha’s heart beat harder, faster. Every inch of space between them felt like it could collapse with just one touch.

The widow smiled, letting out a soft breath. “Thanks,” she whispered, almost, as she noticed the witch’s eyes fill with tears. When she saw one fall down her left cheek, she quickly raised her hand to wipe it away with a featherlight touch. “She gets along really well with you,” Natasha appreciated, her voice unexpectedly tender.

Wanda nodded. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to…” she confessed shyly.

“Hey!” Natasha laughed, nudging her playfully. “Am I not enough for all the things you want to talk about?” she asked, feigning offense.

The witch shrugged with a soft smirk. “Sometimes I want to talk about you,” she admitted. “And with you, I can’t…” she added with a small smile, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Natasha rolled her eyes and bit her lower lip, clearly caught off guard. “Sure, go ahead and talk to your new friend about me. It’s fine…”

Wanda tilted her head, eyes narrowing with amused curiosity. “Are you jealous?” she asked with a grin, catching on to Natasha’s odd behavior.

There was a flicker of panic in Natasha’s expression—just for a second—but it made Wanda smile even more. She just laughed, almost exaggeratedly. “No!” she said awkwardly. “That It’s what you want…” she murmured, her voice a bit shaky, as if nervous.
As if she’d just been caught.
As if she’d just been exposed to her own emotions.

She didn’t get jealous. She didn’t do jealousy. It wasn’t her style. But still, something about the way Wanda laughed with Yelena twisted her insides. She had to admit it to herself—she was scared. Scared of feeling something more for Wanda, scared of the idea that maybe, just maybe, Yelena’s presence had stirred something that Natasha wasn’t ready to confront.

“Hey!” Yelena’s voice interrupted her trance as she quickly approached the two women. “I’m leaving,” she murmured calmly. “See you soon?” she asked with a smile at Wanda.

Wanda smiled back, but more courteously, being more aware of Natasha and what she was probably feeling. She found herself trying not to make the redhead feel insecure, jealous.

Damn, how her chest warmed at the thought that Natasha might be jealous of her with her sister...

“Of course,” Wanda murmured confidently, “we can all arrange to go eat around the town,” she suggested, bringing the redhead into the plan, who was looking at her intently.

“I’ll walk you out,” Natasha whispered, heading toward Yelena.

 

 

 

 

On the way to the exit, the two sisters walked in silence. Probably a lot going on in their heads, too much to try and say anything… But Yelena, always the witty one, decided to break the silence.

“I like Wanda,” she said, downplaying it.

Natasha nodded. “It’s obvious,” she muttered under her breath. Her nerves clear in her voice, deep and rough.

“Though, I don’t think you need to worry about it,” Yelena said, her voice laced with mischief. “She doesn’t seem the type to fall for my charm.”

Natasha couldn’t help but scoff. “You think you’re charming, huh?”

Yelena grinned. “Oh, I know I am. But hey, if you want her to yourself, just say the word.”

Natasha shot her a look. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. You look a little too serious. Is there something I’m missing?”

Natasha’s grip tightened around her jacket. “Shut up, Yelena.”

The young Russian laughed, climbing onto her motorcycle and fastening her helmet. Natasha’s distant look amused her—she knew her sister could be a little stubborn when she wanted to be.

“You two would make a lovely couple,” Yelena commented before reviving her bike and speeding off as fast as the wind.

Notes:

oh, did the title scare you? 👀
haha, guys, I hope you're enjoying it 🥺 Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments, I love hearing what you think about the fanfic. And of course, if you have any suggestions, feel free to drop them in the comments! (Though I have to admit, I already have several chapters written lol, but if I can work it in somewhere, I promise I will jasdja)

see youuuuuu next friday 😏

Chapter 6: Keeping in touch.

Summary:

“I’m not mad,” the witch quickly responded to the accusation, though the serious look on her face didn’t go away.

“Well, it sure looks like you are,” Natasha defended herself.

Wanda simply sighed, biting the inside of her cheek, not knowing what to respond.

Something had been lingering in Natasha’s mind for a while now. Several days had passed since she had decided to free the witch and begin this sudden cohabitation with her. Several days since they had last known anything about the world they had left behind—the world of superheroes, villains, and danger.

Several days since they had heard anything about their friends.

One day, Natasha took the car and drove several miles away under the excuse that Yelena had called her for a job. Wanda, though clearly worried, knew there was nothing she could do. Natasha promised she would be back soon—but what does “soon” even mean when Natasha is the only person Wanda can share a laugh, a conversation, a meal with?

Before going, to keep Wanda from worrying too much and to stay in touch during their everyday Natasha got her hands on two phones so old they could only send messages to each other. Which… was a surprisingly sweet detail for the witch.

 

Wanda:
it’s boring eating alone…

Natasha:
It’s even more boring where I am, I promise.

Wanda:
:( how much longer until you come back?

Natasha:
Just finishing some paperwork, then I’ll be on my way. Don’t miss me too much.

Wanda:
ok, I’ll use the time to read the book you got me :)

Natasha:
Great, then you can tell me what it’s about later.

 

Natasha found herself thinking about Wanda far more than she had ever thought about anyone before. There was no doubt—she wanted the young Sokovian to be okay, to hear her laughter filling the motorhome, to see her body at ease, as if she truly wanted to be here.

What Natasha didn’t know was that Wanda didn’t want to be anywhere else but here with her.

But the widow was an observant woman.
And a few days ago, when they were walking through town, Wanda had stopped by the window of an old bookstore, pointing at a book she had wanted to read for a long time.

Natasha hadn’t even hesitated—she had walked inside, bought it, and given it to her.

From the beginning of this strange adventure, Wanda had expressed how much she wanted to know that their friends were okay. Natasha cared about them too—don’t get it wrong. But she was used to this life of “not knowing anything about anyone,” relying on instinct alone to feel that the people she cared about were safe.

She understood, however, that for the young witch, this was new.

The “job” with Yelena had been just a convenient excuse.

So when she returned, and Wanda welcomed her with a tight hug and a warm, home-cooked meal, Natasha let out a quiet sigh. Partly because she felt guilty for lying.

But also because she knew she had done it for Wanda’s sake—because it was something she had asked for.

“And this guy swears he’s in love with a woman, he calls her ‘the sorceress,’ they have a very fun group of friends...” Wanda was commenting on the book she was reading while Natasha looked at her, relaxed, sitting in the chair, admiring the sparkle that decorated her eyes as she talked about something she liked so much. It made Natasha feel an indescribable tenderness.

Natasha nodded. “I’m glad you like it so much,” she murmured quietly, taking a sip of water.

Wanda paused for a second to look at her. Natasha was beautiful; a small ray of sunlight was shining on the lower part of her face, making her look almost flushed, her lips swollen, pink, and a little bruised from that damn habit she had of biting them. She looked a little tired, as if those hours spent working with Yelena had drained her more than she expected.

“How was it for you?” Wanda asked timidly, while playing with the food on her plate with the fork in her hand.

The Russian took a deep breath and let it out. One of her hands started playing with one of the hoops hanging from her ear, now exposed since Natasha had her hair tied up in a high braid. Wanda smiled, recognizing the little habits of the widow; when she bites her lips, when she plays with the hoops in her ear, when she adjusts the little necklace with the arrow pendant Clint had given her. There were so many little habits, and Wanda felt like she knew them all

“I talked to Tony,” Natasha confessed, causing Wanda to frown slightly. Clearly, it wasn’t what she had expected, and a storm of memories hit her. Suddenly, she felt strange, like she was doing something wrong. Like she was deceiving someone.

“And how did it go?” Wanda asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The widow smiled to the side, collecting the information in her mind before communicating it. “Vision is fine,” she went straight to the point. “He says he’s worried about you, that he’ll try to find you and that he’ll keep his promise…” she sighed, watching the witch’s reaction, which seemed to process all the information somewhere between confused and embarrassed.

“How... hm... how did you communicate?” Wanda asked, focusing on what worried her the most. “Are we going back to them?”

Natasha shook her head quickly, fidgeting with a napkin between her fingers. “I went far away and used a VPN so they couldn’t track us…” she explained. However, she swallowed a lump in her throat before saying the next part, clearly moved by the witch’s unexpected reaction, “if you want to go—”

"I don’t want to go, Natasha," Wanda replied quickly, almost frustrated, looking for the widow’s green eyes.

The Russian furrowed her brow, not understanding the sudden change in Wanda's mood. “Why are you mad? You told me you wanted to hear about him,” she growled, her eyebrows also furrowed.

“I’m not mad,” the witch quickly responded to the accusation, though the serious look on her face didn’t go away.

“Well, it sure looks like you are,” Natasha defended herself.

Wanda simply sighed, biting the inside of her cheek, not knowing what to respond. So many things were going through her mind that she couldn’t form a coherent sentence right now, or at least try to hide her expressions of surprise and... confusion?

“I’m sorry,” Wanda murmured timidly, looking into Natasha’s eyes, who was gazing at her with concern; that look felt like a blow to her stomach. “Thank you for reaching out to him.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and unmoving. The air felt charged, thick with something Wanda didn’t want to name and Natasha refused to acknowledge. Wanda watched Natasha’s hands as they curled into fists, then slowly relaxed. Natasha nodded.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

 

 

 

 

The rest of the day passed more quietly than Wanda had imagined Natasha’s return would be. Strangely, she felt even lonelier now than during the hours when the widow was actually gone. The silence around her only made Natasha’s earlier words echo louder in her mind—“Vision would keep his promise.” A shiver traveled down her spine, because she knew what that promise had been: to keep her safe.

But what Vision didn’t know was that Wanda had never felt safer than she did today.

Of course, her affection for the android still lingered—strong and sincere—despite the minor incident with Clint before the team had fractured. Vision had been a quiet constant in her life at the Tower. A source of stability. Of understanding. Almost one of a kind—aside from Steve, perhaps.

Wanda had genuinely believed she was in love with Vision. Or at the very least, that she was on the way there.

She believed it, simply because she had never known anything different. There had been nothing else to measure it against.

But now… now, she couldn’t stop questioning whether it had all been an illusion. A soft prelude to something far more vivid—something blooming now, in the quiet of stolen glances and unexpected touches. It felt overwhelming. Unfair, even.

She felt like she was betraying him. Even though there had been no vows, no promises exchanged. She felt like she was cheating on him, even though she’d never seriously considered formalizing anything with the man—android.

Nothing Wanda was doing or feeling was inherently wrong—but still, guilt clung to her like a shadow. It felt strange. Out of place. And yet, impossible to shake.

As she drifted through those quiet moments of introspection, Natasha watched her carefully. She noticed the way Wanda’s gaze lingered somewhere far away, how uncharacteristically still she was. Even the cup of tea she usually sipped at the same hour every afternoon sat untouched on the table.

Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if digging up information about the android—just to make sure Wanda was okay—had truly been the right call. She thought she was helping. Now, all she felt was a heavy sense of frustration, and the gnawing doubt that maybe, just maybe, she'd only made things worse.

Anyway, she decided to brush it off. The truth was, she had done it from the heart, with the full intention that her roommate would be happy, that she would be able to know the whereabouts of the man—was he a man?—who mattered so much to her…

So Natasha started looking for tasks to do around the house to distract her mind. Changing the oil in the motorhome, taking out the trash, cleaning the car… things that would take enough time away from Wanda to give her some space too. She felt like she might be bothering her with her presence.

It was after sunset, almost nightfall, when Wanda peeked out the door of the motorhome but didn’t see the widow. “Nat?” she called out, puzzled. A wave of anxiety swept over her body the moment there was no reply.

The witch focused, closing her eyes and allowing her powers to work. She quickly felt relief as she sensed Natasha’s energy so close. Okay, she’s home, she thought.

As she stepped out of the van and headed toward the back, she found the Russian deeply focused, cleaning one of her weapons on the garden table they had set up recently. Wanda sighed, approaching almost without thinking, a warmth flooding her chest as she saw her again. Here, with her. Where she felt she was meant to be.

It wasn’t very common for her to initiate contact; usually, it was Natasha, in her subtle, unspoken ways: a hand guiding her from behind as they walked through a crowded place, a tap on her shoulder when she was bothering her, some tickling, a brush of their hands, her hand on her waist when she wanted to reach something behind her.

However, this time Wanda took the initiative. Her hand, slowly, almost choreographed, settled on Natasha’s lower back, so delicate, so warm, so tender.

The movement was small, but the reaction was instant. Natasha tensed for a second, halting the motion she had been making while cleaning the weapon. Then, very slowly, she exhaled.

Wanda’s fingers pressed a little firmer, almost searching for the exposed skin beneath her top, causing a tickling sensation that made her stomach tingle and made her bite her lower lip, as natural as breathing. That touch, so desired, so longed for by both. But neither spoke.

Eventually, Natasha continued cleaning the weapon, more carefully this time, more precise. But she didn’t pull away from Wanda, nor did she allow Wanda to pull away from her.

Then, after a few minutes, the soft voice of the witch sounded gently: “Shall we have Goulash for dinner tonight?”

 

 

 

 

As usual, they cooked together, in a very comfortable contrast to the tension they had come from earlier. Of course, the choice of today’s dish was no coincidence.

Goulash, because Yelena had mentioned it was Natasha’s favorite dish.

Wanda couldn’t help stealing a few glances at her while they worked. The way Natasha casually moved around the kitchen so easily, so naturally, as if she had been doing this all her life instead of breaking bones and snapping necks.

It really made sense that it was her favorite dish.

This time, Wanda learned more about Natasha’s cooking skills than the other way around, as it usually happened.

The aroma of onions sizzling in the pan filled the motorhome, mixing with the warmth of the small kitchen space. Wanda watched everything, leaning against the counter, her sleeves rolled up, while carefully cutting some bell peppers and Natasha sealed a piece of meat in the pot, the sizzling sound of the food cooking echoing between them.

“You’re cutting them too small,” Natasha murmured, looking over Wanda’s shoulder.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, not lifting her gaze from her task, “And you’re overcooking the meat,” she defended herself.

Natasha smirked, stirring with the wooden spoon. “Please, I could do this with my eyes closed.”

"Then maybe you should," Wanda teased, lips curving into a smirk.

The widow turned her head just enough to catch that smirk, holding her gaze for a second longer than necessary before rolling her eyes. "Just hurry up. If you take any longer, I might start eating the ingredients raw."

Wanda chuckled, but there was a warmth in her chest at how comfortable this felt—bickering in a way that wasn’t sharp or defensive, but easy. Familiar.

She finished chopping and reached for the paprika, but before she could add it, Natasha’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"Not yet," Natasha murmured, her voice quieter now.

Wanda swallowed, aware of how close they were standing. Natasha’s fingers were warm against her skin, firm but not forceful. Her eyes glued to the Widow’s carny lips. 

"When, then?" Wanda asked softly, tilting her head up to meet Natasha’s eyes.

There was something unreadable in Natasha’s expression for a moment before she smirked. "When I say so."

Wanda rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. "So bossy," she muttered, waiting until Natasha finally nodded in approval before shaking the spice into the pot.

Minutes passed in quiet focus, the air thick with both the scent of simmering stew and something far less tangible, something tense but intoxicating.

Wanda watched Natasha closely as she added a bit of broth, stirring slow and methodically. The way she furrowed her brows in concentration, the way a faint smile tugged at her lips when she tasted the broth with the spoon.

"It’s good," Natasha murmured.

Wanda pretended not to care as she lifted the spoon from Natasha’s hand and took a small sip herself.

The taste was deep, rich—comforting.

"Yeah," she admitted, looking at Natasha out of the corner of her eye. "It is."

By the time they sat down to eat, Natasha was on her third bowl, and Wanda couldn't take her eyes off her.

She looked... different like this. Relaxed in a way Wanda rarely saw. Her shoulders weren’t drawn tight, her guard wasn’t up—she was just sitting there, humming in satisfaction, stealing a bite from Wanda’s bowl when she thought she wasn’t looking.

It was stupid, really.

And yet, Wanda couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt something so warm spread through her chest just from watching someone eat.

She took a slow breath, grounding herself.

“I’m sorry about today,” Wanda murmured shyly, searching for Natasha’s green eyes.

The widow nodded, adjusting herself in her chair, one hand resting on her stomach as she took a deep breath, still savoring the meal. “Don’t be,” Natasha muttered. “I’m sorry it affected you like that—I never meant to hurt you.”

Wanda shook her head, her heart pounding hard against her chest. “It didn’t hurt me,” she added, swallowing. “It just caught me off guard. I didn’t know if it meant they had found us or if we had to leave… I got scared.”

“I would never put you in danger,” Natasha murmured, her voice carrying that deep intensity that always sent a shiver down Wanda’s spine.

Wanda looked into her eyes, hers filling with tears. Tears that held so much meaning—gratitude, fear that this could all come to an end when she felt so safe, so right. Tears because maybe… maybe she no longer wanted to hear from Vision.

Maybe she was too caught up in this new life and wanted to leave the old one behind.

Maybe not wanting to hear from Vision meant something else was beginning to take root inside her, something she couldn’t quite name.

“Thank you for reaching out to him,” Wanda murmured, holding back her tears as she lowered her gaze to the empty plate in front of her.

Natasha nodded, a little unsure of how to act.

“You don’t have to thank me,” the Widow whispered, meeting Wanda’s green eyes as the younger woman bit her lower lip, trying to hide a shy smile. As direct as ever, Natasha decided to ease the curiosity that had been gnawing at her.

She leaned back slightly, her tone lighter now, teasing—but still gentle. “So... is he your boyfriend?”

Wanda’s cheeks burned, but her head shook quickly—maybe quicker than expected. “No.” She answered simply.

Just that. No hesitation. No doubt.

Natasha’s lips tugged into a crooked smile, the answer sending a flicker of something she didn’t quite name through her chest.

Something like relief.
Something like hope.

“I’ll wash the dishes. You go to bed and rest, okay?”

“No, I want to help,” Wanda protested, standing up from the table to start gathering the plates. But Natasha was quick to follow, reaching for her hands to stop her. Her touch was warm, gentle—yet firm, commanding.

Their gazes locked, allowing the storm of emotions that contact stirred in them both to take over.

“It’s okay, go to bed,” Natasha whispered softly. “I’ll come join you as soon as I’m done.”

Notes:

they have so much to think about ☹️

Chapter 7: Soft as rain drops.

Summary:

Natasha gifted her one of her smiles. So rare. So hers.

It was only a few seconds of silence as they looked at each other, but it felt like an eternity before Wanda decided to speak again. "You called me ‘detka,’" she murmured, her smile widening as she noticed the blush creeping onto Natasha’s cheeks. "I like it," she admitted.

Wanda wakes up more agitated than she has in years.

The overwhelming sensation of despair engulfs her, her chest tightening as her mind fills with memories—memories so sad and chilling that they would be impossible to explain to anyone who hadn’t lived through the nightmares she and her brother endured. Her breathing feels insufficient, her throat seems to close, and her eyes simply won’t—really won’t—open. It all feels so real. She feels it all so real.

Pietro dying over and over again.
His warm arms holding her one last time.

Suddenly, a loud noise startles her, making her body tremble almost as violently as it did the moment she woke up. She seems to have no control and makes an inhuman effort to keep her powers in check—she knows she could hurt herself.

But what worries her most is hurting Natasha.
Natasha, who barely felt the witch stir before she was already awake, watching the desperation on Wanda’s face. She tried to touch her, to soothe her, a soft caress on her arm—anything to reach her, to ground the young Sokovian back into her body.

"Detka, please breathe," the widow pleaded, trying to make herself heard over Wanda’s harsh sobs. She felt like she was living through a nightmare herself; seeing Wanda’s exhausted, anguished, tear-streaked face squeezed her heart. "Baby, listen to me, please..."

Wanda’s hands covered her eyes, her face flushed from crying so much as her body rocked unconsciously.

And in her desperation, Natasha did the only thing she could think of—she took Wanda in her arms, holding her against her body. Yes. She couldn’t deny that a part of her feared a violent reaction—Wanda’s powers, something the witch might do unconsciously to protect herself. But she also knew Wanda would never do it on purpose, that deep inside, Wanda would never need to protect herself from Natasha.

And then, that scent—the scent of Natasha—filled her nostrils and allowed her to breathe. To feel alive again. To feel capable of inhaling all the air in this small, lost town in Norway and exhaling against the Russian’s neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." the witch whispered, her voice breaking with agony.

"Detka, it’s okay, please… You’re safe," Natasha murmured against her temple, her hands stroking Wanda’s back. Wanda clung to her like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean. "You’re here with me. We’re okay." The redhead’s voice was as soft as a lullaby. "Listen to me, okay? Let’s breathe together."

The widow began taking deep breaths with Wanda pressed tightly against her, and little by little, the witch unconsciously mirrored her movements. Relief coursed through Natasha’s body when she felt Wanda responding, and she closed her eyes, her hands continuing to trace soothing patterns along the witch’s back, as if her touch could materialize Wanda’s peace.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Wanda’s body trembled again, but encased in the warmth of Natasha’s embrace, she managed to breathe.

"I've got you, baby, it's okay…" the widow murmured, her voice so tender as she held Wanda even tighter against her body, almost as if she wanted to merge them into one. With her characteristic strength, she guided Wanda’s legs against her own, settling her onto her lap. The Sokovian's face remained hidden against her neck, her nose pressed against Natasha’s skin, seeking that scent that had helped her so much. Finding it.

Minutes passed until Wanda’s breathing finally steadied, though Natasha’s caresses never ceased. She let Wanda cling to her, let her soak her neck and shoulder with her tears, until finally, in a voice as soft as a whisper, Wanda admitted, "I had a nightmare…" She took a breath. "Storms give me nightmares."

Natasha nodded, one of her warm hands trailing up to caress Wanda’s face—her tear-streaked cheeks, her jaw, down to her neck. "It’s okay…" the widow murmured.

"They bring back so many bad memories," Wanda continued, her voice small. "Pietro and I spent so many nights on the streets, running through the rain with nowhere to go…"

The Russian felt her heart shatter at the sound of Wanda’s trembling, nearly unrecognizable voice. "I’m so sorry, detka…" Natasha pulled back just enough to meet those green eyes, now swollen from crying. "What do you need me to do?" she asked, without hesitation—only determination in her words.

Wanda didn’t think. She just acted. She curled up against Natasha the same way she had been clinging to her pillow, seeking warmth, comfort, security. And Natasha didn’t hesitate either. She simply let her. Let Wanda press herself against her chest, fingers gripping her shirt, while her own hands traced slow, tender strokes along Wanda’s back, soothing every shaky breath.

The rise and fall of Natasha’s chest became her anchor, the storm outside nothing but a distant hum compared to the safety she found in Natasha’s arms.

Only a few minutes passed before Natasha felt Wanda’s breathing calm against her neck, her arms slowly loosening. She tried to get a glimpse of her face and found the witch peacefully asleep.

Her heart finally settled.
And for the first time in this long night, Natasha took a deep breath.

 

The rain didn’t let up, and the radio announced a terrible weather would hit this part of Norway for several days in a row. Several days in which Natasha would have to watch Wanda’s body tremble at every crack of thunder. Days in which her heart would clench at seeing her so vulnerable, her eyes red from crying, wrapped in a blanket to offer herself warmth. Comfort. Security.

Luckily, for now, only the sound of heavy raindrops hitting the roof of the van filled the morning air—the thunderstorm was expected to arrive at night.

Wanda sat at the table, drinking tea as she did every morning. Natasha, leaning against the kitchen counter, watched her over the rim of her coffee cup.

Her mind was racing—a habit the widow had picked up ever since she started living with the young Sokovian. But this time, it wasn’t about something as trivial as her own feelings for Wanda. No, now she was searching for something—an idea, a way to truly help her.

"I'm sorry about last night," Wanda's fragile voice interrupted her thoughts.

Natasha frowned. "Don't be," she murmured calmly, stepping closer to the witch and sitting beside her. "You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing to be sorry for," she said softly, resting her arm on the back of Wanda’s chair. "Are you feeling better?"

Wanda nodded, suddenly feeling shy under Natasha’s attentive gaze. "Yes… Thank you for helping me," she whispered, barely audible, but lifting her head to meet Natasha’s eyes as she leaned against her arm.

Natasha gifted her one of her smiles. So rare. So hers.

It was only a few seconds of silence as they looked at each other, but it felt like an eternity before Wanda decided to speak again. "You called me ‘detka,’" she murmured, her smile widening as she noticed the blush creeping onto Natasha’s cheeks. "I like it," she admitted.

The widow rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it," she tried to joke, though her body language betrayed her—her flushed cheeks, the way her arm rested so comfortably against Wanda’s head, her eyes lost in the tea cup Wanda held between her hands.

"My dad used to call me ‘malyshka,’" Wanda said softly. "I like Russian pet names."

Natasha nodded. "Okay, detka…" she said this time with playful mockery, earning a genuine smile from Wanda. "Now, I need you to get dressed and come with me—we need to stock up on supplies for these rainy days."

Wanda blinked. "What kind of supplies?"

"You’ll see."

 

 

 

The town looked like something out of a horror movie, yet somehow, it still kept its charming, picturesque feel. The rooftops were still dripping with rain, and the clouds had never looked so close. A thick mist blanketed the streets, acting like a natural filter—beautiful enough to photograph, and strangely peaceful to take in.

As expected, the small-town supermarket was nearly empty, save for a few employees stocking shelves in silence. Natasha pulled into the parking lot and parked the car right by the entrance with a sigh.

"Do you have a list?" Wanda asked, her voice still a little muted, as if she were waiting for the thunder and lightning to strike again.

Natasha nodded as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "I promise it'll be quick," she said softly—almost tenderly.

Inside, quiet music floated through the store, matching the moody, slow rhythm of the day.

Natasha grabbed a cart and started walking down the aisles, followed closely by a quiet witch who wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there—or how she even felt about it.

“What’s your favorite sweet?” Natasha asked, cutting through the silence as she scanned the shelves.

Wanda took a moment before answering. “Does ice cream count as candy?” she asked, her voice so soft it sounded like velvet.

Natasha laughed, turning slightly to glance at her. “I’ll allow it. Just for today,” she murmured, tossing a few boxes of cookies into the cart.

Wanda frowned at her selection.

“My favorite’s gummy candy, in case you were curious…” Natasha added with a sly grin and that unmistakable low voice that had probably left a trail of trembling knees in its wake.

“I was very curious,” Wanda replied, matching her playful tone as she quickened her pace to keep up with Natasha, who was still enthusiastically tossing sweets into the cart. “What are you grabbing now?” she asked, leaning in to peek.

Natasha flashed her a smile. “I just feel like eating something sweet,” she said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

—And maybe someone sweet too, she thought.

“Nat…” Wanda said, furrowing her brow as she looked at her. “What exactly are you doing?”

Natasha sighed, resting both hands on the cart’s handle for a second before looking at Wanda again.

“I’m distracting you,” she admitted plainly.

Wanda blinked. “From what?”

Natasha tilted her head slightly, watching her with that unreadable gaze she wore like armor. “From the storm. From being scared. You looked like you were ready to vanish under the seat back in the car.”

Wanda’s cheeks flushed a little, her eyes darting down for a second. “I wasn’t that scared.”

“Mm,” Natasha hummed, smirking as she started pushing the cart again. “You were gripping the handle like we were being chased.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, trailing after her. “It was loud. I’m not used to thunder like that.”

“I know,” Natasha said softly, her tone shifting. “That’s why I brought you here. Sweets are an antidote, aren’t they?”

Wanda bit back a smile as they reached the refrigerated aisle, the soft hum of the freezers filling the space. She stood still as Natasha opened the door and reached in without hesitation.

“You're getting two tubs of ice cream?” she asked, one brow lifting.

“You’ll thank me later.”

“I haven’t even said I want ice cream.”

“You don’t have to.” Natasha turned to her with a knowing smile. “Your eyes already did.”

Wanda laughed under her breath, and for a moment, she let herself relax. The store was quiet, the storm muffled behind thick walls and high ceilings, and the widow in front of her—storm in her own right—felt like the safest place she could be.

“I still think you’re overdoing it with the cookies,” Wanda teased as Natasha began piling more snacks into the cart near the register.

“Strategic overdoing,” Natasha countered, handing her a bag of marshmallows. “Hold this.”

Wanda did, cradling the soft bag against her chest. “You’re going to rot my teeth with all this,” she teased.

“I’ll be responsible for your sugar high,” Natasha said, glancing at her with a small smirk, “and your crash afterward.”

Wanda didn’t reply, but something about those words made her stomach flip. They paid in silence, the cashier eyeing the cart full of sweets and both women in their soaked coats with barely concealed amusement.

Natasha moved ahead without a word, boots splashing quietly against the puddled asphalt as she popped open the trunk of the car. Her hair, darker now from the moisture, clung in gentle waves to her neck and the collar of her jacket. The sleeves of her black coat were soaked at the cuffs, molded to her forearms, and when she reached in to lift the bags, the fabric strained slightly over the subtle definition of muscle.

Wanda stood by the passenger side, watching. Just watching. The casual strength with which Natasha moved, the way her jaw tensed slightly as she shifted the weight of the groceries, the soft line of her profile against the silver rain—it all felt cinematic. Too much. Too beautiful. She realized she'd been staring only when Natasha glanced over her shoulder, catching her gaze with a brow ever so slightly raised, like she knew.

“Earth to Maximoff,” Natasha called, breaking her daze.

Wanda blinked, her cheeks warming despite the chill.

 

 

 

That night, at Natasha’s suggestion, they cuddled in bed with the notebook on the widow's lap, surrounded by blankets and a bunch of snacks, watching movies.

Despite the occasional loud thunder from outside, Wanda was distracted by something happening inside. Something she had discovered, which made her laugh as much as it made her feel tenderness for how unexpected it was—Natasha was obsessed with Moonraker.

Obsessed to the point of reciting the lines before the characters even spoke. And Wanda burst into laughter, taking a bite of her ice cream, when Natasha spoke in sync with the movie, too focused on it. 

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look right now?” She managed to say between fits of laughter, clutching a handful of blankets against her stomach while Natasha, with a completely serious expression, recited every line.

Without missing a beat, Natasha grabbed a handful of popcorn and tossed it into her mouth. “What are you talking about?” she replied calmly. “I’m just enjoying a classic.” 

Wanda let out another laugh, hiding her face in the blanket for a second before looking at her again, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You say it before they say it in the movie.”

“It’s because I know what’s going to happen.” 

“That’s what’s funny, Natasha.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow and, without taking her eyes off the screen, waited for the exact moment before the villain delivered his next line.

"You defy all my attempts to plan an amusing death for you," she said in her deepest voice, perfectly in sync with the movie.

Wanda burst into laughter again, leaning to one side, trying not to spill her ice cream as she held her stomach.

Natasha, satisfied, hid a small smile before continuing her act, exaggerating her tone more with each line, purposefully emphasizing words to make Wanda laugh even harder.

“You’ve seen this movie way too many times,” Wanda teased her, with the spoon halfway to her lips.

“Yes, and?,” Natasha replied, then, unexpectedly turning to look at her, a playful glint in her eyes. Before Wanda could react, the widow’s fingers dug into her sides, tickling her and making her scream in the middle of her loud laughter, almost dropping the spoon.

“Stop!” Wanda exclaimed between laughs, trying to move away.

Natasha simply stopped when Wanda gave in, laughing almost uncontrollably, but instead of pulling back completely, the widow just tilted her head slightly, opening her mouth in a small o—waiting.

Wanda blinked, looking at her, her brows furrowed as if asking what she was waiting for.

Natasha’s gaze intentionally slid toward the ice cream spoon in her hand.

Wanda narrowed her eyes, pretending to be indignant. “You torture me and then expect me to feed you?”

“It’s the least you could do after your audacity,” Natasha replied, with that low, confident tone that always gave Wanda goosebumps.

With a mix of amusement and resignation, Wanda rolled her eyes before scooping up another bite and offering it to her. Natasha accepted it with satisfaction, and for a moment, the storm outside felt distant.

Everything felt so easy. So domestic.

And yet, Wanda wanted more.

She should’ve used her thumb. It would’ve been logical, simple. But instead, as her eyes lingered on the trail of melted ice cream at the corner of Natasha’s lips, all she could think about was how much she wanted to lean in and kiss it away.

Her fingers tightened.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

Natasha noticed it too.

Her tongue passed briefly over her lower lip, wiping away the trace of ice cream in such a slow, intentional gesture that Wanda felt the temperature in the room rise several degrees all at once.

She did it on purpose.

Wanda took another bite of ice cream and averted her gaze, forcing herself to focus on the screen, ignoring the way Natasha smiled just barely, as if she had won another small battle.

Then, a thunderclap shook the windows, and Wanda’s body instinctively tensed. Without a word, Natasha slid an arm around her and pulled her closer.

Wanda let out a soft sigh against her body, her head nestling under Natasha’s chin. 

“You’re getting soft,” the witch murmured teasingly.

Natasha sighed, her fingers stroking strands of brown hair. “Only until the rain stops…”

 

Notes:

hi babies 😻
how are you? are you liking this silly stupid fanfic?

Chapter 8: One dives, the other burns.

Summary:

"I have plans for the two of us today," the widow murmured, pulling back slightly to take a breath.

Wanda raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I'm listening..."

Well.

The rain had stopped several days ago—four, to be exact.

And yet, Natasha still woke up wrapped in Wanda’s arms.

Not that she minded. Not at all. It just amused her endlessly that the witch always went to sleep curled up around her pillow, only to, at some point in the middle of the night—as if possessed by some supernatural force—turn over and seek that same position against Natasha’s body instead.

And really, the warmth Natasha radiated was much better than any pillow. Falling asleep breathing in her scent so closely? Non-negotiable.

But there was one small detail.
Just a tiny one.

Wanda had no idea she spent her nights wrapped around the Widow.

Natasha had noticed that all of it happened completely unconsciously. And, more interestingly, it seemed that once Wanda finally managed to cuddle up against her, she would fall into a much deeper sleep. Quite the contrast to Natasha, who—of course—the first time it happened, had snapped her eyes wide open, her sleep as light as a feather.

But when she shifted slightly to check on Wanda and saw her relaxed face, the way she sighed softly, pressing herself against her shoulder for comfort—Natasha simply opened her arm and let her settle in more comfortably.

That night, Natasha sighed, staring at the ceiling, trying to recall how many times she had actually slept beside someone in her life. And she realized that like this—so intimately, without having had sex just moments before—never.

Well… except for these past few nights with Wanda.

She couldn’t quite figure out if she liked it or not. The truth was, Wanda’s sleeping body was—aside from being surprisingly heavy—very warm. And sometimes, her breath tickled Natasha’s neck. But in comparison, the tenderness of having Wanda like this, asleep, vulnerable, seeking her warmth—against her—far outweighed any discomfort from the position they slept in.

It was a little secret Natasha shared only with the stars peeking through the skylight of the van.

Because, waking up first as always, Natasha would be gone by the time Wanda stirred. The witch had grown used to waking up alone, simply stretching and sitting up, glancing toward the door to see if she could spot Natasha—probably in the kitchen, having breakfast, reading, or doing one of the countless things she did.

"Good morning…" the witch mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she stepped into the kitchen.

Natasha lifted her gaze from her coffee, watching Wanda as she prepared her usual morning tea.

"More like good afternoon," she teased, a smirk playing on her lips.

Wanda rolled her eyes as she heated the water, then turned to face her.

"It’s 9 AM. That’s not late," she countered, her morning voice still husky—something Natasha had to admit she adored.

The widow glanced at the watch on her wrist.

"I’ve been up for three hours," she sighed.

Wanda sat down beside her, tea in hand. "Three whole hours of complete solitude to do all your little things—like running?" she teased.

Natasha chuckled, nodding.

"Running, training, making sure we’re safe, checking that we have diesel for the van, making sure there’s enough water so we can shower," she listed, raising a finger with each point.

Wanda closed her eyes. "It’s too early for you to be guilt-tripping me, please."

"I’m not guilt-tripping you," Natasha said, taking a sip of her coffee. "I like doing all those things." She glanced at Wanda before adding, "Besides, look—I always wait for you to wake up so we can have breakfast together." She winked, making Wanda smile.

It was true. Natasha always waited for her before drinking her coffee, just to have breakfast together. It was a surprisingly sweet detail, one of Wanda’s favorite things, she realized.

Of course, she had no idea about the little touches—the way Natasha’s hand would ghost over her arm, her back, her hair before slipping out of bed to start the day. If she did… well, maybe her list of favorite things would look a little different.

"I’m glad you like it," Wanda murmured softly, meeting Natasha’s eyes.

The widow held her gaze, even leaning forward against the table, resting her face on her own shoulder. Damn. She knew exactly what she was doing. One of her many flirting tactics.

"Like what, exactly?" Natasha asked, voice smooth, teasing.

Wanda, for the first time that day, blushed—twenty minutes after waking up. A new record. But she tried to keep her composure, smiling and lowering her eyes to her tea.

"Doing those things…" she started, voice quieter now. Then, her eyes found Natasha’s again. "And having breakfast with me."

Natasha’s smile softened. She studied Wanda’s eyes up close, as if still in disbelief over their shape, their color. The greenest, clearest she had ever seen. Maybe, somewhere in a hidden paradise, there was a lake with water that shade of green. But she doubted it.

She doubted any green could ever be as beautiful as Wanda’s.

"I have plans for the two of us today," the widow murmured, pulling back slightly to take a breath.

Wanda raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I'm listening..."

 

 

Natasha Romanoff was a woman full of surprises.

Wanda would never have imagined that a picnic by the lake would be the kind of plan the Black Widow would choose. But there they were. Sitting on a blanket spread out on the grass, with a basket full of sandwiches and the sun reflecting off the lake’s crystalline surface.

The day was beautiful. The early morning rain had cleared the sky, leaving it a brilliant, cloudless blue. The breeze carried the fresh scent of pine, and the lake shimmered under the soft afternoon light. The place had an almost hypnotic stillness, a quiet retreat away from the chaos that usually surrounded them.

Natasha wore old jogging shorts and a loose t-shirt. Her hair was tied up in a messy half-ponytail, with a few stray strands brushing against her face. She looked stunning, so natural and comfortable that Wanda couldn't take her eyes off her. She couldn't recall ever seeing the redhead look this relaxed, except for the moments when they went to sleep and she put on her oversized pajama shirt.

"You know, I'm going to start thinking you stare at me so much because there's something wrong with my face…" Natasha murmured, eyes closed, lying back completely on the blanket, basking in the sun.

Wanda let out a soft laugh, her cheeks heating up as she was caught—again—staring.

"A few things," she teased, turning her head to focus on the landscape instead.

Natasha smirked and propped herself up on her elbows to look at her.

"Oh, I’m listening," she taunted, that mischievous glint in her eyes making her utterly irresistible.

Wanda rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath.

"You know that’s a lie."

Natasha's smile widened, triumphant. She scooted closer and playfully nudged Wanda's arm.

"Wanna go for a swim?" she asked softly, hugging her knees.

Wanda's eyes widened.

"Nat, it's cold," she replied firmly, staring at her intently as if to make her point clearer.

"Not that much…" Natasha countered simply, her smirk deepening. "There's plenty of sun."

"That doesn’t mean it’s warm. The water must be freezing. It could be dangerous."

Natasha sighed, pretending to give up.

"Okay, then stay here. I’ll go for a swim."

"Natasha, I mean it. Don’t," Wanda warned, but the redhead was already unlacing her boots with infuriating ease.

"Natasha, yes," came the predictable response, along with that infuriating smirk as she peeled off her shirt and folded it over a nearby rock. Then her shorts.

Wanda forgot how to breathe.

Oh.

Natasha stood in front of her in nothing but her black underwear, her pale skin stark against the dark fabric. Saying she had an incredible body was an understatement, but seeing her like this, so effortlessly exposed, so unaware of just how devastatingly beautiful she was… that was something else entirely. Only the lake and Wanda bore witness to the sight.

Just one second. Just an instant. But Wanda forgot how to breathe.

Her eyes roamed over Natasha’s body with an almost reverent slowness. The redhead seemed utterly focused on applying sunscreen, her hands gliding lazily over her arms, her stomach… then down her legs. God. When she bent over to reach her calves, Wanda felt the air turn heavier, warmer, charged with something far too dangerous.

"You're going to freeze," she muttered without thinking, unable to look away.

"Don't be dramatic," Natasha laughed. "Help me with my back?" she asked, offering Wanda the sunscreen.

Wanda felt the heat rush to her face. She swallowed hard before standing up and positioning herself behind her. She poured a bit of lotion into her hands and sighed. Okay. It was a simple task. Just rub sunscreen on her back. Nothing complicated.

"I still don’t agree with this, you know?" she murmured as her hands began gliding over Natasha's bare skin, spreading the lotion slowly.

The redhead let out a quiet chuckle.

"I don’t care."

Her voice was low, almost husky. Wanda felt her own breath hitch when her fingers brushed against the scars on Natasha’s back, small marks that silently told their own stories. Her fingertips trailed over them gently, as if trying to read them through touch. Natasha went still for a second, inhaling deeply.

"All done," Wanda murmured, squeezing Natasha’s hips slightly before stepping back.

Natasha turned around with a teasing smile and winked at her before sprinting toward the lake.

Wanda stood there, biting her lower lip, watching her disappear into the water.

How much she had to hold back. How much she had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss each of those freckles. To dig her nails into her ribs.

Oh. She was so completely screwed.

The water barely rippled when Natasha dove in, disappearing beneath the glassy surface. Wanda followed the disturbance with wide eyes, her heart pounding erratically against her ribs. The lake wasn’t warm by any means—she knew that much—but Natasha surfaced with a breathless laugh, shaking droplets from her fiery hair like it was the middle of summer.

“See? Not so bad,” she called out, running her hands slickly over her arms, chasing away the cold.

Wanda shivered, but not from the breeze.

“You’re insane,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words, only something warm, something dangerously close to fondness.

Natasha tilted her head, treading water with effortless grace. “You sure you don’t want to come in?”

Wanda huffed. “I’d rather not die of hypothermia, thanks.”

Natasha grinned, flashing something sharp and teasing. Then she reached a hand up, dragging it back through her wet hair, her movements slow, deliberate. Wanda's stomach twisted. She knew what she was doing.

“You’re staring again, Maximoff,” Natasha mused, voice velvety soft.

Wanda clenched her fists, forcing her gaze to the side, to the sky, anywhere but the curve of Natasha’s collarbone as water cascaded down her skin.

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

Wanda squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply through her nose. “If you keep pushing, I’m going to hex you under that water, Romanoff.”

Natasha only laughed, tilting her head back to float, arms spread like she owned the whole damn lake. Maybe she did.

“Maybe I’ll keep pushing—if it means you’ll finally come in.”

“I see you’re very interested in swimming with me, Romanoff…” Wanda murmured teasingly as she sat back down on the blanket, the book she had been trying to read resting in her lap.

Her gaze was impossible to tear away from the widow, who was now simply floating on her back, eyes closed, that mischievous smile still on her lips.

“Whatever you say.”

 

Wanda couldn’t stop looking at Natasha.

Even if she really tried to focus on anything else, her eyes naturally drifted to the widow, who swam and floated in the lake like some kind of siren.

When she realized she had to reread every page of her book three times just to grasp a single sentence, she gave up. It was pointless. She needed to make sure Natasha was okay, that she wasn’t drowning or freezing in the cold water.

And besides… there was an inexplicable pull, a force beyond logic, drawing her toward the Russian’s figure.

Her wet red hair looked almost black, making her green eyes stand out even more. The tip of her nose and her cheeks were flushed red from the cold, giving her a natural rosy hue. She was so breathtakingly beautiful…

Wanda really wanted her to get out of the water. For two reasons:

• She was afraid the cold might get to her.
• She wanted her close.

God, it felt supernatural, this force tying her to Natasha.

But maybe it was mutual, because the redhead only spent about fifteen minutes swimming before heading back to shore.

And that was when Wanda felt her heart leave her body.

Natasha emerged from the lake in soaking wet underwear, her drenched hair slicked back, revealing the full beauty of her face. Flushed, even a little pale from the cold, with droplets cascading down her body, her piercing gaze locked onto Wanda’s. And no matter how hard she tried, Wanda simply could not look away from her.

There’s no way this woman is legal.

“Wanda,” Natasha called, her voice rough, a visible shiver running down her body. But Wanda couldn’t respond, too fixated on the way the water trailed down Natasha’s stomach, disappearing beneath the soaked fabric.

Natasha hugged herself for warmth, inadvertently pushing her breasts together in the process, and Wanda felt a deep, unbearable tension coil in her stomach. She bit down on her lower lip, too distracted by the sight before her.

Natasha’s soft laugh snapped her out of it.

“See something you like?” the widow murmured playfully, though her voice trembled slightly from the cold.

Wanda blinked rapidly, her face burning, and quickly extended the towel without acknowledging the provocation.

Natasha took it with ease, but instead of drying herself off, she wrapped it around her body and dropped down beside Wanda, just inches from her face. Her cold skin pressed against Wanda’s, stealing her breath for a brief moment.

“You’re hot,” Natasha remarked, the obvious double meaning making Wanda chuckle.

“You know what, Romanoff?” Wanda said, glancing away with a small smile. “I should’ve just let you freeze in the lake.”

“Oh? Did you save me?” Natasha teased, her voice dripping with flirtation. “Did you manipulate my thoughts to make me leave the water, little witch?”

Wanda let out a soft, genuine laugh, because… truth be told, she might have considered it.

“I didn’t have to,” she replied calmly.

Noticing the slight tremble in Natasha’s body, Wanda frowned.

“Why don’t you get changed?” she asked gently, looking at her up close.

“Well… I might have soaked my underwear too, you know?”

The double entendre was accompanied by that signature smirk, and Wanda felt her cheeks burn instantly.

The witch, however, only bit her tongue and nodded. I  definitely ruined my underwear, she thought.

Still, she opened her arms, allowing Natasha to rest against her body, offering that Sokovian warmth the widow had come to cherish since she entered her life. Wanda’s arms wrapped tightly around the redhead, feeling her own clothes dampen as Natasha’s dripping hair soaked through. But no cold could compete with her warmth.

“You’re really warm,” Natasha murmured again, her voice still trembling as shivers racked her body.

Wanda rubbed her arms, trying to warm her up even faster if possible. “You’re going to get sick…” she lamented, clicking her tongue.

“Hey, don’t jinx it,” Natasha replied, eyes closed as she nestled even closer against Wanda’s body.

Wanda sighed, her body shuddering slightly when sparks of red flickered from her hands. Her magic had activated on its own, and suddenly, her palms radiated heat, like two perfect heaters pressed against Natasha’s freezing skin. The sensation pulled a soft, breathy moan from the widow’s lips as the warmth enveloped her.

“Fuck,” Natasha whispered, barely audible.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stop it,” Wanda murmured apologetically, feeling her magic pour out of her instinctively, as if protecting Natasha was its sole purpose.

Natasha opened her eyes, watching as delicate red wisps of energy curled around them, glowing and providing a warmth that was impossible to describe. It didn’t burn, nor did it let the lake’s icy coldness linger in her bones.

“Don’t be sorry. I like it,” Natasha assured her, pulling back just enough to meet Wanda’s eyes. The witch still looked uncertain, as if she feared her powers might bother the Russian—might push her away. “Hey, I’m not scared. Really,” Natasha emphasized, her hand releasing its tight grip on the towel wrapped around her body to find Wanda’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“…Okay,” Wanda whispered, a quiet sort of relief settling over her as Natasha leaned back against her.

They sat there, gazing at the lake ahead, Natasha’s head tucked beneath Wanda’s chin. Wanda’s eyes fluttered closed from time to time, overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of the moment. Her hands continued to move, rubbing gentle circles over Natasha’s—now dry—skin, offering warmth and a comfort the widow hadn’t indulged in for a long time.

Minutes passed in quiet contentment until Natasha, her voice soft and relaxed, murmured, “Do a trick…”

Wanda hesitated for a second, unsure of what to do.

Then, a small orb of red energy floated toward the lake. Under Wanda’s direction, it danced across the water, dipping beneath the surface and rising with shimmering droplets clinging to it. Red sparks mixed with the scattered drops as the orb skimmed along the surface like a skipping stone. Then, as if conjured from the depths, a translucent red dolphin leaped from behind it, twisting in the air before vanishing back into the lake.

It was whimsical. Effortless.

And Natasha was grinning ear to ear against Wanda’s chest as she watched the spectacle unfold.

Notes:

I see you’re enjoying this so much, and it makes me so, so happy 🥹 So here’s a little gift for you! I knoooow you’re waiting for the kiss, but be patient — I swear it’ll be worth the wait 💓

Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos, loves!

Chapter 9: What the lake left behind.

Summary:

Wanda chuckled softly, removing the towel to repeat the process once more. “I should have insisted you stay out of the lake…” she murmured, watching as the widow groaned in protest.

“You never would have convinced me,” Natasha stated firmly.

Wanda counted the times Natasha had coughed throughout the night. It was close to twenty now, and it wasn’t even midnight.

The widow shifted uncomfortably in bed under the witch’s watchful gaze, trying to breathe through her mouth, her nose desperately attempting to pull in air, failing miserably.

Wanda lifted her hand and placed it on Natasha’s forehead. The redhead groaned at the sudden touch but turned to look at her.

“You’re burning up,” Wanda murmured, sitting up on the bed to touch her with her other hand. Furrowing her brows, she cupped Natasha’s face and leaned in, pressing her lips against her forehead, feeling the strong heat radiating onto her skin. “You have a fever,” she spoke softly.

Natasha shook her head, her hands wrapping around Wanda’s wrists, now cradling her cheeks. With an absolutely nasal and ragged voice, she responded, “I’m fine.”

The witch rolled her eyes, getting up from the bed. “I’ll bring some cold compresses to bring your temperature down,” she said calmly, heading to the kitchen.

In a swift motion, Wanda grabbed a small bowl, filled it with ice, and added water. She also took a hand towel before making her way back to the bedroom. Her heart clenched at the sight of Natasha in such a vulnerable state—now resting against the van’s wall, a pillow supporting her back. Her eyes were closed, exhausted, dark circles beneath them making her fatigue painfully evident.

Wanda moved to her side of the bed, setting the bowl on the nightstand. “Move a little to the middle,” she whispered while soaking the towel in the ice-cold water, wringing it out to keep it from dripping.

Natasha obeyed, still keeping her eyes closed. Her whole body shuddered at the cold touch of the towel on her forehead, a long groan escaping from deep in her throat as she opened her eyes to look at Wanda.

“I know, detka, I’m sorry…” the witch murmured, placing her hands over the compress, feeling the heat seeping through the damp fabric. “But we have to bring your fever down, it could be dangerous—you’re drenched in sweat.” She tried to speak gently, and Natasha felt herself melt under such tender care.

"I'm fine," she tried to say again, her broken voice contradicting her words.

Wanda repeated her task. She soaked the towel in the icy water once more, wrung it out, and placed it back on Natasha’s forehead.

The widow felt like her head was splitting in two. She couldn't think about anything without it triggering unbearable pain. Her body felt heavy, her eyes unable to stay open for long without the light causing her discomfort. And she was hot. But also cold. It felt like she was sweating, yet at the same time, she was wrapped in a feverish warmth.

The cold compress made her shiver, yet it also soothed the relentless heat burning on her forehead. One of her hands, in a subtle, almost imperceptible movement, reached for Wanda’s wrist, brushing against it gently—thanking her in silence for easing the discomfort in her body.

Wanda sighed, intertwining her fingers with Natasha’s, her thumb stroking the redhead’s hand softly. “How are you feeling?” she asked tenderly.

Natasha groaned, opening her eyes for just a second to look at her. “A little better,” she rasped, her voice making a small smile tug at Wanda’s lips.

“Hey, don’t laugh…” the widow murmured, pouting in the most endearing way.

The witch sighed, taking in the scene before her.

Natasha Romanoff, the fearsome Black Widow, looking at her with those tired, sorrowful eyes, a cold compress resting on her forehead to bring down her fever, and making that ridiculous little pout that warmed Wanda’s heart almost as much as if she had a fever herself.

“I’m not laughing,” Wanda reassured her softly, using her free hand to wipe away a drop of water that had slipped from the damp towel down Natasha’s cheek. “You just have a really cute voice like this,” she added sweetly, letting the caress linger a little longer, taking advantage of the moment.

Natasha rolled her eyes, coughing quickly but turning her head to cover her mouth with her arm. “I’m going to get you sick,” she muttered, her voice quiet again.

Wanda chuckled softly, removing the towel to repeat the process once more. “I should have insisted you stay out of the lake…” she murmured, watching as the widow groaned in protest.

“You never would have convinced me,” Natasha stated firmly.

“I think I could have,” the witch replied confidently, placing the compress back on Natasha’s forehead and playfully tapping her nose.

“Not if you used your powers—that wouldn’t count,” Natasha sighed, seeking out Wanda’s hand again, needing the contact. As if holding onto her made her feel safer, protected.

Wanda frowned. “You know I wouldn’t use my powers on you unless you let me.”

Natasha looked her in the eyes. “Those powers, too.” She murmured, her gaze intense.

The witch looked at her, puzzled, trying to decipher her messages that—somehow, she believed she understood. But it seemed too good to be true. So, she simply took a breath and repeated the whole process again.

She soaked the towel. Wringed it out. And placed it on Natasha’s forehead.

“We don’t have any medicine, do we?” Wanda asked.

The widow shook her head, clearing her throat to ease the pain, a bit drowsy. “We have to go to the village to get some.”

The witch nodded, sighing “Okay, we’ll go first thing tomorrow.” She removed the towel from Natasha’s forehead and felt her warmth with her free hand. Although the temperature had dropped, the heat remained. But the redhead seemed ready to fall asleep, so she decided to place the towel back on her forehead and turn off the light.

When she tried to free herself from Natasha’s grip to return to her side of the bed, the widow groaned, holding her hand even tighter. “Detka, let me go to my side, come on,” Wanda asked sweetly, but the widow refused, like a spoiled child, adding her other hand to the grip.

The witch chuckled softly as she climbed onto the bed, still trapped in Natasha’s firm grip. With both of the assassin’s hands holding hers tightly, Wanda had no choice but to awkwardly clamber over her. She swung one knee over Natasha’s waist, trying to move gracefully, but the closeness made her pause. As she straddled her, Natasha’s hand—still holding hers—slipped slightly, her fingers brushing against Wanda’s thigh. The touch was light, maybe even unintentional, but it sent a nervous flutter through Wanda’s chest. She rushed to swing her other knee over, but in her flustered scramble, she lost her balance and tumbled onto her side of the bed with a soft, embarrassed laugh.

Natasha laughed weakly, still holding Wanda’s hand, who was trying to catch her breath. “You’re unbearable, even when you’re sick,” the witch murmured.

The widow simply smiled, hugging her own body with Wanda’s arm, who had to turn around and adjust against Natasha to find a comfortable position.

“Of course, I am.”

 

Natasha woke up completely soaked in sweat.

In addition to the fever, the heat from Wanda added to it, which, though overwhelming, was— in this uncomfortable situation— unbearable.

Her hand patted the cloth on her forehead to feel it and shuddered when she noticed how hot it was. Unconsciously, a low, calm groan slipped from her lips, loud enough to wake Wanda.

Her face rubbed against Natasha’s arm like a kitten purring against its owner. Feeling her body so warm, she quickly opened her eyes, remembering last night. She propped herself up on her elbows, searching for the widow’s gaze. “Hey, how do you feel?” she asked sweetly.

Natasha looked at her, then slowly closed her eyes again, feeling weak, her body not responding as quickly as she wanted. “Horrible,” she answered honestly. She truly felt bad enough to confess her discomfort. Natasha usually dealt with her ailments without making a big deal out of them, knowing she’d recover soon.

But this time, the fever was unbearable.
And, of course, she liked that Wanda was taking care of her.

The witch nodded, getting out of bed to grab the container with water. She tested the temperature with her fingers, and when it felt cold enough, she soaked the cloth and placed it back on Natasha’s forehead.

“I’ll go change, and we’ll head to the pharmacy, okay?” the witch whispered, her index finger gently tracing the dark circles under Natasha’s eyes.

The widow nodded, clearing her throat. “I can’t drive like this, it could put you in danger,” she murmured. “You drive.”

Wanda nodded, swallowing hard.
Okay.

She can do it. Of course, she can do it, they’ve been practicing for a whole month now. 

Not regularly, but now and then…

“Detka, you can do it,” Natasha murmured tenderly, “You’re incredibly smart, you can do it.”

And the witch had to bite her lower lip because the urge to kiss the widow’s entire face was unbearable.

“Do you remember?” Natasha asked in a thread of a voice, her body almost defeated in the passenger seat. “First, you start the car, then release the handbrake…”

“Yes, I put it in first, press the clutch, and go,” Wanda nodded, adjusting the seatbelt and the seat to get comfortable. Before doing anything, she checked that the mirrors were correct, then began the small ritual that Natasha always reminded her of.

It was a Sunday morning, and even though it was a Monday during rush hour, the truth was that the streets were almost always empty—luckily for Wanda.

Although the pain was unbearable and the natural light seemed to burn her eyes, Natasha kept her gaze focused the entire way. Every now and then, her head would turn to check on Wanda, and she couldn’t hide the huge smile that seeing her like this caused; so calm, independent, doing something she had learned with her and doing it so well.

Her brown strands moved with the wind coming through the window, her eyes alert to the road, occasionally turning to make sure Natasha was still alive, and meeting those green pearls looking at her with that silly smile on her lips.

“What?” she asked, looking back at the road.

Natasha shrugged, her nasal voice sounding calm. “You look really good driving,” she replied, watching Wanda’s cheeks turn pink.

The witch rolled her eyes, staying calm. “The fever’s already giving you delirium,” she responded, trying to keep her composure.

The widow coughed a little before responding. “Start pressing the brake, we need to turn to enter the village, you have to downshift.”

“Nat, it’s hard for me to downshift,” Wanda said, worried, as she braked the car.

And as always when she needed help, when her hand rested on the gear stick, Natasha’s hand did the same, holding hers and helping her shift into second. The car moved smoothly, almost perfectly.

“Very good, detka…” Natasha murmured with her nasal voice.

The village was quiet at that time of the morning, with the low sun tinting the facades a golden hue. The cool Norwegian air slipped through the car’s open window as Wanda parked in front of the pharmacy. She turned off the engine carefully and let out a sigh, feeling the rapid beating of her own heart.

She turned her head toward Natasha, who was looking at her with that playful gleam in her eyes, despite her evident discomfort.
“We’re here,” Wanda announced, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Natasha nodded slowly, her skin still pale and her lips drier than usual. “Are you going in alone?” she asked with a nasal voice.

“Of course. Stay here and rest, I’ll bring something for the fever,” Wanda said decisively before opening the door and getting out.

The ground creaked beneath her boots as she walked toward the pharmacy. She entered and immediately felt the temperature change: the air was warmer, with a faint scent of medicine and old wood. She approached the counter, where a middle-aged pharmacist greeted her with a friendly smile.

“Good morning, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I need something for fever and chills,” Wanda replied, resting her hands on the polished wood of the counter.

The pharmacist nodded while taking out a box of paracetamol and a bottle of syrup. “Is it for your girlfriend? I’ve seen the redhead around here before, but never with that sick look on her face.”

Wanda blinked, feeling the words get stuck in her throat.

Her first instinct was to correct him. Tell him Natasha wasn’t her girlfriend.

But before she could react, she felt a warm weight against her body.

Natasha, with her heavy gait and relaxed posture, had approached without Wanda noticing, and now she was leaning against her with an overwhelming naturalness. Her arm brushed against the witch’s, her head tilting slightly toward her shoulder as she let out a quiet sigh.
Wanda froze.

The pharmacist, not lifting his gaze much from the box he was scanning, smiled faintly. “I hope she feels better soon,” he commented kindly. “It must be tough being sick with this weather.”

Wanda swallowed, feeling the heat rise in her neck. “Yes,” she replied automatically, her voice quieter than she would have liked. “Thank you.”

She took the bag with the medication, feeling Natasha’s fingers brush against hers.

“Let’s go,” the widow murmured, her nasal voice heavy with exhaustion.

Wanda nodded, not daring to look at the pharmacist as they left. Outside, the cool air hit her face, but it wasn’t enough to calm the fire in her cheeks.

The sound of the bell marked their departure from the pharmacy, and the cold street air hit Natasha directly. Wanda barely had time to steady her when she felt her falter on her feet, her weight leaning naturally against her.

“Come on, Nat... we’re almost there.”

The widow didn’t respond, simply letting Wanda guide her. Her body was hotter than usual, and every now and then, she let out a heavy sigh against the witch’s neck. Wanda swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on getting to the car before Natasha collapsed completely onto her.

When she finally settled her in the passenger seat, Natasha let her head fall against the backrest, her eyelids heavy and breathing slow. Wanda let out a sigh of relief before leaning over her to buckle her seatbelt. Her fingers brushed against Natasha’s exposed skin as she adjusted her jacket, and the widow barely opened her eyes, her gaze cloudy but attentive.

“You treat me too well, detka…” she murmured in a hoarse voice.

Wanda felt something tighten in her chest. She didn’t respond, simply finishing making sure Natasha was securely fastened before closing the door and walking around the car.

The drive back felt different. Natasha was silent, her head resting against the window, her hair falling over her face. Wanda tried to focus on the road, but her mind kept drifting back to the moment when the pharmacist assumed they were a couple. She hadn’t felt the need to correct him, and worse… neither had Natasha.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. The priority was to get her back home. But just as she thought Natasha had fallen asleep, the widow’s soft voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“You drive well, detka…”

Wanda pressed her lips together, her chest filling with something she preferred not to analyze at that moment. “Sleep, Nat…”

Natasha smiled weakly before closing her eyes, leaving Wanda with the echo of her words and a persistent tingling on her skin.

 

 

 

The return to the van was calm. Wanda helped Natasha inside the house, supporting her. Gently, she helped her sit on the couch in the van, listening as the widow complained.

“I know, detka,” Wanda whispered, softly caressing her face, “I’ll make you something to eat so you can take your medicine, okay?”

Natasha nodded, almost asleep, half-conscious.

Wanda sighed, watching her, but quickly got to work. She remembered her grandmother once telling her that the best remedy for a cold was a good, protein-packed soup to revive the body’s energy. So she started gathering all the necessary ingredients from the cupboards and began preparing a broth by boiling a chicken.

As the vegetables cooked, she returned to the living room to check on the Russian, who was still asleep. Her hand gently rested on Natasha’s forehead, and she noticed that although Natasha was still very hot, it wasn’t as bad as it had been this morning. She was able to calm herself a little. Nat was okay, and after the food and medicine, she’d feel better.

The clock hanging in the kitchen marked 1:00 PM, so Wanda figured she had about half an hour until the meal was ready to take care of some necessary things—things Natasha usually handled.

She went outside and looked for the gas can that Nat always left near the tank to fuel the van. Then, she checked they had enough water for a while, but she mentally noted that in two days, she should go to get more so they could stay relaxed. She swept a bit of the dry leaves from the front and back of the van and smiled when she saw the clothes Natasha had worn yesterday at the lake, now dry on the line where they hung the laundry.

After grabbing the clothes, she went back inside the van and put them away in Natasha’s closet.

The delicious aroma of food was already in the air.

So she turned off the stove and finally served the food onto two plates.

“Dekta?” she murmured softly, approaching the couch. Her hands, after checking Natasha’s temperature, gently caressed Natasha’s head, and the widow slowly opened her eyes. “The food’s ready.”

“Oh…” Natasha cleared her throat, enjoying the caresses with a silly smile on her lips. “You’re amazing…” she murmured softly, looking into Wanda’s eyes, enjoying the way she blushed.

“Shut up,” the witch rolled her eyes, but offered her hand to help Natasha get up and walk toward the table.

Natasha saw a plate of soup, a glass of water, and the ibuprofen on her side of the table. She couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear at the sight. She tried to recall if anyone had ever taken care of her this way, and honestly, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so protected.

“Thank you for this,” Natasha murmured while sitting down, looking at Wanda with that playful smile. “I couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend,” she winked, making Wanda blush again and roll her eyes.

“You’re impossible,” Wanda muttered as she sat beside her.

After taking a big sip of her food, Natasha moaned. “It’s incredible,” she commented, after swallowing.

“I’m so glad,” Wanda replied, smiling. “How do you feel?”

Natasha nodded, taking a sip of her water. “Better, honestly,” she replied calmly. “I hate feeling like this, I feel useless…”

“Oh, it’s okay.” The witch murmured sweetly, “I took care of the van’s tank. In a couple of days we should go get more water, but we’re fine for now.” she added, “You don’t have to worry.” 

Natasha smiled warmly.
You’re really incredible, she thought.

Notes:

Of course I wrote all the cliché scenes that could exist in this world 😌

Chapter 10: Overthinking

Summary:

"Hey." Wanda’s voice was firm. "I’m fine. You’re the one who’s acting weird."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, the movement making her toned biceps stand out. "Me?"

Wanda nodded, stepping closer. The space between them was gone. "Since you got sick, you’ve been different."

Tomorrow will mark one month and a half since Natasha saved her.

A month in which their relationship had only grown, in which their coexistence had only improved, in which she felt at peace. At ease. Wanda couldn’t remember the last time she had felt as much at home as she did now, with the redhead.

And as beautiful as that was, it also tormented her.

It had been several days since Natasha had fully recovered. Her cold was gone, her body temperature was back to normal, though sometimes, at night, her cough persisted. And Wanda would get out of bed to bring her a glass of water and some syrup, waiting until the coughing fit passed. And Natasha would open her arms so that the witch could curl up against her chest. And Wanda always traced the same path along Natasha’s left arm, following her small freckles, appreciating the way her skin reacted to the touch—how it shivered, and sometimes, how a quiet laugh escaped Natasha’s lips from the ticklish sensation.

The first days had felt like a fairytale.
Until the coughing stopped.

And then they were both perfectly healthy.
And then there was no excuse to sleep like that, so close, so entangled.

Was an excuse necessary?

Wanda felt like it was. Wanda felt that, among all the unspoken things, there were implicit agreements between them that they both followed perfectly. There was no need to put things into words—she felt that a single look was enough to tell Natasha whether what they were doing was right.

And Natasha’s look was always the same: serious yet playful. As if inviting her to go further. As if testing whether she would dare to cross that line—
The one that Wanda knew Natasha knew they shouldn’t cross.

Natasha hates when Wanda doesn’t understand her.

But she prefers that over having to say out loud what she wants. She has never been good with words, she hates talking things through, she likes this silent language they’ve adopted—but sometimes, it seems they don’t understand each other enough.

She turns onto her side to look at Wanda’s sleeping form, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the windows. She sighs when she notices that the Sokovian chose to wear one of her shirts to bed.

Ever since she got better, Natasha had felt Wanda pulling away. Once again, she watches her, lost in thought, as if regretting having crossed the barriers Natasha had so happily opened for her. It’s as if she’s trying to return to a position—A position Natasha doesn’t understand, a distance she can’t comprehend.

Why is Wanda rebuilding a wall of bricks and stone when before, it felt like there wasn’t even a door between them?

Wanda doesn’t hold her when she sleeps anymore.

And that made it impossible for Natasha to sleep well at night, unconsciously waiting for the warmth of the witch’s body to envelop her so she could finally surrender to Morpheus’ embrace.

Natasha watches her sleep and realizes that she misses her.

She misses her so much, and yet she’s right there, sleeping peacefully beside her. As beautiful as ever.

She doesn’t quite understand everything she’s feeling right now. Natasha has always been used to sleeping alone—in fact, she hates sleeping next to someone. She’s never been able to maintain a relationship where she shared a bed; she was always the one to slip away at night after sex.

Her chest tightens with every night that passes and Wanda doesn’t reach for her. She always closes her eyes hoping that tonight, maybe, the witch will curl up against her again. But every morning, when she wakes up to find Wanda turned away, she just feels sad. She can’t help but feel heartbroken.

Fuck, she even catches herself wishing she could get sick again, if only that meant Wanda would come back into her arms.

During the day, everything is fine—just quieter than before, but otherwise normal. They still cook together, laugh, go shopping, wash the dishes. Everything is normal—except for the slight discomfort, like the air between them is charged with a tension too difficult to put into words.

And Natasha wants to break it. But she doesn’t want Wanda to feel uncomfortable.
And Wanda wants to break it too. But she doesn’t want Natasha to feel uncomfortable either.

“Good morning,” the witch murmured as she stepped into the kitchen, her face relaxed, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Natasha, who was slicing bananas for breakfast, lifted her gaze. “Good morning,” she replied curtly, returning to her task.

Wanda swallowed dryly, reaching for her cup to make tea. Natasha had clearly been up for hours—she even looked like she had been sweating. Lately, the widow had been training more often, and from what Wanda could tell, even more intensely than before.

“How are you feeling?” Wanda asked in a low voice, keeping her eyes on her cup as she poured the hot water.

She heard Natasha sigh. “Fine,” the redhead answered. “And you?” she asked as she sat down at the dining table.

Wanda nodded. “Fine,” she replied simply, sitting across from her.

They ate breakfast in silence. Unlike ever before—not even on their first day together had it been this quiet. Neither of them understood what was happening. The tension between them felt unnecessary, especially when just a few days ago, everything had been fine.

“I’ll go get water this afternoon,” Natasha murmured, as if it were nothing important.

Wanda’s spoon stilled against her bowl. Her frown deepened. "Alone?"

They usually went together. It was their plan. Their routine.

Natasha simply shrugged, holding her gaze.

"I want to go with you," Wanda stated, her voice sure. "We always go together. Why would you go alone?"

The widow's heart pounded just a little harder. "I don’t know," she admitted. Then, mustering up the courage, she added, "You’ve been acting strange."

Wanda’s expression fell. She averted her gaze, suddenly finding the worn wood of the table infinitely more interesting than the woman in front of her. "I’m not acting strange."

Natasha huffed a quiet laugh, pushing her chair back as she stood. "Oh. Must’ve just been my imagination then."

She turned, carrying her empty cup to the sink. Before she could take another step, Wanda moved—placing herself right in her path, forcing Natasha’s back against the counter.

"Hey." Wanda’s voice was firm. "I’m fine. You’re the one who’s acting weird."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, the movement making her toned biceps stand out. "Me?"

Wanda nodded, stepping closer. The space between them was gone. "Since you got sick, you’ve been different."

“For starters, it’s you who can’t look me in the eye for more than two seconds,” Natasha pointed out, leaning in slightly, speaking close to Wanda’s face. The witch felt her heart hammering against her ribs, her eyes helplessly drifting to Natasha’s full lips—if she just moved her head slightly, their mouths would meet… “You don’t laugh at my jokes. You don’t touch me.”

“Do you want me to touch you?” Wanda asked, her gaze dropping from Natasha’s green eyes to her soft, parted lips.

“Don’t be basic,” Natasha murmured before grabbing Wanda’s waist, gripping her hips firmly just to shift her aside and slip past her.

Okay. Mission accomplished.

By the afternoon, things had… settled down.

In some way, Wanda understood what Natasha had meant. The truth was, she had been quite clear with her complaint. Look at me. Laugh at my jokes. Touch me. Wanda’s cheeks turned pink every time she remembered the widow saying those words. Fuck.

She had been asking her to look at her, to touch her, to laugh at her jokes. And she had done it in that strong, unmistakable way of hers. Arms crossed, biceps flexed, voice firm and demanding.

That’s why at the afternoon, when Natasha drove to the town in search for water, Wanda let herself stare. Not even subtly. Her eyes roamed over her strong arms, the steady hands gripping the wheel, the way she occasionally wet her lips before focusing back on the road.

She was utterly screwed.

"How obedient," Natasha teased, fingers drumming against the wheel.

Wanda rolled her eyes, sighing as she turned to look out the window. But when she felt Natasha’s hand land on her thigh, caressing her knee gently before giving it a playful squeeze, she nearly lost it. She bit down hard on her lower lip, staring at Natasha’s hand resting there so comfortably. Fuck…

She wanted to be touched? Fine.

Wanda slid her hand under Natasha’s, tracing her fingers lightly with her nails before intertwining them with hers. She watched Natasha’s reaction closely, but the only response was that ridiculous, cocky half-smile of hers.

When it was time to shift gears, Natasha didn’t let go. Instead, she guided Wanda’s hand to the gearstick, their fingers still tangled. "Good practice," she murmured, sparing her a glance.

Wanda squeezed her hand, matching her smirk. "Mhm."

“Is that your sister?” Wanda asked, her eyes fixed on the blonde figure leaning against the van’s door as they drove into the field.

Natasha exhaled through her nose. The muscle in her jaw flexed as she gripped the wheel a little tighter. "Yeah."

She parked, unbuckled, and stepped out.

“Fuck, finally! You’re here!” Yelena exclaimed as she saw the two women approaching. “I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Okay, fine, it was 15 minutes, but it felt like an eternity.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “What do you have there?”

“Pizza and beer,” Yelena replied, winking at the witch as she held both up. “Can I join you?”

The night was too calm to waste, so they decided to settle in and have dinner outside. The wooden table was illuminated by a string of lights Nat had installed a few days ago, giving the place a homier feel.

Laughter filled the air as they talked about Yelena’s recent trip to the United States. The blonde commented on how strange the country felt to her, too extravagant, too much of everything—she much preferred the quiet of Norway, or even Budapest. But she had to go for a job she had arranged with a friend of hers…

Weird, Natasha thought.
But she simply nodded, listening attentively to her sister’s story.

“And how about you two?” Yelena asked, taking a sip of her beer and motioning toward both of them. “How have you been?”

“Well, good,” Wanda said, turning slightly to look at Natasha, who was sitting very close to her. Though she had to admit—this time, it was all on her. She knew exactly how Natasha felt about her sister and her, so she was doing everything possible to keep Natasha from feeling… uncomfortable. Or jealous. “Your sister got sick a few days ago,” Wanda added, grabbing a slice of pizza.

Yelena raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What happened to you?” she asked, curious.

Natasha waved a hand dismissively, reaching for her beer, but Wanda rolled her eyes. “Just a little cold.”

“A little cold that had her burning up with fever,” Wanda clarified, stealing Natasha’s glass and taking a sip from it.

Yelena and Natasha exchanged a knowing look. The blonde was very aware of what was unfolding before her eyes, while the redhead, on the other hand, felt a bit flustered. She hadn’t expected Wanda to take such a direct and possessive stance after their conversation that morning.

“Classic Romanoff,” Yelena muttered with a smirk. “Always looking for a beautiful woman to take care of her…” 

Natasha stiffened. Wanda’s brow lifted.

"Oh?" Wanda turned to Natasha, her interest piqued.

Natasha quickly shook her head. “Of course not,” she said seriously. “Yelena’s joking," she added, shooting a deadly glare at her sister, who was now laughing uncontrollably at the scene unfolding before her.

"Fine, fine. It was a joke. Mostly." Yelena took a bite of pizza. "I mean, María never got to come here."

Her laughter intensified when she saw Wanda turn to Natasha, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You were with Maria?”

Natasha’s eyes remained locked onto her sister, the rage she felt was indescribable. “Once,” she admitted, finally shifting her gaze to Wanda, who now had an amused smile playing on her lips.

“Nat—” Wanda laughed, playfully shoving Natasha. “How is that even possible?” she asked Yelena, who at that point had become her accomplice in teasing Natasha.

“Have you ever been with someone from the team?” Yelena asked Wanda this time, her voice laced with mischief.

Wanda’s eyes widened slightly, feeling betrayed. She swallowed hard before turning to look at Natasha, who was watching her intently, beer glass in hand. Without hesitation, Wanda stole it again, taking a long sip—stunning both Romanoff sisters.

“I kissed Vision,” Wanda finally confessed, making Natasha’s expression drop completely. “But it was just once,” she quickly clarified.

Sensing the redhead’s discomfort, Wanda’s hand discreetly slid onto her thigh under the table, out of Yelena’s sight.

But Yelena was a Black Widow too.
Of course, she noticed.

Natasha and Yelena exchanged another knowing look, the blonde fully aware of what was happening inside her sister’s head after Wanda’s confession.

“I met someone…” Yelena said, trying to shift the conversation once she noticed Wanda had taken control and Natasha had calmed down under her touch. “A girl I really like,” she admitted.

A genuine smile crossed Natasha’s face at her sister’s words, while Wanda also gifted the blonde a warm smile, seeing her suddenly… shy, playing with the bottle in her hands.

“Who?” the redhead asked, both happy for her sister and for the soft strokes Wanda was tracing along her thigh.

Yelena bit her lower lip, glancing to the side, trying to put her thoughts into words. “She’s a girl I met in New York,” she explained, finally looking back at Natasha. “She’s like… if a golden retriever turned into a human.”

Wanda burst into laughter at that.

“That’s adorable, Yels,” the witch said, grinning.

Yelena nodded, smiling as she looked at both of them—so genuine in their happiness for her. “I’d love for you to meet her,” she added softly.

Natasha smirked, leaning back in her chair as she took another sip of beer. “A golden retriever, huh? That sounds like a handful.”

Yelena rolled her eyes but smiled. “She is. Always excited about everything, full of energy, just… pure sunshine.” The last part came out almost as a sigh, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the two women sitting across from her.

“Oh, look at you,” Wanda teased, tilting her head as she watched Yelena fidget with her bottle. “You’re soft.”

“I am not,” Yelena shot back immediately, but her voice lacked conviction.

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “You totally are.”

“Shut up.”

The table fell into a comfortable silence after that, the three of them eating, drinking, and just enjoying the peaceful night. The warmth of the small string lights above them made everything feel intimate, safe—like they were in their own little world.

At some point, Wanda leaned back, stretching her arms before letting one rest casually on the back of Natasha’s chair. Natasha didn’t move away. If anything, she shifted slightly closer, just enough so that Wanda’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of her shoulder. It was subtle, barely noticeable—but for them, it was everything.

Yelena arched a brow as she took another sip of beer, eyes flicking between the two women. “So,” she started, setting down her bottle. “Are you two finally—”

“No,” Natasha interrupted immediately.

Yelena blinked. “Damn, let me finish my sentence at least.”

Wanda chuckled, shaking her head. “What were you going to say?”

Yelena smirked, leaning her elbows on the table. “Are you two finally going to admit that you’re disgustingly obsessed with each other?”

Natasha groaned, rubbing her temples. Wanda, on the other hand, simply smiled. “That’s a bold accusation,” she mused.

“Yeah?” Yelena leaned back, crossing her arms. “Then stop touching her under the table.”

Wanda froze.

Natasha’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she narrowed them at her sister. “You’re insufferable.”

Yelena grinned. “And you’re predictable.” She stood up, stretching her arms above her head. “Anyway, I should go before you two start making heart eyes at each other again.”

Wanda smirked at that. “Oh, but I was enjoying your company.”

Yelena placed a dramatic hand on her chest. “Flattered, really. But I’ll let you two get back to not being obsessed with each other.” She winked at Natasha before heading towards her bike, grabbing her helmet.

Natasha exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she watched her sister walk away. Wanda, still smirking, picked up Natasha’s beer and took a sip.

“She’s annoying,” Natasha muttered.

“Is she wrong, though?” Wanda teased, licking her lips as she placed the glass back down.

Natasha turned to her, their faces suddenly much closer than before. There was something different about the way Wanda was looking at her now—playful, sure, but also challenging.

The air between them grew heavy again, that unspoken tension tightening around them like a rope pulling them closer.

Natasha swallowed. “You’re impossible.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her fingers grazing the nape of Natasha’s neck. “This is what you asked me today, remember?”

Natasha didn’t answer. She just stared at Wanda for a long moment before finally looking away, exhaling through her nose as she grabbed the beer glass and took a sip—right from the same spot Wanda’s lips had just touched.

Wanda smiled.

Yeah. She definitely liked this so much more. 

Notes:

heyyy 💗💗💗
just so you know next chapter’s gonna be wild 👀

Chapter 11: Can’t stop thinking about her. (+18)

Summary:

Every time she went to the bathroom and saw how wet she was over… nothing? She felt ridiculous. She felt stupid.

And of course, she was terrified Natasha would notice. I mean, come on, she’s a spy. Reading minds has been part of her job even longer than Wanda’s.

"Detka, are you sure you're okay?" Natasha asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

Natasha knew the effect she had on Wanda. 

Natasha is well aware of the effect she has on people.

It’s part of her job—knowing how to charm, how to captivate, how to make people want to give her what she needs, whether it’s information or something else entirely. She can always tell when someone is drawn to her, when someone desires her.

And Wanda does.

It’s not blatant—not with this game of cat and mouse they’ve fallen into. But it’s obvious enough.  

Wanda may not act on what she wants —not boldly at least— but she can’t fake a face. Everything is written across her expressions, every fleeting thought printed onto her features like ink on paper.

She’s so obvious.

It’s honestly adorable.

Like most people, Natasha loves being wanted. Craves it, even—especially when the desire comes from someone she wants in return.

And Natasha is used to being desired. It’s second nature by now. She knows she’s sexy. She knows she has the kind of charm and raw sex appeal that turns heads the moment she walks into a room. She’s even had conversations about it with her friends—mostly men, of course—and they all agree: she’s easily one of the sexiest people alive. Not just because of her looks, but because she’s Black Widow.

But Wanda?

Wanda doesn’t want her because she’s Black Widow.

Wanda wants her.

Every version of her.

Wanda wants Natasha when she’s changing the broken lightbulb in the kitchen, stretching up on her toes, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in focus.

Wanda wants Natasha when she’s scrubbing down the bathroom, her hair a mess on top of her head, sports bra clinging to her skin, body glistening with sweat in the humid, cramped space.

Wanda wants Natasha when she catches the faint scent of her sweat—not repulsed by it, not even indifferent—turned on by it.

She gets flustered. Stares too much. Turns pink and tries to pretend she’s not looking, but Natasha sees it all. And she loves it. She loves being watched by the witch. She leans into it, throwing in a slow wink, a cocky little smirk—the kind that could melt Wanda into nothing.

She’s too much for her. 

Look at me, laugh at my jokes, touch me. 

And Wanda, poor thing, has no idea what to do about it.

"Where are you going?" Wanda asked, her voice coming out weaker than she intended.

Not that she could be blamed.

Her eyes had a mind of their own, dragging over Natasha’s frame like she was trying to memorize every inch of her. The sport top clung to her, snug and just short enough to expose the toned lines of her stomach. And those shorts—God, those shorts—rode high on Natasha’s legs, strong and sun-kissed, flexing slightly as she shifted her weight.

Wanda should really look away.

She didn't.

Natasha, barely sparing her a glance, lifted the bucket in her hand. “To wash the car.” Her voice was light, casual. But there was something about the way she said it—smooth, knowing—that made Wanda’s stomach twist.

Right. That should’ve been obvious. Maybe she would've realized sooner if she hadn’t been… distracted.

Wanda nodded stiffly. “Oh. Okay.”

She was so bad at acting normal.

Natasha’s eyes flicked to her, amusement creeping into her features. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. “Want to join me?”

Wanda froze.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way Natasha said them. Slow. Purposeful. A tease wrapped in an innocent invitation.

Wanda's brain screamed at her to be cool, but her mouth had already betrayed her. “I—I’m doing the laundry.” The excuse fell out in a rush, voice too high, too breathless.

Natasha grinned like she had won something.

“Oh, okay,” she repeated back in the same tone, mocking but soft. Wanda narrowed her eyes in playful annoyance, but her cheeks were burning.

God, she was embarrassing.

Natasha hummed, tilting her head slightly. “I left clothes on my side of the bed.”

Wanda nodded too quickly, fingers curling into her sweater. "I noticed."

The moment she said it, she knew she messed up.

Natasha’s smirk deepened, her sharp green eyes flickering with amusement. “Did you?”

Wanda pressed her lips together. Do not dig yourself deeper. Do not dig yourself deeper.

“Mhm.” She made a noncommittal noise, keeping her gaze firmly on Natasha’s face now, resisting the temptation to glance down again.

Natasha just chuckled, low and rich, like she could read every thought running through Wanda’s head.

The Russian moved as if to step past her, but came to a stop, her amusement doubling.

Wanda frowned.

Then it hit her.

She was still standing there. Right in the middle of the hallway. Blocking Natasha’s way.

She had been so caught up in looking at her that she completely forgot to move.

Natasha arched a brow, her expression both patient and deeply entertained. “Detka, could you pleas—”

“Oh—sorry!” Wanda nearly jumped back, her whole body tensing as she scrambled out of the way.

Natasha slid past her, and for the briefest second, Wanda swore she felt her fingertips graze the small of her back.

By accident?

Not a chance.

She barely had time to process it before she caught Natasha’s parting words—muttered low, just under her breath, but deliberately loud enough for Wanda to hear.

“Cute.”

Wanda’s brain short-circuited.

By the time she managed to turn, Natasha was already walking off, the bucket swinging casually at her side like she hadn't just ruined Wanda's entire day.

 

Wanda tossed the first bundle of clothes into the washing machine with more force than necessary, trying to push everything out of her mind.

Specifically, Natasha.

Specifically, Natasha in that damn sports bra, with those shorts that barely counted as clothing, her toned stomach on display, skin glistening under the afternoon heat as she casually made Wanda’s brain short-circuit in the middle of the hallway.

God, she was so obvious.

Wanda groaned under her breath, shaking her head. Laundry. Just do the damn laundry.

She reached back into the basket, pulling out one of Natasha’s shirts. It was soft between her fingers, worn-in from use. She could still faintly smell Natasha on it—something clean, crisp, dangerous. Wanda hesitated a second too long before throwing it into the machine.

It was fine. She was fine.

Then her fingers brushed against something smaller.

Softer.

She frowned, pulling it out—and her stomach dropped straight to the floor.

Black lace. Tiny.

A thong.

Wanda felt heat crawl up her neck, her body going still as she stared at the barely-there scrap of fabric in her hands.

Oh.

Natasha wears these.

She could see it now. The way the thin straps would sit high on her hips, disappearing beneath her clothes. The way the lace would cling to her skin. How it would look when she peeled it off—

Wanda’s breath caught.

Jesus.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a slow, burning heat spreading through her body.

It wasn’t the first time she washed Natasha’s clothes, of course.

Lately, their quiet rhythm of living together had settled into a kind of unspoken pact—chores shared, boundaries blurred, her things, my things, ours.

But usually, underwear was sacred territory. Each handled their own, out of respect, out of something unspoken and soft.

This time, though, it looked like the Widow had forgotten to pull hers from the pile.

And the worst part? There was more.

Wanda glanced back into the basket, pulse spiking.

Another one. And another. And another.

Did Natasha even own normal underwear? Or was she just walking around every day with this under her clothes, completely unbothered, while Wanda was here losing her mind over it?

She let out a shaky breath, fingers tightening around the fabric before she realized what she was doing. No. No, no, no. Stop thinking about it.

Except she couldn’t.

Because now, all she could picture was Natasha—wearing these, teasingly adjusting the straps, smirking because she knew exactly what it did to Wanda—

Shit.

 

 

God, Wanda knew there was no turning back—she was absolutely obsessed with Natasha.

Everything that involved that woman drove her crazy. Her body, her personality, yes, her perfume added to the ticklish feeling in her stomach. But Natasha’s natural scent, the one Wanda had come to recognize after months living together… God,  It was a blend of vanilla and coconut, soft yet intense, clinging to everything the Widow wore. It made her lose her mind.

She couldn’t control her hormones, no.

Every time she went to the bathroom and saw how wet she was over… nothing? She felt ridiculous. She felt stupid.

And of course, she was terrified Natasha would notice. I mean, come on, she’s a spy. Reading minds has been part of her job even longer than Wanda’s.

"Detka, are you sure you're okay?" Natasha asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

Wanda startled, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her warm hands reached for cold water, splashing it onto her face. "Yep! All good," she muttered, a little breathless.

On the other side of the door, Natasha sighed, not entirely convinced. "Okay, I need to go to the store for food. Want to come with me?" she asked gently.

The bathroom door opened, and a smiling Wanda stepped out, heading toward the room she shared with the Widow. "I'm really tired, could you go on your own?" she asked, collapsing onto the bed.

From the doorway, Natasha watched her, arms crossed. Something wasn’t adding up. Something was going on with Wanda, but she wasn’t going to push until Wanda was ready to say it herself.

"Okay," she nodded, patting her pockets for her keys and wallet. "Need anything?" she asked before leaving.

Wanda hesitated. The truth was, her period would probably start next week, and she'd need some supplies. But she didn’t feel comfortable asking Natasha to pick them up for her.

"We can go another day for your stuff," Natasha offered, noticing the storm of thoughts swirling behind Wanda’s silence.

Wanda just nodded, pressing her lips together and swallowing hard.

"Alright, I’ll be back soon," Natasha called before stepping out of the van and heading to her car.

The moment Wanda heard the engine roar to life, she exhaled deeply, throwing herself onto Natasha's side of the bed. She buried her face in the pillow, inhaling that scent she adored—the one that made her feel so many things, the one she dreamed of kissing straight from its source.

She didn’t have much time before Natasha came back.

Maybe taking care of her little problem would help.

God, she felt dirty. So guilty for doing this in Natasha's bed. But then again, it was her bed too now. This was her home as well—Natasha had made sure she felt that way. And it wasn’t like she was doing anything too crazy… just touching herself while thinking about her roommate... yeah, sure, perfectly fine.

Wanda cupped her breasts over the white tank top she was wearing. At this point, she couldn’t even tell anymore if a piece of clothing was truly hers or if Natasha had worn it too. And just the thought of the redhead in this shirt—her breasts straining against the fabric, no bra, nipples peaked, those broad, muscular shoulders flexing every time she lifted something heavy—

Oh, god.

Wanda felt her nipples harden instantly. Just a few teasing caresses, and her whole body was already reacting.

Quickly, she slid down her shorts, her mind ticking down the minutes she had before Natasha returned, hoping she took her time choosing between apples or bananas. But at the same time, that unbearable pull she felt toward the Widow made her wish she wouldn’t take too long—made her imagine Natasha walking back in, arms full of heavy bags, muscles taut, veins visible beneath sun-kissed skin. And knowing that no matter how many times Wanda offered to help, Natasha would refuse, insisting on carrying it all herself.

A quiet moan slipped from Wanda’s lips at the thought of that body—sculpted like a damn goddess.

Her hand moved lower, fingers teasing the edge of her underwear before finally slipping beneath. She already knew she was wet—she’d been wet since this morning when the woman of her fantasies decided to wash the car so poorly dressed. But she hadn’t expected to be this wet, her arousal soaking through the fabric.

She bit her lower lip, suppressing a loud moan.

But then she remembered—

She was alone.

"Fuck, Natasha…"

Her fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over her clit as she let herself drown in the thought of Natasha—the way her voice was rough and deep in the morning, thick with sleep when she murmured, “Good morning, detka.” The way her hand fit so naturally against Wanda’s waist, her thumb stroking absently as if she belonged there. The way she played with Wanda’s rings when they sat close, fingers twisting and teasing in a way that made the witch’s breath hitch.

And her scent—God, her scent.

With her free hand, Wanda clutched Natasha’s pillow, burying her face in it, dragging in the familiar aroma. She rolled her hips against her own touch, pressing harder, faster, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered against the fabric, voice raw with need.

She could almost feel Natasha under her hands—the solid warmth of her muscles, the way they flexed beneath her fingertips. She imagined slipping her hand beneath Natasha’s shirt, tracing along hard lines and soft curves, feeling the way the Widow’s breath would stutter at her touch.

She imagined straddling Natasha’s thigh, the firm muscle pressing between her legs, her slick folds grinding against it as those strong hands held her there, guiding her movements, making her ride the unbearable friction until she was a trembling mess.

A sharp whimper escaped her lips.

God, she wanted to rub against Natasha’s pillow, to feel something more than just her own fingers—but she forced herself to stay in control. Just barely.

The wet, obscene sounds of her arousal only pushed her closer, her hips arching off the mattress, chasing that perfect, dizzying pressure. She could hear Natasha in her head—low and rough, voice dripping with approval.

"Just like that, detka… you’re so good for me."

She imagined Natasha’s mouth closing around her nipple, sucking hard, making her writhe. She imagined those hands gripping her hair, guiding her between strong thighs, pressing her face deeper against slick, feverish heat. She imagined Natasha grinding against her, needy and desperate, moaning Wanda’s name.

“Please, baby, make me feel good…” she purred so softly. Thinking about Natasha’s big carny lips sucking her juices, her green eyes locked into Wanda’s as she lapped every little drop of wetness that traveled between her thighs, landing on her ass. She imagined the widow’s teeth grazing slightly at her clit when she pinched it between her fingers and screamed loudly, her other arm hugging the pillow to dig her nose into that scent. 

“Oh my God, Natasha–” Wanda whispered, “oh baby, yes.” 

She was right there, right on the edge—

A car engine rumbled outside.

Wanda’s entire body froze.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

Oh my God.

Natasha.

She hadn’t been gone long enough.

Panic surged, but so did something else—an edge of thrill that made her pulse race even faster. Wanda withdrew her hand, breathless and flushed, wiping her fingers on her thigh and moving the pillows on their place as shame and lingering pleasure warred inside her.

The front door creaked open. Heavy footsteps.

Wanda scrambled to sit up, smoothing down her hair, pulling the blanket over her lap like it could somehow shield her from suspicion. She could still feel the wetness running between her legs, the pulse of her unfinished release, and she hated how obvious it felt. 

Natasha could notice by just smelling her. 

"Hey," Natasha called softly, her voice echoing from the kitchen. Bags rustled. "I’m back."

Wanda swallowed thickly. "Welcome back," she managed, her voice just a little too high, too breathless.

"Did you rest?" Natasha asked, walking into the room, casual and deadly in equal measure. She leaned against the doorframe, her eyes sharp and unreadable.

Wanda nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah. Just… relaxing."

Natasha tilted her head slightly, a spark of something curious in her gaze. Watching her a little too closely.

Too closely.

Wanda’s pulse thundered in her ears. God, did she know?

Natasha’s eyes lingered, scanning Wanda with that quiet intensity that always made her feel stripped bare. She didn’t say anything, but Wanda could see the subtle furrow of her brow, the way her gaze dipped—taking in the flushed cheeks, the slightly agitated breath, the way Wanda’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket.

“Hmm,” Natasha hummed, pushing off the doorframe. She walked further into the room, slow and deliberate. Predatory. Wanda’s pulse jumped. “I didn't think resting would leave you so… breathless," Natasha teased lightly, a small, crooked smile tugging at her lips.

Wanda forced a chuckle, but it sounded strained. “Yeah, well… I guess I was dreaming.”

Natasha’s eyebrow quirked. “Must’ve been some dream.”

Wanda swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the blanket tighter. She hated how obvious she felt. She could still feel the lingering warmth on her skin, the pulsing ache that hadn’t been satisfied, and god, the scent of Natasha’s pillow still clung to her like a ghost.

“I—yeah, it was… weird.” Wanda looked down, her hair falling like a curtain to shield her face. She wished the bed would swallow her whole.

Natasha didn’t say anything for a second. And then—those soft, careful footsteps again, coming closer. Wanda’s heart thundered.

She felt the dip of the mattress as Natasha sat at the edge, close enough that Wanda could feel the heat of her thigh through the blanket. Close enough that Wanda could imagine her hands again, rough and certain, slipping beneath fabric—

No. Stop.

Natasha’s fingers reached out, light as air, brushing a stray strand of hair from Wanda’s cheek. The touch was innocent. Harmless. But it burned.

"You’re warm," Natasha noted as her fingers lingered on Wanda’s cheek, her voice soft, curious. Almost concerned. "Are you feeling okay?"

Wanda forced herself to meet her gaze, though it felt impossible. Those green eyes—sharp, searching, impossible to fool.

"I’m fine," Wanda said, her voice low. Enjoying the innocent touch. "Just… tired."

Natasha tilted her head while her knuckles stroked the witch’s jawline, eyes narrowing slightly, as if reading something more beneath the words. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. For a second, she thought Natasha would push—would say something, would ask.

But she didn’t. She just nodded, slow and careful.

"Okay," Natasha said finally, though there was still a glimmer of suspicion in her gaze. She stood, the bed shifting beneath her, and Wanda barely resisted the urge to collapse in relief.

"I’ll start dinner," Natasha said, her tone light again. "You can keep resting if you want."

Wanda just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

And as Natasha turned and walked out, Wanda exhaled shakily, letting her head fall back onto the pillow.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Natasha hadn’t pressed harder.

The door clicked shut, but Natasha’s words lingered, heavy in the air.

Wanda stared at the closed door, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and longing. The suggestion Natasha had made—subtle, almost innocent—echoed louder in Wanda’s mind than it should have. But it wasn’t enough.

Because what Wanda really wanted—what she ached for—wasn’t privacy. It wasn’t Natasha walking away.

It was Natasha staying. Closing that door and walking back to her. Crawling onto the bed, hovering over her with those sharp, knowing eyes, and taking care of her in ways that would burn Wanda alive.

It was Natasha leaning in close, her voice low and rough, asking Wanda if this was what she wanted. If she needed help with the fire burning beneath her skin.

It was Natasha’s hands—not Wanda’s own—trailing beneath her shorts. Fingers skilled and sure. Mouth hot against her throat. That low, dangerous chuckle when Wanda whimpered beneath her touch.

But none of that had happened. And it wouldn’t.

Because Natasha was gone, and Wanda was alone, aching in ways that felt impossible to soothe.

She lay back, staring at the ceiling, her body still thrumming with need. Still trembling with what-ifs and impossible desires.

And she hated how much she wanted. How much she wished that Natasha had said more. Done more.

How much she wished that suggestion had been a promise.

Notes:

🌚 well…

lol I know you must hate me, but I sweeeear we are very close to /that/ chapter

I told you guys this was a slow burn and yep we are slowburning

Chapter 12: Yelena's girl.

Summary:

Wanda chuckled—Natasha could really be such a pain when she wanted to be. “You’re insufferable…” she sighed, grabbing the end of Natasha’s red braid and giving it a playful tug. “Just tell me what plans you have for us.”

The Widow smiled at that “us.”

Yelena: See you at the town bar. I’m bringing my girl. Bring yours! 

Natasha: My girl?

Yelena: You know, the witch with mind powers who can read thoughts but somehow doesn’t realize when someone is completely gone for her

Natasha: I don’t get your messages.

Yelena: And I don’t get how Wanda puts up with you. See you at the bar at 9 PM

Natasha: Ok. 8).

Yelena: What is that?

Natasha: Wanda taught me. It’s a little face with sunglasses.

Yelena: You’re so dumb :P

Natasha: <:(
Natasha: Fuck, it came out wrong.
Natasha: >:(

Yelena: Ridiculous.

 

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” Natasha asked as she approached the back of the truck, where Wanda was sitting, reading a book.

Wanda frowned, an endearing little expression as she looked up at Natasha. “Yeah, I was thinking of getting all dressed up and going out dancing with my friends,” she replied sarcastically.

“Cute,” Natasha murmured, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms.

“What plans could I possibly have, Nat?” Wanda asked this time, laughing softly.

The widow shrugged, looking out at the mountain landscape before them. “I don’t know, maybe you have a date with your crush…”

This time, Wanda was the one to roll her eyes. She reached up to scratch off a tiny smudge on Natasha’s arm. “Yeah, sure,” she sighed, satisfied once the spot was gone. Then she looked up at Natasha, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Do you have plans for me?” she asked sweetly, flashing a tender smile.

“Would you be interested?” Natasha teased, crouching down to be at Wanda’s level, her arms resting on the witch’s legs.

Wanda chuckled—Natasha could really be such a pain when she wanted to be. “You’re insufferable…” she sighed, grabbing the end of Natasha’s red braid and giving it a playful tug. “Just tell me what plans you have for us.”

The Widow smiled at that “us.”

“Yelena wants us to meet her girlfriend,” she said casually, brushing it off as she glanced at the book in Wanda’s hands.

Wanda’s face lit up, her eyes full of curiosity. “Nat! That’s so sweet,” she murmured fondly, making Natasha look at her. “Are they coming here?”

Natasha shook her head. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. “We’re going to have dinner together. Just the four of us, in town.” Her voice was low, deep—almost a whisper.

Wanda’s eyebrows lifted slightly, genuine surprise flashing across her features. “Like a…?”

“Like a…?” Natasha echoed, tilting her head just a little, almost daring Wanda to finish that sentence.

Wanda bit her bottom lip, trying to suppress her smile. Instead, she playfully tapped Natasha on the head with her book before sighing. “What time?”

“In two hours. Get pretty.”

“I’m already pretty,” Wanda shot back, grinning smugly.

Natasha nodded, pushing herself up from the ground and heading toward the van’s door.

“Very.” She called out before stepping inside.

Wanda hummed softly as she leaned into the bathroom mirror, carefully sweeping mascara over her lashes. Her attention was mostly on her reflection, on the slow, deliberate strokes of the wand—but she still heard Natasha moving around in the bedroom, rustling through clothes, muttering to herself in frustration.

She smiled to herself when she heard the exasperated sigh. She can’t decide what to wear.

Wanda already knew the answer to that. It didn’t matter. Natasha would look stunning in anything.

Stepping back, she took in her own reflection and felt a small surge of confidence. Her makeup was flawless. She felt good, maybe even a little hot. Her heart pounded slightly harder as she imagined Natasha’s reaction—would she say something? Compliment her? Maybe let her gaze linger just a second too long?

Wanda bit her lower lip, anticipation curling in her stomach.

Satisfied with her look, she turned to leave the bathroom—only to nearly collide with Natasha in the doorway.

“Hey—” Natasha laughed, hands instinctively finding Wanda’s waist, steadying her before their bodies could crash together.

Wanda's breath caught.

It took her half a second to register the sight before her—Wow.

The word left Wanda’s lips before she could stop it, her eyes trailing Natasha from head to toe, drinking her in.

Natasha’s smile turned smug, her grip on Wanda’s waist tightening just a fraction. “Wow yourself,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over Wanda’s body in return, slow and appreciative.

Wanda barely had time to process the moment when Natasha took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Could you do me a favor?" Natasha asked, amusement lacing her voice.

Wanda blinked, still a little thrown off by the situation. "Uh… yeah?" she replied, confused.

Natasha smirked, tilting her head slightly. "Do my makeup?" She shifted her weight onto one leg, her hip jutting out in a way that should be illegal. Her jeans—dark and snug—hugged her legs perfectly, highlighting every curve, every muscle. She had paired them with a simple black top tucked in just enough to tease the line of her toned abdomen, and a leather jacket that looked devastating on her, the sleeves slightly pushed up to reveal her wrists.

Wanda could barely function as it was, and now this?

Wanda swallowed, forcing herself to stop staring at the way the jacket framed Natasha’s shoulders. “You—what?”

“I want eyeliner,” Natasha clarified smoothly. “But I don’t want to do it myself.”

Wanda scoffed, crossing her arms. “And why do you think I should do it?”

Natasha leaned in, just enough to lower her voice. “Because I know you won’t say no to me.”

Oh.

Oh, she was playing dirty.

Wanda rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small smile. “Fine, but we’re not doing this in the bathroom. Too cramped.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow but smirked. “Where then, detka?”

Wanda ignored the way the nickname made her stomach flip and grabbed Natasha’s wrist, pulling her toward the living room. “Sit.” She pointed to the couch, reaching for her makeup bag.

Natasha, ever the obedient tease, flopped down onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh, legs spreading lazily. “Is this my royal treatment?”

“You wish,” Wanda muttered, standing between Natasha’s legs without thinking twice.

And then she thought about it.

About how close they suddenly were.

About how Natasha was looking up at her now, lips slightly parted in amusement, her hands resting on her thighs as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Comfortable?” Natasha asked, her voice light, but her eyes—oh, those damn eyes—were sharp. She knew.

Wanda inhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus as she pulled out the eyeliner. “Don’t move,” she instructed, placing a gentle hand under Natasha’s chin to steady her.

Natasha hummed, her voice a low vibration against Wanda’s fingers. “Mmm, bossy. I like it.”

Wanda pressed her lips together, biting back a smile. “Shut up.”

With careful precision, she leaned in.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured.

Natasha obeyed, lashes fluttering shut, and Wanda tried—tried—not to get distracted by how unfairly pretty she looked like this. Relaxed. Trusting.

The eyeliner went on smoothly, but Wanda was hyper-aware of everything. The heat radiating from Natasha’s skin. The way her breath fanned against Wanda’s wrist when she exhaled. The soft scent of her perfume—leather and something warm, something dangerous.

She pulled back slightly to check her work, her hand still resting on Natasha’s chin.

“Hmm,” she hummed, pretending to inspect. “Maybe I should make the wing sharper.”

Natasha’s eyes opened, a slow smirk curling on her lips. “Are you sure you’re not just making excuses to keep touching me?”

Wanda scoffed, flicking her thumb playfully against Natasha’s forehead. “Oh, shut up.”

Natasha chuckled, her hands suddenly slipping around Wanda’s waist in a lazy, innocent—not innocent at all—gesture. “You’re cute when you concentrate.”

Wanda huffed, heart hammering. “And you’re impossible.” She exhaled slowly, trying—trying—not to let her mind spiral as she reached into her bag for one last thing. “Lipstick,” she muttered, mostly to herself, pulling out a deep, sultry shade of red.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Oh? I don’t remember asking for the lipstick combo.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, uncapping the tube. “Just shut up and pout.”

Natasha’s smirk deepened. “You want me to pout for you?”

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, but she refused—refused—to give Natasha the satisfaction of knowing what that word did to her.

Instead, she lifted the lipstick and focused on the task at hand.

Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

Because Natasha Romanoff’s lips were—God—so full, so carnal, so distracting. The way they pursed slightly as Wanda neared them, the natural pout that was already perfect even without the lipstick. Wanda felt like she was painting over a masterpiece, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the color across those plush curves.

She was doing well. Keeping steady. Until—Green.

She made the mistake of looking up.

Their eyes met, Natasha’s gaze piercing, steady, amused, and Wanda’s pulse roared in her ears.

The distraction was fatal.

Her hand slipped, and the lipstick smeared, a streak of red just outside the corner of Natasha’s mouth.

“Shit,” Wanda muttered, yanking her hand back as if burned.

Natasha grinned, lips still parted in that dangerous smirk. “Is that your way of marking me?”

Wanda huffed, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across her face. “No, it’s my way of messing up because you won’t stop—ugh, just—hold still.”

Without thinking, she reached out, swiping her thumb over the smudge, gently dragging it across Natasha’s soft skin.

Natasha, of course, didn’t help.

Her lips parted just slightly at the touch, the barest hint of breath brushing against Wanda’s fingers.

The intimacy of it struck Wanda like lightning—her thumb lingering just a second too long, feeling the warmth of Natasha’s mouth, the soft give of her lips.

And Natasha?

She just sat there, watching, green eyes burning through her, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of that damned distracting mouth.

Wanda swallowed hard, pulling her hand away immediately before she did something stupid—like kiss her.

“There,” she muttered, voice tighter than she’d like. “Fixed.”

Natasha licked her lips, slow and deliberate, as if tasting the color. “Mmm. Tastes like cherry.”

Wanda launched the lipstick into her bag and muttered. “We’re done. Go.”

She tried to step back, but Natasha’s grip held her there, right between her legs, like she wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

Wanda narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to let me go, or are we just going to stand here all night?”

Natasha grinned. “Do you want me to let you go?”

The car ride was much quieter than either of them had expected. The night was incredible, the weather perfectly pleasant, yet there was a certain tension inside the vehicle—hard to define, but undeniably present. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just there. Like longing, desire, uncertainty, and so many other emotions.

The town had only three bars; being a small urban area, there weren’t many commercial options. But truth be told, the atmosphere of these places was warm, cozy, homely. Not extravagant, not flashy—just inviting.

Yelena looked happier than ever, her eyes shining and her smile completely genuine. Natasha recognized that feeling in her sister; perhaps, for the first time in her life, she was seeing her like this.

"This is Kate Bishop," Yelena said, giving Wanda and Natasha a knowing look. "Annoying, stubborn, overly confident, thinks she’s funny—but she’s mine. She also shoots arrows like a show-off and somehow makes it work. And she thinks she's my girlfriend."

Kate gasped, nudging Yelena. "I am your girlfriend!"

Yelena smirked, pressing a kiss to Kate’s cheek. "See? She’s cute when she’s mad."

Kate Bishop, a woman with an effortless kind of confidence, extended her hand with an easygoing grin. She had dark, slightly messy hair that framed her face, sharp yet kind brown eyes, and an energy that felt both relaxed and mischievous at the same time. Dressed in a snug black turtleneck and jeans, she looked effortlessly cool—like someone who didn’t try too hard, yet still managed to stand out.

“Hi Kate, I’m Wanda and this is Natasha!” commented Wanda happily. 

Wanda noticed how she carried herself—casual but sure, the kind of person who could probably charm her way out of any situation with a well-timed smirk. She was tall, enough to make her presence known. There was something playful in the way she tilted her head as she looked between the two sisters and Wanda, as if already piecing together the dynamics at play.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Kate said, her voice smooth but with a teasing edge, like she was already in on some joke they didn’t know yet.

Wanda, still absorbing the warmth in Yelena’s eyes and the sheer excitement in her voice, shook Kate’s hand, offering a polite smile. Natasha, on the other hand, kept her expression neutral, though her sharp green eyes studied Kate with quiet intensity.

Yelena, completely oblivious to whatever silent analysis was happening, beamed. “Okay, now that you’ve all met, let’s get a drink. I feel like this is going to be a fun night.”

Kate shot a quick glance at Wanda before smirking. “Oh, I have a feeling you’re right.”

 

Kate had casually brought up her unusual line of work, which instantly put the redheaded Widow on alert. Then she mentioned her best friend—“the best archer in the world,” she’d said with a proud grin. The New Yorker had practically choked on air when all the pieces clicked and she realized just who she was surrounded by.

Wanda and Yelena couldn’t stop smiling as they watched them from their booth. Natasha was leaning against the bar with her hip cocked, casually confident, while Kate mimicked her stance with exaggerated flair, making her laugh again. That laugh. Wanda could hear it even from here—warm and low and just a little rough at the end.

“She’s adorable,” Wanda blurted, eyes still locked on the pair.

Yelena turned toward her with an amused smile. “I know,” she said, her voice softening, a blush brushing her cheeks. “I knew you’d like her.”

“I do,” Wanda said, then glanced back at Natasha—now gesturing animatedly as she talked, her fingers fiddling with the chain around her neck, eyes sparkling under the bar lights. “You two make it look so easy.”

There was something gentle in the way Yelena looked at her then. “It wasn’t, at first,” she said honestly. “But it’s good now. Really good.”

Wanda nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Yelena tilted her head. “What about you?”

Wanda blinked, tearing her eyes away from Natasha. “What about me what?”

Yelena gave her a look. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Yelena…”

“Why won’t you two just admit it?” the blonde sighed, almost dramatically. “You’re unbearable.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Wanda tried, but the tremor in her laugh gave her away.

Yelena smirked. “You do. Everyone does. You’re both ridiculous.”

Wanda hesitated. “Did she… say something to you?”

Yelena leaned back, stretching like a cat. “Not telling you, witchy,” she teased.

Wanda groaned. “You’re an awful friend.”

“Oh, I know,” Yelena grinned. “Face it. You’re in deep.”

Wanda let out a slow breath. “Your sister is driving me crazy. The other day, when she got sick? It was because she decided it was a good idea to jump into the lake in her underwear.”

“Oh my God,” Yelena laughed. “That’s classic Nat.”

“She’s reckless,” Wanda said, exasperated. “She teases me. She flirts. But then she just… waits. Like she’s daring me.”

“She is daring you,” Yelena said plainly. “She always does that when she’s into someone. She pushes until she’s sure.”

Wanda sank a little into the seat. “Why me, though? She’s so… confident. Gorgeous. She could be with anyone.”

Yelena’s gaze softened. “Why not you? You make her feel something, that’s obvious.”

Wanda looked up, startled. “She doesn’t look bothered by that.”

“That’s the point,” Yelena said with a grin. “That’s exactly what you have to do.”

Just then, Natasha threw a glance over her shoulder, catching Wanda looking. Her lips curved into a slow, playful smile—one that said I see you. She winked.

Wanda blushed instantly.

“She likes being liked,” Yelena added.

“I know,” Wanda whispered, heat blooming in her cheeks. “She likes it too much.”

“You like her too much,” Yelena laughed, watching the way Wanda stared.

Wanda bit her lower lip and slowly nodded. “So much it feels unfair.”

Yelena didn’t say anything for a moment. She just nudged Wanda’s arm gently.

“Then do something about it, Maximoff.”

 

 

 

“Oh, I’ll admit it—I’ve never had this much to drink before,” Wanda confessed, her voice already light and amused as she leaned against Natasha’s body.

Yelena laughed loudly, her arm resting on the back of Kate’s chair. She exchanged a knowing glance with her sister, their silent language so ingrained that not even Wanda, with her mind-reading abilities, could fully decipher it.

Yelena snorted, swirling the remnants of her drink. “That’s because you’re a baby, Maximoff.”

“Excuse me?” Wanda gasped, feigning offense.

“You have two drinks and you’re already completely drunk,” Yelena teased, smirking.

“Hey, I’m fine!” Wanda deadpanned, making Kate burst into laughter. “I’m not drunk!”

The table was already littered with empty glasses—most of them drinks Yelena had eagerly recommended, and both Kate and Wanda had taken up the challenge. The two of them had fallen into an easy conversation about their life, with Natasha occasionally chiming in, and Yelena cackling at every opportunity.

Kate turned to Natasha, grinning. “Okay, what about you? How many dates have you been on, superspy?”

Natasha tilted her head, pretending to think. “Well, if we count missions where I had to seduce the target, then—”

“Nope! No, no, no—” Kate immediately interrupted, covering her ears. “I regret asking.”

Yelena, meanwhile, nodded approvingly. “That’s my sister. Always working, even when she’s dating.”

“I was not dating them, I was manipulating them,” Natasha corrected with a smirk. Wanda’s eyes sparkled every time she turned to look at Natasha whenever she spoke. Their faces were so close she was sure the widow could smell the alcohol on her breath. And yes, of course, she could.

“Tomato, tomahto,” Yelena shrugged.

Wanda groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my God, why are we even talking about this?”

In this unguarded, alcohol-fueled state, Wanda laughed freely, her features soft and relaxed. She felt a little dizzy, but not nauseous—just pleasantly warm, a little overwhelmed by the alcohol’s effect. Her body felt loose, nearly melting against Natasha’s. Her fingers unconsciously sought out the redhead’s, playing with them absentmindedly as she giggled at something Yelena had said.

“Because we’re nosy and you’re deflecting,” Kate pointed out. “So, tell us—have you ever liked someone?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, playing it cool. “Define ‘like.’”

Kate groaned. “Come on, don’t lawyer me. Have you ever had a crush?”

Natasha hummed as if considering it. Then, with a casual shrug, she said, “I was trained to suppress my emotions, so technically, I’m incapable of forming attachments.”

Yelena scoffed. “That is such bullshit.”

“Is it?” Natasha asked, taking another sip of her drink.

“Yes,” Kate and Yelena said in unison.

“Sounds fake,” Wanda added, smirking.

Natasha sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine, maybe I’ve liked someone. But unlike some people here, I’m not about to spill my heart out over cheap liquor.” she muttered, looking at Wanda. 

Yelena leaned in, grinning. “Is that your excuse for not answering?”

“Yep.”

Kate huffed. “Fine. I’ll go, then. I’ve never been in a relationship before.” she admitted casually, glancing at Yelena’s face, her smile widening as she noticed just how close she was.

Wanda raised her eyebrows, suddenly remembering her own situation. “Me neither!” she nearly shouted, raising her hand for a high-five with the brunette, who chuckled softly. “I don’t think I’ve even liked anyone before…”

Natasha turned to her then, her raspy voice cutting through the moment. “Never?”

Wanda swallowed hard as she found herself staring at the widow’s face—her bright green eyes, her cheeks flushed pink from laughter and alcohol, her hair lazily held together in a loose braid. So stunning.

“Well…” the Sokovian confessed in a near whisper.

Unbeknownst to Wanda, Natasha had already noticed that Yelena and Kate had slipped away, leaving them alone. The widow smirked, biting her lower lip in that slow, deliberate way she did whenever one of her prey fell right into her trap. And what a beautiful prey she had this time.

“Do you like someone, Maximoff?” the redhead teased, her voice a touch lower, more suggestive.

Wanda felt her cheeks catch fire. She nodded. “I can’t help it,” she admitted, timid but defiant, refusing to let the widow intimidate her any further. She held her ground, keeping her face mere inches from Natasha’s. “Red has always been my favorite color…” she confessed, her eyes flickering briefly to Natasha’s hair before meeting her gaze again.

“Well, Vision is pretty red,” Natasha quipped, making Wanda roll her eyes.

“You have a gift for ruining moments,” the witch sighed, leaning back and bringing her glass to her lips again—only to be stopped by a firm hand on her wrist.

“Enough,” Natasha’s voice was low and commanding. “The hangover will be unbearable tomorrow,” she warned, her deep, serious tone sending a shiver through Wanda, who locked eyes with her. “God, you have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” the redhead confessed, her gaze flickering between Wanda’s lips and her eyes.

“Do it,” Wanda murmured, nuzzling her nose tenderly against Natasha’s, an implicit invitation.

But Natasha shook her head, pulling back just slightly, though her hand remained resting on the bench behind Wanda, keeping them close. “When you’re sober,” she promised. Still, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Wanda’s bare shoulder.

“Looks good on you,” she added, referring to the crop top Wanda was wearing—clearly stolen from the widow’s wardrobe.

Wanda flushed, shifting slightly before pressing a tender kiss to Natasha’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said, both for the compliment and the top.

“You look beautiful too,” she added. “Like always.”

Notes:

Hi babesss,

It makes me so happy to know you’re enjoying this fanfic 🥹 I’m having just as much fun writing it!

Goooood, this agony???!!!!! When are they going to kiss 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

Those who’ve read one of my fics before know I’ll make the wait worth it 😏

Chapter 13: As beautiful as her sparks.

Summary:

Wanda met her gaze, nodding slowly.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" Natasha asked gently, sitting across from her.

Wanda's eyes filled with tears, her lower lip trembling as she struggled to form a coherent thought. So many emotions coursed through her that she feared her powers might harm the woman in front of her. Natasha sighed.

On the way back to the van, Natasha drove with a tender Wanda sleeping against the window. Her sleep seemed deep, and the widow didn’t want to disturb it, so she decided to carry her to bed in her arms.

A small smile tugged at her lips when the witch instinctively clung to her neck, nuzzling her face into it.

Natasha’s mind raced with thoughts, but one stood out the most—how incredibly happy she felt. Holding Wanda in her arms, drowsy and clinging to her, carrying her to the bed they shared in their humble home—it filled her with immense joy.

And Wanda was holding on so tightly that Natasha wondered if she was really asleep or perhaps awake and enjoying this position a little too much.

Natasha smiled, carefully maneuvering around the van’s furniture to get Wanda safely to their room.

When her legs touched the mattress, she gently tried to lay the witch down on her side of the bed, but Wanda’s arms tightened around her, pulling Natasha along with her—keeping her close as if she could escape this van, this beautiful night, as if she even wanted to.

With a quiet sigh, Natasha braced herself with her arms to avoid crushing the young Sokovian, whose eyes fluttered open with a mischievous smile, her arms still wrapped securely around Natasha’s neck.

“Okay, detka, let me go,” Natasha chuckled, trying to pry herself free.

But Wanda only shook her head, her pout too sweet to resist. “No, stay,” she murmured softly.

Natasha sighed, her body relaxing against Wanda’s lap, supported only by her knees.

The witch grinned, glancing down at their position before releasing Natasha’s neck—only to slide her hands down, grasping her thighs and pulling her to sit fully on her body.

“Oh, quick for some things, aren’t you?” Natasha teased, letting her weight settle onto Wanda and pulling back slightly, resting her hands on her own thighs.

Wanda gazed up at her, biting her lower lip. Natasha sat atop her, as beautiful as ever, red strands slipping from her braid, her legs hugged by tight jeans. Wanda had never imagined having Black Widow like this, no matter how much she had wanted it. Her hands found Natasha’s, fingers tracing along her legs before finally intertwining with hers.

Natasha simply held her gaze, Wanda’s eyes glimmering under the moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re so beautiful,” Wanda sighed, squeezing Natasha’s hands.

Natasha rolled her eyes, laughing at the confession. “And you’re very drunk,” she replied playfully.

“You know what they say…” Wanda whispered. “Drunks always tell the truth.”

Natasha nodded. “Your tongue’s pretty loose tonight, little witch,” she joked.

Wanda blushed but didn’t stop. “And you haven’t tried it the way you should…”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Natasha laughed, sliding off Wanda’s lap, her own cheeks flushing red, unable to believe the effect Wanda had on her. “Let’s sleep.”

Wanda’s laughter filled the room as Natasha made her way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When she returned, the witch was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling with bright eyes and a goofy smile.

Natasha placed the glass on Wanda’s nightstand, crossing her arms. “Are you done?”

Wanda nodded, then, with a lazy movement, slipped off her sneakers with her feet. Under Natasha’s watchful gaze, she slid her skirt down her legs, leaving herself in just her underwear and crop top.

Natasha swallowed hard before moving toward her own side of the bed.

But Wanda stretched out her hand, an invitation that made Natasha frown slightly—though she took it. Wanda knelt on the mattress, stepping closer to Natasha at the edge of the bed.

“Can I?” Wanda asked shyly, her fingers brushing the hem of Natasha’s shirt. The widow nodded slowly.

Wanda peeled off Natasha’s shirt, leaving her in a comfortable lace bra. Then her hands moved to Natasha’s zipper, her eyes seeking silent permission. Again, Natasha gave it, wiggling her jeans down her legs while Wanda watched closely.

Once they were both undressed, Wanda took Natasha’s hand and led her down onto the bed with her. “Can we cuddle?” she asked sweetly, making Natasha chuckle.

“How do you think we’ve been sleeping for weeks now?” Natasha teased.

Wanda frowned slightly. “What?”

Natasha smirked. “You’ve been cuddling me in your sleep, love.”

The pet name slipped from her tongue so naturally that Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her cheeks burning.

“Not so quick with the jokes now, huh?” Natasha teased.

When Wanda took too long to answer, Natasha rolled her eyes and pulled her closer. Wanda let out a soft gasp as she was tucked against Natasha’s chest, their faces mere centimeters apart. Natasha kissed the tip of Wanda’s nose, wrapping her arms around her waist and pressing their hips together, inviting her to settle in.

Wanda sighed, Natasha’s scent filling her senses as her head found its perfect place in the crook of the redhead’s neck. Her hand timidly rested on Natasha’s stomach, fingers tracing lazy patterns against her skin, burning with every touch.

“Goodnight, detka,” Natasha whispered.

“Goodnight,” Wanda murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Natasha’s neck before closing her eyes and drifting into a deep sleep.

Surprisingly for Natasha, she had never slept as peacefully as she did that night.

Wanda's breath felt like a gentle fan keeping her pulse steady, while the warmth of the witch's body was like a cozy blanket in the depths of winter. Her hands caressed Wanda's body as she placed a soft kiss on her head. Carefully, she slid out of Wanda's strong embrace, leaving a pillow in her arms so she could continue sleeping as peacefully as she had been against Natasha's body.

The widow cherished these early morning moments of solitude. Though living with Wanda had been incredible, she had to admit that she needed silent conversations with her own thoughts in the mornings.

And lately, there was a lot to consider.

There was no turning back. What they had built over the past months was undeniable. There was no possibility of regret.

Yes, they liked each other. Of course, they did. Natasha wasn’t stubborn—she knew when something defied her logic. So, as she prepared her morning coffee, she began to consider the countless scenarios that could arise from this situation.

"Maybe it's best to just enjoy it…" she told herself. And maybe it was. There wasn’t much they could do. Their "family" was scattered, they were wanted by an international institution, judged for crimes Natasha couldn't even rank among her worst offenses.

And Wanda was so soft, her skin so delicate, her lips so warm…

Natasha shook her head, taking a sip of her coffee. She thought of Tony, Steve, and Clint, imagining what they'd say if they knew about her and Wanda. She thought of Bruce and laughed, feeling almost ridiculous.

She thought of Vision and laughed too.

"Hey, good morning," came a raspy voice, pulling her from her thoughts. Natasha turned to see Wanda, still dressed in what she had fallen asleep in, smiling mischievously. The witch approached and stole Natasha's coffee cup, taking a sip before kissing her cheek—perhaps a little too close to her lips. "Thanks," she whispered sweetly, returning the cup.

"Good morning," Natasha replied with a smile, watching Wanda lazily move around the van’s kitchen, deciding what to eat for breakfast. "How's the hangover?" she asked softly.

Wanda shrugged. "Surprisingly fine," she said, peeking into a cabinet to choose what to eat. "But I'm hungry..."

"I can make you something," Natasha offered.

The witch bit her lower lip, her eyes shining in that way Natasha had learned to recognize —a look that screamed gratitude and manipulated her like nothing else could. She would do anything for those shining green eyes.

"Eggs?" Wanda asked shyly.

Natasha, of course, nodded. "If you go get dressed," she conceded. "You're very... distracting," she chose to say.

Wanda frowned but glanced at herself, realizing she was still in her underwear and Natasha's crop top. Embarrassment colored her cheeks as she quickly turned to head to her room to change.

Natasha watched her every movement before focusing on cooking.

"We should, uh..." Wanda began when she returned, now fully dressed. Natasha smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting as she plated the eggs and handed them over. "Thanks—maybe we should—uh..."

Natasha laughed, setting the utensils in the sink to clean later. She turned, leaning against the counter, watching the witch struggle to gather her thoughts. She looked so cute with her tired face, playing with her fork.

"Talk?" Natasha guessed.

Wanda met her gaze, nodding slowly.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" Natasha asked gently, sitting across from her.

Wanda's eyes filled with tears, her lower lip trembling as she struggled to form a coherent thought. So many emotions coursed through her that she feared her powers might harm the woman in front of her. Natasha sighed.

"Come here," she offered as tenderly as ever, holding out her hand, which Wanda took like water in the desert. Natasha guided her around the table and, once close, wrapped her arms around Wanda's waist, inviting her to sit on her lap.

Shyly, Wanda sat, and Natasha embraced her warmly, holding her close as Wanda clung to her neck, burying her face against her.

It was so intimate that the kiss Wanda had yearned for the night before was forgotten. "It's okay," Natasha whispered into her hair. "We don't have to rush this conversation. We have time."

Wanda nodded. "I feel really good like this," she confessed. "I don't want it to end."

Natasha understood. "I feel really good like this with you too," she admitted, prompting Wanda to pull back and meet her gaze.

"Really?" Wanda asked timidly.

Natasha nodded. "Of course. I love having a sexy witch in my lap. Who wouldn't?" she joked, making Wanda blush and roll her eyes.

"You're insufferable," Wanda muttered, pretending to be annoyed and crossing her arms, making Natasha laugh.

"You confessed something to me yesterday," Natasha said, taking Wanda’s hands and gently untangling her arms.

Wanda sighed, intertwining their fingers. "I know... I said I liked you." Natasha arched an eyebrow, her characteristic mischievous smile appearing.

"You hadn't said it that directly," she teased, causing Wanda to roll her eyes again. Natasha nodded. "I like you too," she confessed, locking eyes with Wanda. "A lot."

"Can you kiss me?" the witch asked, a silly smile adorning her face as she leaned in closer to Natasha. But the widow shook her head.

"You’re a big girl—you can kiss me yourself," she teased, flirting shamelessly. Signing her own death warrant. Knowing this was a journey with no return, that she would become addicted to those kisses, to those lips, that she would want to kiss them every chance she got.

And she did.

The moment Wanda’s lips touched hers, Natasha felt her world collapse.

And the adrenaline of falling without a parachute is impossibly addictive.

It started slow, tentative—like testing the waters of something they both knew they wouldn’t be able to pull back from once they dived in. Wanda’s lips were soft, warm, hesitant at first, as if giving Natasha one last chance to stop this before it spiraled into something unstoppable.

But Natasha didn’t stop.

Instead, she leaned in, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, her fingers tightening around Wanda’s waist, pressing her closer. The warmth of her skin, the way she melted so perfectly against her—God, it was intoxicating. Wanda sighed softly, her breath mingling with Natasha’s, and it sent a shiver down the redhead’s spine.

Wanda’s hands trembled slightly before finding their place—one on Natasha’s shoulder, the other slipping into her hair, fingertips grazing her scalp with an almost desperate reverence. Natasha let out a quiet hum of approval at the sensation, her own hands exploring the curves of Wanda’s body with careful, restrained hunger.

The kiss deepened, turned messier, more urgent. Wanda’s lips parted slightly, just enough for Natasha to taste her, to pull her in further, to steal the air from her lungs and replace it with something far sweeter—something dangerous.

Natasha knew this was reckless, but she didn’t care.

Because Wanda kissed like she felt—completely, overwhelmingly, like she was giving Natasha something she hadn’t dared give anyone before. And Natasha took it, took everything she offered, knowing she would never have enough.

Then—

A crack.

The lights above them flickered violently before the bulbs shattered, sending tiny sparks raining down. The entire van shook, as if something had just pushed against its frame. The cabinets flew open, some dishes tumbling out and shattering against the floor.

Natasha pulled away instinctively, her heart hammering, already scanning the space for an attack. But there was nothing—no threat, no enemy. Just Wanda.

Wanda, who looked horrified.

“I—” she started, staring at her trembling hands, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Red wisps of energy still curled around her fingers, flickering like dying embers before disappearing.

Natasha blinked, then exhaled a shaky laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Wow. I—uh. That’s one hell of a reaction,” she teased, trying to lighten the tension.

Wanda groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I hate my life.”

Natasha grinned, reaching out to gently pull Wanda’s hands away. “No, you don’t.”

“I do now,” Wanda grumbled, cheeks bright red. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I just—” She gestured vaguely at the mess, avoiding Natasha’s amused gaze.

“You literally rocked my world,” Natasha smirked, winking. “I’m flattered.”

Wanda whined, lightly smacking Natasha’s shoulder. “Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Natasha corrected, still grinning. But then, her tone softened. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Wanda looked up at her, uncertainty still clouding her face. “I don’t know why it happened. I just—I felt so—”

“Yeah,” Natasha murmured, understanding perfectly. She tucked a loose strand of Wanda’s hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering against her jaw. “I noticed.”

Wanda bit her lip, studying her face. “You’re not…freaked out?”

Natasha shook her head. “Nope. I mean, I’ve had some pretty intense kisses before, but none that caused minor property damage. Kind of a turn-on, actually.”

Wanda groaned again, dropping her head against Natasha’s shoulder. “I’m never kissing you again.”

Natasha smirked, wrapping her arms around her. “Wanna bet?”

Wanda didn’t answer. But her fingers curled into Natasha’s shirt, holding onto her like she never wanted to let go.

 

After that kiss, everything between them had changed. There was a new energy—intense yet tender, filled with a warm and calm emotion. Their faces mirrored each other, both wearing enormous, ridiculous yet sweet smiles.

After tidying up the van following their little… incident, they decided to take advantage of the day by strolling through town. It wasn’t too sunny, nor was it too cold, making it the perfect afternoon for walking around and browsing the shops.

The town’s streets were bursting with color, decorated with vibrant flowers lining the bushes and trees. Wanda walked with a tranquility she could rarely remember feeling, an unshakable smile playing on her lips. Every now and then, she’d glance back at Natasha, finding her just as happy.

“Look at those kittens,” Wanda whispered, leaning into Natasha as she pointed to the little furballs lounging lazily on a house’s windowsill.

Natasha smiled at the sight. “They’re adorable,” she replied softly. “Did you ever have a pet?”

Wanda thought for a few seconds before shaking her head. “No,” she admitted. “Did you?”

They continued walking, wandering toward a scenic viewpoint overlooking a lake. It wasn’t the same lake near their home, so the view was unfamiliar, just as breathtaking as the way they looked at each other.

From a distance, Natasha spotted a small, secluded spot away from the main viewpoint. Nestled between a few large rocks was a smooth, flat one—perfect for sitting and talking. Without hesitation, she reached for Wanda’s hand, gently guiding her toward it.

“I had a black cat once. Liho,” Natasha said, tightening her grip on Wanda’s hand as they maneuvered across the uneven terrain. Her hold was firm but careful, making sure the witch wouldn’t fall. “Be careful.”

Once they reached their little hideaway, Wanda sat down with a small sigh. “What happened to him?” she asked.

Natasha smiled. “He stayed with a friend when I started working with Tony,” she answered, glancing around to make sure the area was safe before motioning Wanda closer. “Come here,” she murmured, stepping toward another rock—one slightly higher up, offering an even better view of the lake.

Wanda hesitated. “I can’t climb that,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m wearing jeans, and I’m not exactly as athletic as you, you know?”

Natasha rolled her eyes playfully. Without another word, she placed her hands on Wanda’s waist and lifted her onto the rock with ease, as if she weighed nothing. Wanda blinked in surprise, still processing how effortlessly Natasha had moved her.

Smirking, the redhead settled herself between Wanda’s legs, resting her hands on the witch’s thighs. “You definitely look cute from down here,” she teased.

Wanda felt her cheeks burn instantly. She let out a breathy laugh, turning her gaze toward the horizon, pretending to admire the view. “If I were you, I wouldn’t turn my back on this view…” she murmured.

Natasha simply sighed. In one swift movement, she placed her hands on either side of Wanda’s legs and pulled herself up until their faces were level, her boots bracing against a small crevice in the rock.

Wanda laughed at the sudden motion, instinctively wrapping her legs around Natasha’s waist to keep her from slipping. “Can you actually get up here?” she giggled.

Natasha shook her head, then leaned in to brush her lips against Wanda’s in a tender kiss.

Wanda cupped Natasha’s face, deepening the kiss as her lips parted, inviting their tongues to meet in a slow, teasing dance that sent shivers down her spine. A warmth spread through her body, pooling in her chest like a fire she never wanted to extinguish.

She smiled into the kiss, feeling Natasha’s arms start to weaken. Without breaking contact, Wanda flicked her fingers, and a soft red glow surrounded Natasha, effortlessly lifting her into a better position between her legs.

Natasha let out a small laugh against Wanda’s lips. With her hands now free to move, she wrapped them around Wanda’s waist, slipping them under the oversized hoodie she was wearing—Natasha’s hoodie, of course. Her fingers traced the small of Wanda’s back, featherlight, sending a wave of ticklish tingles up her spine.

Wanda squealed, breaking away with a breathless giggle. “Sorry—ticklish,” she muttered, flustered.

Natasha rolled her eyes, grinning as she finally pulled herself onto the rock beside Wanda. “Come here,” she murmured, spreading her legs slightly and motioning for Wanda to lean back against her.

Wanda did as she was told, resting against Natasha’s chest as the redhead wrapped her arms securely around her. Natasha rested her chin on Wanda’s shoulder, and together, they watched the sun slowly set over the lake, the golden light reflecting off the water like flickering embers.

Neither of them spoke. There was no need to.

Notes:

Hi babies 💓

Thank you so much for your kudos and comments—you have no idea how beautiful it is to read what you think about this story. It’s so cute, and I’m absolutely grateful 🥹

I wish I could publish more than one chapter a week, but between work and university, I’d lose my rhythm—and maybe even end up abandoning the story 🥺 I feel like I’ve finally found a good writing and posting pace that fits perfectly into my day-to-day life. I really do wish I had more free time to dedicate to the fanfic.

But I also believe the story is as good as it is because of the time I’m able to spend on each chapter 🥹

I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to drop this one like I’ve done with so many of my other works—because I truly feel there’s something beautiful we’re building here 🩷

Hang in there—some really lovely chapters are on their way, and each one is worth reading slowly, with care ✨

Love ussss

PD: YAYYYY THEY FINALLY KISSED 😭😭😭😭😭

Chapter 14: Barcelona.

Summary:

“I like it here,” Wanda continued, looking around. “The people, the warmth, the… feeling of it.”

Natasha let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah? You thinking of staying?”

Wanda shrugged, tilting her head. “Maybe. If we had to leave Norway for some reason, I think I’d want to live here.”

Yelena had been rambling about Spain for weeks. Ever since Kate mentioned wanting to visit, she had taken it as her personal mission to plan the perfect trip. It wasn’t long before she called Natasha, not even asking but telling her they were coming along.

“Kate wants to see Spain. You lived in Barcelona. It’s settled.”

“That’s not how decisions work, Yelena.”

“Just call Ricky, ask him for a helicopter. We’re going in style.” she did nothing but commanded, ending the call. 

Natasha sighed, staring at the phone in her hand. Well, maybe… a trip with Wanda, Yelena, and Kate wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Though she worried about the logistics needed to make it happen, fearing that their well-hidden sanctuary could be compromised. So, she began mentally mapping everything out, figuring out the best way to grant her sister’s very persistent request.

"What are you thinking about?" Wanda murmured, a gentle hand brushing against Natasha’s waist as she stepped closer to the widow.

Natasha was lost in thought, standing with her arms crossed over her chest, gazing at the landscape behind the van. At Wanda’s touch, she sighed and turned to face her.

"That you need to pack your bags," Natasha replied with a smirk.

Wanda frowned, searching the Russian’s face for answers. "Did they find us?" she asked, worried.

The widow chuckled, shaking her head. She lifted her hand, brushing her knuckles softly against Wanda’s cheek. "You can stop worrying about that," she murmured teasingly. "No one’s going to find us," she assured with confidence.

"And how can you be so sure?" Wanda asked, narrowing her eyes with a fond smile.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Years of experience, darling," she answered smugly. Her arm wrapped around Wanda’s waist, fingers delicately tracing along the small of her back. "What I was saying is… we’re going on a trip."

Wanda’s face lit up instantly. Her eyes sparkled, and a wide smile spread across her lips—so wide that Natasha felt her heart melt at the sight. The spring breeze played with her hair, strands of brown brushing over her pale cheeks. The Russian’s stomach flipped, her heart pounding.

She swallowed hard, averting her gaze toward the mountains—because if she kept looking into those green eyes any longer, she might just give Wanda anything she asked for.

And just like that, Natasha was making a call. By the next evening, they were stepping out of a sleek black helicopter onto a private landing pad in Barcelona. 

The hotel Yelena picked was, naturally, five stars. Natasha made sure they had the best suites—two rooms, both with massive beds.

When the concierge handed them the keys, Wanda glanced at hers, then at Natasha’s.

“The topic of you booking a single bed for us is… funny,” Wanda teased, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha didn’t even blink. “Feel free to change it,” she replied smoothly, tossing her key card onto the bed as she stretched out over the plush mattress. She lay there, her arms folded behind her head, one leg bent, her expression unreadable—except for the slight smirk playing at her lips.

Wanda bit her lower lip, trying to fight back a grin. She took a step forward, then another, until her knees nearly brushed the edge of the mattress.

Just as she was about to say something—

Natasha moved fast. Too fast.

In a flash, she was up, grabbing Wanda by the waist and pulling her down onto the bed with her. A surprised squeal left Wanda’s lips as Natasha rolled them over, pinning her down as she laughed.

“You were saying?” Natasha murmured, her voice low and teasing.

Wanda barely had time to respond before Natasha’s hands found her sides, fingers pressing in just the right way to make her squirm. Laughter burst from Wanda as Natasha attacked with relentless tickles, her own amused chuckles blending with Wanda’s breathless giggles.

“Natasha—stop—” Wanda gasped between fits of laughter, twisting beneath her.

"Do you want me to change the room?" Natasha taunted, a grin on her lips as she kept up her assault.

Wanda, struggling and laughing, finally managed to grab Natasha’s wrists, using her magic just enough to push her off. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath, her cheeks flushed.

Natasha smirked down at her, propped up on her elbows beside her. “That’s what I thought.”

Wanda exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Natasha quipped, before rolling off the bed like nothing had happened.

Wanda groaned, covering her face with her hands for a second before laughing softly.

God, she was in trouble.

 

Barcelona was an incredible place. Wanda understood why Kate had been so excited to come, and she found herself falling in love with the city almost as much as the New Yorker had. Walking through the streets of Spain, the brunette archer dragged her blonde girlfriend by the hand to every picturesque little spot she found, marveling at the gothic and colorful architecture of the city.

“They're really cute together,” Wanda murmured, stepping closer to Natasha as she watched Kate and Yelena happily strolling ahead, hand in hand.

Natasha sighed, nodding, a fond smile decorating her lips as she watched her sister’s glowing face. “They make a lovely couple,” the widow agreed.

Wanda smiled. How lovely the word "couple" suddenly seemed.

After walking a few more streets, the sunset casting warm hues over the stunning city, night fell, and the streets turned into a picturesque scene all on their own.

A festival pulsed around them, alive with music and laughter. The streets of the small Spanish town glowed under the soft shimmer of lanterns, their golden light casting long shadows against the cobbled roads. The scent of saffron, roasted meat, and something sweet lingered in the warm night air.

Wanda sighed, smiling as she turned to Natasha. “This place is beautiful.”

Natasha, always on alert, flicked her gaze across the crowd before returning it to Wanda. “Yeah. Spain’s like that.”

“I like it here,” Wanda continued, looking around. “The people, the warmth, the… feeling of it.”

Natasha let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah? You thinking of staying?”

Wanda shrugged, tilting her head. “Maybe. If we had to leave Norway for some reason, I think I’d want to live here.”

Natasha smirked, her green eyes glinting. “Here in Spain?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

Wanda’s eyes widened slightly, her cheeks heating. "I mean—" She hesitated before lifting her chin. "Maybe. Would you like to live here with me?"

Natasha grinned. "Are you inviting me to live here with you?" she asked teasingly, slipping her arms through Wanda’s, where the witch had tucked her hands into her coat, pulling her close. "That’s very romantic of you..." she whispered, their faces mere centimeters apart.

Wanda rolled her eyes, but the slight pink on her cheeks betrayed her. "It is romantic."

Natasha leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make Wanda’s breath catch. "So, you want to run away to Spain with me? Hide out in some little apartment, drink wine on the balcony, go dancing at night…?"

Wanda let out a small, nervous laugh. "I never said anything about dancing."

Natasha’s smirk deepened. "Okay, so everything else is a yes?"

Wanda opened her mouth to respond—but Natasha’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Her teasing smile disappeared, her posture tensed. Her eyes flicked past Wanda’s shoulder.

Something was wrong.

Her hand instinctively reached for Wanda’s, fingers curling around hers tightly as she quickly dragged her through the crowd, searching for a safe place.

"Natasha?" Wanda's voice was light, oblivious to the tension that had suddenly thickened the air between them. “Nat?” She was babbling—about nothing in particular, as she tended to do when she was nervous. “Nat, can you please tell me what’s going on?” The endless flow of her words barely registered in Natasha’s mind. All she could think about was the eyes on them. Watching. Waiting.

Natasha tugged at her hand, dragging her to a corner, still talking. Wanda’s pulse quickened.

Without another thought, Natasha yanked Wanda into a quiet alcove, pressing her back against the cool stone wall. The sudden shift caught Wanda off guard. She blinked up at Natasha, her lips still moving, but the widow wasn’t listening anymore. "Natasha, are you listening?" 

She moved quickly, leaning down, one hand pressing firmly over Wanda’s mouth, silencing her. Their bodies were close—too close—and the tension crackled between them. Natasha’s gaze locked with Wanda’s, a quiet intensity in her eyes that spoke volumes, yet said nothing.

“For all I love hearing you talk, I swear, I do, detka,” Natasha whispered, her hand warm against Wanda’s lips. “I need you to stay quiet for a few seconds, okay?” Her voice was a soft command, and there was something in the way she tilted her head that made Wanda’s breath catch.

Wanda’s wide eyes flickered, confusion and something else —maybe fear— rushing through her. She nodded quickly, her lips pressed tightly together, her body frozen against the wall as she tried to understand what Natasha was feeling.

Natasha’s gaze softened, her thumb brushing gently across Wanda’s cheek as she took in the way Wanda’s skin flushed under her touch. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You’re so beautiful up close,” she murmured, her other hand settling against Wanda’s waist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her fingers. Wanda’s breath hitched, her body trembling just slightly at the touch.

The widow smiled, the effect she had on Wanda not lost on her. She then kissed her own hand—the one that had pressed against Wanda’s mouth—just above her knuckles.

“This should keep you quiet,” she whispered against her hand, feeling Wanda’s grip tighten on her jacket, pulling her closer.

Wanda’s lips brushed against Natasha’s hand in response, a faint, soft kiss of her own. Natasha couldn’t help but let out a small, satisfied laugh.

God, what was it about this woman?

Wanda wasn’t thinking anymore.

Her body moved on instinct, heat curling low in her stomach, fingers reaching before she could stop herself.

“Natasha.” Her voice was breathy, pleading.

And Natasha heard it— felt it. The widow had taken no more than two steps away before Wanda grabbed her wrist and pulled.

Natasha barely had time to smirk before Wanda crashed into her, their bodies flush, warmth meeting warmth. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through Wanda’s nerves, and she didn’t hesitate—her hands flew to Natasha’s face, desperate, impatient, aching to close the unbearable distance—

But just as she surged forward, just as her lips almost touched, Natasha stopped her.

Wanda whimpered.

A strong hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, firm, grounding—but not letting her move. The other hand pressed against her hip, keeping her right where Natasha wanted her.

The widow smirked, their lips only a breath apart. “Eager, aren’t we?”

Wanda let out a small, desperate sound, fingers curling into the fabric of Natasha’s jacket.

Natasha chuckled, low and warm. “Say it.”

Wanda swallowed hard, her body betraying her, pressing closer. “Nat…”

“Say what you want, detka,” Natasha murmured, tilting her head slightly, her nose brushing against Wanda’s cheek. Her lips ghosted along her jaw, a tease, a promise, before stopping just short of where Wanda needed her most. “Use your words.”

Wanda’s hands tightened. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her thighs pressing together, her breath coming in short gasps.

She was burning.

And Natasha knew.

Wanda squeezed her eyes shut, frustration bubbling over. “I—” she exhaled shakily. “Please, kiss me.”

Natasha hummed, pleased, but she still didn’t move.

Wanda was dying.

“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Natasha, please.”

And finally— finally —Natasha gave in.

She kissed her.

But it wasn’t rushed.

It was slow . Deliberate. Sensual.

A deep, lingering press of lips that sent a shiver running down Wanda’s spine. It wasn’t just a kiss —it was Natasha’s kiss—warm and consuming, like she was branding Wanda with her touch, dragging her under, making sure she felt everything.

Wanda whimpered against her mouth, her fingers threading into Natasha’s hair, desperate to pull her closer, but Natasha wouldn’t let her take control.

No.

She set the pace —excruciatingly slow, tantalizingly hot, making Wanda melt into her.

When Natasha pulled back, Wanda nearly whimpered at the loss. She opened her eyes, wide, glassy, desperate.

Natasha smirked, thumb grazing over her smeared lips. “Good girl.”

Wanda nearly collapsed. A flush spread down her neck, her body screaming for more. She swallowed, barely able to breathe.

The widow laughed, squeezing the witch’s waist. “What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Wanda took a deep breath, smirking. Oh, so she wanted to play?

“A very sexy cat,” she replied, slipping her hands beneath Natasha’s jacket, under her shirt, fingers grazing the widow’s ribs. Natasha bit her lower lip at the touch.

Seeing it, Wanda lifted a hand, her thumb gently freeing Natasha’s lip from her teeth before leaning in slowly, brushing her own teeth lightly over it as she met Natasha’s gaze.

Natasha had to swallow down a groan, but instead, she leaned in, capturing Wanda’s lips again in a slow, passionate kiss that sent fire curling in both their stomachs. Wanda was the first to close her eyes, surrendering fully to the kiss as Natasha’s hands roamed her waist and lower back.

The widow smiled into the kiss before shifting her grip, taking hold of Wanda’s thighs and lifting her, letting the witch wrap her legs around her waist.

Wanda smiled too, locking her arms tightly around Natasha’s neck, feeling the widow’s kisses trail down her chin—so soft, so short, yet so sweet that Wanda melted against her. Natasha’s lips traveled lower, following the curve of her neck, drinking in the scent there.

“I love your scent,” Natasha murmured against her skin, playfully nipping at it.

Wanda grinned, tilting her head slightly as a shiver ran down her spine.

“You’re really ticklish,” Natasha chuckled, pulling back just enough to look at her, readjusting her grip beneath Wanda’s thighs.

The witch nodded, cheeks burning. “I know,” she admitted bashfully, resting her forehead against Natasha’s.

Natasha sighed, their noses brushing tenderly before she slowly loosened her hold, letting Wanda slide back down onto the floor. “Let’s get something to eat?” she asked sweetly, offering her hand as they stepped away from the wall.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Wanda replied, taking Natasha’s hand—only to suddenly throw herself at the widow from behind, wrapping her arms around her and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

Then, with a grin, she grabbed Natasha’s hand again and started walking by her side.

"Oh, there you are!" Yelena almost shouted when she spotted her sister returning to the plaza, hand in hand with Wanda. Her mischievous smirk was anything but subtle, earning an eye roll from Natasha and a blush from Wanda.

Kate grinned knowingly as well, nudging Yelena with her elbow. "Took you long enough," she teased.

"We were starting to think you two got lost," Yelena added, crossing her arms dramatically. "Or maybe… you found something more interesting to do?"

Natasha exhaled, unamused. "We had an emergency," she deadpanned, feeling Wanda slip their intertwined hands into the pocket of her coat.

Kate arched an eyebrow. "Oh? What kind of emergency?"

"The kind that doesn’t concern you," Natasha shot back, but there was the smallest twitch of a smirk on her lips.

Wanda, eager to change the subject before Yelena got too smug, spoke up. "Have you eaten yet?" she asked, feigning disinterest.

Yelena’s eyes lit up. "No, but we bought some things at the artisan market," she said, motioning toward the lively booths nearby.

At that, Wanda’s curiosity piqued. She turned to Kate, excitement shining in her eyes. "What did you get?" she asked, tugging Natasha along.

Kate laughed, holding up a small bag. "Just a few things! A hand-painted tile, some jewelry, and—oh! I got Yelena this scarf. It’s so colorful and soft, I thought it would look cute on her."

Yelena groaned, rolling her eyes. "Kate Bishop, I told you I don’t need another scarf."

Natasha glanced at the fabric peeking out of the bag and smirked. "You’re right. It’s not that you need another one—it’s that you need to stop letting Kate pick them. What is this? A rainbow exploded on it?"

Kate gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you! It’s fashionable. And warm. And it matches her personality—bright and chaotic."

Yelena sighed, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of her lips. "I’ll wear it just to prove you wrong."

Kate grinned triumphantly. "That’s my lyubov-moya."

Wanda giggled, exchanging a quick glance with Natasha—one of those unspoken moments of understanding that happened more and more often between them.

"Come on," Wanda said, looping her arm through Natasha’s as they walked past the first row of market stalls. "Let’s get something to eat before Yelena starts pretending she doesn’t love her new scarf."

"I do not love it," Yelena huffed.

Kate smirked. "Then why are you holding onto it like it’s your new favorite thing?"

Yelena glared at her but said nothing, which only made Kate’s smirk grow wider.

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. "Let’s just find food before this turns into a full-blown debate."

They decided to grab a quick bite before continuing their stroll through the lively city center, which was just as awake as Wanda’s emotions—emotions heightened by experiencing all of this hand in hand with Natasha. A hand that still remained inside her coat pocket, their fingers gently interlaced.

The market was filled with local artisans, each one greeting them with warm smiles as they passed by, inviting them to admire their carefully crafted creations. Spanish words danced in their ears, blending with the soft sound of folk music played by an elderly man in the middle of the plaza, his guitar filling the air with a peaceful melody.

As they walked through the stalls, Wanda suddenly stopped in her tracks, drawn back by Natasha, who had halted to stare intently at a small stand. The witch rested her chin on the widow’s shoulder, following her gaze.

"Do you like them?" Natasha asked sweetly, picking up one of the delicate rings being sold by an elderly woman who watched them with fond eyes.

Wanda nodded, now holding the ring in her palm for a better look. It was simple, yet beautiful—a single green gemstone set in a fine silver band. "I love it," she murmured, lifting her gaze to meet Natasha’s. "It’s just like your green..."

Natasha nodded, reaching for it. "Me lo llevo," she said in the softest Spanish, making the elderly woman smile as she quickly accepted the money.

"¡Muchas gracias, cariño! Sois preciosas juntas. ¡Os deseo que os dure mucho el amor!" the vendor said warmly, her Castilian Spanish thick and affectionate. Wanda and Natasha nodded in thanks before stepping away from the stall.

Wanda smiled as Natasha slipped the ring onto her right index finger, her heart pounding at how focused and gentle she looked. "Thank you," she whispered, cupping Natasha’s face with her free hand and pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

Natasha smiled, leaning in for another quick kiss.

"Can you tell me what she said?" Wanda asked, glancing over Natasha’s shoulder at the elderly woman, who was still watching them fondly, even waving at them.

The widow smirked. "She said you’re beautiful," she replied. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she added, "Mi amor..."

Her Spanish made Wanda burst into laughter before pulling her in for another kiss.

And another.

And another.

Notes:

hi babiesss

tbh I’ve never been to spain lol

today’s song: barcelona by george ezra ofc

Chapter 15: M'e encantes, Llevant

Summary:

Her fingers were casually hooked into the waistband of her shorts, already halfway down, and her half-smile was loaded with mischief.

“What?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gonna burn me with that stare, Maximoff.”

Wanda bit her lip, just barely suppressing a smile.

The emotional terrain they wandered through was strange—beautifully, achingly strange.

It held a kind of comfort that felt like safety, yet sparked a hunger for more. Like standing at the edge of a cliff, hearts pounding, both of them quietly daring to jump—so long as they did it hand in hand.

Their kisses, at times endless, at others fleeting, felt blessed. A treasure they both guarded like something fragile and rare.

Wanda cherished Natasha’s kisses.
Natasha cherished Wanda’s kisses.

As much as they ached to lose themselves in each other’s mouths, they relished the dance—the teasing rhythm of restraint they’d both come to crave. The slowness of it thrilled them, but desire was becoming harder and harder to tame.

Still, there was a language between them now. One built on glances, half-smiles, and touches that said far more than words ever could. Tender in its chaos. Clumsy in its sweetness. Like the kind of teenage love neither of them had truly known.

And now, they were finally learning what it meant to fall like that.

A love painted with stolen kisses, gentle caresses, fingers laced under the covers… all tangled with the quiet, almost-marital routines they had grown to adore. A soft, shared life blooming around their desire—slow, careful, and impossibly real.

“Tomorrow we’re going to the beach,” said Natasha, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel in her hands, drying her hair. The scent of shampoo, soap, and freshly cleaned skin filled the expensive hotel room as Wanda watched her from the bed, already in her pajamas.

Wanda furrowed her brow. “Why?” she asked softly.

“Because…” Natasha replied, sitting down on the bed. “Because we want to see pretty women in bikinis,” she added teasingly.

The witch laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re so dumb,” she muttered, sighing as she let herself fall back onto the bed. Her pajama shirt lifted slightly with the movement, exposing her stomach. Natasha bit her lower lip at the sight of the exposed skin, her pupils darkening instantly.

Wanda blushed, but her smile widened as she saw the effect she had on the widow. She shifted on the bed, stretching her arms above her head with a smile that was part playful, part nervous. Natasha stayed still, as if mentally scanning every inch of visible skin.

“Are you going to look at me like that the whole trip?” Wanda asked, tilting her head, her voice laced with shy sweetness.

Natasha looked up as if she’d just been caught stealing something.
“I was just admiring the architecture,” she replied with a shrug. “Very well distributed… everything.”

Wanda burst out laughing, trying to stifle it by burying her face into the pillow. “God, why do you always say stuff like that?”

“Because it makes you laugh like that,” Natasha said, proud, as she slid down to lie completely beside her, on her stomach, chin resting on her hands.

“So, beach tomorrow?” Wanda asked, stretching out a hand to play with a damp strand of Natasha’s hair.

“Beach. Sun. Sand. Bikinis. Yelena making a fool of herself in public. It’s a hard yes.”

“Are you going to make a fool of yourself too?” Wanda raised an eyebrow.

Natasha feigned offense. “I never make a fool of myself. I make... memorable appearances.”

Wanda smiled, biting her lip. “And I’m going to put sunscreen on you again, right?”

“It’s tradition now,” Natasha replied, moving a little closer. “And you do it so well. Thoroughly. Professionally.”

“You got sick last time I put sunscreen on you,” Wanda muttered, rolling her eyes.

“That wasn’t the sunscreen’s fault—and it was worth it,” Natasha shrugged. “The sexy nurse made up for the cold.”

Wanda laughed again, but this time her gaze softened, falling quiet for a few seconds as her fingers kept playing with Natasha’s hair.

“I have to confess a few things…” the witch murmured, Natasha’s eyes now locked on hers. Wanda sighed, tucking a strand of red hair behind Natasha’s ear, her fingers gently tracing the curve of her face, brushing her jaw tenderly.

Natasha tilted her head into the touch, savoring the affection. “Tell me.”

Wanda smiled, her finger now moving to trace the outline of Natasha’s nose. “You have a beautiful nose,” she whispered, lost in the curve she adored. The freckles scattered across her cheeks decorated that nose, and Wanda bit her lower lip to herself, mentally counting the little dots.

"That’s your big confession?" the widow asked teasingly.

Wanda shook her head, laughing, momentarily distracted by that very specific part of Natasha’s face. "No," she said. "I didn’t bring a swimsuit—actually, I don’t even own one," she added, her index finger tracing the curve of the widow’s lips.

Natasha smiled, her lips catching Wanda’s finger, biting it playfully before letting go. "We’ll buy one tomorrow," she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"It makes me shy…" Wanda murmured, her cheeks blooming with color as she sank back into the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I’ve never felt this exposed around so many people before… it’s strange. Kind of overwhelming."

And Natasha had to hold back the overwhelming urge to kiss her senseless right there.

"Okay," Natasha nodded. "Do you want us to make other plans instead? Or should we still go?" she asked, lying on one arm and using the other to gently caress Wanda’s exposed stomach, her fingers lightly tickling her like a playful cat.

Wanda stayed quiet, thinking for a few seconds. The truth was… a beach day with Kate and Yelena sounded really fun. And also… she’d have the chance to see Natasha in minimal clothing again. And really look.

Without feeling so embarrassed if she got caught staring.

"I want to go to the beach," she answered confidently, reaching for Natasha’s hand to intertwine their fingers.

Natasha nodded. "Do you want us to buy the bikini?" she asked this time, leaning in closer, their bodies nearly touching.

Wanda looked at her intensely. "You just want to see me in a bikini…" she accused playfully, turning to face her directly. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"As if that wasn’t obvious," she replied, slipping her hand under Wanda’s pajama shirt, gently caressing her side and back—careful not to touch too much.

The witch nodded. "Okay." Her fingers traced down Natasha’s arm. "But only if you buy me ice cream too."

"Deal," said the widow, offering her hand for Wanda to shake, officially. "Best deal I’ve ever made in my life."

Wanda hates making decisions.
She’s always been that way—avoiding situations where she had to choose between one thing and another, feeling safest in the gray areas, letting others’ opinions take precedence over her own.

Natasha is the complete opposite.
She lets the other person think they’re choosing, but in her mind, she already decided the second the options were laid out. She knows she chooses well—actually, that’s part of her training. As an assassin and a superspy, she’s efficient and precise—not just in action but in everything that defines her as a person.

"I swear, I’d buy you all ten bikinis you’ve tried on already," she murmured, voice low and intense, watching Wanda through the mirror as the witch searched her reflection for something— anything —that would convince her to say: “Okay. I’ll take this one.”

Wanda met her gaze in the mirror. "They all look awful on me," she said bitterly.

Natasha immediately shook her head, even before Wanda finished speaking. "They look amazing on you," she replied calmly. "Why don’t we just get two? That way you’ll already have one for next time..."

"Nat, I can’t even pick one and you want me to choose two."

The widow sighed and took Wanda’s hand, gently turning her around so they were face to face.

"You don’t understand how stunning you are," she whispered, her eyes locked on Wanda’s, now dimmed with quiet frustration.

After a long, weighted silence, Wanda asked softly, "Can you choose for me?" Her eyes dropped from Natasha’s, unable to hold the burn she felt rising behind them. "I trust your taste more than mine."

Natasha smiled—almost smugly. Heat bloomed low in her stomach like a flame. There was something about choosing Wanda’s swimsuit that felt undeniably hot.

"Of course," she said smoothly.

One because it’s black, and Natasha knows that simple, classic black looks incredible against Wanda’s pale skin and chestnut hair.

Another one because it’s red—and there’s nothing she loves more than seeing Wanda in red, especially when sparks of magic crackle at her fingertips, matching in color and igniting something deeply sensual.

And one more… just because.
Because the top is different, and it enhances Wanda’s chest beautifully.
And besides—two felt like nowhere near enough.

 

The mid-afternoon sun slanted over the golden sands of Llevant, pouring warmth and light as if summer had only just begun. The constant murmur of the Mediterranean filled the air, laced with laughter, distant music, and the endless rhythm of waves kissing the shore like they could never get tired of coming back.

Wanda blinked, dazzled both by the reflection on the water and by the scene in front of her. Natasha lay stretched out under the sun on her towel, wearing that effortlessly carefree look that seemed to belong only to her. The witch pretended to be watching the sea, to be paying attention to the gulls fluttering overhead—but in truth, every part of her body was tense, hyper-aware of every single movement from the spy beside her.

It didn’t help that Natasha was only in her bikini top and shorts. Or that she seemed to take great pleasure in the way Wanda was trying—and failing miserably—not to stare.

Beside them, Yelena and Kate had already tossed their shirts onto a corner of the towels, flaunting colorful bikinis and laughing as they dashed into the sea, shameless and full of joy. Wanda barely caught a glimpse of them diving into the waves, splashing each other, before a shadow fell between her and the sun.

It was Natasha.

Her fingers were casually hooked into the waistband of her shorts, already halfway down, and her half-smile was loaded with mischief.

“What?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gonna burn me with that stare, Maximoff.”

Wanda bit her lip, just barely suppressing a smile.

“Sorry,” she said, not a trace of regret in her voice. “I didn't believe mermaids existed.”

Natasha let out a soft laugh and leaned toward her, slipping out of her shorts without shame. Wanda swallowed hard. Her gaze—treacherous, eager—trailed slowly down the widow’s body like she was studying it. Or rather… worshipping it.

“You could be a mermaid yourself,” Natasha whispered boldly, kneeling down and gently tugging at the hem of Wanda’s shirt. “But you’ve got way too many clothes on.”

“Are you trying to undress me in public?”

“I’m trying to survive this heat,” Natasha replied with a laugh. “And you’re not helping.”

Wanda let her do it, chuckling under her breath as Natasha pulled her shirt off with the kind of ease that made it feel like she did it every day. Like she did it just to see her like this: cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling, and eyes glowing as if she’d just crossed some invisible threshold.

"Ets tan bonica," Natasha murmured, close enough that Wanda felt the warm brush of her breath. "M'encanta el teu cos."

Wanda didn’t understand Catalan—it was a completely foreign language to her. But all it took was a glance at the Russian’s eyes as she murmured the words to know they were nothing but compliments, just a few more added to the long list of ones Natasha had given her today.

She looked down, biting the shy smile on her lips, playing with the hot sand between her fingers with her cheeks fully blushed. 

“It’s my first time at the beach,” she confessed suddenly, almost shyly. “First time traveling like this… And it’s kind of overwhelming. I don’t know. Seeing so many happy people. Feeling like this. Happy. It’s weird… but nice.”

Natasha looked at her like she wanted to memorize her—her soft voice, the blush on her cheeks, the way she giggled quietly without knowing what to do with her hands.

“Vacations are fun,” Natasha said in a low voice.

“And being on vacation while also being fugitives? Way more fun,” Wanda added with a grin, making the widow nod with a crooked smile. She smiled too, gaze dropping in modesty—until she glanced back up and caught sight of a group of women walking along the shoreline, some topless, completely at ease.

She bit her lip, feeling the blush creep back into her cheeks.

Natasha noticed the shift in her expression and looked in the same direction.

“Women go topless here all the time,” she explained casually. “It’s a normal thing in Spain. You can try it too, if you want.”

Wanda looked down again, her hand playing with the sand. “You do it first…” she murmured playfully, though her tone had a bit more challenge in it this time.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and, without missing a beat, brought her hands behind her back, fingers to the clasp of her bikini top like she was actually going to undo it. Wanda’s eyes widened, causing the widow to smirk with that predator-in-the-hunt expression she wore so well. Then she caught Wanda’s wrist, gently guiding her hand until it rested against her chest.

“If I have to get naked,” she whispered in her ear, “I’d rather you be the one to do it.”

Wanda felt her skin ignite. Her hand was still pressed against the bikini covering Natasha’s chest, frozen in place, and with every passing second the air between them grew thicker, more charged.

“It would be my first time…” she confessed, not even realizing she’d said it out loud, as her fingers brushed lightly over the exposed skin between Natasha’s breasts.

Natasha tilted her head, eyes glinting with curiosity. “You weren’t with Vision?”

Wanda huffed, turning her gaze away. “I’m waiting for the right person.”

Natasha smiled, tilting her head. “The fact that it’s a person works in my favor,” she murmured. “Puts me ahead.”

Her hand slid along Wanda’s side again, barely grazing her skin, fingers toying with the edge of her bikini with careful precision.

Wanda swallowed hard.

“You’re way ahead,” she admitted in a whisper, her own hand slowly trailing over Natasha’s exposed thigh, matching the tease.

The widow met her gaze, a mix of sweetness and dangerous play in her eyes.

“Is there something you’d like me to do?” Natasha asked, her voice a soft murmur between the two of them. “You know, for the record.”

Wanda let out a quiet laugh, tilting her head back. “Trying to score points?”

Natasha nodded without hesitation, and before Wanda could react, she grabbed her by the legs and pulled her closer, settling her across her lap as if that’s exactly where she belonged.

The heat of her skin against Wanda’s made her inhale sharply.

Natasha’s hands drifted slowly up her thighs while Wanda’s fingers tangled in the strings of Natasha’s bikini top, toying with the ties.

"I want to win," the widow murmured, her voice low and sure. She planted her hands in the sand behind her, the motion arching her body ever so slightly toward Wanda—an unspoken invitation, bold and effortless. The sunlight kissed her skin, making it gleam with a sheen of sweat. Irresistible. Scorching.

Wanda narrowed her eyes slightly, lips parted, still processing what she’d just heard. “You’re going to have to work for it…”

Natasha tilted her head, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “Was that a challenge?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. She simply tightened her grip on the strings of Natasha’s bikini and pulled—firmly, decisively.

The fabric loosened with a soft snap, and Natasha glanced down just in time to see the top fall undone, hanging precariously over her chest. Her skin was flushed from the sun, glowing with heat, and speckled with fine grains of sand that clung to the curve of her collarbones and the swell of her breasts. The sight was dizzying. Wanda’s cheeks burned, almost as red as the bikini she still wore—her breath caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

“Dirty girl..." Natasha purred, voice steady. "You know if I move, it’s going to fall...” a teasing challenge hidden beneath the sultry calm.

Wanda nodded, swallowing thickly, her gaze locked on the curve of Natasha’s breasts—full, tempting, barely held by the thin triangles of her bikini. Her sun-kissed skin looked impossibly soft, glowing with warmth, practically begging to be touched. Wanda could see her nipples through the fabric, peaked and sensitive, as if waiting to be exposed… kissed, worshipped. The desire to reach out, to cup them in her hands and feel their weight, grew maddening with every heartbeat.

Her breath was shallow, almost audible.

The tension between them was so thick it hurt. It was magnetic and impossible, coiled between them like a thread about to snap.

“And I really want to kiss you,” Natasha whispered, her voice dropping into that low, velvety tone—the one that always made Wanda fall apart. The one that wrapped around her spine and made her toes curl in the sand.

Wanda looked up, meeting her eyes—and found her grinning. Mischievously. Confident. Completely unbearable.

She’s impossible, she thought. 

Leaning forward, Wanda braced her hands in the warm sand next to Natasha's and lowered herself, almost entirely onto her body, until their noses brushed and her breath mingled with hers. She kissed her—softly, lingering—like it was instinct.

Natasha smiled against her lips. Good girl, she thought, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss, her heartbeat quickening with quiet urgency.

Then Wanda moved lower, her lips brushing along Natasha’s chin, then trailing delicately across the sharp line of her jaw. She could feel the faint pull of a smile forming beneath her skin—soft, amused, impossible not to chase. God, she was so beautifully hard to resist.

As she did, her fingers worked quickly, almost skillfully, behind Natasha’s back—retying the strings she’d just undone. When she finished the knot, she rested her forehead against Natasha’s shoulder and exhaled a quiet laugh. 

Natasha glanced down at her bikini, feeling the newly retied knots settle against her skin. A soft, husky laugh slipped from her throat.

“Changed your mind already?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly, her lips still brushing close to Wanda’s.

“No,” Wanda replied, still hovering over her. “I just… didn’t want you to distract me.”

Natasha arched a brow, her amusement palpable. “Are you saying my breasts are distracting?”

Wanda laughed, gaze dropping as that irresistible blush colored her cheeks. “I’m saying they’re way too distracting.”

Natasha grinned, her hands trailing down to Wanda’s hips, giving them a playful squeeze. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You’re so smug,” Wanda whispered, and she hated—loved—how true it was.

Natasha laughed, tilting her head to brush her lips against Wanda’s temple. “You’re the one who undressed me,” she said. “I’m just a victim here.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move away. Her hands stayed on Natasha’s lower back, her fingers toying dangerously with the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Her body stayed close. “Some victim,” she murmured.

Natasha’s arms curled gently around her waist, keeping her there. “Stay like this a while?” she asked softly.

Wanda nodded, smiling into her skin. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I like it here.”

The moment hung in the air, suspended like sunlight on water. And then, as if the universe had decided the tension had lasted long enough, a voice called out from the sea.

“COME ON, LOVEBIRDS!” Yelena shouted, splashing around with Kate.

Wanda and Natasha laughed at the same time, their bubble popping.

“Shall we?” Natasha asked.

Wanda took her hand and let herself be pulled up, still feeling the warmth of those touches on her skin.

Notes:

can't believe it's already friday, lol
well... 🔥

Chapter 16: I want to have sex with you (+18).

Summary:

Then came the silence. Heavy. Hanging between them like the last inhale before something inevitable.

“I want to have sex with you,” Wanda said.

The words lingered in the air between them, soft but undeniable. There was no flicker of hesitation in her eyes, only the echo of all the moments and stolen glances that had led to this moment.

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

The idea of attending the dinner event, born on the hotel terrace, had been entirely Natasha’s. Elegant, exclusive, expensive—a soirée for high-class guests. An invitation from some wine brand, or something like that—she’d caught wind of it before stepping into the elevator. True to her impulsive nature, she silently decided that she and Wanda would go.

“What about Yelena and Kate?” Wanda asked, frowning slightly as she watched Natasha—still with a few tiny grains of sand clinging to her skin—move around the room with ease.

Natasha sighed, picking out a couple of dresses and laying them across the bed. “I don’t care, and I’m not interested,” she said coolly, turning to meet Wanda’s gaze.

Her eyes were charged with something the witch couldn’t quite name. Anticipation, maybe. Desire. A secret about to unfold.

“Don’t be mean,” Wanda replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Natasha rolled her eyes dramatically and stepped closer, reaching out to take Wanda’s hand. “I already told them we’re dining alone,” she said with quiet finality. “Like a…”

“Like a…?” Wanda echoed, her gaze laced with meaning.

Natasha smirked, tugging her gently toward the bed so she could see the dresses spread out. “Go shower so you can put that one on,” she ordered, a playful spark in her voice. Wanda raised a curious brow.

“Are you picking out all my outfits now?”

“As long as I’m the one enjoying you in them—yes.”

 

The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air around them. Candlelight danced in the curves of the wine glasses, casting flickers across Natasha’s cheekbones as she swirled the red liquid absently, eyes fixed on Wanda.

Wanda looked breathtaking beneath the low golden light. Her hair curled softly over her shoulders, and the deep crimson dress—handpicked by Natasha—hugged her figure like it had been tailored for her alone. She was listening to the sommelier speak about the bottle they’d just been served, nodding politely, but Natasha could tell—her mind was elsewhere.

Because for the past five minutes, Natasha’s thumb had been slowly tracing the inside of Wanda’s wrist beneath the table, light and constant, like a secret only they shared.

When the man finished, Natasha gave him a small nod and a soft, “Gracias,” her smile polite, but her eyes never once leaving Wanda’s face.

The waiter thanked them and moved to another table, leaving a bubble of quiet around them.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Wanda said softly, her voice low and warm, meant for Natasha’s ears alone.

Natasha tilted her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "What thing?"

“That look…”

Natasha laughed, tipping her head back, the sound low and warm as her fingers reached for her wine glass. She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving the witch’s. “It’s just my regular look,” she said, with a shrug that didn’t fool anyone.

Wanda let out a long sigh, watching her over the rim of her own glass before mirroring the motion, sipping quietly.

“So…” she murmured, turning her hand palm-up on the table and letting her fingers gently find Natasha’s. Her black-painted nails and the elegant ring with the green gem brushed softly over the widow’s knuckles — such a tender touch, it made Natasha feel like she was unraveling.

“How many languages do you speak?” Wanda asked, her eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

Natasha tilted her head, a smirk playing at her lips. “I honestly don’t know,” she replied, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Why?” she asked, feigning innocence, though the spark in her gaze gave her away.

Wanda laughed, biting her lip to contain the smile curling at the edges. “Because I feel… things,” she admitted, her voice low with a hint of shyness, “when I hear you speak Spanish.”

Natasha’s smirk deepened. Her hand opened, fingers weaving easily between Wanda’s. “That sounds terribly inconvenient,” she teased, her voice dropping just enough to stir something deep in Wanda’s chest.

But Wanda didn’t shy away. Her expression didn’t falter — if anything, her gaze darkened, her lip still caught between her teeth, legs shifting slightly beneath the table.

She swallowed.
Then met Natasha’s eyes and asked — a little breathless, a little brave:

“What’s sex like?”

Natasha blinked, surprised for just a second. But then her grip on Wanda’s hand tightened slightly, her voice soft and even. “It depends who it’s with,” she said, leaning in just a little. “It can be very different.”

Wanda hesitated, but her curiosity stayed steady. “Have you been with a lot of people?”

Natasha gave a small nod — no shame, no apology. Just the truth.

Wanda nodded too, eyes drifting to the side, chewing gently on her lip. The thought made her feel a little nervous — but not enough to look away for long.

“What was your first time like?”

Natasha smiled, caught off guard by how sweet the question sounded coming from Wanda. “This interrogation is adorable,” she teased gently, before answering. “It was with one of the girls from the Red Room,” she said, her voice softer now. “They had to teach me how to… well, you know,” she added, raising her eyebrows meaningfully, making Wanda’s lips curve in quiet amusement.

“It makes me really curious,” Wanda whispered, barely audible. Her voice held something more than just interest — a kind of longing.

Natasha nodded slightly, the warmth in her eyes softening even further. But she didn’t say anything.

Then came the silence. Heavy. Hanging between them like the last inhale before something inevitable.

“I want to have sex with you,” Wanda said.

The words lingered in the air between them, soft but undeniable. There was no flicker of hesitation in her eyes, only the echo of all the moments and stolen glances that had led to this moment.

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at her.

For a moment, Wanda thought maybe she had said too much — too soon, too suddenly. But then Natasha’s fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze, and her gaze dropped for a second —as if the weight of the moment had settled on her chest, too.

“I know,” Natasha finally whispered. Her voice had shifted —lower now, careful, reverent. “I’ve known for a while.”

Wanda let out a quiet breath, one she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Natasha brought their joined hands up slowly, pressing her lips to Wanda’s knuckles, right where the ring rested. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, like she needed that pause — like this wasn't just another night, not with her.

She leaned across the table just slightly, her smile smaller now, but deeper — something slow and warm blooming behind her eyes. “You sure you’re not just drunk on Rioja and danger?”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “A little. But mostly just drunk on you.”

That made Natasha laugh —a low, quiet sound that curled into Wanda’s stomach like smoke. She set her wine glass down, gaze locked on the witch’s.

The waiter arrived quietly, placing two small plates in front of them —dessert, elegant and beautiful. Some kind of delicate tart topped with berries and spun sugar. Natasha didn’t even look at hers.

Wanda glanced at the plate, then back at Natasha, her heart pounding.

“We should probably eat this,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Natasha leaned in just a bit more, her voice husky, like a secret. “I’ve already decided what I want for dessert.”

Wanda blinked —once, slowly— her breath catching.

Her voice was a murmur. “Yeah?”

Natasha’s smile turned lazy, wicked. “Yeah.”

“Kiss me?”

Wanda’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling with vulnerability and want.

Natasha stepped closer, hands sliding to Wanda’s waist, her thumbs pressing gently into the curve of her hipbones. “Where do you want me to kiss you, baby?” she asked, her voice low and warm.

Wanda’s finger brushed against her own lower lip, eyes smoldering with intensity. “Here,” she whispered. That look—so open, so raw—made something in Natasha ache. She looked devastatingly beautiful like this, flushed and exposed, asking to be kissed like it was the only thing that could save her.

Natasha smiled and leaned in, capturing Wanda’s bottom lip between hers, tugging softly, savoring the sweet sound that escaped her. Wanda’s breath hit her face, warm and shaky, and Natasha smiled into the kiss, biting down gently.

“Oh…” Wanda breathed out, a soft whimper slipping through as her hands rose to cradle Natasha’s face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones with aching tenderness. “Baby…” she murmured, feeling the widow’s fingers tighten against the fabric of her dress.

Natasha kissed her again—once, twice, then again—slowly, sweetly, until Wanda was gasping between each press of their lips. Then she pulled back just enough to whisper, “Where else do you want kisses, pretty girl?”

Wanda looked like she could melt on the spot. Her fingers traced a slow line down her own neck, and Natasha followed the path with her lips, obedient and utterly enchanted. She kissed along her jaw, then down the elegant line of her throat.

When her mouth reached Wanda’s pulse point, Natasha let her lips part, sucking gently at the skin there. She scraped her teeth lightly over the tender spot, feeling Wanda’s breath stutter as she tangled her fingers into Natasha’s hair, clutching tight.

The soft sounds Wanda made—needy, breathy, helpless—were enough to drive Natasha wild. But she stayed grounded, savoring every inch, every sigh, worshipping her with her mouth like she had all the time in the world.

“Mhm, I’m obsessed with your scent, babygirl,” Natasha whispered, her nose buried in the crook of Wanda’s neck, breathing her in like she was oxygen.

“I’m obsessed with you too,” Wanda murmured, her voice soft and loving—the kind of voice that always made Natasha bite her lower lip in restraint.

The widow chuckled quietly, pulling back just enough to catch Wanda’s eyes, dark and full of need. “Yeah?” she teased, her smirk gentle, affectionate.

Wanda didn’t answer with words—she leaned in and kissed her, desperate and honest, making Natasha smile against her lips. With a playful ease, Natasha turned them, guiding Wanda toward the bed.

She let herself fall first, dragging the Sokovian with her, settling Wanda right on top of her lap.

“Want more kisses?” Natasha asked, tilting her head to look up at the vision straddling her. Wanda looked so adorably flustered—her cheeks a deep pink, one of the straps of her dress slipping off her shoulder, her hands hesitating at Natasha’s sides, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. The motion hiked it up, revealing a peek of Natasha’s stomach… and her lacey black thong.

Wanda nodded shyly, her fingers trailing slowly over her own collarbone, eyes locked onto Natasha’s like she was daring her.

The widow exhaled, lips immediately following the path Wanda’s finger traced, pressing kisses exactly where she asked for them.

“Bite me,” Wanda whispered, breathless.

Natasha’s lips curled into a devilish smirk.

And then—she obeyed.

At first, her teeth grazed Wanda’s skin in soft, teasing nips. Barely there. But suddenly, she bit harder, right where neck met shoulder—just sharp enough to make Wanda cry out and jolt, her hands flying to Natasha’s head, holding her close.

“Oh my God,” Wanda gasped, dizzy from the pleasure.

Then came the tongue—slow, warm, soothing the sting, trailing up the mark she’d just made. Her mouth sucked gently, probably leaving a bruise, and Wanda could feel every second of it burn deliciously into her skin.

Natasha’s lips traveled up, peppering soft kisses along Wanda’s jaw, her cheek, while her hands stroked up and down her thighs beneath the mesh of her dress, fingers squeezing her so tenderly it made Wanda shiver.

“You’re so soft,” Natasha purred.

Wanda wrapped her arms around her neck tightly, pressing them impossibly close. “I want more kisses,” she pleaded, voice shaking. “Please, baby…”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, detka…” Natasha whispered, voice low and wrecked.

“Don’t stop then,” Wanda gasped, her hips grinding against Natasha’s lap. Her finger grazed the center of her chest, drawing a line between her breasts. “I want kisses here.”

Natasha let out a helpless sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, her hands tightening around Wanda’s waist. That body—God, that face—her flushed cheeks, her wild hair falling to one side, her neck exposed and marked with the bruise Natasha had left earlier.

She leaned in, pressing warm, slow kisses down the valley between Wanda’s breasts, letting her lips linger. Wanda’s fingers moved up to play with her own nipples, now fully awake, drawing Natasha’s hungry eyes back to her chest.

Then Natasha looked up at her, breath hitching. “Wanda…”

Wanda slowly tugged down the straps of her dress, letting the fabric pool at her waist. “You don’t want me?” she asked softly, almost sadly, though her eyes sparkled with something far braver.

Natasha’s eyes darkened. “You don’t understand how much I want you, sweet girl,” she said, her voice rough, raw with longing. In a swift motion, she shifted their positions, gently laying Wanda on her back and settling between her thighs. “I’ve wanted you since the day you walked into the Tower,” she murmured, her hands gliding over Wanda’s soft thighs. “All shy, all sweet... not even knowing what to do with these beautiful hands.”

She took Wanda’s hands in hers, lacing their fingers together as she brought them above her head.

Wanda’s breath caught. Her cheeks burned, and her hips pushed up instinctively, desperate for contact.

“Are you sure, detka?” Natasha asked, her nose brushing against Wanda’s, voice tender now. “We can stop any time. Just say the word.”

Wanda hooked her legs around her waist, pulling her in with quiet confidence. “Okay,” she nodded, brushing her lips over Natasha’s in a kiss that was soft, slow, almost reverent. “Now... kiss me here,” she added, maneuvering their hands together to give a playful squeeze to her own breasts.

Natasha laughed, low and breathless. “Bossy little thing,” she teased, trailing kisses up her chin and jaw. “I love it.”

Natasha kept kissing her—up her jaw, across her cheek, down her neck again—each press of her lips slower than the last, as if she wanted to memorize the taste of Wanda’s skin. Her hands stayed tangled with Wanda’s above her head, thumbs caressing the backs of her knuckles in quiet affection.

Wanda squirmed beneath her, giggling breathlessly. “You’re teasing me.”

“I’m savoring you,” Natasha corrected with a grin, her voice a husky whisper against Wanda’s ear. “There’s a difference.”

Wanda’s heart pounded so loudly she swore Natasha could hear it. She arched slightly, seeking contact, needing it. Her whole body was alive—buzzing, aching, desperate and adored all at once.

Natasha kissed her way down again, finally releasing Wanda’s wrists so her hands could explore freely—slow and assured, tracing the lines of her waist, the dip of her hips. Her palms moved with a reverent certainty, cupping her breasts, brushing her thumbs over her hardened nipples until Wanda arched with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut.

“You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?” Natasha murmured, her gaze so fixed, so full of awe it made Wanda feel like she was glowing under it. Like she was unreal. Maybe she was. 

Wanda looked up at her, breath catching, lips parted—overwhelmed not by the pleasure, but by the depth of how she was being seen.

And because the tenderness was too much—because it made her chest ache in the most vulnerable way—she reached up and sank her fingers into Natasha’s hair, pulling her down into a kiss that trembled with unspoken need. As if to say: Don’t stop. Please, let me believe it.

Natasha smiled at her, her signature smirk softened by something warmer, something deeper.

She dipped down again, finally kissing where Wanda had asked. This time, Wanda didn’t laugh—she whimpered. Her fingers dug into Natasha’s shoulder blades, her thighs instinctively tightening around her waist.

“More,” Wanda whispered. “Please, baby.”

Natasha obliged, worshipping every inch of her like she was both a mystery and a prayer finally answered.

Natasha didn’t rush. Her hands roamed with purpose, following every curve like a secret path she’d been dying to explore. She kissed the swell of Wanda’s breast, slow and reverent, her lips brushing over her skin like she was breathing life into it. She flicked her tongue gently over her sensitive peaks, watching Wanda arch and gasp, her hands now in Natasha’s hair, guiding her, desperate for more. Her mouth then closed between those beautiful, dark nipples, sucking softly as her hands weighed her tits. 

“You like that, hm?” Natasha murmured against her skin, teasing her with the softest kisses. “So sensitive…”

Wanda whimpered, nodding quickly, her cheeks burning red. “I—yes. God, I—don’t stop.”

Natasha’s fingers stroked down her sides, kneading her waist, and then slid lower, over the curve of her hips. She pressed a line of kisses between Wanda’s breasts, her voice low and aching with adoration.

“You drive me insane,” she whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Wanda could barely breathe. Her legs were trembling around Natasha’s waist, her chest rising and falling rapidly. But even through the dizzying pleasure, she couldn’t stop smiling.

Wanda reached down, cupping her face, bringing her up until their mouths met again in a kiss that was slower now—deeper. She poured every ounce of her emotion into it: the aching need, the love, the years of wanting her and not knowing how to say it. Natasha kissed her back just as fiercely, their bodies pressing together in a rhythm that felt like instinct.

As their hips moved in sync, as hands explored with reverence and fingers tangled in hair and breath mixed between parted lips, it wasn’t just passion—it was something else. 

Something that said you’re mine in the gentlest possible way.

“Are you okay?” Natasha whispered into her mouth, her nose brushing hers. Her voice cracked a little with the weight of it.

Wanda nodded, eyes shining. “I’ve never been more okay.”

Natasha smiled, her forehead resting against Wanda’s for a second, their breaths tangled like their hearts had been for months. Her hands moved slowly, reverently, tracing down Wanda’s sides with a touch so soft it felt like worship.

“Can I take this off?” she asked, her fingers ghosting over the fabric at Wanda’s hips, already bunched up from where she'd straddled her lap. Her voice was barely a murmur, like she was asking for something holy.

Wanda nodded, lifting her arms without a word.

Natasha sat up slightly, her hands slipping beneath the hem of the dress. She slid it upward, inch by inch, her knuckles grazing Wanda’s warm skin. Wanda kept her eyes on Natasha’s face the entire time—watching the way her expression shifted from wonder to awe, like she couldn’t quite believe this was real.

When the fabric passed over Wanda’s head and the dress was finally gone, Natasha let it fall beside them, forgotten. Her hands settled on Wanda’s waist, thumbs brushing her skin, eyes drinking her in.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, almost like it hurt to say aloud.

Wanda smiled softly, a blush creeping down her chest, but she didn’t look away. She leaned in again, wrapping her arms around Natasha’s neck, kissing her slow and sweet.

Wanda pulled back just enough to look at her, her fingers playing lightly with the thin straps of Natasha’s dress, brushing them back and forth against her shoulders.

“My turn?” Wanda whispered, voice soft—still a little shy, but there was something steadier in her now. A flicker of confidence, even mischief, behind her eyes.

Natasha’s lips curved, slow and knowing. “If you want to.”

Wanda nodded, then leaned in and kissed her shoulder, lips barely grazing the skin. Her hands moved with care, sliding one strap down, then the other, each motion deliberate. She kissed the space between them, letting her breath fan over Natasha’s skin before reaching for the fabric that hugged her frame.

With gentle hands, she gathered the dress—no rush, no hesitation now. It slid over Natasha’s thighs, then her hips, revealing strong legs and that familiar peek of lace that made Wanda’s breath catch. Her fingers skimmed the hem instinctively, almost possessively.

Natasha shifted to help, lifting her arms so Wanda could peel the dress higher. As it passed over her stomach and chest, their bodies brushed—skin against skin—and they both stilled for a breath, charged and quiet.

Wanda paused at her collarbones, eyes fixed on the bare skin she was slowly unveiling. Then, soft as a sigh, she pressed a kiss just above Natasha’s heart.

Finally, she lifted the rest of the dress, sliding it over the widow’s head. Natasha let it fall away without resistance, watching her the whole time—her gaze hungry but fond, full of tenderness and something else Wanda couldn’t name.

Wanda’s lips parted as she took in the full sight of her. “God,” she murmured, cheeks flushed, awe flickering through every line of her face. “You’re… I mean—look at you." She trailed off, eyes drinking her in, then whispered, “So perfect.”

Natasha chuckled, her hands now on Wanda’s hips, adjusting her position on her lap. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna lose it.”

Wanda leaned in until their foreheads touched, her hands now resting on Natasha’s bare waist. “That’s kind of the idea.”

Wanda was still, breath shallow, her eyes wide as they roamed over Natasha’s now bare chest. Her hands hovered at the widow’s sides, not daring to touch—until Natasha took them gently, guiding them upward.

“Here,” she murmured, placing Wanda’s hands over her breasts and squeezing them together with a little smirk. “Touch whatever you want, baby. Don’t be shy.”

Wanda’s lips parted, her cheeks flushed a deep red. But she didn’t pull away. Her thumbs brushed over soft skin, lovingly gripping her pink nipples, then back again, marveling at the warmth, the softness. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the overwhelming beauty of the moment.

“I’m… trying,” she whispered, voice low.

Natasha grinned, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re doing perfect.”

With a shaky breath, Wanda let her hands slide down, squeezing her erected buds between her fingers as she brushed slowly over Natasha’s ribs, then tracing the lines of her waist. Her fingers—adorned with silver rings—looked delicate and bold at the same time against Natasha’s sun-kissed skin.

She paused at the curve of her lower back, glancing up to meet Natasha’s eyes. They stared at each other, green into green, something unspoken and raw passing between them.

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” Natasha said with a smirk, gently taking Wanda’s wrists and guiding her hands lower—until they rested just above her ass. “There. That’s where you really want them.”

Wanda burst into laughter, caught between shock and delight, her face buried in Natasha’s shoulder. “You’re such a menace,” she muttered, grinning so wide it made her cheeks ache.

Her fingers twitched against the warm curve of Natasha’s buttcheeks. She hesitated for only a heartbeat—then gave a bold, eager squeeze.

Natasha gasped softly, surprised, then laughed, the sound low and wicked. “Oh, dirty girl,” she purred into Wanda’s ear. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Wanda flushed, her cheeks burning, but her hands didn’t move. If anything, they grew bolder—fingers pressing into soft skin, exploring with clumsy hunger. There was nothing polished about it, nothing practiced. Just pure want, like she didn’t know when she’d get to touch her again.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda mumbled into her neck, half-laughing. “I just… really wanted to.”

Natasha tilted her head, brushing a kiss against the shell of her ear. “Don’t apologize. You can touch me like that anytime, detka.”

Wanda looked up, a flicker of pride in her flushed face. She gave another squeeze—firmer this time—and Natasha’s body responded instantly, arching into her touch, breath catching, thrusting her hips against hers.

Wanda’s fingers explored further, slipping lower into the fabric of Natasha’s thong, trailing softly before grazing the curve where skin turns tender. Natasha’s breath hitched again, sharper this time.

And then—impulsively, instinctively—Wanda shifted upward, her mouth brushing along Natasha’s collarbone. She peppered light, reverent kisses across her skin, trailing down until her lips hovered just above one flushed, perfect breast.

She paused, wide-eyed for a moment like she couldn’t believe she was allowed to do this. Her breath came warm against Natasha’s skin.

Natasha’s hand cradled the back of her head, gentle but coaxing. “Go ahead,” she murmured, her voice low and aching. “Be a good girl and suck them.”

Wanda didn’t need to be told twice.

She dipped her head and caught one breast with her mouth—soft lips closing around the peak, tongue swirling shyly at first, then with more purpose as Natasha moaned, her body jolting beneath her.

Wanda’s hands were still cupping her ass, but her mouth was now hungry—kissing, sucking, letting her tongue circle and tease. She moved to the other, lavishing it with the same quiet intensity, every motion filled with wonder.

Natasha’s fingers threaded into her hair, anchoring her there with a soft gasp. “Fuck, baby… just like that,” she whispered, her voice cracking with pleasure.

Leaving the erected nipple with a loud pop, Wanda pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes, lips pink and swollen from where she’d been. “You like that?” she asked, a little dazed, a little proud.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, nodding. “I love that.” Eyes fluttering shut. Her mouth found Wanda’s in a kiss that burned hotter—messier, hungry. Her hands gripped Wanda’s shoulders as her hips rocked up, chasing the friction. “You drive me insane,” Natasha groaned against her lips, then pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

Wanda could only nod, breathless, overwhelmed.

Her hands wandered again, slower now, fingers dragging down Natasha’s back until they returned to the place she loved most. She squeezed again—harder, more confident.

Natasha moaned, full and unrestrained, biting her lip to keep from falling apart.

“I love this,” Wanda admitted shyly, her voice soft, her words pressed into Natasha’s skin like a secret. “I love your ass. I love how you feel. How warm you are. How much you want me.”

“I do want you,” Natasha said, smirking as she kissed her mouth eagerly, “so fucking much.”

Wanda gasped when Natasha pinned her down moving out of her lap, her back arching instinctively as her thighs cradled the widow’s hips. Her hands flew to Natasha’s waist, sinking her nails, gripping tightly as if to anchor herself from the rush of sensation. 

The redhead’s lips were on her neck again, but this time they didn’t linger—they moved lower, trailing kisses down the dip between her breasts, across her ribs, until she was kneeling between Wanda’s thighs. Her red hair was wild like a fire, her lips parted and glistening, pupils wide with desire.

Wanda’s chest rose and fell quickly as she watched her, breathless.

“Tell me what you want, detka,” Natasha murmured, her voice like sin. “I want to hear it.”

“I want—” Wanda’s voice trembled. She swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the sheets. “I want your mouth. I want your kisses here.” she whispered, tracing her cunt with her index finger. 

Natasha grinned, feral and tender all at once.

“Here?” she repeated, sliding her hands up Wanda’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the softness there.

Wanda nodded, more breath than voice. “Yes. Everywhere.”

She kissed her way down slowly—agonizingly—her nose brushing against skin. Then she hooked her fingers into the waistband of Wanda’s underwear, eyes locked on hers.

“Still okay?” she whispered.

Wanda nodded, then reached down, threading her fingers into Natasha’s hair. “Please.”

And Natasha obeyed.

She slid the last piece of fabric down Wanda’s legs, her mouth already trailing kisses over her inner thighs, licking a stripe up the sensitive skin there, not yet where Wanda needed her most—just enough to make her whimper.

Wanda’s legs trembled slightly, parted wide around Natasha’s shoulders, as the widow kissed the inside of her thigh again, slower this time. Her breath was hot against sensitive skin, making Wanda squirm—aching, already wet and desperate for her.

But Natasha was in no rush. She nosed along the crease of Wanda’s thigh, inhaling deeply like she was breathing her in. Then moving away a little to get a full view of this masterpiece. 

“Fuck, you smell divine,” Natasha whispered, voice low and reverent. She let her lips drag, barely grazing the tender skin where Wanda needed her most, staining her mouth with slickness. “Look at you, baby. Such a beautiful pussy, so wet already…”

Wanda whimpered, her hips lifting instinctively, chasing contact. “Please, Natasha—don’t tease…”

That plea made the widow smile—devilish and utterly in love.

She kissed her again, right over her slick folds this time, slow and open-mouthed. Her tongue parted Wanda gently, drawing a gasp from her lips as her head dropped back against the pillow.

“That’s it, baby,” Natasha purred, tongue flicking lightly over her clit. “That sound—I want to hear you, babygirl.”

And she did. Wanda’s moans spilled out freely now, her hands tangling in Natasha’s hair as the redhead got to work.

Natasha licked a long, deep stripe from bottom to top, her tongue thick and slow, savoring every inch, from her entrance, parting her damp folds, to her woken, fat clit, sucking hardly at it. Then again. And again. “You feel so good, Wanda,” Natasha breathed, watching her face. “So warm. So fucking tight.”

Wanda bucked beneath her. “Oh—God—Natasha—”

Her hands slid under Wanda’s thighs, lifting and spreading them wider as she sucked Wanda’s clit into her mouth—firm and rhythmic now, her tongue circling before flicking fast, drawing little cries from the witch’s throat.

Wanda’s legs trembled, her heels digging into the mattress as her hips began to rock in time with Natasha’s mouth, unable to stay still, fucking her mouth with her cunt.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Natasha moaned against her, the vibration shooting straight through Wanda’s core. She flattened her tongue, dragging it up slowly again, then focused back on her clit with precise, practiced strokes—one hand holding her open, the other gripping Wanda’s thigh tightly to keep her grounded.

“God, baby, you taste so fucking good,” Natasha groaned, licking her deeper now, pressing her tongue inside before pulling back to suck her clit hard.

Wanda cried out, half a sob, half a scream, rubbing desperately against her face. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Yes, baby, come for me,” Natasha urged, never breaking rhythm. “I want to feel you.”

And Wanda did. Her release tore through her, hips jerking wildly as Natasha kept her mouth locked to her, riding the waves of Wanda’s climax like she was addicted to her. Wanda’s cries filled the room, her fingers gripping Natasha’s hair so tightly it almost hurt—but Natasha loved it.

She didn’t stop until Wanda’s thighs were twitching, until her body collapsed back into the mattress, boneless and wrecked, clenching around nothing, but feeling the widow’s chin so close. So deliciously close and warm. 

Only then did Natasha lift her head, her mouth glistening, eyes dark and hungry, and so soft.

She crawled up Wanda’s body slowly, trailing kisses along her stomach, her ribs, up to her chest—finally reaching her lips again. Wanda tasted herself on Natasha’s tongue and moaned softly into the kiss, wrapping her arms around her neck.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Natasha whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s damp forehead.

Wanda nodded, eyes glassy. “More than okay,” she breathed, searching for her mouth again, kissing her fiercely, willingly. Sucking Natasha’s tongue between her lips. 

Natasha chuckled. “Someone likes her own taste, hm?” she teased, mumbling against Wanda’s lips before pressing a little kisses against her smile. “Kinky girl…” 

The witch blushed hard, still catching her breath when she felt Natasha’s fingers ghosting up the inside of her thigh again—teasing, barely there. She shivered, parting her thighs instinctively as Natasha’s hand slid lower — featherlight, teasing, almost maddening. She grazed over the wetness again, this time with two fingers, slow and deliberate.

“You’re… God, Natasha, you’re so good at that.”  Wanda whispered, cheeks burning. 

Wanda’s breath hitched, her hips giving a subtle roll, as if chasing Natasha’s fingers on instinct. Her thighs quivered, still open, still wanting. Natasha pressed a kiss to her temple, then moved lower, her body sliding down between her legs again, but this time she didn’t kiss—she watched.

“You’re so beautiful from down here,” Natasha whispered, her voice low and reverent. “Spread open just for me.”

Her hand moved between Wanda’s thighs, fingers gliding slowly through her folds. Wanda whimpered, her hips twitching beneath the gentle touch.

Natasha exhaled a shaky breath. “Still dripping, baby… fuck.”

She circled Wanda’s clit with her thumb, featherlight, while her middle finger dipped lower—slow, testing, coaxing. Wanda let out a soft gasp, her back arching, her hands clutching the sheets at her sides.

“Relax for me,” Natasha whispered, her lips grazing her inner thigh. “Let me in.”

And then she slid one finger inside, smooth and easy. Wanda groaned at the intrusion, her walls already fluttering around her digit as she squeezed her own breasts. Natasha stilled, just for a moment, letting Wanda adjust—then pushed in deeper, curling her finger just right.

Wanda’s legs instinctively wrapped around Natasha’s body, pulling her closer, grounding herself in her warmth. “Oh, God… Natasha…”

“That’s it,” Natasha purred, moving up to press a kiss to Wanda’s neck. “So fucking tight around me, baby. You feel that?”

Wanda nodded helplessly, her fingers reaching down to grab Natasha’s arm, holding her in place, her hips moving slowly against her hand. When Natasha added a second finger, Wanda’s breath caught—eyes fluttering open to meet hers.

“That’s it, sweet girl…” Natasha purred, leaning up to press their foreheads together. “You take me so well.”

She started to move, fingers gliding in and out with a rhythm that grew stronger, deeper, but never rushed. Wanda’s mouth dropped open in a silent moan, her hands flying to Natasha’s back, gripping her hard.

“You’re so fucking responsive,” Natasha whispered, her voice thick with awe. “Every sound you make, every little twitch… it drives me insane.”

She pressed a kiss to Wanda’s lips as her thumb joined in again, rubbing tight circles over her clit, syncing with the motion of her fingers inside her.

Her fingers worked deeper, finding that perfect spot, curling just right —again and again— until Wanda’s cries turned desperate. Her whole body trembled, her hips chasing the pressure, that tight knot inside her winding fast.

“Natasha—fuck—I’m gonna come again—”

“Come for me, detka,” Natasha whispered into her mouth, kissing her as she thrust harder now, her thumb rubbing tight circles against her clit. “Let go for me.”

Wanda’s back arched, her body pulsing around Natasha’s fingers as her orgasm hit her hard —a broken moan spilling from her lips as she buried her face in Natasha’s neck, gasping, shaking, utterly undone.

Natasha slowed her hand only when Wanda’s whimpers turned into soft little sounds, her body going limp in her arms. The witch’s walls pulsing and throbbing so warmly, squeezing her fingers as if she never wanted to let them go. 

Natasha pulled her fingers out slowly, savoring the sight of Wanda dazed and blissed-out beneath her, glowing and gorgeous.

Then she brought her slick fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean with a low hum. 

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open. She watched her, flushed and wide-eyed. “You’re insane,” she murmured, voice hoarse.

“I’m obsessed,” Natasha corrected, kissing her again —sweet and deep and full of something more than just lust. “Still want more kisses?” she whispered, brushing Wanda’s hair back.

Wanda was still breathing heavily, her face buried in the crook of Natasha’s neck, when her fingers began to trace lightly over her lover’s back. Just soft little touches at first, fingertips ghosting over her spine like she was trying to memorize every inch.

Natasha smiled, warm and breathless, as she pulled back just enough to look at her while sitting on her lap. Wanda’s gaze flicked down, eyes catching on the curve of Natasha’s breasts, her waist, the way the dim light kissed her skin.

She looked up, shy but burning with something deeper. “I want to touch you,” she whispered.

Wanda’s fingers reached up, almost shyly, and brushed along the thin black strap resting on Natasha’s hipbone. Her touch was feather-light at first, until her fingers hooked the elastic and tugged it teasingly. She smiled.

“I remember washing this,” she murmured, her voice hushed, dreamy. “Weeks ago. You left it in the bathroom.”

Natasha chuckled lowly, leaning down just enough to let her hair fall around them. “Did you take a good look back then?”

Wanda nodded, the blush painting her cheeks betraying her quiet boldness. “I wanted to see you like this. Just wearing this. For so long.”

She pulled the strap again, letting it snap softly against Natasha’s skin. The widow hummed at the sensation, grinding against her thighs, letting Wanda explore at her own pace.

Then, Wanda’s fingers slid lower, tracing the edge of the fabric at Natasha’s inner thigh before moving slowly—almost reverently—to the front. Her eyes widened slightly as she tugged the lace down just enough to reveal the glistening slickness clinging to it, the damp heat of her arousal so achingly obvious.

“You’re so wet…” Wanda’s breath hitched, her voice barely a whisper. “Can we… switch?” she asked, eyes flicking down and then back up again.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a slow, wicked smile. “You want to be on top now, baby?”

Wanda nodded, just once. “I want to see you.”

That made Natasha’s chest ache in the best way —soft and full and fluttering. She kissed Wanda again, slow and deep, before gently flipping them over, letting herself fall back onto the mattress with a breathy laugh. 

Wanda leaned down, kissing Natasha’s neck, her chest, her stomach with that cute smile of hers— all while her fingers explored shyly at first, then with more certainty, tracing the curves of her lover’s body like she was something divine.

She slid the thong the rest of the way down, slowly, savoring the moment, letting it pool around Natasha’s ankles. She gazed up at her in awe, letting her hands run up the widow’s thighs, thumbs brushing along soft skin.

When her hand finally dipped between Natasha’s legs, she paused—her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh…” Wanda whispered, almost to herself, eyes wide and lips parted in wonder. Her fingers hovered just above the slick heat, trembling slightly. “Baby…”

Her eyes flicked up to Natasha’s, stunned and flushed, like she couldn’t quite believe she was the reason for all this. Slowly, reverently, she let her fingers glide through the wetness, exploring with the cautious curiosity of someone discovering something precious.

Natasha reached down and covered her hand with hers. “Like this,” she whispered, guiding her fingers slowly, her own voice breaking with the sensation. “Start soft… there…”

Wanda exhaled, shaky but entranced, her fingers following the widow’s lead. She could feel how soaked she was — how ready — and it made her whimper softly, her mouth falling open in awe.

“Does that feel good?” Wanda asked, almost in disbelief, her eyes wide with wonder.

Natasha gave her a half-laugh, half-moan, her head pressing into the pillow. “Feels so good, baby. Keep going…”

Wanda did. Her fingers moved in gentle, steady circles, but her mouth began to wander—kissing down Natasha’s stomach, her tongue brushing over warm skin. As she traveled lower, her lips found the faint scars on Natasha’s abdomen.

She didn’t hesitate.

Wanda kissed them one by one—soft, barely-there kisses, like little blessings. Her eyes flicked up briefly, catching the way Natasha’s lips parted, her chest rising a little faster.

Then Wanda continued lower, placing another kiss just below her navel. Her breath ghosted over Natasha’s skin, and her mouth found its way between her thighs, hungry and sweet all at once.

Natasha moaned louder now, one hand gripping the sheets, the other buried in Wanda’s hair. “Just like that, yes, fuck—don’t stop…”

The shift in dynamic —Wanda on top, learning, exploring, and Natasha helpless beneath her— made it all the more electric. They weren’t just giving pleasure, they were offering trust. Worshipping and being worshipped.

“Is this okay?” she asked softly, already kissing the inside of Natasha’s thigh, almost trembling with need. Her voice was small, her cheeks red—but her lips, her hands, were steady.

Natasha looked down at her, chest rising fast, hand tangled in the sheets. “Yes, baby. God, yes.”

Wanda lowered her head and let her mouth explore, licking slowly through the slickness like she was savoring an ice cream. Her nose brushed against Natasha’s skin, her eyelashes fluttering shut. She moaned softly at the taste, overwhelmed and fascinated, that little sound almost driving Natasha mad.

“Oh, fuck,” the widow gasped, arching her back, her hand immediately flying to Wanda’s head, not to guide her—just to anchor herself. “Good girl, baby.” 

Wanda was so gentle. So curious. Her tongue moved with slow, loving circles, taking her time, learning her, lips parting to suck just right on her bulbous clit, her head bobbing up and down to make it strongly hard. Her fingers slipped up to Natasha’s entrance, tentative, careful—until Natasha let out a long, broken moan.

“You’re so good at this,” she panted, barely able to think straight.

Wanda lifted her gaze, her mouth still moving, those big green eyes locking onto Natasha’s with pure devotion, full of love and awe. Her fingers eased in, slow but sure, and Natasha whimpered at the stretch, at how right it felt. Wanda curled them just slightly, hitting a spot that made her curse under her breath. 

And then she did it again. Her free hand moving up to toy with Natasha’s nipple, tugging at it playfully between her forefinger and thumb as her lips and fingers moved in sync—soft, patient, sensual. Her innocence made it even more devastating, like she didn’t quite know the effect she was having. But Natasha knew. She felt it, every second, her body unraveling as pleasure coiled deep in her belly.

“I’m—baby, I’m—” Natasha gasped, trying to hold on.

Wanda pressed a sweet kiss to her clit, fingers still stroking inside her with that slow, perfect rhythm. “Are you close?” she whispered, almost shyly. 

“Fuck—detka, so close—”

Encouraged by the way Natasha bucked beneath her, Wanda’s shyness began to melt into something else—need, hunger, devotion. Her fingers moved faster now, thrusting deeper, quicker, her palm grinding against Natasha’s swollen clit with every motion. Her other hand held her steady, gripping the redhead’s thigh like she never wanted to let go.

Natasha cried out, her hips jerking, chasing every stroke. Her head fell back, flushed skin glistening, one hand fisting the sheets while the other gripped Wanda’s wrist like an anchor.

Wanda leaned in again, kissing her softly at first—then flicking her tongue over her clit with a shaky moan of her own, fingers never slowing.

“Come for me,” she whispered again, her voice cracking, almost desperate. “Please, Natalia…”

And Natasha did—hard, fast, raw. That Sokovian accent— oh God…  

Her body arched off the bed, thighs quivering around Wanda’s head, fingers twisting in the sheets as she cried out—pleasure crashing through her in waves, raw and unstoppable. Wanda didn’t stop until she felt her start to come down, until Natasha finally collapsed back onto the mattress, breathless and flushed, her heart pulsing between her legs, her skin glowing in the aftermath.

Wanda stayed exactly where she was, her cheek resting softly against the inside of Natasha’s thigh, her breath warm and unsteady. Her smile was dazed —radiant and reverent— as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just done. Her fingers moved in slow, tender strokes, still buried inside Natasha’s pussy, unable to stop. She was mesmerized by the sight, by the way Natasha’s body responded, and the quiet afterglow between them. It felt like she never wanted to stop touching her.

Natasha, still trying to steady her breathing, reached down and combed her fingers through Wanda’s tangled hair, soft and affectionate. Her hand lingered, as if grounding herself.

“My sweet girl,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and tender. “You’re so fucking good…”

Wanda laughed softly, lips brushing against Natasha’s skin. “You keep saying that…”

“Well, I keep meaning it,” Natasha smirked.

And then Wanda, as if just remembering herself, slowly slid her fingers out of Natasha with a final, teasing graze. She looked at them for a second—wet, glistening, trembling just a little—before bringing them up to her mouth.

Natasha watched, captivated, as Wanda slipped them between her lips and sucked them clean, her eyes half-lidded but trained on Natasha the whole time.

“Fuck,” Natasha exhaled, her voice dark and ragged. “You dirty little thing…”

Wanda gave a wicked little smile around her fingers, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing.

Natasha tugged at her arm gently, coaxing her up. “Come here.”

Wanda crawled up the bed, still shy despite the heat between them, settling against Natasha’s body like it was where she belonged. Natasha immediately curled her arm around her, fingers absentmindedly stroking Wanda’s shoulder as they lovingly kissed, deep and slow, like they had all the time in the world.

For a moment, they just breathed together. Hearts still fluttering, skin still buzzing.

Then, Natasha tilted her head, brushing her nose against Wanda’s temple. “So,” she murmured, almost teasing, “was sex everything you thought it would be?”

Wanda let out a tiny laugh against her skin, nuzzling closer. “It was… a lot,” she said, blushing, even now, leaving a sweet kiss on Natasha’s lips. “I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

Natasha looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like what?” she whispered against her lips. 

Wanda paused, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. “Full, I guess. Full of… everything.”

Natasha’s gaze softened.

“You liked it?” she asked, quieter now. A little more vulnerable.

Wanda finally looked up at her, eyes so full it made Natasha forget how to breathe. “I loved it,” she whispered, then hesitated—her voice catching on something deeper. “I mean… I loved how it felt. How you made me feel.”

Natasha smiled slowly, reaching up to brush Wanda’s hair behind her ear. “You made me feel that too, you know.”

Wanda’s lips curled into a small, bashful smile—gentle, but full of something deeper. She inched closer, her nose nuzzling Natasha’s with featherlight affection. Then she kissed her—once, then again, and again—slow, unhurried kisses with their eyes still open, like neither of them wanted to miss a single detail. Like they were memorizing each other in real time, holding onto the moment with all the quiet love they didn’t yet know how to say.

“You know,” Natasha murmured between kisses, voice low and fond, “for someone doing this for the first time…”

Wanda groaned, burying her face in Natasha’s shoulder. “Don’t.”

Natasha chuckled, tightening her arm around her. “Oh no, I’m definitely talking about it. You were feral, baby.”

Wanda squeaked, smacking her side with zero force. “I was trying to be good!”

“You were too good.” Natasha kissed the side of her head, her nose brushing through her hair. “Sweet girl like you, touching me like you knew exactly what you were doing…”

“I was guessing,” Wanda muttered, lips curved in a smile she couldn’t hide.

Natasha laughed, warm and genuine. “Well, your guess was pretty damn good.”

Wanda giggled, turning to peek up at her. “Did I really do okay?”

Natasha’s gaze softened completely. “Wanda,” she said, brushing a knuckle along her cheek, “you were fantastic.”

That earned her the sweetest blush yet. Wanda bit her lip, eyes flickering down before finding hers again. “I think I like… making you happy.”

“Oh, detka,” Natasha sighed, pulling her in again. “That’s dangerously close to romantic.”

Wanda grinned against her shoulder. “Maybe I’m dangerous too.”

Natasha laughed, kissing her hair. “You have no idea.”

“I don’t want this night to end,” Wanda whispered.

Natasha kissed her forehead. “It doesn’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

 

 

After a while, wrapped in each other, skin warm and sticky and comforted by the quiet hush of the room, they barely moved. Their breaths had synced without trying, the gentle rhythm of their chests rising and falling as one. Wanda’s hand traced slow, absentminded shapes on Natasha’s tummy, while the redhead’s fingers rested lazily at the small of her back, keeping her close.

Neither of them wanted to speak. Not yet. 

But Wanda turned her head eventually, just enough to glance at the softly glowing red numbers on the bedside table. She blinked, surprised.

“It’s 4:30,” she whispered, her voice still sleep-warm, barely there.

Natasha gave a sleepy hum. “Morning already?”

“Mhm.”

There was a beat of silence before Natasha added, “Guess we’re skipping breakfast.”

Wanda giggled into her shoulder. “We just had breakfast,” she muttered, cheeks flushing as the words left her mouth.

Natasha’s eyes snapped open, and she looked at her with such pure disbelief and delight that Wanda instantly flushed.

“Oh my god,” the redhead laughed, grinning wide now. “Did you really just say that?”

Wanda giggled, immediately burying her face in Natasha’s shoulder, already regretting it but too giddy to stop. “Forget I said it—”

“No way,” Natasha teased, her voice warm and playful as she rolled them just enough to kiss Wanda’s cheek so many times. “You are a naughty girl, a naughty adorable girl.”

“I was trying to be funny!” Wanda groaned. “I’m not naughty,” she added, pretending to pout.

Natasha tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “No? So that wasn’t you eating my pussy and begging me to cum?”

Wanda let out a mortified squeak and buried her face in the pillow, groaning something incoherent in Sokovian.

Natasha laughed, all fondness and delight. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

After some seconds, Wanda peeked up through her hair, cheeks pink but glowing. “So… no actual breakfast?”

Natasha pulled her in tighter, lips brushing her jaw. “Only if you’re on the menu again.”

Wanda laughed into her skin, and the sound was all softness and sunlight, even in the dark of 4:30 a.m.

Notes:

hi babiesss,
they had sex maybe a little too soon, right? lol but oh well, I think there was a lot of built-up tension, so they had to take care of that, huh 🫠

It’s so lovely to have your first time with someone who takes such good care of you 🥹

Chapter 17: Fun lunch (+18).

Summary:

Wanda stiffened slightly, breath catching.

Natasha didn’t even look at her. She kept her gaze fixed on the conversation, lips curled in a lazy smirk as her fingers slid higher, inch by torturous inch, pushing Wanda’s skirt up in deliberate little tugs.

Wanda tried not to squirm. She failed miserably.

Natasha leaned in, her voice low and velvety right beside Wanda’s ear. “Still acting innocent?”

Obviously, they skipped breakfast.

They’d love to say it was because their night of passion stretched into the early hours, but the truth is they fell into a sleep so deep, so heavy, that it wasn’t until Wanda’s phone started ringing loudly that either of them stirred.

Well past 11 a.m.

Natasha groaned and sighed at the same time, too tangled up in the witch’s body to register what was going on. So it was Wanda who, carefully shifting her weight over the widow, reached for her phone and answered the call.

“Where the hell are you?” came Yelena’s voice—laced with concern, but also with a tone so amused it was clear the call was confirming some of her suspicions from the night before… about the superheroes.

Wanda’s voice came out groggy, softer than ever. “In bed.”

“No plans to get up?” Yelena asked again, and in the background, Kate could be heard asking if they were okay.

Wanda frowned, pulling the phone slightly away to check the time. “Hm,” she hesitated, “Yeah, I’ll wake Nat now and—”

Yelena gasped, genuinely shocked. “Natasha’s still asleep?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, her free hand gently stroking the spy’s hair, Natasha still curled up on her chest. “Yeah, we went to bed late,” she replied, careful not to offer too many details.

She could hear Yelena laughing on the other end, her tone soaked in mischief—clearly feeling very validated. “Okay, Kate and I are heading to this Italian place a few blocks away for lunch, just in case you wanna join.”

Wanda nodded instinctively. Then remembered, of course, she was on a call. “I’ll tell Nat. I’ll let you know,” she said, calm and sleepy.

“Bye, little sister-in-law,” Yelena muttered cheekily before hanging up.

Wanda sighed, smiling wide at that last bit. Looking down, Natasha hadn’t moved an inch during the whole conversation. The witch felt a brief flicker of worry, stroking her hand along Natasha’s back until she finally felt the spy take a long, deep breath against her neck, relief settling in instantly. Okay. She’s fine.

“Baby?” Wanda whispered close to Natasha’s ear, and the sound of her voice made the redhead snuggle in closer—if that was even possible. “Sweetheart, do you wanna go eat?” she asked softly, to a Natasha still very much unconscious.

Natasha responded with an incoherent mumble—something between a “yes” and a “no,” impossible to decipher, making Wanda laugh at the vagueness of it.

“Not hungry?” she asked again, her fingers gently scratching Natasha’s scalp. The redhead nodded, eyes still closed.

“You’re not getting up?”

Natasha sighed into her body, stretching her limbs slightly before settling into silence again. “No,” she replied bluntly, her voice a faint whisper that made Wanda burst out laughing.

“You’re so fucking adorable like this,” the witch murmured, both hands lovingly stroking her bare back. “I’m hungry though…” she added after a few seconds of quiet.

“You already know what you can eat,” Natasha replied, voice clearer now, and Wanda let out a loud laugh, shaking her head at the remark.

Wanda kissed the crown of her head before replying, “Oh, now you’re awake for that, huh?” she teased.

The widow nodded, lifting her head from Wanda’s chest to rest her chin there instead, gazing up at her. Her eyes looked brighter than usual, and her whole face seemed to shine with quiet happiness. Her red hair was a beautiful mess, and Wanda had to bite her lower lip as she gently brushed it to one side.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. It’s unfair,” she whispered.

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning in to pepper Wanda’s cheek with kisses before replying, “Look who’s talking,” then rested her temple against Wanda’s, nuzzling like a sleepy kitten.

“I’d be kissing you nonstop if it weren’t for my morning breath.”

“I don’t care about your morning breath.”

“You just want kissies,” Natasha replied in a soft, baby-like voice that nearly made Wanda collapse from how cute she sounded.

“Yes. If they’re from you, yes,” Wanda answered proudly.

Then, in a sudden movement that took the widow by surprise, Wanda rolled them over, pinning Natasha to the mattress and climbing on top of her. Before giving her full attention, Natasha stretched her arms and let out a long yawn that made Wanda’s heart melt—watching her with eyes full of love as the redhead slowly shook off sleep.

Once Natasha finished, she looked up at her. “Damn. These really are good mornings.”

Wanda smiled, leaning down to kiss her lips over and over—just little pecks, nothing that required opening their mouths or suffering the “morning breath” situation.

“They’re good because you are,” she whispered against her mouth.

“You know,” Natasha murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep, “if waking up like this is the result every time we have sex, I might consider fucking you every single day…” She reached for Wanda’s hands, intertwining their fingers with a lazy smile.

Then—

A sound startled them.

Another phone ringing.

But this time, it wasn’t Wanda’s. It was the hotel room’s phone.

Wanda frowned, shifting off Natasha’s lap to pick it up. “Hello?”

Natasha let out a soft sigh, watching the witch—completely naked, bathed in sunlight pouring through the window, standing beside her and answering the phone of a five-star hotel room in Barcelona. She couldn’t help but smile at how absurdly random the situation was.

She turned onto her side to take in the view. Wanda had this incredibly endearing way of showing her thoughts on her face—her brows furrowing occasionally as she tried to make sense of the receptionist’s broken English, lifting her hand to bite gently on her finger in concentration.

When Wanda looked up and saw Natasha watching her like that, she blushed and let out an unexpected giggle, nodding at something the receptionist was saying. “Okay, thank you. I’ll go in a bit,” she replied, sharing a conspiratorial smile with the redhead before hanging up.

“And who’s the bastard that stole your attention from where it clearly belongs—on me?” Natasha asked dramatically, crawling closer to Wanda to seek her touch.

The witch rolled her eyes, lying down beside her again and resting her head on Natasha’s hip like a pillow.

“It was the front desk,” she replied. “They said we’re good to check out. I’m gonna shower and head down to do it, okay?” she added, caressing Natasha’s cheek softly.

Natasha pouted. “Can we shower together?” she asked sweetly.

Wanda sighed. “We’ll take forever if we shower together.”

“I was just suggesting it to save water, pervert. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

Wanda laughed. “Shut up. I’m taking a shower and you’re packing the bags.”

Natasha closed her eyes, collapsing back into the pillows in defeat.

“You’re so unfair.”

 

The door creaked open.

Wanda stepped into the room, fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve out of habit—too caught up in the information the hotel receptionist had just given her, ready to share the recommendations with Natasha. But the words died in her throat the moment she looked up.

Natasha was standing by the bed, halfway through getting dressed, her back turned to Wanda. Her jeans were midway up her legs—she pulled them over her hips and zipped them up. As Wanda blinked, she saw her scanning the shirts scattered across the bed, trying to pick one.

Her back was fully bare, the curve of her waist achingly perfect—and then, of course, her breasts. Full, heavy, swaying naturally with the weight of them.
So painfully beautiful, Wanda could barely breathe.

Wanda froze.

She made a small sound, almost a squeak, and tried not to visibly malfunction. Her cheeks were already heating. “Um—I didn’t know we were in that phase already…”

Natasha glanced over her shoulder with the laziest smirk. “What phase?”

Wanda gestured vaguely. “The...you-changing-your-shirt-in-front-of-me-like-it’s-nothing phase.”

Natasha turned to face her fully, unbothered, still completely topless as she reached for the clean shirt on the bed. “Oh,” she said, tone casual, playful. “You mean the you-watching-me-naked phase?”

Wanda’s face went redder, eyes instinctively dropping to Natasha’s chest before she caught herself and snapped her gaze away. “I wasn’t—! I wasn’t watching—”

Natasha let out a laugh, sliding the new shirt on with maddening slowness. “You were definitely watching.” She tugged the hem down, eyes twinkling. “It’s okay, detka. I would too, if I were you.”

Wanda huffed, arms crossing, even as her smile betrayed her. “You’re such a tease.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” Natasha shot back, stepping closer now that she was fully dressed. “You looked like you were about to pass out.”

Wanda squinted at her. “Maybe I was trying to be respectful.”

“Respectful?” Natasha echoed, amused. “That’s funny. Coming from the girl who had her hands all over me last night.”

Wanda made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a laugh, covering her face with both hands. “Oh my God.”

But Natasha was already grabbing her wrists gently and guiding her hands under the hem of her own shirt, lifting it just enough to slide Wanda’s palms directly over her bare breasts.

Wanda gasped, freezing like she'd forgotten how to move.

“There,” Natasha said, tone feigning innocence as she covered Wanda’s hands with her own, pressing them in just slightly. “Better?”

“You’re impossible.” Wanda whispered, cheeks crimson but her hands unconsciously curled to hold her. Natasha’s pink nipples being squeezed between long, full-of-rings, fingers. 

“Mm,” Natasha agreed, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “And you’re adorable when you blush.”

“HEY!” Yelena’s voice rang out through the hallway. “Stop fucking and come eat, you love-sick idiots!”

Wanda buried her burning face in Natasha’s shoulder, her hands leaving her breasts just to hug her ribcage, nails scratching lovingly as the widow laughed against her hair, full-bodied and utterly unbothered.

“She’s gonna make that our couple name, isn’t she?” Wanda mumbled into Natasha’s collarbone.

Natasha shrugged, amused. “I’ve heard worse.”

Another knock, louder this time. “I’m serious! I will storm in there!”

“We’re coming!” Natasha called back, still chuckling, her arms tightening briefly around Wanda. Then, under her breath, she added, “Well… not anymore, thanks to her.”

Wanda elbowed her, grinning as she pulled away. “Put on a bra, Romanoff.”

“Why?” Natasha said with a wicked smile, turning toward the door. “You’re clearly a fan of the view.”

Wanda followed, muttering something in Sokovian that Natasha pretended not to understand—and both of them were still smiling when they stepped into the hallway.

Lunch was chaotic in the most Yelena-and-Kate way possible. They were arguing over who ruined the scrambled eggs, tossing crumbs at each other, and somehow trying to convince Wanda that yes, ketchup on pasta was normal in some parts of the world.

Natasha, half-listening, leaned back in her chair, arms stretched comfortably behind her. She’d thrown on a loose black t-shirt after their... eventful morning, clearly skipping the bra altogether. Wanda obviously knew it.

And the thought of having her so close and so exposed obsessed her.

So, somewhere between Yelena teasing Kate about her overly American taste in food, laughing loudly when she asked her to explain the different options on the menu, Wanda made her move.

She leaned in a little closer than necessary to reach the salt, letting her other hand slip beneath Natasha’s shirt with smooth, calculated ease. Her fingers skimmed Natasha’s bare waist, then traced higher, over the soft dip of her stomach and up to the warm swell of her breast.

Natasha sucked in a breath, sharp and quiet. 

Wanda’s touch was light, teasing—her thumb brushing slowly over the nipple, already sensitive without any fabric between. She leaned in, lips barely moving, and whispered against Natasha’s ear:

“I like easy access.”

And then—just once—she pinched her nipple.

A sharp, playful pinch. Quick. Discreet. Dangerous. Then moved rapidly away. 

Natasha let out a squeak, high and totally uncharacteristic.

Every head turned.

“You good?” Yelena asked, raising a brow.

Natasha coughed, clearing her throat and shooting Wanda the most murderous side-eye imaginable. “Swallowed wrong.”

Kate frowned. “On water?”

“Mmhmm,” Natasha said tightly, dragging her chair a millimeter away from Wanda—not far enough to escape, though. Never that far.

Wanda took another bite of her toast, pretending to be innocent, cheeks slightly flushed, biting back a laugh. Under the table, Natasha gripped her thigh.

Hard.

The table roared with laughter again—Kate waving her hands dramatically mid-anecdote while Yelena groaned beside her. Wanda tried to focus, really, she did. But, as she moved closer to the witch’s chair, Natasha’s hand had crept onto her thigh under the table, fingers spread wide and firm, grounding at first… and then? Wandering.

Wanda stiffened slightly, breath catching.

Natasha didn’t even look at her. She kept her gaze fixed on the conversation, lips curled in a lazy smirk as her fingers slid higher, inch by torturous inch, pushing Wanda’s skirt up in deliberate little tugs.

Wanda tried not to squirm. She failed miserably.

Natasha leaned in, her voice low and velvety right beside Wanda’s ear. “Still acting innocent?”

Wanda swallowed hard, her fork stalling midway to her mouth.

Then Natasha’s fingers found what they were looking for—just the edge of Wanda’s underwear, damp and warm. Her lips barely brushed Wanda’s ear.

“You’re already wet,” she whispered, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut. “Naughty fucking girl.”

Wanda let out a breathy, shocked laugh, blinking fast. Her cheeks flushed pink, eyes wide, lips parted.

“You, okay?” Natasha feigned innocence, asking Wanda without stopping touching her. 

Across the table, Yelena narrowed her eyes. “You two are acting weird again.”

“We’re always weird,” Natasha said smoothly, smiling like she wasn’t currently stroking Wanda through her panties under the table.

As Yelena and Kate started another discussion about weirdness, something that made Natasha laugh out loud,  Wanda cleared her throat, shifting in her seat, gripping the edge of the table to keep herself from moaning. She shot Natasha a desperate look, but Natasha just looked back at her with a smile that said: This is what you started.

And her fingers didn’t stop.

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, desperately trying to keep her expression neutral. Mentally wishing her friends kept talking aloud for hours and hours. Natasha’s fingers traced lazy circles against her soaked underwear, and it was driving her insane—soft and unrelenting. She shifted slightly, pressing her thighs together to trap the pressure, but Natasha only took it as encouragement.

Then, as if the world weren’t already tilting beneath her, she heard Natasha’s voice echo gently inside her mind.

“Don’t make that face, detka. You’ll give us away.”

Wanda’s eyes snapped to her, wide and startled. Natasha didn’t even glance her way. She was nodding at something Kate was saying, the picture of innocence, lips curled in amusement.

Wanda cleared her throat, blinking fast. Her voice in Natasha’s mind was breathy, “You’re such a bitch.”

Natasha took a sip of her water, smirking just barely. “Mm. But you’re dripping through your panties for me, so what does that make you?”

Wanda’s face went scarlet.

“Wanda?” Yelena asked suddenly, turning toward her. “You okay?”

She nodded way too fast. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just, uh, a bit of a headache. Yeah, uh– I'm okay, sorry."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Okay, let us know if you need anything."

As Wanda nodded, her smile grateful, Natasha chuckled softly, finally glancing at her with that maddening, slow-lidded look. Wanda could feel her fingers slide lower, now just under the fabric. Looking at Kate, Natasha asked, as casually as ever, “Have you ever been to Italy?”
She listened as her sister’s girlfriend began rambling about having been to Europe, smiling kindly and nodding several times.

“You love this,” Natasha’s voice whispered in Wanda’s head, low and smug.

“You’re evil.”

“And you’re soaked.”

Wanda clamped her lips shut, practically trembling as Natasha turned her head, still perfectly composed, to ask Kate another question about her trip.

Wanda’s heart pounded so loud she swore someone at the table could hear it. Natasha’s fingers stayed exactly where they were, just barely pressing against her folds, a maddening, featherlight touch. Wanda’s thighs clenched, her breathing shallow—and Natasha, of course, looked completely unfazed, laughing at something Yelena said like she didn’t have Wanda’s core twitching under the table.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Wanda sent through their connection, eyes narrowing at her.

Natasha didn’t skip a beat. She twirled her fork lazily in her pasta, replying in that infuriatingly calm tone. Yelena and Kate’s voice echoing in her ears.  

“Can’t help it. You look so pretty when you’re flustered. All pink cheeks and pouty lips… God, you’d let me fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?”

Wanda’s stomach flipped. Her face burned. Still, she leaned in to take a bite from her plate, doing her best to mask what was happening beneath the table.

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re wet.” Natasha’s smirk deepened as she pressed slightly harder, just enough for Wanda to jerk in her seat.

“Hot?” Kate asked, noticing Wanda shift.

Wanda coughed into her hand. “What? No—I mean, yes. The food. Spicy.”

“You should hear yourself in my head, detka,” Natasha teased. “You’re whining. You don’t even realize it.”

Wanda glared at her, then—just to get even—she let out a soft, breathy moan only inside Natasha’s mind, slow and indulgent. Resting her head on her hand over the table, pretending to be interested in the conversation unfolding between the women in front of them.

The effect was immediate. Natasha’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. Her lashes fluttered just slightly, her breath catching.

“Careful,” Wanda whispered mentally. “You’re not the only one who can play.”

A long beat. Then Natasha turned to her, finally looking at her fully. Her voice was low, casual. “Could you pass the water, detka?”

Wanda reached for the bottle—but Natasha grabbed her wrist instead. She leaned in close, her breath grazing Wanda’s ear, but this time, her voice was quieter. Darker.

“You’re dripping,” she whispered. “Soaking through your panties, dorogaya. I can feel it on my fingertips.”

Wanda shivered, her thighs tightening instinctively. She couldn’t even pretend to act normal now—not with Natasha’s fingers lazily sliding back and forth just under the edge of her skirt, through the soft wet fabric.

She barely registered what Yelena and Kate were saying. Something about a trip, or maybe dogs. Who cared. Her mind was anchored on Natasha’s hand.

“You want me to slide them to the side?” Natasha asked, her lips brushing Wanda’s cheek with the question. “Fuck you right here? Just one finger, slow and deep. You’d stay quiet for me, wouldn’t you?”

Wanda’s jaw clenched. Her breath stuttered. She didn’t dare nod—but her hips rolled ever so slightly, a motion no one else could see.

That was all Natasha needed.

"Okay, we can talk about that later," Natasha said, feigning a casual conversation with Wanda as she sat back down. Her smirk was immediate when she noticed Yelena and Kate too caught up in a conversation with the waiter, chatting about how the food was made.

Her fingers slipped under the edge of Wanda’s panties. She didn’t thrust, not yet. Just dipped in enough to coat them in slickness, then dragged them back up with aching slowness. Wanda bit the inside of her lip, hard. Her eyes were wide, locked on her glass of water like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

Inside her head, Natasha was calm. Focused. Cruel.

“You’re always so ready for me. I barely have to try. Just a little pressure—” her fingers pressed harder, spreading slickness over Wanda’s clit without mercy, “—and you’re practically trembling.”

Wanda whimpered, quiet enough not to be heard—loud enough for Natasha to feel it. She swallowed her moan, her whole body tense and twitchy.

“You’re going to come like this, aren’t you?” Natasha whispered. “With our friends sitting across the table, talking to a stranger, you dirty girl.”

Wanda’s thighs squeezed shut, but Natasha didn’t stop.

“Look at them, baby. Look at their faces while I play with your pussy.”

And Wanda did. Helplessly. Her vision blurred as she tried to focus on Kate laughing, Yelena ranting about something unimportant.

But it was too much.

She gripped the edge of her chair. Her breath shook as she felt it build—fast and hot and humiliatingly close.

Then Natasha leaned in and kissed her cheek, soft and affectionate, whispering through their mind:

“I’m going to ruin you later. But for now… come for me, quietly.”

And Wanda did. Right there, in silence, nothing but a soft gasp escaping her lips—masked by Yelena’s laughter.

Wanda sighed before standing up from the table. “Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom,” she murmured softly, her legs a little unsteady. Natasha watched her go, still seated, a lopsided smile on her lips as Kate and Yelena nodded absentmindedly, still deep in some debate about which of the two dishes they ordered was better.

After a few seconds, Natasha stood too. “I’m gonna check on her,” she said calmly, casually throwing a wink at Kate and Yelena as she slipped away after her.

 

 

 

The bathroom door shut behind them, and Wanda barely had time to catch her breath before Natasha was there, her hands gently cradling her hips from behind.

“Still shaking,” Natasha murmured, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.

“You’re insane,” Wanda whispered, turning around, her cheeks flushed but glowing. “We were at the table. They were eating right in front of us.”

Natasha shrugged with a grin, brushing her fingers along Wanda’s thigh. “And yet you came for me like a good girl.”

Wanda groaned, covering her face. “Stop it. I’m still dying inside.”

Natasha chuckled, then reached for a paper towel, turning back with a softness in her gaze that caught Wanda off guard.

“Sit,” she said gently, nodding toward the counter.

With Natasha’s help Wanda hopped up, her legs still a little shaky. Natasha moved between her thighs, carefully pushing her skirt up with slow hands, inspecting her with almost clinical care —but there was heat in her eyes, too, the kind that made Wanda’s breath catch again.

“You made such a mess,” Natasha murmured, voice low, fingers sliding tenderly along the inside of Wanda’s thighs. “You’re still dripping.”

Wanda squirmed. “Stop looking at me like that…”

“Like you’re mine?” Natasha looked up. “Tough luck, sweetheart.”

She leaned in and kissed just above the waistband of Wanda’s panties before helping her out of them entirely. With a fresh towel, warm water, and uncharacteristic gentleness, she cleaned Wanda up —her touch respectful, but always teasing.

Natasha leaned in and kissed her, soft and deep and a little dizzying. Then she pulled back just enough to murmur:

“You started it.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Little pinch under the table?” Natasha smirked. “You’re lucky I didn’t flip the table.”

Wanda laughed, breathless. “God, I really like this version of you.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Which one?”

“The one who makes me come speechless in front of our friends,” Wanda muttered, pulling her close again.

Natasha grinned. “You’re so fucking kinky.”

She kissed her again, and this time, it was slower, calmer. The kind of kiss that promised more later —but for now, just… closeness. Skin on skin, foreheads resting together, their breaths syncing quietly.

“Still hungry?” Natasha asked.

Wanda nodded. “For food or for you?”

“Both,” Natasha smirked. “But let’s start with lunch. Then I’ll make dessert out of you.”

Wanda groaned. “You have issues .”

Natasha winked. “And you love them.” Then, she held up the panties before tossing them into the trash. “Sorry, darling, but they’re way too ruined for you to put them back on,” she murmured, stepping closer again to caress Wanda’s thighs, her nails lovingly scratching along the sides beneath her skirt. “Now we’re matching.”

"They were totally teasing each other right in front of us," Yelena said once they were finally alone, tone half-disbelief, half-amused.

Kate exhaled, shaking her head. "I knew Wanda’s face looked off. I’ve never seen her like that."

Notes:

hi babiesss!

lol of course they had to keep breaking that awful sexual tension they’re living in jsdjsd (they’re so dirty)

you have no idea how grateful I am for all your lovely comments. they inspire me so much to keep writing this beautiful story and planning a plot that’s hopefully interesting enough lol

thank you so, so much for the incredible amount of kudos! you make me so happy 🥹

I also wanted to let you know you can find me on twitter too — same username (snapooutofit). I’m not super active there, but maybe I’ll start using it more to drop some spoilers or ask for your help writing some chapters lolll

love youuu 💖

Chapter 18: Home, sweet home. (+18)

Summary:

“So this is our love nest?” the redhead asked, stepping closer to the witch, grabbing her wrists to gently pull her hands away and reveal that soft, embarrassed face.

The Sokovian looked at her, smiling with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Don’t tease,” she whispered. “It slipped out.”

“Oh, but I really like that name,”

There really is no place like home.

Natasha knew that—or, well, she’d heard it enough times. Clint had repeated it to her on more than one occasion during their missions together. But to be honest, the widow had never quite understood what it meant.

What is a home? What does it feel like to return to a place that’s yours—full of you?

Clint understood perfectly.

His home was his family.

It was Laura, it was his kids.

But Natasha…

Natasha wasn’t so sure. Yes, the tower sometimes felt like home. Her friends felt like home—Clint, Steve… even Tony, when he wasn’t being the most annoying person in the universe.

But coming back to this motorhome in the middle of nowhere in Norway, opening the door and finding it full of the scent of the woman beside her… seeing a few of her things scattered around the space, as she clumsily dragged her suitcase through the door—

Well. Yeah.

There really is no place like home.

Now she gets it.

But what happens when home is right there with you? When it’s holding your hand, playing with your fingers, brushing your cheek, kissing your lips so sweetly it makes you melt?

Natasha feels at home.

But she’s never felt this much at home until these past few months.

Wanda smiled, letting out a soft sigh, hands on her hips. “I missed our little love nest,” she murmured, almost without thinking—and immediately regretted it, covering her blushing face with her hands as Natasha burst out laughing.

“So this is our love nest?” the redhead asked, stepping closer to the witch, grabbing her wrists to gently pull her hands away and reveal that soft, embarrassed face.

The Sokovian looked at her, smiling with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Don’t tease,” she whispered. “It slipped out.”

“Oh, but I really like that name,” Natasha said, raising her brows, her hands guiding Wanda’s arms to wrap around her neck. “Or is Spain our little love nest?” she added, mock-serious.

Wanda shrugged.

It could even be the tower, she thought.

“Should we unpack?” she asked, trying to change the subject, redirecting the moment.

Natasha groaned, closing her eyes.

“I hate unpacking.”

“We’ll do it together.”

“Only if you give me a kiss.”

 

 

 

They were unpacking side by side—half-distracted, tossing clothes into the laundry pile, laughing about something dumb that happened in Spain. Natasha was folding, Wanda was doing her usual thing: throwing garments around like they didn’t matter.

“I swear your shirts multiplied in the suitcase,” Wanda said, pulling another one out and tossing it on the bed. “Did you rob a Zara while I wasn’t looking?”

Natasha smirked. “You were too busy sneaking every bar of hotel soap into your purse to notice.”

Wanda gasped. “I did that for you! You liked the scent.”

“I like you, and you’re already scented. Don’t need corporate lavender.”

Wanda bent down to grab something from the floor—probably one of Natasha’s boots that had rolled under the bed. And that’s when Natasha saw it.

The bare curve of Wanda’s ass under the skirt.

Nothing underneath. No panties. No explanation.

Natasha’s breath caught. Everything around her—the soft rustle of clothes, the bright afternoon light, the scent of fresh laundry—blurred. Her eyes stayed locked on Wanda’s thighs as she straightened back up.

Wanda didn’t notice right away. She turned with the boot in hand, smiling innocently. “Found—”

“Did you wear this skirt the whole way back with nothing under it?” Natasha asked, voice suddenly lower, tighter.

Wanda blinked, then smiled again—smaller this time. Like she knew exactly what she’d done. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I mean… yes.”

And that was it. Natasha crossed the room in a few strides and pressed Wanda back against the dresser, hands firm on her hips.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Wanda pretended to think. “Mmm. Not directly.”

Natasha’s hands slid up her sides, over her stomach, her thumbs brushing the waistband of that damn skirt.

“No panties?” she muttered, breath ghosting over Wanda’s neck. “You sat next to me on the helicopter like that. Walked through customs. Unpacking like it’s nothing.”

Wanda let out a soft sound as Natasha’s fingers dipped just below the hem, teasing. “You tossed them at lunch, remember?” she whispered.

Natasha grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her without warning, setting her down on the edge of the dresser. Wanda gasped, legs instinctively parting, skirt riding up—exposing everything again.

“And you had no time to put on some new?” Natasha breathed.

She kissed Wanda hard, almost punishingly, but her hands were gentle—palming her thighs, smoothing over her ribs. She bit Wanda’s lower lip and groaned against her mouth.

“You drive me fucking insane.”

Wanda arched into her, hands clutching at her shoulders. “I wanted to obey you.”

”You’re such a good girl, I love it.”

She said it so fast, so casually that it almost didn’t land—and then she froze, eyes flicking to Wanda’s. Not love love. Not that. Just… desire. Obsession. Ownership. Maybe…

Wanda licked her lips, breath shaking. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Natasha didn’t need more.

She dropped to her knees, pulled Wanda forward by the hips, and buried her face between her legs like she’d been starving. Wanda cried out, legs trembling, hands scrabbling at the edge of the dresser for balance.

Rough tongue. Sweet moans. Wicked praise whispered against wet skin.

“You taste so fucking good.”

And when she pulled away, lifting Wanda in her arms and carrying her toward the bed, her voice was a rasp:

“I’m not stopping until you forget every other part of Spain but this.”

Wanda didn’t answer. She just arched into the touch, a slow roll of her hips that said yes more clearly than words.

“God, you wore this all day. Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

Wanda let her head fall back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. “Thought you liked it.”

“I do. So much it’s a problem.”

With a roughness that surprised them both, Natasha moved up and kissed her—hard. Her hands roamed without hesitation, over the curve of Wanda’s waist, up beneath the crop top. Wanda moaned into her mouth, arms wrapped around Natasha’s neck, pulling her closer.

Wanda pulled off the crop top, baring her chest to the warm, golden light coming through the window.

Her tits bouncing with the movement, just wearing that short little skirt. That was it. My goodness.

Natasha moaned at the view. 

From there, everything blurred—kisses that left Wanda dizzy, hands dragging over her bare skin, the low thud of her back against their bed minutes later. Natasha handled her like a doll, hands strong and sure, lifting her legs, pushing her skirt up until Wanda was spread open, flushed and panting.

“Oh, dirty girl…” Natasha husked, crouching low over her, her breath brushing hot against Wanda’s jaw. Her voice had that gravelly edge now—like she was barely holding herself back. Her eyes dropped between Wanda’s spread thighs, where the skirt was hiked up and the soft, flushed folds of her pussy glistened in the low light.

“So fucking wet,” she whispered, voice thick. “Do I get you this wet, baby? Just from looking at you?”

Wanda whimpered—high and helpless—and nodded, her breath hitching. Her eyes were glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep. She lifted her hips off the mattress in offering, the movement making her folds part just enough for Natasha to see the slickness coating every inch of her. It was glistening, dripping—her inner lips a deep, swollen pink, clinging with wetness.

“Touch yourself,” Natasha breathed, her voice now dark with delight, dangerous with control. “Like you did when I left you here. All alone, soaked, aching for me. Thinking about my fingers stretching you open… fucking you slow against this mattress.”

Wanda let out a trembling moan, her body already responding. Her hand slid down, trailing over her belly, between her thighs. Her fingers brushed the wet heat of her folds and she gasped at the contact. She was so wet—slick and hot, her arousal pooling at her entrance and clinging to her fingertips like honey. Her touch made a soft, sinful sound as she parted her lips and circled her clit, slow at first, then faster, her hips jerking with every pass.

Natasha’s eyes were locked on her, unblinking. Her own breath came shallower now, chest rising and falling as she watched every flick and glide. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Good girl… fuck, look at that pretty pussy. You’re drenched.”

Wanda moaned louder, her body arching, her thighs falling wider apart. Her folds were soaked—slick with need, glistening under the low light as her fingers slipped through them again and again. Her clit was flushed and swollen, peeking out just slightly, begging for pressure. When she circled it just right, her whole body trembled, a helpless sound leaving her throat.

“Oh, detka…” Natasha whispered, crawling closer, her voice shaky now, almost reverent. “You were thinking about me the whole time, weren’t you? About my fingers inside you?”

Wanda choked on a moan, nodding. “Yes,” she gasped. “You. Always you—please…”

That broke something in Natasha.

She reached out, grabbed Wanda’s wrist with one hand, and guided it away. “Let me.”

And then her fingers were there—sliding through all that slickness, parting her folds, teasing her entrance before plunging in deep. Wanda cried out, her hips lifting off the bed, her whole body clenching around her.

Natasha leaned in close, lips against her ear. “So fucking wet for me… You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Wanda arched into her, hands clutching at Natasha’s shoulders, her voice low and trembling—but her words weren’t shy.

“Please, make me feel good.” she begged, “please, baby.”

Natasha went still for half a second. Then she growled.

And dropped to her knees like she’d been commanded.

She gripped Wanda’s thighs hard, spreading her wide and buried her face between her legs with zero hesitation. Wanda cried out, her back hitting the mattress, legs thrown over Natasha’s shoulders as she felt her tongue sliding into her entrance, licking like she’s been starved for months. There was nothing slow about it—Natasha was relentless, tongue and lips sucking and teasing her engorged clit, bobbing up and down so fucking deliciously while her dark green eyes stared at Wanda from this position, everything felt so much, so good. 

So fucking good. 

Wanda gasped, fingers twisted in Natasha’s hair, trying to hold on as the bed creaked beneath her. “So good, baby, yeah— oh my, you make me feel so fucking good.” 

“You taste like sin,” Natasha rasped between licks, voice half-muffled and completely wrecked, hands clutching the skirt. “Like you fucking planned this.”

Wanda moaned, grinding helplessly against her mouth. “I did.”

Natasha’s grip around her thigh tightened. “Dirty girl,” she muttered. “I should’ve fucked you in the restaurant bathroom too.”

Wanda shivered, hips jerking. “Why didn’t you?”

Natasha bit down just enough to make her gasp. “Because I wanted to ruin you in our bed.”

 

 

 

Because home is also this.

It’s tenderness, it’s comfort, it’s playfulness, it’s fire.

It’s warmth, the feeling of being cradled against the bare chest of someone who opens their arms and gently strokes your back.

And the rhythm of their heartbeat, marking a cadence both intense and tender—because just like home has a scent, it has a texture, and it has sounds.

Natasha had quite a few favorites:

 1. Her soft laughter

 2. Her heartbeat

 3. The sound of her breathing when she sleeps peacefully

She might even include, in fourth place, those sweet, innocent little snores when she’s deeply asleep.

And now she wonders—do her friends have homes as full as this?

Wanda’s stomach interrupted her thoughts with a strange little sound that made both women laugh. Natasha lifted her head from the witch’s chest to look at her, cheeks flushed, clearly embarrassed.

“Are you hungry?” the widow asked softly, her hand lovingly caressing the skin of Wanda’s belly.

Wanda nodded, biting her lower lip. “I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Sorry.”

“God,” Natasha sighed, crawling up her body to kiss her repeatedly, short and tender pecks on her lips. “You can ruin all my moments.”

Wanda smiled against her lips, her delicate hands stroking the widow’s bare back, sighing as she felt the warmth of her skin against hers. “I want to cook for you,” the witch whispered sweetly.

“For me?”

“Oh no. You I’d eat raw, just like that.” she replied with such confidence it made Natasha laugh out loud.

“Dork.”

“Dish duty’s yours,” Wanda added, sticking out her tongue playfully.

Natasha rolled her eyes, climbing off the witch’s abdomen—Wanda sighing at the sudden loss of contact, already missing that warmth against her stomach.

“We could just live in hotels and never wash dishes again,” Natasha suggested, her fingers lazily caressing the soft skin of Wanda’s chest, which shivered under her touch.

“I could live anywhere with you,” Wanda replied, her tongue a little looser than she’d like, but absolutely honest. Her bright green eyes were as always wide and soft, pupils dilated as she looked at the redhead of her dreams so close to her. So home.

“But I like that we have our own place.”

Natasha nodded, eyes closed and a dopey little smile on her lips. Her body trembled under Wanda’s touch as the witch’s hands climbed her thighs and gently dug her nails into her muscles.

When she opened her eyes, her stomach flipped.

Fuck, how can someone be so beautiful?

Her thumb traced Wanda’s lips, her gaze following the motion as if watching something hollowed. “You have such pretty lips,” Natasha murmured, pressing her thumb to the witch’s bottom lip.

“And you’re saying that when you have the thickest, most kissable lips in the world…”

Natasha chuckled, leaning down to scatter kisses across Wanda’s face.

“We should stop, unless you want me to use these lips to eat your pussy again,” the Russian murmured against her lips, voice low and teasing in the way that made every wall in Wanda’s body crumble.

The witch bit her bottom lip, eyes locked with hers. “That’s very hard to say no to, you know?” she replied softly. “But we really should stop,” she added. “I don’t understand how I went from never having sex to not being able to stop.”

That made Natasha burst out laughing, throwing her head back as a loud laugh escaped her. Wanda took the opportunity to admire her—the naked body over hers, her long neck, full breasts, sculpted abs. Her fiery red hair bouncing against her back. She had to pause for a second, wondering if this was a dream—if she was alive, and if she was enjoying this moment enough.

Her hands grazed over Natasha’s stomach, fingers sweet and shy as they followed a straight path up over her navel, between her breasts. She smiled at the contrast between Natasha’s bare body and her own fingers, still adorned with rings—the green stone Natasha had given her still shining there, just like her eyes.

“You can blame me,” Natasha whispered, looking down again, her body shivering at Wanda’s touch.

The witch smiled, green meeting green. “Are you a nymphomaniac?” she asked curiously, one brow rising on its own.

Natasha shrugged.

“Only with little witches who don’t wear underwear,” she replied with that deep, husky voice that made Wanda bite her lip again.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then came the silence. Soft, comfortable.

Natasha’s gaze was lost through the side window as she felt Wanda’s curious fingers brushing her skin, tracing imaginary lines, following no real pattern. Wanda tracked every movement with her eyes, sometimes looking up when she noticed the widow shivering—wanting to remember those sweet spots that made her tremble so she could kiss them later.

“How did you know?” the witch asked after a while.

Natasha frowned at her. “Know what?”

“That I touched myself right here, in this bed, thinking about you.”

The Russian smiled—wicked and amused at the same time. Her face relaxed, even giving a smug little shrug.

“Let’s just say you’re terrible at hiding things,” she began. “And maybe—just maybe…” she whispered, leaning in to murmur with her lips brushing Wanda’s cheek, “your powers sent me some very pretty images that day I came home from grocery shopping.”

Wanda’s face fell, eyes widening as crimson rose to her cheeks. “Are you serious?”

Natasha nodded, a teasing laugh spilling from her lips. “You have no idea how hard it was to hold myself back that day.”

“Fuck…” Wanda groaned, exhaling deeply. “I don’t get why you held back.” Her lips pouted adorably, and Natasha pinched the pout between her thumb and forefinger.

“Because we weren’t there yet,” she answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The ‘there’ of…?”

“Kissing, telling each other we like each other, fucking.”

Wanda smiled. “I really like this phase.”

Natasha nodded. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

The witch sighed too, slow and content, eyes locked on the Russian. “So you knew all this time that I touched myself thinking of you…” she whispered.

“I touched myself thinking about you, too,” Natasha confessed. “But I’m a spy, darling—you never noticed.”

“Seriously?” Wanda asked, genuinely surprised.

The widow nodded again, climbing over Wanda’s body once more. Her warm center pressed against Wanda’s abdomen, and the Sokovian bit her lower lip at the sight—Natasha so beautiful, exposed above her.

“Yes, baby,” Natasha murmured, grinding slowly against Wanda’s skin. Her breathing already shaky from the heat of her belly against her lips, against her clit. “In the shower… at night while you were sleeping…” she whispered, grabbing Wanda’s hands and interlacing their fingers.

“Yeah?” Wanda’s voice came out lower than expected, heavy with breath, and she gripped Natasha’s hands tightly as she felt her moving above her.

“Yes,” Natasha replied, tilting her head back. “I imagined you so innocent, not knowing where to touch, but so eager to learn… so needy… my little dirty girl.”

Wanda moaned at the words, watching Natasha’s breasts bounce in front of her with each motion.

“Did you imagine my body?” she asked, hands reaching up to squeeze her tits, pink nipples between long fingers. “Because I couldn’t stop dreaming of yours—of touching you, kissing you, licking you, biting you,” she admitted.

Natasha nodded, her hips picking up rhythm. “I imagined fucking you so hard in this bed. In every possible way and position,” she said. “And I’m going to make it all come true.”

Wanda nodded, nearly desperate, her eyes roaming every inch of Natasha’s body, lingering on her pelvis, then back to her face.

“Oh God,” Natasha whispered, hips rolling again, slower this time, more deliberate. Her eyes fluttered closed, her hands braced on Wanda’s ribs for balance. “You feel so good—so warm, baby.”

Wanda’s hands twitched at her sides, helpless. Her own arousal was coiling in her belly, but she couldn’t move—she didn’t want to move. She just wanted to watch. Be used. Be good.

Natasha opened her eyes, dark and heavy with heat, and smiled. “You can touch me, you know,” she murmured, voice rough around the edges. “Help me come, pretty girl.”

Wanda swallowed, dazed. “Where?”

“Right here,” Natasha said, guiding Wanda’s hand. She placed it low between her own thighs, pressing Wanda’s thumb against her swollen clit. “Just hold it for me. You don’t even have to move—just let me grind on it.”

Wanda obeyed, and the moment her thumb found its place, Natasha gasped—hips stuttering just slightly before resuming their rhythm. Her slick smeared further with each roll, a glossy, messy trail spreading over Wanda’s stomach.

“Oh fuck,” Natasha groaned, head tipping back. “Just like that. Keep it there—yeah, baby, just like that—”

Wanda felt her legs shaking, her own cunt aching, but she didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on Natasha, watching every twitch, every tremble. Her stomach was coated now, skin flushed and wet and marked, and it only made her more desperate.

“Look at you,” Natasha panted, grinding harder now, her thighs trembling. “Letting me ride your tummy like this. Letting me come all over you.”

“Did you come really hard thinking about me?” Wanda asked.

“Yes,” she panted. “So hard.”

“And now are you gonna come again?”

Natasha nodded, thrusting hard against Wanda’s hand and stomach.

“Please,” Wanda whispered, not even knowing what she was begging for.

Natasha’s breath hitched, a ragged sound that broke into a moan as Wanda’s fingers circled her clit with aching precision. Her hips rolled instinctively, chasing the pressure, the friction, the heat of Wanda’s touch.

“Fuck… Wanda…” she gasped, her voice low, breaking at the edges. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, then opened again, needing to see her.

Wanda’s gaze held hers, wide and reverent, her free hand resting gently on Natasha’s hip to ground her, to guide her. Her thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles, not too fast—just the right kind of tease. “That’s it, baby,” she murmured, voice velvet-soft but coaxing, her Sokovian accent curling around the syllables like silk. “You’re right there, aren’t you?”

Natasha nodded frantically, sweat glistening at her hairline, her thighs trembling as her rhythm faltered and broke apart. “I’m—shit—I’m gonna come,” she whispered, like it was something blessed.

Wanda’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She just watched, in awe and adoration, as Natasha came undone on top of her.

Her climax hit hard. Natasha’s whole body tensed, her stomach muscles twitching, thighs quaking as a long, deep moan ripped from her chest. She grinded into Wanda’s palm, her hands still locked with hers, holding on like she’d float away otherwise.

Wanda’s touch stayed steady—gentle, patient—riding it out with her. When Natasha finally collapsed, boneless and glowing, Wanda cradled her into her chest, kissing her hair, her shoulder, her temple.

Natasha’s body was still trembling as she pulled back, easing off of Wanda’s stomach with a slow breath. She leaned over her, brushing a kiss to Wanda’s cheek, and murmured softly, “You okay, baby?”

Wanda nodded, her eyes wide and stunned, lips parted around a shaky breath. “Yeah… I just—” she swallowed, “I didn’t know it would feel like that. Watching you.”

Natasha smiled, trailing a finger down Wanda’s stomach, slow and indulgent, tracing the path of her own release. “You’re so warm,” she murmured. “God, I came so hard on you. Look at this…” She lifted her fingers, coated in creamy slickness, and showed it to Wanda, then slowly licked it off with a moan. “Mmm. That’s all you, you know. Just lying there, letting me fuck your tummy.”

Wanda’s gaze dropped to her own stomach. The slick sheen of Natasha’s release shimmered faintly on her flushed skin. She stared at it for a long, breathless moment, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Then, wordlessly, Wanda dipped her fingers into it —dragging them slowly through the mess— and brought them to her lips. Her mouth parted, tongue brushing over her knuckles, and she sucked them clean. Her eyes never left Natasha’s.

Natasha inhaled sharply. “Fuck,” she breathed, her voice breaking into a whisper. “Look at you.”

Wanda’s lips glistened as she pulled her fingers from her mouth. “You taste so good,” she whispered, blushing, but bold.

Natasha leaned in again, brushing their noses together. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” she whispered. “Sweet little thing lying here covered in me… licking me off your skin…”

Wanda reached down for another taste, slower this time. “You liked it?” she asked softly.

Natasha caught her hand, brought it to her mouth, and licked the last trace from Wanda’s fingers. “Loved it.”

 

 

 

The air inside the motorhome was thick with the slow pulse of satisfaction and warmth. The faint hum of the wind outside was the only sound, save for the quiet, erratic breaths as Natasha collapsed with a low exhale beside Wanda, arm lazily thrown over her waist.

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled in limbs and barely-there sheets, skin damp, hearts syncing back to a calmer rhythm.

Then, Wanda’s stomach growled. Again. Loudly.

Natasha blinked, and then turned her head slowly, raising a brow. “…Was that you or the motorhome groaning under us?”

Wanda buried her face in the pillow, groaning in pure embarrassment. “I told you I was hungry before.”

“You didn’t exactly stop me,” Natasha said smugly, kissing Wanda’s collarbone with the ghost of a smirk. “I wear you out, and now I have to feed you too?”

Wanda turned her head to squint at her. “You didn’t exactly help my energy levels. You’re very… demanding.”

Natasha smirked, brushing a thumb across Wanda’s cheek. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“I didn’t say I minded,” Wanda whispered, nudging her nose against Natasha’s with a ghost of a smile. “But I also didn’t eat since lunch.”

“God, Spain spoiled you,” Natasha teased, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before sitting up with a grunt, pushing hair off her flushed face. “Alright, come on. Let’s rehydrate and feed the witch before she faints.”

Wanda reached for her with a lazy hand. “Can’t you carry me to the table like you carried me to bed?”

“You have legs.”

“You didn’t seem to notice earlier.”

Natasha laughed under her breath, grabbing a shirt from the floor—definitely hers—and tossing it at Wanda’s head. “Get dressed, Maximoff. Dinner before round two.”

 

 

 

The pan hissed as Wanda stirred the sauce, the scent of garlic and tomato filling the motorhome. She was focused, or pretending to be, until warm hands slid around her waist and a familiar weight pressed against her back.

“Careful,” Wanda said, not looking up, “you’re going to make me drop the spoon.”

“I like living dangerously,” Natasha murmured, her voice low against Wanda’s ear as she pressed a lazy kiss beneath it.

Wanda exhaled through a soft smile. “Do you ever sit still?”

“Why would I?” Natasha nuzzled closer, chin hooked over Wanda’s shoulder now, her hands shamelessly exploring her hips, the hem of her shirt rising just enough to expose warm skin.

Wanda lifted one hand from the spoon, fingers weaving gently into Natasha’s hair, stroking slowly. “You’re clingy when you’re hungry.”

Natasha hummed. “I’m clingy when I’m full too. So you better get used to it.”

Wanda chuckled, still stirring with one hand. “That sounds like a threat.”

“No,” Natasha whispered, kissing behind her ear again, “it’s a promise.”

Wanda turned her head slightly, her nose brushing Natasha’s. “If you keep distracting me, we’re going to end up eating undercooked pasta.”

“Worth it,” Natasha said without hesitation, grinning.

She gave Wanda’s waist a squeeze and nipped playfully at her neck, causing Wanda to yelp and swat her lightly with the spoon. Sauce nearly flew.

“Nat!”

“I regret nothing.”

“Go set the table.”

Natasha groaned theatrically but peeled herself away with one final graze of her fingers over Wanda’s stomach. “Fine. But if dinner’s as good as what you have between your thighs, I might propose.”

Wanda’s laugh was quick and bright. “And if you behave, I might even let you do the dishes.”

Natasha paused at the drawer. “Okay, now you’re getting mean.”

They ate slowly, stealing bites off each other’s plates, laughing more than talking. By the time they’d finished, the motorhome had gone quiet again, the kind of quiet that made everything feel soft and a little unreal.

Cleanup was lazy at best—dishes rinsed quickly, tossed into the sink with the unspoken promise of “we’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

Later, standing side by side at the tiny bathroom sink, they brushed their teeth together. Wanda’s hip bumped into Natasha’s. Natasha bumped her back, toothpaste foam at the corners of her grin.

Wanda stole glances in the mirror, watching Natasha’s reflection more than her own. Natasha caught her and raised an eyebrow mid-brush, winking through the foam.

When they spit and rinsed, Natasha stepped behind her, warm and firm, and rested her chin on Wanda’s shoulder, watching them in the mirror. “Cute,” she whispered, kissing the edge of Wanda’s jaw. “Messy hair, flushed cheeks, minty mouth. Very kissable.”

Wanda smiled, patted her mouth dry, and leaned back just enough to let her head rest against Natasha’s. “You gonna kiss me with toothpaste breath?”

Natasha reached around and plucked the towel from Wanda’s hand. “Is that an invitation?“

She spun her around, still grinning, hands finding Wanda’s hips. Their mouths met with a wet sound, the kiss immediate and open, all playful tongues and teasing teeth. Wanda gasped against her lips, one hand finding Natasha’s shoulder, the other sliding into her hair. Natasha laughed into her mouth, biting gently at her bottom lip before deepening the kiss—slow but intent, no rush, just tasting.

By the time they broke apart, Wanda was smiling, dazed. “You’re getting soft, Romanoff.”

Natasha’s eyes glinted. “You’re one to talk.”

She scooped Wanda up easily and carried her the few steps to the bed.

Wanda didn’t even protest, her fingers curled in the hem of Natasha’s shirt, still laughing softly against her mouth.

What is home if it’s not this? 

Notes:

hi babiesss

as you might’ve noticed, I changed the fanfic tag to explicit, so let’s make that label count 🔥

okay but when are they gonna stop fucking?!! I don’t know, guys, I think these girls might really like each other 😩

at the time I wrote this chapter, I was a little insecure about, well… how often and how much sex they’re having, but I’m trying to keep everything as natural as possible

and honestly, once you open that door with the girl you like… it’s kinda hard to stop—especially in the situation they’re in

there’ll be chapters with more emotional depth coming, with different tones—things I’ve never really written before

but that’s for later. for now, I just wanna make them happy 🥹

Chapter 19: Take me to the lake.

Summary:

"Detka…" the Russian chuckled, holding her under her thighs. "If you don’t relax, we’ll sink together," she teased, smiling at the double meaning of her words.

When Wanda eased away slightly, forcing herself to relax, they locked eyes again. Green meeting green. And the contrast of the crystal-clear water made them shiver.

"Hi…" Natasha murmured sweetly, tilting her head slightly.

The days kept passing, and each second felt more fun than the last. The smiles on their faces were endless, and the sense of calm in their bodies felt as close to flying as one could get.

As if soft clouds embraced them, their gentle touch indistinguishable from each other’s.

Moments of daily life began to surface—some more peculiar than others, some simply lingering from that period when they had just been sharing a home. A small, naive friendship, a little confusing, full of tension—but a friendship nonetheless.

But now… this relationship feels charged with something else.

With more things.

Natasha loves waking up first. Wanda knows it.

Ever since Natasha confessed that—without realizing it—she spent every night curled up against the widow’s body, the witch stopped gravitating toward her in her sleep and instead began fusing herself against Natasha the moment they finished brushing their teeth.

And it’s something they both enjoy deeply. The tender caresses, playful fingers tracing nonsense shapes on each other’s skin, Natasha’s strong arms holding her close, making her feel so safe, so held. Her lips pressing gentle kisses to Wanda’s neck, their giggles and sleepy chats before surrendering completely to Morpheus’ arms.

It’s hard to put into words what both women are feeling at this particular point in their lives.

But they enjoy giving in to their impulses, without thinking too much about the future, or the past, or anyone else who isn’t the two of them…

That night, before closing her eyes, Wanda made a mental note to try—at least try—to wake up before Natasha.

She had an idea.

A very sweet one, actually.

Natasha was sleeping peacefully on her stomach, face buried in the pillow, one arm draped loosely over Wanda’s hip while the other was tucked beneath the pillow under her head.

Wanda sighed at the sight of her, that arm almost claiming her as if needing the contact to make sure she was really there. She smiled, leaning down to kiss her temple before sliding her pillow into Natasha’s arms so she could hug it thinking it was still Wanda—still scented with her perfume and warmth.

She quickly headed to the kitchen; she didn’t have much time. In theory, the Russian would wake in an hour. But that was more than enough.

She pulled out a pan and began preparing some flavorful scrambled eggs, while brewing coffee in the Italian moka pot Natasha loved so much. Every so often she peeked into the bedroom to make sure the widow was still asleep, sighing in relief each time she saw her stir only to nuzzle deeper into the pillow, her arm clutching it tighter.

Once the eggs were done, she toasted some bread too. Added a sprinkle of oregano and onion to elevate the flavor, and placed the meal beside the coffee on a tray.

Seeing the clock, she smiled in satisfaction.

Perfectly timed.

Even though her steps were quiet, her bare feet creaked a little on the wooden floor—but Natasha didn’t stir, only sighed contentedly into the pillow, her red hair a mess, the blanket down to her waist, revealing her subtle unconscious movements as she slept.

At least when she sleeps this peacefully.

When she sleeps with Wanda.

The witch smiled, setting the tray on Natasha’s nightstand and sitting down beside her. A gentle hand began to caress her back and waist, teasing fingers playing with the exposed skin just above the edge of the white tank top she wore to sleep.

“Nat?” she asked softly, leaning over the Russian’s body, her voice nearly a whisper by her ear. When there was no answer, she tried again. “Baby?” And finally… “Love?”

Natasha stirred. Her body stretched against the mattress as she turned her face toward Wanda.

“Hey, sleepyhead…” the witch smiled, her fingers brushing over the redhead’s tired face. “Sorry to wake you, but I made you breakfast.”

The widow sighed into the pillow, melting into Wanda’s touch as she murmured, “Seriously?” her voice disbelieving, eyes still adjusting to the sunlight streaming through the window.

Wanda nodded, tracing her index finger along the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, coffee and eggs. Just how you like it,” she murmured sweetly, almost shyly.

Natasha sighed again, turning over so she could properly look at her. She let out one last yawn before sitting up against the wall, her eyes landing on the tray on the nightstand.

“Wow,” she smiled softly, taking in the food and the thoughtful little touches. “Why?” she asked, now looking at Wanda, her expression so tender—as if she truly couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Someone made her breakfast.

For the first time in her life.

“Just because…” Wanda muttered, embarrassed, her cheeks flushed as she watched Natasha’s face. “Because I like your kisses and that silly smile you get when you eat something you really like.”

“Oh? The one I have when I’m eating you, then?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, taking the tray and placing it on Natasha’s lap. “I made the coffee in your moka pot, but I’m not sure I did it right. I tried watching you when you used it so I could learn but…” she said softly, eyes fixed on the cup, prompting a tender laugh from Natasha.

“Detka…” the Russian whispered, drawing Wanda’s gaze to hers. “Thank you.”

The witch sighed, meeting her eyes. They were so bright, so clear today. Her whole face was relaxed, and that raspy morning voice of hers made Wanda’s legs tremble.

She bit her lower lip. “Can I kiss you?” she asked, barely aware of the words leaving her mouth.

Natasha gave her one of those signature side-smirks, almost mischievous, but soft and loving all the same.

“Come here,” the widow murmured, one hand cradling Wanda’s face while the other steadied the coffee cup. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and then again, eyes still open, as if their gazes were kissing too. “My pretty girl.”

Natasha’s thumb traced Wanda’s cheek, pausing on the sweet freckles by the corner of her lips. She kissed them before pulling back.

“Go make your tea so we can have breakfast together, come on.”

Wanda smiled and nodded, brushing her nose tenderly against Natasha’s before standing up. Her fingers lingered at the edge of the blanket, tucking it gently over Natasha’s legs before heading to the kitchen.

She took her time preparing her tea, choosing one of the soft herbal blends Natasha had bought for her on a whim during a grocery run. It always tasted like comfort, and today, it felt like the right thing to share over breakfast in bed.

When she returned with her cup in hand, Natasha was already eating, slow and thoughtful, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the witch as if to make sure she was really there.

Wanda rested her head against Natasha’s shoulder again, the silence stretching comfortably between them. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the window, kissing their skin with a golden glow.

After a while, Natasha shifted slightly, nudging Wanda with her knee. “So,” she began, tone light and a little mischievous, “I have a plan for us today.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, half-hiding behind her mug. “Should I be worried?”

Natasha feigned offense. “Excuse me, my plans are excellent.”

“Your only excellent plan was the trip to Spain,” Wanda reminded her, deadpan.

“That was Yelena’s plan,” Natasha replied, smirking. “Besides, this one’s much more adventurous. Just water.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes. “Water?”

“The lake,” Natasha said, eyes lighting up. “It’s finally warm enough. Summer’s officially here, and I want to swim.”

Wanda groaned, leaning her head back against the wall. “You mean you want to swim. I plan to stay very dry, thank you. I’ll sit by the shore and sunbathe like a proper person.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head slowly. “Nope. Not this time. You’re coming in with me.”

Wanda turned her head, giving her a suspicious look. “I don’t swim.”

“I’ll teach you,” Natasha teased. “I’ll be right there with you.”

Wanda snorted. ”You just want to drag me underwater.”

Natasha leaned in again, brushing her nose against Wanda’s cheek. “I want to hold your hand and pull you into the lake and feel the shock of the cold and laugh with you when we come up for air, water in our eyes, hair a mess, kiss you until the sun goes down.”

Wanda tried to glare, but it softened into a smile almost instantly. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Come on, detka.” Natasha begged, a tender pout on her lips. “I’ll help you, I promise.”

Wanda sighed, defeated but not really unhappy about it. “Fine. But if I die of cold, I’m haunting you.”

Natasha kissed her cheek. “I’d expect nothing less.”

 

Wanda stood near the bed, bare feet curling against the wooden floor as her fingers lingered on the hem of her pajama shirt.

“You’re staring,” she said, eyes flicking toward Natasha.

“I’m waiting,” Natasha corrected, sitting comfortably in the chair by the mirror, arms draped lazily over the back. Her eyes didn’t budge. “You said you were getting changed.”

Wanda’s lips curved, trying to fight a smile. “Front row seat for the show?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Private show, baby,” she murmured. “Don’t be shy—there’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

A breathy little laugh slipped from Wanda’s throat, and after a moment’s hesitation, she peeled off her shirt. She did it slowly —not deliberately, not like Natasha would— but like someone aware of being watched, of every bit of skin being revealed, inch by inch. Her cheeks flushed as the fabric dropped to the floor.

Then came the shorts and underwear, sliding down her legs in one smooth motion. She stood there bare, her arms instinctively wrapping across her chest.

Natasha didn’t move —not right away. Her gaze was steady, but soft. Devouring, but not greedy. It was admiration more than possession, and that made Wanda flush even harder.

“Come here,” Natasha said finally, her voice low and coaxing.

Wanda padded toward her without thinking. She tried to offer a teasing look, tried to keep the upper hand, but something about the way Natasha looked at her —like she was totally hers— made it impossible to hold.

Natasha reached for the bikini bottom first, fingers brushing lightly against Wanda’s hip as she guided the fabric up her thighs, slow and precise.

“You’re being gentle,” Wanda murmured, watching her.

“I don’t want to rush it,” Natasha said, sliding her thumbs along the waistband to smooth it into place. “Besides… you’re twitchy when I go fast.”

“I am not,” Wanda shot back, even though her pulse was doing backflips. She rested a hand on Natasha’s shoulder to steady herself, but it did little to help.

Natasha looked up, smirking. “You are. Right here.” She ran a teasing finger along the inside of Wanda’s thigh, not quite touching anything dangerous, just enough to earn a soft gasp.

Wanda narrowed her eyes and playfully flicked her fingers against Natasha’s shoulder. “Behave.”

“No promises,” Natasha said, leaving a cute kiss on her stomach before reaching for the top. She stood then, close now, so close Wanda could smell her —warm skin, coffee, the faint trace of sunscreen already applied. “Arms up.”

Wanda obeyed, and Natasha slid the top down over her arms, her fingers brushing every inch of skin they passed. She adjusted the cups carefully, then moved behind her to tie it off —but not before pressing a kiss to the nape of Wanda’s neck.

Wanda let her head drop forward with a soft sigh. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Natasha’s hands skimmed down her arms. “You’re making it very easy to lose focus.”

She turned Wanda gently to face the mirror.

The reflection showed Wanda still flushed, still trying not to squirm —but in the bikini now, tied perfectly, the fabric clinging to her in all the right ways. Natasha stood behind her, arms loosely resting at her waist, chin just barely above her shoulder.

Their eyes met in the glass.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Then Natasha leaned in, lips ghosting behind her ear. “You look so beautiful, detka.”

And then, in an almost abrupt movement, her arms wrapped tightly around her from behind, while her lips left a few tender, firm, and loud kisses on Wanda’s cheek, making her laugh at the unexpected assault of affection.

Wanda’s eyes sparkled as she looked at their reflection together in the mirror—Natasha’s hands flat against her abdomen, her large, defined biceps holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the universe.

And then her face…

Natasha looked at her with the same intensity as always, only now her smile seemed more inevitable. More uncontrollable. And that made Wanda blush. Her wild red hair pushed to one side, her face somewhere between sleepy and relaxed from just waking up a few minutes earlier.

But, she looked happy. 

Because she, too, loved how good they looked together in the reflection.

 

 

 

"Come on, come with me," Natasha suggested with a smile, water droplets trailing down her beautiful face as she reached out her hand to Wanda, who sat blushing on the dock.

The witch shook her head, laughing at the widow's persistence. "Nat, I told you I don’t know how to swim," she murmured again, looking at her intently to emphasize her words.

"It doesn’t matter, it’s not that deep," the Russian rolled her eyes, insisting, "besides, you’re with me. Nothing will ever happen to you," she promised sweetly.

Wanda sighed, biting her lower lip while playing with the hem of her shirt. She pulled it off, revealing her bikini, which made Natasha grin mischievously. She dipped her mouth into the water to blow bubbles, causing the witch to burst into laughter.

"So hot," Natasha murmured as she surfaced again, offering her hand to Wanda, who took it this time with cheeks burning pink.

"Shut up," the witch muttered, stepping down the dock stairs and into the lake. Once close to the widow, her arms wrapped tightly around Natasha's neck, and her legs around her hips, clinging to her like a koala. Natasha laughed loudly at the exaggeration.

"Detka…" the Russian chuckled, holding her under her thighs. "If you don’t relax, we’ll sink together," she teased, smiling at the double meaning of her words.

When Wanda eased away slightly, forcing herself to relax, they locked eyes again. Green meeting green. And the contrast of the crystal-clear water made them shiver.

"Hi…" Natasha murmured sweetly, tilting her head slightly.

Wanda smiled, suddenly very aware of how closely her body was pressed against Natasha’s. Her hands trembled but found their place on the widow’s shoulders. "Hi," the witch replied shyly. "Are there fish down there?" she asked innocently, making Natasha laugh.

Both of them looked down at the same time, noticing how their chests were pressed together, making them blush simultaneously. Natasha shook her head, playfully pinching Wanda’s leg. "Dirty girl," she whispered through Wanda’s giggles.

"I was serious!" Wanda protested. "I really asked you!"

Natasha sighed, "There probably are…" she answered, swimming a little farther from the dock, which caused Wanda to cling tightly to her body again. "Baby, it’s okay…"

"Until it's not, and then what?" Wanda asked, a hint of panic in her voice as she watched the dock's figure growing smaller behind Natasha's head. "We'll both end up drowning in this lake."

"Aren't you a witch?" Natasha teased, adjusting the witch around her waist as she swam.

The Sokovian rolled her eyes, pinching the widow's neck. "I won't save you if something happens," she murmured, causing Natasha to laugh.

Natasha pretended to loosen her grip, but it hardly made a difference, as Wanda clung to her like her life depended on it. She wouldn't let go, not even with a gun to her head. "You're going to choke me," Natasha said in her husky voice.

"Doesn't seem to bother you much," Wanda whispered, making Natasha laugh.

"Okay… speaking of kinks," the widow mused, moving her hands to Wanda's lower back. "Look at this," she whispered sweetly.

When Wanda turned to see what Natasha mentioned, her brows furrowed in curiosity, but Natasha suddenly dipped them both underwater for just a few seconds. The young witch gasped, clinging tighter to the Russian's body. When they surfaced, surrounded by bubbles, Natasha couldn't stop laughing at Wanda's soaked and stunned face.

"NATASHA!" Wanda yelled, wiping her wet eyes with her hands. When she could finally see, the widow was looking at her with that characteristic mischievous smile and gleaming eyes, the expression she always wore after pulling off some mischief. Wanda grabbed Natasha's face between her hands, squishing her cheeks and giving her a wicked grin that Natasha could barely see through the force of the squeeze. "You're unbearable," Wanda muttered, her lips almost brushing Natasha's as the widow tried to pull away from the grip.

"And you're a chicken," Natasha retorted, squeezing Wanda's thighs, causing her hips to shift against the widow's body. Natasha offered a sly smile, clearly enjoying the reaction, while Wanda, unconsciously, bit her lower lip. "You're so dramatic."

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "You told me it wasn't that deep!" she accused, caught between anger and amusement.

Natasha chuckled before replying, "And yet, here you are, safe and sound!" Her fingers traced the skin of Wanda's lower back, sending shivers through her. "I must be doing something right," she mused aloud, her green eyes locking onto Wanda's.

Wanda opened her mouth to respond but faltered under the intensity of Natasha's gaze. There was softness there, warmth that fluttered in her chest. She looked away, biting her lip, her cheeks heating beneath the cool touch of the water.

The water lapped gently around them, warm where the sun kissed it and cool in the deeper shadows. Wanda’s breath was quiet against Natasha’s neck, her legs still wrapped around her waist, arms clinging to her like the only thing anchoring her in the world.

As she made her way back to the part of the lake where she could stand, Natasha held her like she was something precious. Her hands had gone from teasing to reverent, gliding slowly across Wanda’s back, her waist, and then back again—never rushing, never pushing, just exploring.

“You okay?” Natasha murmured against her temple.

Wanda nodded without speaking. She could feel every point of contact between them—the way Natasha’s thumbs brushed the dip of her spine, the press of her chest against hers, the steady rhythm of her breathing. It was grounding and dizzying all at once.

“You’re quiet,” Natasha said softly, brushing her lips against Wanda’s cheek, the tip of her nose. “That usually means one of two things.”

“Oh yeah?” Wanda managed, barely above a whisper.

“You’re either thinking way too much…” Natasha’s fingers slid lower, trailing under the water along the curve of Wanda’s hip, just under the edge of her swimsuit again, “or not thinking at all.”

Wanda smiled against her skin. “Guess which one.”

Natasha laughed quietly, warm and pleased. “Not thinking at all?”

Wanda just kissed the corner of her mouth in answer.

That kiss barely landed before Natasha turned her head and caught her lips properly, soft but certain. The kind of kiss that melted resistance. Wanda sighed into it, her fingers weaving into Natasha’s hair as her body pressed closer, deeper into her hold.

In the water, time blurred. The way Wanda clung to her, barely floating, the way Natasha kissed her slow and deep, like she wanted to memorize her mouth. Her hands kept sliding lower, palms smoothing along Wanda’s thighs, then back up, tracing her waist, her ribs, every inch she could reach underwater.

And when her fingers returned to the edge of Wanda’s swimsuit bottom, they lingered. A silent question.

Wanda’s breath hitched, but she didn’t stop her. Her hips tilted slightly, inviting her in, her lips parting in another sigh as she kissed Natasha again—hungrier this time.

Natasha’s fingertips slipped beneath the fabric, just barely, skimming her skin beneath the surface, slow and maddening. The contrast of the cool water and her warm touch sent a shiver up Wanda’s spine.

“You feel so good,” Natasha whispered, kissing along her jaw, then her neck. “I could stay like this forever.”

Wanda’s fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her back for another kiss. “We said we should stop having sex everyday.”

Natasha’s grin was almost feral against her mouth. “Not planning to, detka.”

The kiss shifted, deepened. Wanda’s legs locked tighter around Natasha’s waist as the redhead moved with her, slowly, as if the water itself was holding them both in suspense. The sun cast rippling gold across their skin, light dancing on wet shoulders and flushed cheeks.

Wanda gasped softly when Natasha’s hand slipped fully under her bikini bottom, cupping her with deliberate, possessive slowness. She buried her face in Natasha’s neck, moaning faintly against her skin as her body reacted—helplessly, instinctively—to the touch.

“You’re so warm,” Natasha murmured, voice ragged and reverent, her lips grazing Wanda’s ear. “So soft. God, detka…”

Wanda trembled in her arms, lips parted, eyes shut, letting herself feel it all—the security, the want, the tenderness behind every stroke. Natasha knew her body like she’d been born for it, coaxing reactions from her with nothing but patience and precision, like every sound Wanda made was the reward.

Her fingers moved in small circles, teasing at first, then firmer, guided by the way Wanda’s hips began to roll against her, desperate for more. Wanda clung to her, teeth sinking into her shoulder to stifle a cry when Natasha slipped two fingers inside, deep and slow.

The lake was their cocoon, hiding them from the world. Nothing existed outside this—outside the warm pressure of Natasha fucking her fingers inside her, the lazy rock of their bodies in the water, the taste of her mouth and the scent of her wet hair.

“You’re always so tight for me,” Natasha whispered, her other arm wrapped tight around Wanda’s back, holding her up like she weighed nothing at all. “You say you want us to stop having sex every day, but you love when I fuck you like this, hm? So soft, so slow.”

Wanda could only nod, lips trembling, her head falling back as she started to come undone—each slow, curling movement of Natasha’s hand drawing her closer, higher. Her moans echoed softly across the still lake, swallowed by the trees, the sky.

“I love how you feel,” Natasha whispered, mouth hot on her throat, teeth grazing gently. “I love how you sound.”

Wanda was shaking now, the pleasure tightening low in her belly, flooding through her in waves. “Nat… I—”

“I know you’re close, pretty girl. I can feel you squeezing my fingers so hard,” Natasha said, voice hoarse, kissing her hard as she quickened the rhythm. “Cum for me, baby...”

And Wanda did.

Her whole body tensed, breath catching in her throat as the climax hit—sharp, slow, and all-consuming. She cried out against Natasha’s mouth, her fingers clutching at her wet shoulders, hips bucking helplessly in her lap.

Natasha held her through it, kissing her jaw, her cheek, her trembling lips, whispering soft Russian nothings against her skin until Wanda finally went boneless in her arms, breath shaky but content.

Wanda rested her forehead against hers, eyes closed, heart racing. “You’re… fuck.”

Natasha grinned. “Yeah. Exactly what we did.”

“Shut up,” Wanda muttered, blushing as she laughed against her lips. She pulled away slightly, still breathing heavily, and brushed a strand of red hair behind Natasha’s ear. “We can’t have sex every day of our lives, love.”

Natasha frowned, a barely-there pout forming on her lips. “Why not?”

The witch sighed. “I don’t think this is normal…”

“It is when you live with the girl you like, she likes you back, and you’re in the we-can’t-keep-our-hands-to-ourselves phase,” the widow shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Wanda rolled her eyes playfully, shaking her head. “You’re addicted.”

“Obsessed,” Natasha corrected. “Very much. With you.”

 

 

 

The sun warmed their wet skin as they emerged, Wanda squeezing the water from the ends of her hair, Natasha watching her with far too much interest for someone pretending to be nonchalant.

A thick blanket was already spread out beneath the trees, where their bags and a small cooler waited. Natasha guided Wanda there with a hand at the base of her spine, grounding, possessive in a way that made Wanda’s heart skip.

The air was still, thick with summer and soft with the hush of the lake. Wanda hadn’t moved, her cheek still pressed against Natasha’s chest, but her fingers had started to curl slightly against her ribs — restless, nervous.

Natasha noticed. Of course she did.

She opened her eyes, brushing a slow hand down Wanda’s back. “You okay?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. She let her breath out slowly, felt Natasha’s chest rise beneath her in reply, steady and grounding. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

“I’m feeling a lot.”

Natasha stilled.

Wanda didn’t lift her head, didn’t look at her —she just stayed where she was, safe and exposed at once. “It’s not just the sex,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It never was. I know we haven’t said anything real yet, but every time you touch me I feel my heart… squeeze. Like I’m full and scared at the same time.”

Natasha’s hand paused on her spine. Wanda bit her lip, closing her eyes tighter.

“I keep waiting for you to run. For this to be too much. But I can’t keep pretending this is casual anymore. Not when I feel like this.”

There was silence. Not the kind that hurt, not rejection —something softer, as if Natasha was holding her breath, too. Wanda finally lifted her head, just enough to meet her eyes.

Natasha looked at her like she was holding something precious and breakable. “Wanda…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Wanda added quickly, swallowing. “I just—I needed to say it. I needed you to know. Even if we keep floating in this… in-between space for a while, I can’t hide how I feel.”

Wanda didn’t move. She stayed curled on top of her, arms lazily draped over Natasha’s waist, face tucked against her collarbone like she belonged there. Natasha stared up at the canopy of soft blue above them, silent for a while, her fingers tracing absent shapes against Wanda’s back.

Then, she spoke —barely above a murmur.

“Feelings aren’t easy for me.”

Wanda didn’t react right away. She just listened, her breath warm against Natasha’s neck.

“Not because I don’t have them,” Natasha continued, voice quiet and raw. “But because for a long time I wasn’t supposed to. The Red Room made sure of that. Emotions got you killed. Wanting something made you weak.”

Her hand stilled, splayed flat between Wanda’s shoulder blades.

“I trained myself not to feel. And I got really fucking good at it.” She let out a dry, humorless breath. “But then you showed up—and you keep doing these little things. Stupid, tiny, impossible things. Like stealing my clothes and leaving them smelling like you, dancing around the kitchen when you think I’m not looking, pulling a blanket over me with your magic when I fall asleep on the couch… And suddenly, I feel everything.”

Wanda stirred at that, lifting her head slowly to look at her. Natasha met her gaze, her expression painfully open.

“I tell myself I’ll take it slow. That I’ll be careful. I’ll stop touching you so much or kissing you like I’m drowning. But then you crawl into my side of the bed like it’s your place. You fall asleep on my chest like you’ve always belonged there. And I break every rule I try to make.”

Wanda’s brows drew together, lips parting.

Natasha reached up to brush a piece of hair from her face, her thumb lingering at Wanda’s cheekbone. “You kiss me like no one ever has. Like I’m soft. Like I deserve softness. And I melt. Every single time.”

Wanda pressed her palm gently against Natasha’s chest, right where her heart beat steady and real. “You do deserve softness.”

“I don’t know what this is,” Natasha said. “I just know I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

Wanda smiled then —something shy and lit from within— and leaned down to kiss her, not with urgency or heat, but with that same quiet tenderness that always undid Natasha completely.

“I don’t want to stop either,” she whispered.

Natasha closed her eyes, her arms wrapping fully around Wanda’s back, pulling her in close again, their hearts pressed together.

Notes:

hi babiesss

first of all, thank you for your comments and kudos. I love reading what you think, knowing you’re enjoying the story, and seeing how sweet you all are! it truly inspires me to keep writing 💓 thank you so so much

second: yes, the sex thing has officially become a running gag at this point

lastly, this is a very special chapter because it’s one of the first ones I wrote when I was outlining the story 🥹 it’s an obvious cliché, but I like imagining —just like someone said in the comments— that in one of the many universes out there, their story went a little like this

the next chapter is one of my personal favorites, and I really think you’re going to love it. I hope you do! 💖

Chapter 20: I wish I never had to leave you.

Summary:

It was their ritual: Wanda chose a book, Natasha paid for it, and Wanda always read the first few chapters aloud to her that night in bed.

“Found anything?” Natasha asked, voice soft.

“Not yet. But I will. You’re patient.”

“Only with you.”

Rainy days feel different now.

It’s not that Wanda has overcome them —not at all. She still has nightmares, though now they’re quickly soothed by the warm body clinging to her in sleep.

Her body still reacts to thunder and lightning, but now those sounds feel muffled, distant, buried beneath the way Natasha kisses her to distract her —kisses that make her heart pound so hard it drowns out everything else. It’s hard to hear anything but the Russian now.

No, Wanda hasn’t overcome the storms. But she’s started to tolerate them.

Because Natasha is more attentive than anyone in the world. She can sense a rainy day before it arrives. She reads the clouds, the wind, the shift in the air. And she takes Wanda’s hands gently, whispering in the softest voice:

 

“Detka, it might rain tonight.”

 

And then Wanda doesn’t need to do anything but what she’s already been doing for a while now:

Burying herself in Natasha’s chest, clinging to her tightly, kissing her jaw until she falls asleep —and forgetting completely how storms used to shake her body.

Waking up in Natasha’s arms on a rainy day feels like drowning in the middle of the ocean —and suddenly finding a life vest. But not just that. This life vest comes with a boat, and fresh water, and ripe fruit, and suddenly she feels like she’s on a cruise heading home. To solid ground. Or paradise itself —she doesn’t care.

As long as that life vest comes with her.

Natasha had never paid much attention to rain — not until now. And now, in some way, she understands how terrifying it can be for some people.

Rain sometimes comes with winds strong enough to lift things off the ground. If it falls hard, it can flood villages, wash away houses, even kill with its thunder and lightning.

Rain is dangerous. That much is clear.

Natasha has felt like the rain many times in her life.

But Wanda makes her feel like the sun now.

A sun that burns —but also warms, shelters, shines, and gives life.

To Natasha, Wanda is the moon.

Shy, yet so commanding. Her favorite moment of the day. Powerful and luminous and completely irreplaceable. And so, so beautiful she moves oceans, guides travelers —always there, whether it’s day or night.

The moon is incredible.

Almost as incredible as Wanda.

“Black can’t be your only favorite color,” the witch muttered lazily.

“Why not? It’s in my name.”

“First of all,” Wanda said, flipping through an old preschool book they’d found in the motorhome’s dusty bookshelf, “it says here that black’s not even technically a color…”

Natasha shrugged. “Don’t care. Still the best one.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Why can’t you like another color? Like blue, green, red…”

“Oh, I love red too.” The widow remembered, glancing at the young witch for a moment. “Especially on you.”

Wanda felt her cheeks flush as she leaned over to place a soft kiss on Natasha’s cheek in thanks.

“Red’s my favorite,” she murmured, conjuring a glowing red orb in her fingers.

“You told me that once…” Natasha sighed, watching the magic float above Wanda’s hand. “Because of my hair,” she chuckled.

Wanda smiled, her eyes lingering on Natasha’s red mane.

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything about you I don’t like…” she confessed, her voice barely audible.

“I’ve got a million flaws, detka,” Natasha replied, brushing her cheek gently.

But Wanda shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter. I still find you so attractive…”

“Attraction isn’t just physical,” the widow noted.

And Wanda answered softly,

“I know. That’s exactly why I said it.”

Natasha smiled, the arm wrapped around Wanda from behind giving her a fond squeeze on the hip. Then she slid her bicep up to Wanda’s shoulder to turn the page of the book. Wanda smiled at having that muscle so close; her hand immediately caressed it tenderly before giving it a playful bite, making Natasha growl — followed by a soft kiss to ease the sting.

“I always feel like biting you,” Wanda confessed, turning her head to look at Natasha, who raised her eyebrows.

The widow chuckled, “That sounds like an interesting threat.”

Wanda gave her a mischievous smile.

“Take it however you want,” she murmured, her fingers curling again around Natasha’s arm, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’s just a fair warning.”

“Why do you feel like biting me? Is it some kind of animal instinct or are you just hungry?” Natasha asked, kissing the tip of Wanda’s nose.

The witch shrugged, smiling.

“You have a lot of body parts that just beg to be bitten.”

“Which ones?” Natasha asked.

Wanda sighed, turning to face the Russian. Her fingers traced Natasha’s full lips.

“Here,” she whispered, making Natasha smile before playfully biting her finger and then letting it go immediately.

Wanda’s finger continued downward, tracing her neck, her collarbones, and shoulders.

“Obviously this part is very biteable,” she said as if she were explaining quantum physics, glancing up now and then to check that Natasha was following.

Natasha was watching her with a sweet, hard-to-describe smile. Wanda continued, her finger tracing over Natasha’s full breasts, her hand spreading instinctively to cup the area that drove her wild.

“Here too?”

Wanda nodded. “Gently,” she replied. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sometimes pain goes very well with pleasure,” Natasha sighed.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing that combo,” Wanda admitted.

Natasha smiled softly.

“We could try it sometime,” the widow offered gently, her hand lifting to caress Wanda’s cheek. “Only if you want to, of course.”

Wanda nodded.

“Slowly,” she offered with a blush that made Natasha bite her lower lip, struggling not to smother her in kisses.

And then she remembered —

She didn’t have to hold back anymore.

She leaned in to kiss Wanda’s shy smile again and again, loud, smacking kisses that made the young witch giggle.

After pulling back, Natasha nodded.

“I wasn’t planning on tying you up and practicing BDSM, you know? Just a firm bite.”

Wanda nodded, still blushing but a little bolder now. “I was already picturing you all tied up,” she teased with a playful pout.

Natasha burst out laughing, both arms wrapping around Wanda’s body as she leaned in to plant more soft kisses along her cheek and neck. Wanda closed her eyes, enjoying the attack, her hands digging into Natasha’s thighs.

“These are very biteable too,” she murmured, gripping them tightly.

“Oh yeah?” the widow asked mockingly.

Wanda nodded, biting her lower lip.

“And this one too,” she added, a bit more confident, as her hands slid upward to grab Natasha’s ass. “So firm.”

“Now that’s where you really want to bite hard,” Natasha laughed.

“And often.”

Natasha’s fingers gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear, her voice low and genuine now.

“Do you have any idea how much I love seeing you like this?”

Wanda blinked. “Like what?”

Natasha traced the curve of her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Soft. Playful. Safe.”

Wanda hesitated. That word —safe— meant more than it should. For someone like her, it was practically holly.

“You make it easy,” she whispered.

Natasha smiled and pressed their foreheads together.

“Good. That’s the plan.”

They stayed like that for a moment —breathing the same breath, feeling the warmth of one another seep in deeper than skin. Wanda’s fingers curled in the hem of Natasha’s shirt, needing to hold onto something real, something grounding.

 

 

 

What Wanda enjoyed the most about rainy days now was the after.

The calm that came once the rain had finished falling—after it had taken everything it needed or filled everything it was meant to.

As if its task was complete, the work done.

And so the sun rises. Appears. Revives.

And Natasha takes her hand and tells her to get dressed, because they’re going for a walk through the town.

A town that seems to come alive again once the worst of the storm has passed.

The sunset glows with scattered local lights that decorate the little shops, the restaurants open, waiting for their guests, the plazas dry slowly, ready to welcome back the children, the lake feels full, vast, powerful, commanding.

And the streets are lined with small mirrors made of lingering puddles, reflecting the trees and the people passing by.

There’s no silence—

There’s a kind of murmur.

As if the entire town were holding its breath, waiting to open itself wide again and receive its people.

Natasha loves walking hand in hand with Wanda.

She loves seeing them together reflected in car windows, shop glass, puddles.

Because Wanda seems indifferent to that image. But in truth, it stirs something in her stomach— a flutter that makes her feel like she’s falling apart.

So sometimes she avoids it.

Other times, she looks.

And smiles so stupidly that Natasha feels compelled to lean in and press a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I like walking hand in hand with you,” the widow confessed with a smile, as they swung their joined hands in a childlike rhythm.

Wanda smiled back.

“Why?”

“Because I like your hands,” Natasha replied. “And because this way, anyone who stares at you for too long knows you’re with me.”

The witch laughed loudly at that, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What are you laughing at?” Natasha asked, lifting their intertwined hands and prompting Wanda into a little spin, as if they were dancing to a slow song.

Wanda smiled, giving in to the spin, only to lean in and wrap herself closer against the widow’s body.

“People don’t look at me,” she answered softly. “They look at you. You walk into a room and every eye turns to you; you’re magnetic.”

The redhead shook her head. “Trust me, people look at you way more,” she murmured with certainty. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

Wanda hummed softly at Natasha’s words, but didn’t argue. She pressed her cheek against the redhead’s shoulder as they walked, letting the quiet settle for a few moments between them, the only sound their footsteps on damp pavement and the soft clinking of wind chimes in the distance.

“You know,” Wanda said eventually, her voice low, almost like she was sharing a secret, “sometimes I think you say those things just to fluster me.”

Natasha chuckled, brushing her shoulder against Wanda’s affectionately. “Is it working?”

Wanda sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

They passed by a bakery, the scent of warm cinnamon and fresh bread spilling into the street. Natasha gave Wanda’s hand a small tug, slowing down to eye the display of pastries.

Wanda shook her head with a fond smile.

“No. Don’t even think about it. You’ll get crumbs all over the bed again.”

Natasha pouted. “You make it sound like I committed a crime.”

“You did. Last week. Croissant flakes in our biggest blanket,” Wanda accused, nudging her playfully.

“That’s because you were reading on my lap,” Natasha shot back with a grin. “How is that my fault?”

Wanda just rolled her eyes, the smile tugging at her lips betraying how little she meant it. They continued on, the little shops glowing warmly as dusk began to settle in more fully. There was something magical in the air—like the town had just been gently wrung out, cleaned by the rain and now ready to begin again.

They turned the corner onto a quieter street, where the old bookstore sat like a secret — tucked between a bakery and an antique shop, its windows slightly fogged from the inside. Wanda’s face lit up in a way that never failed to make Natasha’s chest ache.

“Please?” Wanda asked, already tugging her toward the door.

Natasha smiled. “We never just pass by. I think the shop would file a complaint if we tried.”

A soft laugh escaped Wanda as she pushed the door open, the little bell above it chiming sweetly. Warmth greeted them immediately —the faint scent of lavender, dust, and paper filling the small, cozy space. 

The owner —a quiet older woman who never asked questions— gave them a soft smile before returning to her reading chair by the counter.

Wanda headed straight for the far back shelf, where she always took her time. Natasha leaned against the doorway, watching her as she tilted her head, lips silently mouthing titles, fingertips brushing worn spines. She never rushed. And Natasha never interrupted.

It was their ritual: Wanda chose a book, Natasha paid for it, and Wanda always read the first few chapters aloud to her that night in bed.

“Found anything?” Natasha asked, voice soft.

“Not yet. But I will. You’re patient.”

“Only with you.”

Natasha’s own fingers brushed over a shelf near her, but she didn’t care about the books. She cared about Wanda. The way she moved. The way her shoulders softened here.

“You always look the most beautiful in this place,” Natasha said quietly.

Wanda glanced over her shoulder with an amused smile. “Books make me beautiful?”

“Books make you happy. That’s what I’m seeing.”

Wanda ducked her head, cheeks pink, and turned back to the shelf. She finally pulled out a worn copy of a translated Russian classic —a thin novel with a cracked spine and a pressed flower tucked between the pages.

“I think this one wants to come home with us.”

Natasha nodded, stepping forward and gently kissing her temple.

“Then let’s not keep it waiting.”

They paid in silence, fingers still brushing. Wanda clutched the book to her chest, smiling in that way that always made Natasha feel like the ground beneath her was somehow safer.

“Will you read it to me tonight?” she asked.

“Always,” Wanda replied, leaning into her.

 

 

 

The little living room smelled faintly of cinnamon and coffee, leftovers from their stroll through the town and the cups they’d drained earlier. The mugs sat empty and forgotten on the small table in front of the sofa, alongside a paper bag with the corner of a pastry peeking out. Outside, the light was fading, the rain-washed world beyond the window glowing softly under the first streetlights.

Wanda had curled up in the corner of the couch, a book open in one hand, the other lazily stroking her fingers through Natasha’s hair. The redhead was stretched out across the cushions, her head resting in Wanda’s lap, eyes closed in something between a nap and blissful stillness.

Every so often, Wanda’s fingers would drift from scalp to temple to the curve of Natasha’s ear, tracing the lines of her face as if to memorize them without needing to look away from the page. Natasha hummed quietly when Wanda’s nails scraped lightly across her skin.

Natasha’s eyes were closed, her breathing even. A faint smile played on her lips.

“If you keep doing that,” she murmured without opening her eyes, “I’m going to start purring.”

Wanda smirked without looking away from her page. “You already are.”

A hum of amusement left Natasha’s throat. Her fingers curled around Wanda’s ankle, resting there like an anchor.

Wanda turned a page with care, eyes flickering briefly toward the woman in her lap. “Comfortable?”

“Too comfortable,” Natasha replied. “I might never move again.”

Wanda’s fingertips brushed against her temple. “Fine by me.”

Before Natasha could reply with something cheekier, the door creaked open.

Yelena’s voice rang in casually.

“You two are disgusting,” Yelena announced, stepping into the motorhome with her usual lack of subtlety. “I mean that in the nicest way.”

Wanda didn’t even flinch, just flipped the page. Natasha lifted her head slightly to squint toward the door, then sighed, letting it fall back into Wanda’s lap.“Did you ever consider knocking?”

“I did. Then I didn’t care,” Yelena said, tossing her jacket onto the nearest chair. “Hi, Wanda.”

“Hi, Yelena,” Wanda said with a soft smile, gently sliding a bookmark between the pages before closing the book.

Natasha sat up with a sigh, rubbing at her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“We have a situation.”

Her tone didn’t scream emergency, but it had that clipped edge that Natasha recognized. Wanda reluctantly closed the book but kept it in her lap. Natasha stayed close, one hand still loosely resting on Wanda’s knee. She pushed herself up slowly, eyes scanning her sister.

“Got the file,” she said, pulling off her gloves and digging into her bag. “Melina sent coordinates this morning. Two locations —we think the second is a decoy, but we won’t know until we reach there.” Then she turned back to Natasha, already unfolding a small packet of printed pages. “Look —this is the compound we’re sure about. Same signatures as the Belarus incident. There are some girls—”

“Some girls?” Wanda asked, her tone sharper than she intended. She stepped closer, watching them both. “What kind of girls?”

Natasha and Yelena exchanged a quick look. Natasha’s expression softened as she glanced back at Wanda.

“Girls they’re training,” Natasha said, her voice low. “They might be in trouble.”

Wanda’s heart sank. She glanced down at the table, at the forgotten cups of tea and coffee. Everything had been so quiet just minutes ago.

“Are they Black Widows?” she asked Yelena, eyes narrowing slightly.

Yelena shook her head. “We are not sure. They are too young. They could be, that's what we want to know.”

“How bad is it?” Wanda asked, more quietly this time.

Yelena hesitated. “We don’t know yet.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Natasha took a step closer to Wanda, gently placing a hand on her waist. “It’s why we’re going, to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

Wanda looked at her —really looked at her— and saw it: the tightness around her mouth, the tension in her spine, the way she hadn’t even asked her if she was okay if she left, she had already decided.

She swallowed hard. “How long?”

“A few days. A week at most,” Natasha said.

“And it’s just the two of you?”

Yelena raised an eyebrow, clearly about to argue that she was enough, but Natasha spoke first.

“It’ll be fine, Wanda.”

But Wanda didn’t nod. Didn’t say okay.

She just stood there for a moment, trying to catch her breath without showing it. Then she said softly:

“I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered, stepping closer, her voice suddenly only for her. “But I have to go.”

Yelena cleared her throat, not quite subtle. “I’ll wait outside. Tell me when you’re ready,” she said, already moving to the door. She glanced back once, gaze flicking between the two women, then stepped out into the fading light.

The door clicked shut behind her.

“Let me come with you.”

Natasha froze, eyes flicking up to meet hers in surprise.

“I mean it,” Wanda said. “I’ve fought beside you before. You know I can help.”

Natasha gave a soft, sad smile. She reached for Wanda’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know you could. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” Wanda asked, her voice already tighter with emotion. “You think I can’t handle it?”

Natasha shook her head. “I don’t want you to have to handle it. Not this.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed.

“This situation—it’s messy. It’s full of ghosts from my past. People I couldn’t save. Choices I made that still haunt me. And I need to finish it,” Natasha said. “I need to close this chapter, but not by dragging you into it.”

Wanda’s jaw clenched, her eyes shining now, tears starting to fall. “You think I’d let you go without me and just sit here doing nothing?”

Natasha leaned in, pressing her forehead lightly to Wanda’s. “I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” she whispered. “And I think I need to know you’re here. Waiting. Safe. So I have something to come back to.”

Wanda’s breath hitched.

“I don’t want to be safe,” she said, voice cracking. “I want to be with you.”

“I know,” Natasha murmured, pulling her into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around her waist while Wanda’s closed tightly around her neck. “But I want to come back to you. I want to see your face when it’s over and know I made it back for something good.”

Wanda closed her eyes, clutching her tightly.

“Help me pack?” 

 

 

 

Natasha stood by the bed, slipping her suit into a worn duffel bag with practiced movements. She had changed back into her black tactical clothes — the ones Wanda secretly hated, not because they didn’t look good on her, but because of what they meant.

Wanda leaned against the doorframe, watching her. Arms crossed, face unreadable. But Natasha could feel the weight of her silence.

“I’m not going far, baby,” she said softly without turning.

Wanda swallowed. “Far enough.”

Natasha zipped the bag shut. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“I already miss you,” Wanda whispered.

That made Natasha stop.

She turned around slowly. Wanda’s arms dropped to her sides, her fingers curling slightly. Her eyes were glassy, her voice quiet but firm when she said, “Please be safe, I don’t want to lose you too.”

Natasha took a breath. Crossed the room in a few easy steps.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear. “I’ll come home.”

“You better,” Wanda said, the tears finally spilling over, despite her efforts. “Because if you don’t—” her voice cracked just enough to make Natasha’s chest ache— “I swear I’ll kill you.”

Natasha smiled softly, brushing her thumbs under Wanda’s eyes. “Dramatic as ever.”

Wanda sniffled, managing a watery grin. “I’m being serious, Romanoff.”

“I know, detka” Natasha admitted. She leaned in and kissed her —soft, slow, lingering. Her heart clenching at seeing the witch like this.

Wanda clung to her tightly, fingers fisting into the fabric of Natasha’s suit. “What if it rains while you’re gone?” she murmured into her neck, almost like a joke, but not quite.

Natasha kissed her temple. “Then you text me.”

“You won’t answer.”

”I’ll try,” she said, almost playfully. “I’m bringing the old phone.”

That made Wanda laugh softly, just once. Natasha felt it against her shoulder.

“You’ll be okay,” Natasha whispered.

“No,” Wanda corrected, her voice low. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

 

 

Yelena stood near the motorhome door, arms folded, weight leaning into one hip as she watched Natasha finish zipping up her bag.

“Got everything?” she asked, casual, but with that undertone only sisters used.

“Yeah,” Natasha muttered halfway into her own gear, strapping a knife to her thigh, when Wanda walked into the room.

There was tension in her shoulders, like she was holding something in. She hadn’t said much since Natasha zipped her bag. Not because she didn’t want to —but because if she started, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop.

Natasha looked up. “You okay?”

Wanda just nodded, crossed the space to her with quiet steps. Her hands went to the edges of Natasha’s jacket, smoothing them down pointlessly, like her fingers needed a reason to stay close.

Yelena watched from the doorway, saying nothing.

“You’ll be back in a few days,” Wanda said, but it wasn’t a statement. It sounded more like a wish. 

“Yeah,” Natasha replied, softly. “Just a few.”

There was a beat. Wanda’s hands gripped the fabric tighter.

Then she leaned in and kissed her. Her fingers curled in Natasha’s jacket, her lips firm and sure. Natasha froze for only a breath before she kissed her back, her hands catching Wanda’s waist like it was instinct.

Behind them, Yelena made a quiet noise. “Okay. Wow. Cool.” She pointed toward the door. “I’m gonna be outside —again. Gross.”

Natasha smiled into the kiss. Wanda didn’t pull away immediately. Only when they heard the door close with a soft clunk did she exhale and rest her forehead to Natasha’s.

Wanda exhaled shakily. “Please be safe,” she whispered, eyes shining. “I don’t care if the mission takes longer. Just come back. Don’t be reckless.”

Natasha pulled her into a hug, tight and steady. She smelled like the cinnamon tea they hadn’t finished earlier and the vanilla lotion she always pretended not to use.

“I will.”

“I’ll be here, waiting.” Wanda’s voice trembled now. “Don’t make me regret letting you go.”

Natasha’s fingers gripped her waist tighter. “You’re not letting me go.”

Wanda gave a watery smile. “You know what I mean.”

They kissed again —slower this time, like it might have to last. Wanda’s hands cupped Natasha’s face, and Natasha leaned into them like she needed it to breathe.

They didn’t say it. Not out loud.

But as Natasha finally stepped away, adjusting her jacket, she felt it —a soft pressure in the back of her mind. A warmth. Like Wanda’s magic had reached out without her meaning to, whispering something she wasn’t ready to say.

It didn’t need words. Not really.

Natasha turned back one last time, looked Wanda in the eyes, and said, “I’ll come back home to you, detka. I promise.”

Wanda nodded, but her eyes shone. “I'll be waiting for you.”

And then the door opened, and she was gone.

 

 

 

The road hummed beneath the tires, a low and steady rhythm. Yelena sat beside her, one leg tucked under the other on the worn passenger seat, scrolling through the mission file on her tablet, occasionally muttering about outdated blueprints or the pathetic security layout.

Natasha barely responded.

She kept her eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. But something in her jaw was tight, her shoulders tense despite the relaxed posture. Her silence wasn’t sharp—it was heavy.

Yelena noticed.

After a few more minutes of quiet, she turned off the screen and leaned back with a sigh.

“You’re off.”

Natasha didn’t answer.

“I mean, more than usual.”

Still nothing.

Yelena watched her for a second, then said more gently, “You want to talk about it?”

Natasha’s fingers tightened briefly on the wheel. Her gaze stayed forward, fixed on the blur of trees passing by the window. “Not really.”

“Okay.”

Yelena didn’t push. She just leaned her head against the glass, watching the sky shift with the clouds.

A few more miles passed before Natasha finally spoke—so soft it was almost lost under the sound of the engine.

“She asked me to come back home.”

Yelena turned toward her, but Natasha didn’t look over.

“I promised I would,” she added. 

Yelena was quiet. Then, “First time meaning it?”

Natasha hesitated. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’ve never wanted to keep a promise so much,” she admitted. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Yelena nodded slowly. She didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t tease. Just reached forward, turned down the heater, and let the quiet stretch again—this time shared.

“Then come back,” she said simply. “You already know the way.”

Notes:

I loved writing this chapter 🫠

Chapter 21: Saving widows.

Summary:

There’s no physical pain that compares to the open wound she feels in her chest. She knows this time it’s real. She knows that taking down Dreykov is no longer a mission she needs to complete to earn anyone’s trust, like that first time. Now, the mission to end Dreykov is as much a part of her as her own flesh.

It’s a debt owed to her soul.

To those she once promised to save but never could.

Notes:

TW: violence.

For Natasha, the streets of Budapest always had that special hue. The large cobblestones, still damp from rain that had probably stopped a few hours ago. The Baroque style wasn’t her favorite, but she enjoyed seeing it on some buildings so big they looked imposing.

The scars of war in the city looked like permanent tattoos, hard to cover. Some facades still destroyed, iron balconies rusted around the edges, streets pocked with stubborn potholes.

The tram was moving slowly.

Natasha tried to remember if she’d ever seen it go faster than this, but no — it had always been slow.

Yelena wandered silently by her side, both of them knowing exactly where they were going without even glancing at each other. The signs in Hungarian pointed to different shops, bus stops, even a few nearby schools.

Natasha speaks Hungarian, of course. Yelena too.

They know it almost as well as they know Russian.

But the redhead hates it.

It brings back bad memories. She prefers not to speak it.

The apartment she once shared with her sister was in the corner building, at the end of a dead-end street, almost like a hidden alley.

And the truth is, it looks frozen in time — with the same cracks, imperfections, damages, and even the same scent it had years ago.

“So…” Yelena started speaking when they arrived, dropping her jacket on the usual coat rack.

“You didn’t tell me you’ve kept in touch with Melina all this time,” the redhead murmured, doing the same with hers before heading to the kitchen. “I thought she was dead.”

Yelena rolled her eyes.

“You wouldn’t have come if I told you. You’ve always been jealous of her.”

“Jealous?” Natasha replied, almost offended. “She sold us out to the Red Room the first chance she got, and then didn’t even try to reach out to apologize.”

“You were working with SHIELD, Nat,” the younger one tried to defend their adoptive mother. “She couldn’t contact you without risking her life.”

“Tell me about the Black Widows,” Natasha asked quickly, taking a sip of water.

Yelena took a breath before starting. “Dreykov,” she muttered. “He’s found another way to manipulate girls into working for him,” she explained. “The Red Dust is a chemical substance that breaks the mental control imposed on them through neurological and chemical manipulation.”

“What are you talking about, Lena?” Natasha frowned. “I killed Dreykov with Clint. We blew up the whole damn city.”

“Yeah, maybe you forgot to make sure he was actually dead,” her sister said, mockingly.

Natasha shifted uncomfortably, swallowing hard. “So the Red Room…”

“Exactly,” Yelena nodded. “Even though Melina hasn’t worked for them in years, she picked up suspicious activity using tech similar to what she used to work with,” the blonde explained. “Then a Widow from her generation contacted her and showed her the Red Dust.”

“Please, explain it slowly,” the redhead pleaded, massaging her temple. This was one of the last things she’d ever expected to hear.

“The indoctrination is chemical now, Nat,” the blonde summarized. “It’s neurological manipulation. There’s a part of them that’s conscious, but they can’t tell which part is truly them anymore.”

“So they’re not just being psychologically manipulated?”

“Well, it’s a mix of both,” Yelena answered. “It’s not just conditioning anymore — it’s also full-on brain manipulation. They don’t realize they’re being controlled. They have no freedom left in any real sense, Nat.”

The redhead nodded, listening closely.

“So Melina’s been working in the lab to replicate the antid—”

Before Yelena could finish explaining the Red Dust, a shatter of glass broke the calm.

A shadow crossed the room. A Widow.

She rolled inside with surgical precision, and without missing a beat, hurled a knife that Natasha barely kicked aside in time.

“Widows!” Yelena shouted, diving to the ground and reaching for her backpack. Another silhouette burst through the shattered window just behind the first, and within seconds the apartment became a battlefield.

Natasha blocked a punch with her forearm, retaliated with a spinning kick. The Widows were fast, cold, merciless. One of them threw Natasha against a shelf. Glass. Books. Pain.

“I’ve got a capsule!” Yelena shouted from the kitchen.

“Right one’s yours!” Natasha responded, grappling with the other. “The left one’s mine!”

Yelena aimed and, without hesitation, launched the red powder capsule at the Widow’s face. It burst into a crimson cloud. The woman dropped to her knees, coughing. Her movements became erratic, confused.

Natasha broke free just in time to see the other Widow charging at her — not to escape, not in fear.

With purpose. With a bomb strapped to her chest.

“No!” Natasha yelled, backing up.

But it was no use.

The Widow launched herself at her like a programmed sacrifice. Natasha rolled to the side at the last second, and the body fell through the broken window, three stories down.

Silence.

Then, the sickening thud of impact.

Natasha stood up with difficulty. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

Yelena rushed to her. “Are you okay?”

The redhead nodded faintly, her eyes locked in horror on the window the Widow had vanished through.

Across the room, the freed Widow was still on her knees. The red powder still hovered in the air. Her body trembled.

“What… what did I do?” she whispered, like someone waking from a nightmare.

Yelena approached her gently. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Natasha didn’t say anything. She just stared at her.

And on her face was that expression—fear, distrust, guilt, and pain. A pain so familiar to Natasha, one she could recognize in every feature, and that deeply unsettled her.

And the thought that this might only be the beginning sent a shiver down Natasha’s spine.

 

 

 

With Melina directing Natasha and Yelena’s every move, they went in search and rescue of Alexei.

The journey to the prison was anything but simple.

They knew getting Alexei out wouldn’t just be dangerous—it would be messy. But they needed him. He knew too much about Dreykov’s system, and his testimony could be key to tracking down the main lab and the location of other Widows.

Melina assisted them from her improvised lab, staying in contact with Yelena through a secure channel. She gave them directions, camera interference schedules, guard shift changes. She had redrawn the prison’s layout from memory.

“Don’t get into trouble with your father,” she had warned Yelena before they left. “Just get him out. Fast.”

Natasha drove in silence, her fingers firm on the helicopter controls, her expression composed. But when they stopped briefly to refuel at an abandoned airstrip halfway there, her phone vibrated quietly.

Detka: I miss you so much. Take care of yourself. I’m waiting for you at home.

Natasha sat still, the screen glowing on her lap.

She read the message once. Twice.

She felt something soften in her chest, a crack opening in the middle of all that ice. Her body ached from the last fight, her mind haunted by ghosts, but that phrase — I’m waiting for you at home — held her together.

Her fingers trembled a little as she typed back, something short. Sincere.

Nat<3: I miss you too. I’ll come home to you. I promise.

She put the phone away. Didn’t look at it again. But the promise was made.

The gesture was enough for Yelena to glance sideways at her and offer a faint smile, without saying a word.

The rest of the trip was silent, as if the message had lit a small flame in the middle of the brutal cold. The kind of cold that froze your lungs with every breath, even with their thermal tactical suits on.

Inside the stolen helicopter, Yelena checked Melina’s blueprints one last time. She had guided them step by step from her lab. Natasha, beside her, adjusted her harness with mechanical efficiency. They weren’t talking anymore. They had talked all the way there. Now it was time to act.

“Ready to see Dad?” asked Natasha, putting in her earpiece and forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Don’t say Dad, it’s gross,” Yelena scoffed, inserting her own earpiece to stay in contact with Melina.

Melina had managed to intercept the prison’s internal communications for a few minutes. The rest was up to them.

The helicopter descended quickly, cloaked in the snowstorm. As soon as they hit the ground, the plan was set in motion.

Controlled explosion in the east tower. Sirens. Panic.

Confusion was their ally.

Natasha and Yelena rappelled down with surgical precision, breaching the cell block just as the guards abandoned their posts. Natasha located Alexei’s cell with a few quick moves through the corridors.

“Natashka!” he exclaimed upon seeing her. “I knew you’d come for me.”

“Shut up and move, old man,” she said, unlocking the bars with a portable generator Melina had modified.

While Alexei put on his earpiece and changed into thermal gear Yelena tossed at him, the security system came back online. Distant gunshots echoed.

“There’s no time, you need to get to the roof. The helicopter will pick you up in under five minutes,” Melina’s voice announced in their earpieces.

“Was that an order?” Yelena asked while pushing her “father” toward the metal stairs.

“Of course it was! I’m the only one thinking here,” Melina snapped back.

“Darling! So nice to hear your voice again,” Alexei said cheerfully through the earpiece at the sound of his former fake wife.

Everyone heard Melina’s calm sigh. “Hello big guy, nice to hear you too.”

They ran up, dodging gunfire, and once they reached the rooftop, Natasha was the last to grab the helicopter’s cable. 

As her fingers closed around it, her teeth sank into her bottom lip, a memory flashing through her mind.

“I’m waiting for you at home.”

When they finally lifted off, Alexei was laughing uncontrollably, thrilled by the chaos. Natasha glanced at him, not even cracking a smile.

“Aren’t you happy to see me, Natashka?”

Natasha just let out a long breath, taking the helicopter controls again without saying a single word.

 

 

 

The house in the countryside seemed far too quiet for the storm that followed them everywhere. With its wide porch, overgrown garden, and crooked wooden fence, it had the charm of something forgotten… but still standing.

On the other side, a large mud puddle was full of pigs of various sizes, some roaming free, others with collars around their necks. Yelena sighed, looking at the poor animals, probably being manipulated by some incredible, impossible-to-explain technology orchestrated by her fake mother.

Inside, everything smelled of old books and dried herbs. Melina was cooking as if it were just another night, with Alexei by her side pretending to be useful and failing, and Yelena wandering through the kitchen with far too much energy for someone who had just broken a man out of prison.

There were no big arguments. No one demanded answers. It was as if they had simply come back home. After a long journey, of course.

But this place felt exactly that: like a house. And it couldn’t compare to what Natasha felt every time she stepped into that old motorhome and inhaled the air filled with Wanda’s scent. She’d see her things scattered through the rooms, her teacup forgotten on the counter practically begging to be washed, the young witch taking a shower or resting in bed or cooking, or in the back of the van tending to her plants.

That was her home. Natasha was certain of it now.

“Well, we’re finally together as a family,” Alexei said, slurping loudly from his spoon. “We have time to catch up…”

Yelena rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Oh my god, don’t start…” Natasha groaned.

“Why not?” Melina asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. We want to know how you’re doing.”

The redhead shook her head, unable to believe that out of nowhere, both “parents” wanted everything to go back to how it used to be, as if a whole lifetime hadn’t passed in between.

“You’re working with Stark now, aren’t you?” Alexei asked, his voice tinged with resentment. “And with Captain America…”

“We’re not talking about any of them, thanks,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

“Bad timing…” Yelena muttered playfully, gesturing to Melina to zip it.

Melina smiled. “Our girl escaped from that prison,” she explained to her fake husband, who raised his brows in surprise before sipping his wine. “And what about you, little one?” she asked a smiling Yelena, clearly eager for the spotlight to fall on her.

“Pretty good…” Yelena beamed with pride. “I met someone…”

Both Melina and Alexei lit up with complete joy and surprise—especially because, although they knew Yelena was the more expressive of their daughters, she could also be very private. So her decision to share this crucial moment in her life with them was genuinely touching.

“And?” Melina asked, leaning toward her. “What’s their name?”

“Kate Bishop,” Yelena replied without hesitation, her eyes sparkling. The smile grew on her face without her being able to stop it.

“American,” Alexei noted, raising an eyebrow with mock seriousness.

“Very American.” Yelena rolled her eyes. “But she’s fun. And smart. She makes me laugh like an idiot even when I’m in a bad mood.”

Melina leaned in, intrigued.

“Kate? Is she also…?”

“A fighter?” Yelena finished for her. “Sort of. She’s ridiculously good with a bow.”

Alexei smiled, already fully invested.

“Is she strong?”

“She’s… smart. And stubborn. And kind,” Yelena replied, shrugging. “I don’t know. She makes me laugh.”

Melina and Alexei asked more small questions, and Yelena answered them all with a charming mix of pride and bashfulness. But when she finished, a heavy silence settled over the room. All eyes turned to Natasha.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“Nothing to share?” Melina asked gently, more curious than insistent.

Natasha’s eyes went straight to Yelena, accusatory.

“I didn’t tell them anything, I swear!” the blonde shouted.

“So there is something to tell…” Alexei muttered, pleased.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Natasha murmured, exhausted. Her eyes, though bright, were also sad, touched with nostalgia. Her heart ached remembering Wanda.

Melina nodded gently, changing the subject without pressing, understanding Natasha wasn’t ready yet. “Alright, let me explain the plan to take down Dreykov quickly…”

Later, while Yelena and Alexei argued over which room to take, Natasha and Melina stayed in the kitchen, washing dishes in that kind of domestic silence that sometimes says more than words.

The warm water flowed gently. The plates clinked softly. Neither spoke for a while.

Until Melina, in a calm voice, said:

“Even if you don’t want to talk about it, I see a beautiful glow in your eyes,” she murmured tenderly. “I may not have given birth to you, but I know you.”

Natasha didn’t answer immediately. She just nodded slightly, her hands still moving.

“I’m doing really well,” she finally murmured, with that serene smile that always convinces everyone that everything’s under control.

Melina exhaled slowly.

“You deserve to have your heart very well cared for, sweetheart.”

That made Natasha pause for a second. She looked down at the plate in her hands, her eyes soft.

“I feel like it is,” she said. A more genuine smile appeared on her lips. “You’ll like her when you meet her.”

 

 

 

The room was small, simple, with two twin beds separated by a nightstand. The wallpaper, once floral, was now faded with time, giving the space an intimacy that felt almost too much for an ordinary night. But in that rural corner, surrounded by memories and old wounds, the silence between Natasha and Yelena carried a special weight.

Yelena sat cross-legged on her bed, hugging a pillow. Natasha lay on her back, staring at the ceiling as if she could read in the wood the things she didn’t know how to say.

“It’s been a long time since we shared a room,” Yelena murmured softly. “Makes me feel nostalgic.”

Natasha turned her head slightly toward her and smiled, just barely.

“Since before Ohio, I think.”

“Yeah,” the blonde nodded, “but even after that… in the Red Room, when they moved us from city to city, you always managed to stay close to me. I don’t know how you did it.”

“I had my ways.” Natasha smiled more openly now, with that quiet pride she only ever showed to her. “I wasn’t about to let them put you in a cell alone. You were so little…”

“You always looked after me.” Yelena looked down tenderly. “You gave me your coat in winter, your share of the bread when we were forced to fast. You hid me when they did the pain tests. Do you remember that?”

“Of course I remember.” Natasha sighed. “Every time I saw you trembling, it felt like something inside me broke.”

Yelena smiled, sadly. “No one ever took care of me the way you did. Not even Mom. Not even Melina, though she tries.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if those words struck deep, or as if she didn’t feel entirely worthy of them.

“I needed you too, Lena,” she finally murmured. “You reminded me I was still human.”

Silence fell again, warmer this time. Shared. Filled with memories that hurt but also comforted.

After a few seconds, Natasha took a deep breath, that small tell she had whenever she was about to say something very personal.

“I miss her so much,” she said softly. “More than I thought I would.”

Yelena didn’t need to ask who she meant. She just nodded, understanding.

“I miss Kate too.”

The silence between them had stretched long enough to settle. The kind that comes after the important things have been said, leaving the rest to float.

But then Natasha spoke again, low.

“When did you know?”

Yelena lifted her gaze from the pillow to look at her sister.

“Know what?”

“That you loved her.”

For a second, Yelena didn’t answer. She furrowed her brow—not in confusion, but in thought. Then, with a slow sigh, she leaned back against the headboard, speaking quietly.

“I don’t think there was a specific day,” she said. “It wasn’t like I woke up and suddenly realized everything.”

She glanced sideways at Natasha.

“It’s every day. Every time she does something that makes me want to scream and kiss her at the same time. Every time she looks at me like I’m not broken, or dangerous, or impossible.”

She paused, then added with a small shrug,

“I realize it more every day. How in love I am. How much I love her.”

Natasha didn’t reply right away. She stayed still, eyes on the ceiling, jaw tight.

Yelena watched her for a moment longer.

“Why do you ask?”

Natasha swallowed. Her voice was soft when she answered:

“Because I think I’m already there.”

Yelena didn’t tease her or smirk like she sometimes would. She just nodded, her eyes gentle. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

Natasha exhaled through her nose. “A little.”

“Good,” Yelena said softly. “That means it’s real.”

They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to.

Then Natasha’s phone buzzed, like magic.

She was starting to believe that her life now was the most magical of all—and it surprised her just how much she liked that.

 

Detka: I don’t want to bother you, but I want you to know I’m always thinking of you. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’ll see you soon. 

 

Nat<3: I hate being so far from you. I’m okay. I hope you are too. I can’t wait to see you again, detka. 

 

Detka: I’m okay, but I’ll be better when you’re back in my arms :( 

 

Nat<3: There’s nowhere I’d rather come back to <3 

 

 

 

Wanda’s heart pounded wildly after receiving those messages from the Widow. It had been three days since Natasha left home, and the witch truly couldn’t wait for this torture to end.

Loneliness becomes unbearably overwhelming when part of your heart might be putting their life in danger in a completely heroic act.

And yet, Wanda can’t help but think she’s tired of this world of merit, heroes, villains, and missions. She can’t help but feel like it’s all meaningless. That she doesn’t belong. That she’s made of something more human; that she wants a home, she wants her love, she even wants a family.

She wonders if Natasha wants the same.

Or maybe the Widow needs to live in this world, redeeming herself for her crimes, for all those flaws she’s mentioned before.

Wanda can’t help but dream that it’s not like that. Dream that Natasha wants this peaceful, loving life by her side too—a life like two teenagers getting to know each other and falling in love, but also like a settled marriage, with chores to take care of.

A home, a family, a dog.
Or a cat, if Nat is more of a cat person.

But God, it’s far too soon to be thinking like this.

The young Sokovian hasn’t slept well in the past three nights. Her eyes carry heavy dark circles beneath them, her gaze is tired, her eyelids swollen from so much crying. Because, for the first time in her life, she’s experiencing the fear of losing it all.

She’s had everything taken from her before—her family, her brother.

But this time, she knows it’s a possibility. She’s aware that Natasha might be in danger. And just thinking about it makes her stomach turn.

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t tried to reach her with her mind, to find her somewhere in Central Europe, to see her whole, healthy, safe. But she couldn’t.

And she mentally scolded herself for not being able to.

That’s why the messages.

Even if she feels a bit too intense—maybe even annoying.

But each of Natasha’s replies feels like a kiss on her forehead, like her arms wrapped around her at night, keeping her body warm against hers, fighting off the cold of the Norwegian nights with cuddles and blankets.

Wanda had gone for a walk through the village each afternoon Natasha had been gone. Her body naturally made its way to the bookstore, as if it were her refuge in the middle of this stormy reality, smiling when she heard the bell ring and the elderly owner—whose voice she’s never actually heard—smiling at her tenderly.

“Where’s your girlfriend? Did you two fight?”

Wanda was surprised by the question, quickly shaking her head, a laugh slipping from her lips.

“She’s away for a few days for work,” she answered softly, trusting her voice not to betray all her fears for her—well, not girlfriend, but…

“Oh, well, she’ll come back…” the woman murmured sweetly, “I bet she’ll even bring you a lovely gift.”

Wanda nodded, biting her lower lip, sinking a little into her scarf, which still smelled like the redhead.

“She better.”

 

 

 

That night, Natasha dreams of many things at once.

She dreams of her childhood, remembering those moments filled with love and tenderness with her sister—even if they were false. The truth is, since they were so little and couldn’t yet understand they were on a mission, they had lived that childhood fully. Full of love for each other.

She also dreams of —perhaps— the heaviest weight she has carried since that night in Budapest, when she blew up nearly an entire building, ending the life of the daughter of the man behind all of this. Dreykov.

Antonia was just a little girl.

And Natasha needed her to lead her to her father. She remembers seeing her so small, in her school uniform, running into her father’s arms…

And then the building exploding into pieces.

But the dream doesn’t end there.

It ends with red lights glowing all around her. She feels a heat in her chest that’s impossible to describe in words; not overwhelming, but intense enough to make her wonder if her skin is burning down to raw flesh.

But then, there are those green eyes that ease every pain. There are those warm hands that caress her face. Those pink lips that kiss hers with such sweetness it makes her melt.

And Natasha feels like she’s drowning.

Because she wants to cry, she wants to touch her, to hold her. But she can’t.

She wants to be wrapped in those arms, protected, embraced. She wants to hear those lovely lips say,

“It’s okay, love. Everything’s alright.”

But she can’t.

And then, the sky breaks open.

An explosion shakes the building, a deafening sound yanks her out of the dream like someone tearing her from Wanda’s arms. Natasha opens her eyes. There’s no more warmth or comfort. Only smoke, fire, and shouting through the comms.

There’s no physical pain that compares to the open wound she feels in her chest. She knows this time it’s real. She knows that taking down Dreykov is no longer a mission she needs to complete to earn anyone’s trust, like that first time. Now, the mission to end Dreykov is as much a part of her as her own flesh.

It’s a debt owed to her soul.

To those she once promised to save but never could.

She runs through the metal hallways as if each step could burn her skin. Behind her, Yelena carries the last explosive charge with unwavering determination, while Melina gives terse instructions from the central system. Everything is chaos and urgency.

Girls—women utterly manipulated—try to stop her. With the same cold-blooded precision she once used to kill anyone this man ordered her to. Her heart tightens with every blow she throws in self-defense.

Truth is, Natasha doesn’t want to hurt them.
But they do want to hurt her.

She counts to three, to ten, to fifty—whatever it takes—until Yelena finally appears behind her, throwing a dispersal bomb and releasing the Red Dust above their heads.

Natasha exhales in relief as she watches the women begin to return to themselves—to their own bodies, their own actions, their own decisions.

“Go get him. I’ll cover you,” her sister murmurs.

Natasha runs with the power of a panther. Explosions erupt behind her with every step, as she dodges debris, doors, pipes—anything that might injure her. In that moment, she listens to her own mind and realizes she’s only thinking about one thing: ending this, once and for all.

Deep down, she knows this is the mission of her life—the summit nothing else could ever reach.
Because of what’s at stake. Because of what it means.

To her right, she catches sight of Alexei, fighting Dreykov’s guards. Without hesitation, she turns that way, bursts into the office—
And finds the man just as vile as she remembered.

Dreykov smirked.
“Oh, look who’s here…” the man muttered. “The rebel of the family.”

Surrounded by screens, controls, arrogance. By that disgusting stench of his that stops her in her tracks, that blocks her like an invisible damn gate.
She can’t hurt him—not yet. She knows that. Melina had warned her.

“You’re just like I remembered…” the redhead murmured in her raspy voice, locking eyes with him.

“And you haven’t changed much either,” the man replied, adjusting the large ring on his hand. “Except for a few things I’ve recently learned…”

Natasha stared at him with those green eyes. Her face didn’t move a fraction, refusing to let those words settle into her body.

“Have you already forgotten everything you learned here?” he asked in that sickening voice that made her nauseous. “You have weaknesses, Natalia…”

It made Natasha’s stomach twist. Her jaw clenched. Because it was true. She did have weaknesses now—more than she’d ever allowed herself to admit. Her family. Her friends. Her sister. And Wanda.

Especially Wanda.

But what stung the most wasn’t just the truth—it was the intent behind those words. He knew. He always knew. And if he said it, it was because he’d already measured them, catalogued them, understood exactly how to use them against her.

For the first time in her life, Natasha Romanoff felt a cold, cutting shiver that wasn’t born from violence or adrenaline.

It was fear.

Fear of losing someone she couldn’t live without.

She breathed in slowly, fury simmering just beneath her skin. “They’re not weaknesses,” she muttered through her teeth, voice low and shaking, “they’re reasons to keep living.”

With a sharp inhale and a brutal movement, she slammed her head against the metal console. The sound of her own nose breaking filled her ears with a sickening crack. Hot blood ran down her lips, and for a moment the world blurred—but now she couldn’t smell him anymore.

She could finally touch him.

What followed was rage unleashed.

She threw him down, fast and without hesitation. Her fists moved on instinct, relentless. She looked into his eyes one last time, and with a breath that felt like it came from the pit of her soul—she ended it.

She killed him.

Really, truly, finally killed him.

And with him, she killed that chapter of her life. The manipulation. The humiliation. The control. The pain. The systemic, calculated torment of not just her, but thousands of women.

The blood on her hands this time—she would carry it differently. Because this one… this one mattered.

Yelena was there, just in time, grabbing her hand and pulling her up from the floor. They ran. No hesitation. No fear of the explosion looming behind them. They had done this before. Too many times. But this time it wasn’t about survival.

It was about freedom.

They jumped. The blast followed, roaring like a beast behind them. And when the sky caught fire, it was by their hands.

The Red Room burned.

And with it, the man who haunted them all.

Natasha fell through the air, lungs burning, ears ringing, every part of her aching. But when she opened her eyes—she was alive.

Yelena was alive.

Her heartbeat calmed, just enough to let her look around. And then—there she was. Antonia. Among the debris, bloody, shaking… but breathing.

The antidote was working.

For the first time, Antonia looked at her with clarity. With humanity.

Natasha moved toward her, reaching out a hand. Antonia took it with surprising strength, and in that moment, something shifted. Their eyes met, both brimming with tears, and Natasha’s voice came out soft and raw.

“It’s over,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You’re free now.”

Antonia pulled her into a tight embrace, clinging to her like a lifeline.

Who would’ve thought the woman she was sent to kill would be the one to save her?

Around them, the Widows gathered—some crying, some in shock, all trembling. They were free now. But freedom, Natasha knew, was only the beginning.

“Don’t stop,” one of them said, almost begging. “Please don’t forget the others.”

And Natasha, battered and bleeding, with her heart bruised and wide open, only had one thought pounding in her chest.

I want to go home.

Back to her.

Notes:

OKAY okay okay, we’re diving into Black Widow now (in case you hadn’t noticed lol) mmmm, yes!
Sorry if it feels a little weird —if the chapter as a whole is a bit different from what you’re used to with me hahaha please understand this is my first time writing action, and I didn’t want to lose the emotional and intense thread of their relationship...

of course I used the movie as inspiration (I used an 11-hour flight to re-watch it and take notes, little details, possible emotions… hopefully I got some things right) and I made A LOT of changes to help me shape the plot a bit —so yeah, I don’t know haha I’m a little insecure about how it turned out, but I wanted it to be as close as possible to the actual Marvel timeline

I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for the kudos, the comments, and all the sweet messages on twitter —I love reading everything you send 🥰

For my emotionally intense babes... you are not ready for the upcoming chapters 👀

Chapter 22: Coming back home –to you.

Summary:

And that’s when she saw her.

Not just her silhouette, not just the outline curled beside her—but her.

Her eyes widened, her heart suddenly clenching with a deep, cold ache. Her brows drew together in concern as her gaze traced every inch of the woman before her.

Notes:

TW: PTSD.

The early morning is thick, humid, barely lit by the faint light of the moon slipping through the tiny windows of the motorhome. Natasha opened the door gently, with the same caution one uses to disarm a bomb still trembling in their hands. Her boots landed on the wood with a dull creak. Her body aches. Her soul, even more.

The shadows wrapped around her like a coarse blanket. Everything was silent, except for the low hum of the fridge and the steady breathing coming from the back. But before going any further, something on the table caught her eye.

A clear container of food, waiting for her. Beside it, a handwritten note, in Wanda’s unmistakable script:

“Heat it up. I missed you so much 🩷”

Natasha smiled, though her eyes stung without warning. She brushed her fingers over the note, as if she could touch her through that little scrap of paper. She isn’t hungry. Not now. She put the container in the fridge, closed the door without a sound. Her body wants only one thing.

Her.

She crossed the narrow hallway of the motorhome and carefully pushed open the bedroom door. There was Wanda—

Asleep on her side, tangled in the sheet, wearing one of her shirts. The hem barely reached her thighs, one leg peeking out, dark hair messy on the pillow. Clutching Natasha’s pillow tightly. As if it were the only thing keeping her standing while she was gone.

The sight knocked the air from her lungs.

Natasha shed the tactical suit slowly. Each piece dropped with a sigh, trailing the marks of battle behind. She slid into bed with controlled motion, as if afraid to break the fragile stillness of the moment. Her body sought Wanda’s warmth, her forehead pressed gently to her back, her arm wrapping around the waist she never wanted to let go of again.

And then, as if the touch woke her from somewhere deep, Wanda whispered in a hoarse voice:

“Natasha…?”

It wasn’t a real question. She knew it was her.

In the natural scent that always ended up mingled with jasmine.

In the tense, contained energy only Natasha radiated.

In the way her body fit behind hers, like it was made for it.

In the hand resting on her waist, like it belonged there.

Like she belonged to her.

“It’s me, detka,” Natasha whispered, throat tight. “I missed you so much.”

Wanda turned over slowly, as if waking from a dream she wasn’t ready to leave. Her hand reached instinctively, her eyes adjusting to the low light, searching for Natasha’s face in the dim golden haze from the lamp. Her gaze, still heavy with sleep, sparkled faintly—relief blooming quietly in her expression.

“I missed you too, my love,” she murmured, voice raw, warm like a sigh against the silence.

Her fingers brushed Natasha’s cheek with a tenderness that felt like silk—slow, reverent, careful—as if afraid she might vanish. And Natasha, caught off guard by that simple touch, closed her eyes, allowing the tears to fall at last, silent and unstoppable.

“Detka…” the witch whispered, her voice fraying at the edges, thick with love and sorrow. She leaned in, gently pressing her lips to the damp trails on Natasha’s cheeks, her kiss soft and aching. Natasha let herself melt into it, exhaling the pain she’d held inside for too long. Her lips found Wanda’s palm, still cupping her face, and kissed it tenderly—grateful, desperate, full of everything she didn’t know how to say.

It’s over now, love. Everything’s okay.

They were here. Together. Still breathing. Still holding on.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked, barely louder than a breath, leaning toward the bedside table. Her hand fumbled for the switch, and a warm light spread through the room, painting everything in soft amber.

And that’s when she saw her.

Not just her silhouette, not just the outline curled beside her—but her.

Her eyes widened, her heart suddenly clenching with a deep, cold ache. Her brows drew together in concern as her gaze traced every inch of the woman before her.

“Nat…” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Your nose…”

She leaned in closer. It was swollen. Discolored. Clearly broken.

But it didn’t end there. Her eyes followed the bruises that crept like dark petals down her jawline. Faint cuts still marked her skin—on her ribs, her arms. A dried trail of blood stained the delicate skin along her neck. Every mark told a story of violence, of survival. Of how much she’d had to endure before she could come back.

Wanda’s body went rigid. Her breath caught.

“What did they do to you?” she murmured, barely able to speak, her throat thick with fear and rage.

But Natasha shook her head slowly, bringing her hand to Wanda’s hip, stroking it with aching gentleness, trying to ground them both.

“Shh… I’m okay. It’s nothing, baby. I just…” She swallowed hard, her voice softer now. “I just need to be like this. With you.”

As she spoke, her hand moved under the shirt Wanda was wearing—one of her own—lifting the fabric with deliberate slowness, as if asking permission without words. Her fingers didn’t seek passion. They sought shelter. Warmth. The quiet sanctuary she could only find in Wanda’s skin.

She didn’t want desire. She didn’t want fire.

She just wanted her.

But the moment their bodies touched fully—when the bruised lines of Natasha’s abdomen brushed against the soft curve of Wanda’s belly—something inside Wanda stirred. Something primal, tender, ancient.

Without hesitation, she cupped Natasha’s cheek again, this time with both hands, holding her as if afraid she might fall apart. Her lips touched her forehead with reverence. Then her temple. Then her jaw. Every place where pain lingered, she kissed—softly, slowly, as if to rewrite each wound with tenderness.

And in those kisses, something shifted.

Like a gentle tide rising between them, warm and steady, a quiet energy began to hum beneath Wanda’s skin. She didn’t summon it. She didn’t even mean to. But her magic responded to the moment, flowing out of her like breath, like instinct. As if her body, her powers, had also missed Natasha beyond words.

And Natasha felt it. Not just the heat of it, but the feeling inside it.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t question it.

She simply stayed there—still, quiet, open—letting Wanda pour herself into her, letting the pain unravel in the silence, letting the love settle deep into her bones.

Letting herself be held. Letting herself be healed.

“Wanda…” Natasha murmured, barely more than a breath.

The witch pulled back just enough to see her face, her brow furrowed, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“You know your nose is my weakness,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of pain and a strangely sweet kind of anger. “How could you come back to me like this?”

Natasha gave her a crooked smile—half teasing, half guilty. Her lips, still stained with dried blood, curled faintly.

“That’s why I didn’t want you looking at me too much… I knew you’d be mad.”

Wanda touched her face again, this time with more pressure, as if trying to memorize every angle with her fingertips, as if trying to press her whole being into the gesture.

“I get mad because I care about you, baby.”

“Then keep getting mad,” Natasha whispered, leaning forward to rest her forehead gently against Wanda’s. “I promise I’ll fix it.”

Wanda shook her head, but her voice had already broken somewhere inside her, tangled in her throat. Instead, she pulled Natasha into her arms, holding her tight, fiercely, as if she could fuse her bones back together, piece her soul back into one.

Natasha let out a long, deep breath, heavy with exhaustion and something like peace. Her body softened against Wanda’s, and for the first time in days, her pain seemed to loosen its grip.

And that’s how they stayed—wrapped in silence, in sorrow, in love. Wounded and still healing. But together. Mended not with magic or medicine, but with something deeper.

The night passed slowly, blanketed in a thick stillness, broken only by the steady rhythm of their breathing. Sometimes, Natasha stirred in her sleep—small, involuntary flinches, like shadows passing through her mind. And each time, Wanda, still hovering in that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, would tighten her embrace around her, as if her arms could chase the darkness away.

As dawn crept in, a cold breeze slipped through a window left slightly ajar. It brushed over Natasha’s skin, making her shiver. Wanda stirred immediately, eyes still heavy with sleep, but her heart suddenly awake and alert.

She shifted onto her side, pulling the blanket higher and studying Natasha’s face in the early light. Some of the marks had faded. Her skin, though still bruised, looked softer, clearer. Time had begun its quiet work—and Wanda’s magic, too, had done what it could, weaving itself into the night like a silent lullaby.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked softly, her voice hushed in the quiet morning air.

Natasha’s eyes opened slowly, dazed for a second as she remembered where she was. Then she gave a faint nod.

“Just a little,” she rasped, her voice rough from sleep and everything that had come before it.

Wanda’s brow furrowed again, deeper this time, her jaw tightening with quiet fury.

“Who did this to you?” she asked, her voice like a thread of silk woven through steel as her eyes flashed red. “I’ll kill them.”

Natasha let out a quiet laugh, the sound small and cracked, the kind that tugged at her ribs with pain—but somehow, it eased something too.

Wanda reached out gently, brushing the tip of Natasha’s nose with her fingertips. It was straighter now, healing, but still tender.

“Do you know how much it hurts me to see you like this?” she whispered.

“I do,” Natasha murmured.

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I am okay. Like this. With you.”

Wanda looked at her without replying, her expression unreadable. Natasha lowered her gaze and gave a small shrug, searching for her hand. When she found it, she held it tightly, grounding herself in the warmth of her touch.

“It’s over now, love,” she whispered, raising Wanda’s hand to her lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s all okay.”

Wanda felt her throat close around a sob, tears welling up and blurring her vision. She reached out again, letting her fingers glide along Natasha’s jawline, feather-light, tracing every detail with reverence, like the brush of a breeze.

“Is it really over?” she asked softly.

Natasha looked up at her and nodded slowly. She didn’t smile.

“I promise I won’t leave again,” she murmured, her voice a thin thread of sincerity. “At least… not so far. Not for so long.” She tried to inject a hint of humor, but Wanda only shook her head.

“Do you really promise?” Wanda asked, her voice small—like a child daring to hope.

The question hung in the air, delicate and aching. Natasha didn’t answer right away. Her eyes wandered—up to the ceiling, across the quiet room, and finally back to Wanda, to the warm press of her body so close to her own. She sighed, like something in her chest gave way. Then, she whispered: 

“I love you.”

The words landed with weight, with truth, with a gentleness that broke Wanda open. Her eyes filled again, and this time the tears slipped freely down her cheeks. Natasha pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her, letting Wanda curl into her side. She could feel her shaking, could feel the wetness of her tears against her skin.

“I love you so much, detka,” she whispered again, letting her hand wander gently over Wanda’s back, slow and steady, as if to reassure her that she was there, that she was staying.

Wanda lifted her head slightly, searching for Natasha’s eyes—those soft green eyes that held her so carefully, so completely.

“Natasha…”

The redhead gave her a tender smile.

“Do you remember when you made me relive my worst nightmare?” she asked, a spark of dry amusement in her voice at the memory of their first encounter. Wanda blushed and nodded, clearly still embarrassed.

“I’m sorry about that,” she murmured.

Natasha shook her head, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s damp cheek, wiping away what was left of the tears.

“I was out there, fighting to put that part of my life behind me. Fighting to bury that nightmare as deep as I could, knowing it would always be there, waiting.” Her voice was calm, almost distant, as she leaned her head back against the bedframe.

“And the only thing I could think about… was coming back here.”

Wanda exhaled softly at the confession.

“I just wanted to be here with you. For you to hold me. To take care of me the way you always do.”

“I wanted you to come back to me too…” Wanda whispered tenderly, her lips forming a soft pout that Natasha traced gently with her thumb.

“But then I’d wonder… what if I don’t deserve her?”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Wanda said, her voice firmer than expected. “No one ever taught us how to deserve. Only how to survive.”

Natasha closed her eyes. She wrapped her arm around Wanda—numb, aching, but still reaching. Still holding on. Her soul felt frayed, worn thin… and yet, somehow lighter now.

“Thank you for the Tupperware,” she murmured suddenly, almost sheepishly.

Wanda laughed softly against her chest.

“Every night, I left a container of whatever I’d eaten that day… just in case you came back.”

Natasha felt something in her heart jolt—sharp, tender, overwhelming. It wasn’t pain. It was something deeper. Something more alive.

Wanda felt it too—the sudden, strong thump of Natasha’s heartbeat beneath her cheek. Wordlessly, she leaned in and pressed a kiss right there, right where her heart lived and spoke and trembled.

“I love you too,”

She said it as if it needed saying.

As if all the tenderness she had shown—every waiting moment, every careful touch, every sweet kiss—hadn’t already screamed it loud and clear.

As if Natasha didn’t already know.

 

Later, with the soft clinking of dishes and the scent of coffee floating in the air, Wanda leaned her elbows on the little kitchen counter, chin propped in her hand, watching Natasha with a fondness that was hard to hide.

Natasha’s hair was still damp from the quick shower she’d taken. She wore one of Wanda’s sweaters —because it was full of her perfume— and the sleeves were just slightly too long. Her nose was healing, and there was a faint purplish bruise blooming across her cheek, but she looked peaceful for once, quietly sipping her coffee while seated cross-legged on the seat. Wanda moved to sit next to her.

She smiled. “So,” she said softly, caressing Natasha’s cheek with her hand. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What if I want you to guess?”

Wanda pretended to think. “Let’s see… judging by the bruises and the fact that you almost collapsed on top of me last night, I’m going to guess it wasn’t a spa retreat.”

“You’d be surprised,” Natasha said, smirking. “There was exfoliation involved. Mostly from crashing through glass.”

Wanda snorted. “You’re impossible.” She paused, her gaze softening. “Seriously, though. Tell me.”

Natasha leaned back slightly, her fingers tightening a bit around her mug. Her expression shifted —still teasing, still calm— but there was something else now. Something quieter.

“It’s done,” she said after a beat. “The Red Room. Dreykov. All of it. It’s gone.”

Wanda stared at her. “Gone?”

Natasha nodded. “Yelena and I… we blew the whole place to hell. Freed the remaining widows. Got them out.”

Without thinking, Wanda reached for her hand. “You did it.”

For a second, Natasha just stared at their joined hands. Her thumb moved slowly over Wanda’s knuckles, but her jaw tightened, just slightly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to say that,” she said, her voice rougher now. “I thought… there’d always be something left. Some room, some file, some girl still being trained.”

“But there’s not.” Wanda’s voice was steady. “You ended it.”

Natasha let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She looked away, eyes distant for a moment —then looked back at Wanda with something too raw to be hidden.

“I wish I could’ve done it sooner,” she admitted.

“You did it now,” Wanda said. Her thumb pressed gently against Natasha’s. “And you saved them.”

Natasha looked at her. Really looked.

Then she huffed a quiet laugh. “This girl I know,” she said, leaning closer, her voice dropping to something low and teasing again, “she keeps looking at me like I hung the moon.”

“Maybe you did,” Wanda replied with a small smile. “Or maybe she’s just in love with a hero.”

Natasha leaned in, brushing her nose gently against Wanda’s.

“You’re definitely in love with someone who’s bad at taking compliments.”

Wanda grinned. “Lucky for you, I’m very persistent.”

Natasha let herself laugh, really laugh — and then rested her forehead against Wanda’s shoulder, letting the moment wrap around them like sunlight.

 

 

Later that evening, Natasha disappeared into the bedroom. Wanda, still curled up on the sofa in her oversized hoodie —one of Natasha’s again— watched with curiosity.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice still husky with sleep.

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She made a dramatic show of rummaging around, muttering a quiet, “Where the hell did I put—aha.”

She pulled something small from the depths of her pack and turned around, hiding it behind her back with a faint smirk.

“Close your eyes.”

Wanda arched a brow but obeyed, amused. “If this is a trick, I swear—”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Natasha said innocently.

There was a pause, and then Wanda felt something soft and warm slip around her neck —a necklace. The fabric was braided, gold with a tiny red and black pendant, delicate but clearly handmade.

“Okay,” Nat said softly. “You can open them.”

Wanda blinked her eyes open. She looked down at her chest, brows furrowing —then her lips parted slightly. “It’s beautiful.”

“I got it from a market in Budapest,” Natasha said. Her voice had lost its teasing edge. “There was this little stand tucked in the corner. It reminded me of something Yelena would drag me to, but… I don’t know. I saw this and thought of you.”

Wanda ran her fingers over the threads, then looked up at her.

“It’s the color of your suit,” she murmured. “And red. Is that me?”

Nat shrugged one shoulder, avoiding her gaze. “Maybe.”

Wanda tilted her head, her smile growing slow and radiant. She tugged Natasha forward gently by the front of her sweater until she was standing between her legs, and pressed her lips against her stomach, just above the waistband of her sweatpants. Then she leaned her cheek there, arms wrapped around Natasha’s waist.

“Thank you,” she said. “I love it.”

Natasha let her hand rest on the back of Wanda’s head, fingers grazing brown strands of hair. “I wanted to bring you something. Something that meant…” she faltered.

“That you thought of me?” Wanda offered, smiling into the soft fabric.

Natasha's voice was quieter now. “That I missed you.”

Wanda stayed like that for a few seconds longer, arms wrapped tight around Natasha’s waist, her cheek pressed softly to her belly. Then she pulled back just enough to look up at her.

“I missed you too,” she whispered. “So much, detka.”

Natasha's breath caught slightly at the sound of it —the honesty in Wanda’s voice, the way her eyes were shimmering with emotion and certainty. She opened her mouth to say something, but Wanda was already tugging her gently down.

“Sit with me,” Wanda murmured, pulling Natasha to straddle her lap.

Natasha obeyed, a small, amused exhale escaping her. “You really like doing this,” she teased, settling in. But there was no edge to it. She was already leaning into Wanda’s warmth, her weight relaxing as soon as their bodies pressed close.

“I do,” Wanda said simply. Her hands cupped Natasha’s thighs, grounding her, before slipping up to her hips, her sides. “I like feeling you close. I like holding you like this.”

She leaned up and kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative or careful. It was deep and languid, slow at first, but full of a hunger that had built quietly, relentlessly, in the time they’d been apart. Wanda poured into the kiss everything she hadn’t said in words —how much she’d worried, how she’d counted the days, how just having Natasha back and safe made her feel like she could finally breathe again.

Natasha melted into it with a soft gasp, her fingers curling around the back of Wanda’s neck, anchoring herself there. Her body pressed forward, chasing the kiss, chasing that quiet fire Wanda always sparked in her —even with a single touch.

Wanda broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, her lips brushing against Natasha’s. “Don’t go so long without me again,” she murmured.

“Never,” Natasha promised, her voice rough with emotion.

Another kiss —deeper, more possessive— as if Wanda was trying to memorize every contour of her mouth, every response she drew out. Natasha whimpered into it, letting herself be held, adored, needed.

And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like a weapon.

She felt like she belonged.

The kiss lingered, deepening and softening in waves, until Wanda gently leaned back, letting her hands slide down Natasha’s back. Their bodies fit together perfectly —her thighs straddling Wanda, her bruised skin aching, but her heart suddenly soft and exposed.

“Let me take care of you,” Wanda whispered, hands moving up Natasha’s sides, under the hem of her shirt, lifting it slowly.

Natasha’s breath hitched. She nodded.

Wanda took her time undressing her, lifting Natasha’s shirt and sweater inch by inch, not just to remove them, but to feel every part of her they uncovered. Her hands smoothed over skin she already knew by heart —the curve of Natasha’s waist, the faintest trace of a bruise near her ribs, the flutter of her breath.

When the shirt was gone, Wanda kissed along her sternum, murmuring something soft in Sokovian that made Natasha shiver. Not from cold —never from cold— but from the warmth of being seen. Known.

“Lean back,” Wanda whispered, guiding Natasha to rest against the cushions. She followed her down, pressing slow kisses across her collarbone, her shoulders, every bit of skin she could reach as if mapping her return.

“Detka…” Natasha’s voice cracked slightly, her hands moving to Wanda’s waist as if anchoring herself there. She was already flushed, her breath coming faster, her body arching instinctively —open, trusting.

Wanda kissed down her neck, tongue flicking softly along the curve of her throat, then lower, over her collarbone, to the swell of her breasts. She took her time, her lips parting over one nipple, teasing it gently with her tongue until Natasha whimpered beneath her, hips twitching just enough to betray how much she needed this.

Every response was like music —not loud, not desperate, but deep and honest and soft. Wanda wanted to savor every note.

She undressed the rest of her, and then herself, until nothing but bare skin remained between them. Their bodies aligned perfectly —Natasha’s thighs parting to cradle Wanda, their chests pressed together, their skin flushing with shared heat.

With the neediness of feeling themselves close. 

Wanda's hand moved down, slow and purposeful, gliding over Natasha’s stomach, pausing just long enough to draw a shiver before slipping between her legs.

Natasha gasped, her head tilting back, exposing her throat, her body arching into the touch like it had a will of its own. Wanda kissed the underside of her jaw as her fingers moved in soft, measured circles against her clit, never too fast —she wanted this to last. Wanted to give Natasha the time to feel every ounce of care she poured into each motion.

“You’re so soft here,” Wanda whispered, brushing her mouth against Natasha’s ear. “So warm…”

Natasha bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut, her legs tightening around Wanda’s waist. “Please…”

Wanda kissed her again, swallowing her soft pleas as her fingers slid through her folds, gathering her sweetness before slipping inside —so easily that Natasha moaned quietly into her mouth. She moved with rhythm —slow and deep— watching every flicker of emotion on Natasha’s face.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Wanda whispered, her voice warm against her lips, thumb circling her small bundle of nerves with careful, reverent strokes. “You look so pretty like this, I won’t ever let you go.”

Natasha’s breath came faster, shallow and trembling, her forehead pressed against Wanda’s, eyes fluttering open just long enough to meet hers. There was awe in her expression —raw, wordless awe— as if she couldn’t believe she was being touched like this. Loved like this. She clung to Wanda, her fingers digging into her butt, her hips rocking helplessly in time with every tender thrust.

Wanda held her steady, grounding her, her free hand pressing Natasha's stomach with gentle firmness. “I love seeing you like this,” she murmured, her lips brushing her cheek, the line of her jaw. “So sensitive, so wet.”

A broken sound left Natasha’s throat, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Her body was starting to come apart, but she didn’t want to let go of Wanda’s eyes, didn’t want to miss the way she was being seen —not like a weapon, not like a ghost from the past, but as something soft, precious, held.

Wanda’s pace never faltered — patient and deep — her fingers curling just right, drawing out the pleasure like she had all the time in the world. Her thumb gave way to the soft pressure of her palm, pumping deliciously against the Widow’s clit, coaxing moans from Natasha’s throat that rose higher, sharper, as her body climbed toward the edge.

“Detka,” Natasha whimpered, burying her face in Wanda’s neck. “God, I—”

Wanda pressed her hand a little harder, moved her fingers just right, and Natasha’s hips bucked —rubbing against her palm, a high, helpless sound escaping her throat.

“Oh god—Wanda—please—”

“I’ve got you, my love,” Wanda promised, her voice thick with devotion, forehead pressed to Natasha’s as she increased her pace, fucking the woman she loved with sweetness. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

And Natasha did —trembling beneath her with a soft cry, eyes squeezing shut as her release overtook her. Wanda kissed her through it, slowing her movements but not stopping, guiding her gently down, whispering soft praises as Natasha clung to her —squeezed her, her breath stuttering, her body twitching with aftershocks.

When Natasha finally caught her breath, her cheeks were damp with sweat, her lashes still fluttering, and Wanda couldn’t help but kiss her again —slow and sweet and full of love.

“Hi,” Natasha breathed, a little dazed, smiling like she’d just been spun through a dream.

Wanda laughed softly, brushing her hair back from her face. “Hi,” she replied, just as gently.

Then her fingers slipped out of the Widow’s body, making Natasha shiver with the aftershock. “Are you okay, baby?” Wanda asked lovingly.

Natasha’s face glowed unmistakably. Her eyes were soft, crinkled at the corners like someone who needed days of rest —yet they held a full, quiet happiness. A kind of peace that felt almost impossible. Her breathing was deep, steady, still settling after her orgasm.

But she nodded with a smile, her hands caressing Wanda’s sides so tenderly that the witch felt her own body tremble.

“I’m more than okay,” Natasha murmured. “Give me a few seconds… and I’ll return the favor.”

But Wanda shook her head, leaning back just enough to reach for the blanket they always kept tucked beside the sofa for reading afternoons or movie nights. Gently, she lay down on top of Natasha’s body and covered them both with the blanket.

After pressing a few soft kisses to her neck, she whispered, “I don’t want you to give me anything back. I just want you to let me take care of you.”

 

 

The day didn’t ask for much more than this.

In truth, Natasha didn’t need anything else but to lie around all day with the woman she loved. As if her body needed this specific source of energy to recover from the mission —Wanda’s warmth.

And Wanda, for her part, needed that same source of energy to recover from the days spent with fear and worry constantly running through her body —the fear that something might happen to the woman she loved.

They both needed a day like this.
Curled up together.

Simply listening to each other’s breathing.
Exchanging soft words that faded quickly because the sleep weighing down on them was impossible to fight.

So they surrendered to the arms of Morpheus —while being held in the arms of their love.

"I told Melina about you…" Natasha murmured, half-asleep, half-awake, when she felt Wanda shift against her body, trying to find a more comfortable position on the couch.

The redhead smiled and adjusted their positions, letting Wanda lie back against the couch while she draped herself on top of the witch.

Maybe —just maybe— her favorite position.

Wanda sighed the moment her back met the cushions and her chest pressed against Natasha’s. “Oh yeah?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha nodded, resting her chin on Wanda’s chest to meet her eyes. “I’d like you to meet them.”

“Your parents?” Wanda asked with a touch of amusement.

The Widow rolled her eyes but nodded again, a little sheepish.

“Yelena’s been telling them about Kate, so I’m sure she’s planning a dinner with them…” she added softly.

Wanda smiled, brushing her fingers over Natasha’s tired face. Her fingertips played with a few stray red strands before tucking them gently behind her ear.

“How will you introduce me?” Wanda asked playfully. “As your…?”

“As my…” Natasha started, nodding. But then let out a long sigh. “One step at a time, detka .”

Wanda nodded, her other hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on Natasha’s bare back. “Besides, I want to be the one to ask you,” she added sweetly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment —but her tone sure and steady.

Natasha laughed out loud, her fingers toying with the little pendant hanging from Wanda’s neck.

After a quiet moment —while she got lost between the charm she’d given Wanda and a few freckles scattered across the Sokovian’s chest— she asked:

“Did you do much reading?”

Wanda nodded, a little shy at her answer. “It was the only thing that helped me not think about you,” she confessed softly.

“What else did you do?” Natasha asked, genuinely curious, her eyes locked on Wanda’s. “Tell me about your week.”

Wanda furrowed her brows, trying to recall the last few days.

“I walked around the village a lot,” she said. “I went to the bookstore —the lady there asked if we had fought…” she recalled with a laugh, making Natasha laugh too. “She said you were probably going to bring me a gift. I guess there are a lot of witches in Norway.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and leaned down to kiss Wanda’s chin over and over again. “None like mine,” she murmured with pride.

“I cooked, I read…” Wanda continued, thinking aloud. “Planted some things in the garden, went to the lake, thought about you constantly,” she sighed.

“It was a horrible week.”

Natasha laughed at the dramatic conclusion. “I don’t know if this… level of codependency we’re building is super healthy.”

Wanda shrugged. “I don’t depend on you —I choose to be with you. And that’s why I miss you when you’re gone.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She just let the words settle into her chest like a warm weight, like truth. Like a kind of safety she hadn’t known she needed until it was handed to her in the voice of a woman who chose her, not because she had to —but because she wanted to.

She lowered her head and kissed Wanda’s collarbone. Just once. Tender and slow.

“I missed you too,” she whispered against her skin. “Like hell.”

Wanda smiled at the ceiling, her arms tightening slightly around Natasha’s waist, as if her body had heard the confession and reacted before her mind had time to catch up.

“I kept imagining how it would feel to hold you again,” Wanda murmured after a beat. “And every time I pictured it, it still didn’t come close to how good it feels now.”

Natasha closed her eyes and let out a small sound —something like a sigh but full of relief.

Of love. 

Notes:

hola bebis!

here's this little mid-week gift I've been teasing on twitter lol

I wrote this chapter very inspired by work song by hozier :( so yes, it's super intense and super tender –it goes hand in hand with the chapter I'll be posting on friday, so it made sense for you to read it in the same week

I hope you're all having a lovely week! I'm really happy reading your messages and knowing you're enjoying the fic! Thank you so much for the kudos and comments 💖

Love youussss

Chapter 23: Taking care of your love.

Summary:

And when Natasha rests her head against Wanda’s, she silently promises herself to get better soon.

Because as much as she adores being held like this by the witch, she also misses being the one who holds.

The one who protects.

The one who leads.

Notes:

TW: PTSD.

Wanda feels her lungs fill with air and lets it out slowly. There’s a soft tingling in her fingers as they tangle gently in red strands of hair. She allows herself to shift just slightly—barely a millimeter—just enough to check that the woman sleeping against her chest is at peace, her brow smooth and untroubled. And once she's sure, she relaxes back into the pillows.

This position is somewhat new. Normally, it’s Wanda who uses the other’s body as a pillow, a plush toy to cling to.

But ever since Natasha came back from the mission, something has changed.

The Russian doesn’t quite understand it, but her body simply refuses to behave the way it always has. It’s as if, after those long days of stress and exhaustion, every fiber of her being now wants nothing more than to stay close to the witch.

She feels weak. Vulnerable.

And for the first time in her life, she’s letting herself be.

Somewhere inside, she knows it’s not fair to Wanda—that she shouldn't have to carry the weight of Natasha’s trauma. They live together now, and living together means both of them should share the responsibilities equally.

But Wanda loves taking care of her.

She already proved that once, when Natasha got sick and spent a few days in bed. That time, Wanda had tapped into a quiet, fierce protectiveness that lives deep within her—one that defines her, even if she rarely gets to show it.

Natasha lets herself be cared for by Wanda.
And Wanda truly loves caring for her.

It makes her feel useful, capable. She knows that nothing bad can happen to Natasha as long as she’s near. She feels powerful because Natasha makes her feel that way—because for her, Wanda would do anything to keep the redhead safe.

Tonight, Natasha has woken up four times—shaken, terrified, crying, eyes darting across the small room, searching for the ghosts that live in her nightmares. Her heart racing, only beginning to calm once Wanda’s soft hands found her face, cradling her gently, guiding her gaze until green met green.

And then, like a breeze sweeping through a desert, Natasha smells her. She sees her eyes. She feels her hands.

And she remembers:
She’s in the motorhome. In their bed. In their home.
With her witch.
And she’s okay.

And her body warms against Wanda’s. She doesn’t feel the blood rushing through her veins anymore—just skin, soft and real, pressing into the Sokovian’s. Wanda kisses her temple with plush lips and whispers sweet nothings in her native tongue, and Natasha thinks—this must be what it means to be the luckiest person in the universe.

She wouldn’t mind going through a hundred more nightmares if it meant being pulled from the darkness by her.

Wanda doesn’t tell her, but ever since that second time Natasha woke up like that—gasping, panicked, eyes wild—she’s been using her magic to ease her mind. She plants gentle memories in Natasha’s thoughts: warm, joyful ones. Nights in the Tower with all her friends, laughter echoing through the walls, drinks in hand, chaos and comfort blending together. And always, always from Wanda’s point of view—standing in the corner with a beer and a soft smile, watching the scene unfold like it was her favorite movie.

Because Natasha’s laugh always gave Wanda butterflies. Her nose crinkled. Her cheeks puffed up, flushed and radiant. And in those moments, she was the most beautiful person in the world.

Wanda melted for her. She always had. For the way her teammates loved her—how Steve looked at her like a brother who’d walked through fire at her side; how Clint rested a hand on her shoulder when she cracked a joke that had everyone in stitches; how Tony’s eyes glinted with pride, grateful to have her on his team.

And she, Wanda, watches her. Like someone trying to find a secret message, something that makes her understand why she can’t take her eyes off her.

And sometimes—just sometimes—Natasha would meet her gaze and give her the softest, shyest smile. But it never lasted long; her eyes would soon drift back to her friends, to the noise, to the safety of deflection.

Wanda loves that memory. Especially now. Especially after everything they’ve been through—how that same woman she once couldn’t stop staring at now can’t seem to let go of her.

She feels Natasha’s breath against her neck and smiles. Her right hand traces the dips and ridges of her spine, fingers ghosting over scars she’s memorized by heart, while her left hand squeezes her hip gently.

She doesn’t mind the lack of sleep—not one bit.

Because in the morning, when Natasha opens her eyes—those pale green eyes that almost look silver in the early light—and looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world…

It’s more than enough to carry her through the day.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” she whispers sweetly, fingers brushing the shadows under Natasha’s tired eyes.

"Hi..." the widow replied softly, nuzzling into the witch’s neck, pressing a tender kiss to her throat, right over her pulse—feeling it beat like a metronome guiding the melody of her life.

Wanda sighed, her fingers threading through Natasha’s hair, nails gently scratching her scalp.

"How do you feel? Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Natasha let out a low sound against her neck, something between a groan and a hum—closer to yes than no.

Wanda nodded quietly. Magic stirred in her fingertips as they began tracing Natasha’s back, her sides, even her face, searching for those familiar scars she knew by heart. And something in Natasha loosened, softened, exhaled.

Wanda couldn’t heal her completely.
But she was doing everything she could, little by little.

“Thank you, detka,” Natasha murmured, shifting to lean her weight on Wanda, meeting her gaze.

Wanda smiled, eyes glowing gently.
“You’re welcome, my love.”

 

 

Wanda can’t help it—she loves this side of Natasha. The vulnerable, soft one.

Her heart swells whenever she sees her like this: relaxed, open, simply existing. Just allowing herself to feel. Her face a little paler, her body more sensitive to every touch, sound, smell.

Wanda loves making breakfast for her, and watching her move slowly around the kitchen, not in the mood for jokes or teasing—just being. Just... there. She’s been quiet these days, as if she's savoring the stillness of being near the witch, careful not to disturb it.

And then Wanda catches her looking—and Natasha smiles back, cheeks stuffed with banana pancakes and chocolate chips.

Wanda shifts slightly, patting her lap, and Natasha doesn’t hesitate. She climbs onto her, wrapping her arms around her tightly, forgetting all about her breakfast.

Then Wanda gently turns her, moving the plate on the table. And the witch cuts small pieces from it and feeds her with tenderness and patience. 

Natasha leans back into her, letting herself be cared for like this—something so foreign, so tender. She’s never eaten like this in her life: sitting on someone’s lap, being fed with shared smiles and whispered jokes, passing the fork back and forth. One bite for Natasha, one for Wanda.

And when Natasha rests her head against Wanda’s, she silently promises herself to get better soon.

Because as much as she adores being held like this by the witch, she also misses being the one who holds.

The one who protects.

The one who leads.

Her fingers played with Wanda’s brown hair, half of it pulled up in a soft bun atop her head, the other half cascading down in loose waves.

“Your hair’s gotten really long,” Natasha murmured, almost in a whisper.

Wanda swallowed her bite before answering, “Yours too,” she said, reaching up to touch the red strands framing the widow’s face. It had grown too—but not nearly as long as hers.

“Do you like it?” Natasha asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The Sokovian nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Everything looks good on you.”

“Mmm, liar,” Natasha teased, her lips twitching into a knowing smirk. She tilted her head slightly, studying Wanda with that sharp, playful gaze. “What if I dyed it blonde? Would you still like me then?”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, clearly pretending to consider it. Her eyes traveled slowly down Natasha’s face, to her shoulders, then back up, like she was imagining it—like she was genuinely picturing some version of Natasha with golden hair.

“I think I would,” she said at last, solemnly. “Though I’d probably stare at you all day. Not only out of love—but also… confusion.”

Natasha let out a scoff. “Thanks, babe. Truly reassuring.”

Wanda grinned. “Well, I mean, you’d still be you. But blonde? I’d need a moment.”

Natasha gave a mock pout. “You’re so mean to me.”

“I’m honest,” Wanda corrected, then leaned in a little, her voice lower now. “But for the record… you could dye it green and I’d still want you. Even if you looked ridiculous.”

A pause.

“Especially if you looked ridiculous,” she added with a soft smile.

That made Natasha smile, too, something small and almost bashful. Her eyes softened as she looked at Wanda—not just at her face, but through her, like she was remembering something or maybe just realizing how deeply rooted she already was.

“You know…” she started, brushing a lock of hair behind Wanda’s ear, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I think red would suit you.”

Wanda blinked, a slow, amused smirk spreading across her lips. “You are what you eat, huh?”

Natasha laughed, not holding back. Her head dropped forward slightly with the weight of it, shoulders shaking. “God, you’re quick,” she said, her laughter settling into a warm chuckle.

“Only with you,” Wanda said softly.

The shift in tone was subtle but real. Natasha reached out and rested her hand gently on Wanda’s chest, right above her heart. The rhythm there was steady. Grounding.

“I feel a bit more like myself since I’ve been with you,” Natasha confessed quietly, her voice lower now, the vulnerability just beneath the surface.

Wanda covered Natasha’s hand with her own. She didn’t rush to respond—she just let the silence hold between them for a beat, steady and unafraid.

“Is that a good thing?” she asked eventually, searching Natasha’s eyes.

Natasha nodded slowly. “I don’t know if I ever really knew who I was supposed to be. For so long, I was just trying to survive. Stay invisible. Be useful. Be good at what they taught me. But that wasn’t me. It was just… someone they made.”

Wanda’s grip on her hand tightened, just slightly. “And now?”

“Now I feel like I get to be someone softer. Someone real. And that’s… terrifying, honestly,” Natasha said with a quiet laugh. “But I like it. I like who I am with you.”

Wanda’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t let them fall. “You don’t have to be what they wanted you to be with me,” she whispered. “Just… be.”

Their foreheads met gently, noses brushing. Natasha closed her eyes for a moment and breathed her in—like it helped settle her.

Natasha smiled, thinking about how hard it could be to just… be, for someone like her. Something that should be natural, instinctive, effortless. But the freedom to simply exist without a mold holding her back grew larger each day with Wanda by her side.

Those quiet spaces Natasha once kept to herself were now shared.

And there were no judging eyes.

“You’re someone with me,” Wanda added, her voice like a secret being entrusted. “Someone good.”

The words landed hard. Natasha swallowed, her thumb stroking Wanda’s skin in slow, unconscious circles.

“You really think I’m good?” she asked, almost too softly.

Wanda leaned back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I know you are. I’ve seen you at your worst and I’ve still never once doubted that.”

Natasha didn’t reply. She just kissed her—slow and thoughtful, more a thank you than anything else. And Wanda kissed her back with equal care, one hand cupping the back of her neck.

When they pulled apart, Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Now that you mention it…” she teased playfully. “I will consider dyeing my hair red.” 

Natasha smirked. “Absolutely not. There can only be one redhead in this relationship.”

Wanda laughed. “Scared I’ll outshine you?”

“You already do,” Natasha said without hesitation. “That’s the problem.”

They both fell into laughter again—softer this time, easier. Like they’d been laughing together their whole lives.

Natasha sighed, feeling lighter than ever before. In the lap of this incredible woman, who cared for her and touched her as if she were made of glass—as if she hadn’t spent her whole life fighting, being thrown from impossible heights, with more than a few broken bones…

The Russian was used to being handled roughly.

Something Wanda didn’t even seem capable of imagining.

 

 

Later that afternoon, Natasha was starting to feel a little better.

After a shower that had almost turned into a shared one, Wanda had tended to her more serious injuries—washing them gently, changing the bandages, applying ointments with careful, loving hands.

Nothing could change the way Wanda loved Natasha’s body—not the bruises, nor the cuts, nor the scars. She loved it all, knowing that in time these wounds would heal, fading into mere traces of how deep they once were.

And somewhere inside her, Wanda longed to be there when they did. When they turned into soft marks she could kiss, cherish, and love the same way she did now.

Natasha laughed softly, sitting on the mattress in nothing but her underwear. She watched as the witch moved with practiced ease; also in her underwear, a towel wrapped around her wet hair.

“You’ve got a gift for nursing,” Natasha remarked, feeling the cotton dabbed with anti-inflammatories against her thigh as Wanda knelt on the floor in front of her.

Wanda smiled, her eyes focused on her task. “Yup, and you’ve got the superhero one,” she teased, making the widow laugh. “We make a good team.”

“One day, you’ll get tired of patching me up,” Natasha sighed. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

Wanda looked up at her, and with the sudden movement, the towel began to slip from her hair.

Her slightly damp, tousled brown waves were so beautiful that Natasha had to bite her lower lip at the sight. Her hand moved to sweep Wanda’s hair to one side, fingers combing gently as she let out a soft breath.

“Don’t say that,” Wanda murmured, setting the supplies aside and resting her arms on Natasha’s legs. “I take care of you because I love you. You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“I love you too, detka,” Natasha replied sweetly, her voice shy at hearing those words so sincerely, so directly from the witch’s mouth. Her cheeks flushed as her knuckles traced Wanda’s jawline.

“I love being able to say it,” Wanda whispered playfully, leaning over Natasha’s body to kiss her lips again and again.

Natasha wrapped her arms around Wanda’s neck, lowering herself onto the bed as she felt the witch settle over her. She sighed, because there was nothing she loved more than the feel of their half-naked bodies pressed together, Wanda’s beautiful lips against hers—so familiar now, as if they were made to fit just right.

Though her physical wounds begin to harden, nothing compares to the relief the witch brings to Natasha’s tormented mind when she pampers her like this. When she feels Wanda smile against her cheek after planting gentle, repeated kisses, she remembers how many times she thought Wanda had the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. And when her nose wrinkles tenderly, it’s probably the gesture she adores most in the entire universe — and now she has that smile pressed against her face. The same lips she uses to kiss her, those teeth that playfully nip her, and that nose that strokes and smells her, causing tickles with every breath.

For Natasha, it’s incredible that someone who has endured so many traumatic and heartbreaking experiences — who lost her entire family, who lost her twin brother, the person she loved most in the world — can take another’s sadness and trauma and transform it into kisses, expressions of love, and tender words.

Immediately, she feels guilty. Because she would have loved to hold Wanda the same way she’s being held now, back when the young Sokovian was hurting.

Suddenly, tears fill her eyes, prompting Wanda to shift and look at her with sadness—anguish at seeing her like this. A clumsy smile tries to form on Natasha’s lips, but those droplets of water escape, carrying all the unspoken words.

“You don’t know how much it breaks my heart to see you cry…” Wanda sighed, gently wiping the tears away with her thumbs.

Natasha shook her head, unable to understand how her body could express so much pain in so many different ways.

She wasn’t used to feeling this way.

Natasha Romanoff doesn’t cry. She never has.

“I really want to feel okay again,” she confessed with anguish. “I can’t stand feeling this vulnerable—I want to be normal.”

But Wanda Maximoff, an expert in these matters, sighed tenderly.

“Love, you’ll feel okay again when you allow yourself to release all this anguish you’ve carried for so many years.”

She spoke wisely, resting her hand on Natasha’s chest, feeling a heart beating fiercely—crying out for help and gratitude all at once.

Yes, it was probably too much. It was normal for Natasha to feel overwhelmed by so many intense emotions all at once—emotions she had often escaped from or swept under the rug, and now she could only freeze before them, letting them take hold of her being.

Of course, she allowed it because she felt safe.

Because for the first time in her life, she felt no judgment, no harm—only the opposite.

There were two pairs of hands pampering her, two green eyes looking at her with love, an entire body giving her a warmth she had never felt quite like this. Lips that, besides giving her the most beautiful kisses in the world, whispered the exact words she needed to hear.

“It’s many years,” Natasha sighed, a bit calmer.

The Sokovian nodded. “And we’ll be like this as long as you need to heal.”

“This isn’t what I thought would happen when I invited you to escape with me to Europe, you know?” the Widow laughed, causing a tender smile to appear on Wanda’s face. “I thought we’d end up fucking, but this being vulnerable and sensitive thing?” A bitter laugh escaped her throat.

“Ah, so you were already thinking about taking me to bed?” the witch teased, easing the conversation, knowing this was exactly what the Widow needed. “Was this all part of your evil plan?”

But Natasha shook her head, biting her lower lip, her warm hands resting on Wanda’s waist, kneading gently like a cozy kitten. “Honestly, no,” she confessed. “Although I always thought you were beautiful, I didn’t think you liked women.”

Wanda laughed, leaning in to plant tender kisses along Natasha’s jaw. “I don’t think there’s a single person in the world who doesn’t like the beautiful, sexy, fierce Black Widow…” she whispered against her neck, her voice low and intense.

“There must be…” the Widow chuckled.

“Stupid people,” the Sokovian replied. “Though maybe it’s for the best. I don’t want to be the jealous type,” she added, making Natasha laugh again.

“You don’t have to be,” Natasha murmured softly.

“No?”

The widow sighed, looking at her with love.

“I swear you don’t.”

 

 

As the days went by, Natasha started to feel better. The scars no longer hurt, and the nightmares had stopped tormenting her.

They had gone back to sleeping in their favorite positions—ones they both secretly cherished. Like Wanda resting her head on Natasha’s chest, only to turn away after a few hours. And because Natasha had grown used to feeling her close, her body instinctively followed, wrapping around her from behind. Wanda would sigh softly when that familiar warmth returned, always reaching back to find Natasha’s hands with her own, squeezing them tightly—like she never wanted her to let go. If it were up to her, she’d stay like that forever.

Meanwhile, Natasha’s hands roam Wanda’s body with more confidence, allowing herself to enjoy the body she falls asleep next to every night.

Smirking mischievously, her hand slips under Wanda’s shirt, settling over one of her breasts and giving it a gentle, playful squeeze, using the excuse that…

“It calms me to touch you,” she murmurs quietly, shyly, to a Wanda who rolls her eyes with amused grace. But truthfully, she believes her. Because Natasha’s hand is warm, calloused, strong—but on her chest, it simply rests, her fingers tracing her curves, sometimes toying lightly with her nipple between her knuckles. But it never goes beyond that. There’s no sexual intent in that touch.

Like when, holding her from behind, Natasha’s hand slowly slips down, fingertips grazing the warm skin beneath Wanda’s navel before disappearing under the soft waistband of her underwear. Her touch is unhurried, almost idle, until her fingers tangle gently in the witch’s brown curls.

And Wanda can’t help but feel aroused. But when she turns to look at her—and maybe seek something more—Natasha’s eyes are closed, her breathing deep, and Morpheus has already stolen her away from any carnal desire. So Wanda has no choice but to fall asleep too.

New habits. She supposes.

Not that the witch minds them at all. Because they really do seem to be helping Natasha feel better.

The jokes had returned now, as well as the thoughtful touches and tender gestures. And Natasha already looked more relaxed, more at peace. Because these days had given her the chance to heal—in the arms of the woman she loves.

And now, she feels ready to devour the universe.

“Detka?” she called out to Wanda as she stepped outside the motorhome. “Love?” she asked again when there was no response.

After a few long seconds, she heard the faint murmur of a song playing on the radio, and decided to follow the sound.

And there she was—her beautiful little witch.

Hands covered in soil, tending to a planter while gently swaying to the tune playing from an old radio she’d found in the motorhome.

She could make it work with her powers, and used it whenever she did her gardening—which was such a sweet little ritual. She looked so soft in her apron, hair tied back, hands messy, body relaxed, moving to the rhythm of an old ’80s song while her attention was fully devoted to creating life from tiny clippings of flowers.

Natasha leaned against the van to watch her. There was something so endearing about the way Wanda handled everything so effortlessly.

“I think I want to ask this gorgeous florist out on a date,” the Widow teased as she approached her.

Wanda smiled at the sound of her voice, glancing over her shoulder to see her. “Sorry, but this gorgeous florist isn’t available.”

Natasha rolled her eyes playfully, leaning down to wrap her arms around her from behind. “That’s a shame. I wanted to ask her on a long date… maybe one that lasts a few days.”

The witch furrowed her brows at that. “What are you talking about, Romanoff?”

The redhead grinned. “I have a surprise for you,” she confessed. “But first I want to know if you’d even be up for it.”

“Natasha…” Wanda warned with a teasing laugh as she turned around, her hands still full of dirt, threatening Natasha playfully. “Don’t come at me with surprises, sweetheart.”

Natasha laughed, not letting go of the witch’s body but pulling slightly away from her hands. “It’s a very romantic surprise,” she swore softly.

Wanda narrowed her eyes, her accusing fingers moving closer to the widow’s face.

“Are we going out for dinner?” she asked, puzzled.

Natasha grabbed her wrists and pressed Wanda’s hands against her own cheeks, smearing herself with dirt and making both of them laugh. Wanda pulled her hands away, amused by the light smudge of soil on Natasha’s face.

Then, with her index and middle finger, she drew playful combat lines on her cheeks, making Natasha sigh.

“I asked Rick to get us new identities and find us some plane tickets…” she said calmly.

Wanda looked at her, confused. “Do we have to leave this place?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“No, detka,” Natasha soothed her gently, her hands caressing Wanda’s hip with tenderness. “I want to thank you for these days you spent taking care of me,” she confessed sweetly, with a shyness that melted Wanda’s heart. “So I planned a trip for us, just the two of us. A little romantic getaway with the girl I like and love.”

“Wow,” Wanda laughed, biting her lower lip, barely believing the woman standing in front of her. “You’re romantic, huh?” she teased.

“Okay. If you don’t want to go, I’ll just call Rick and—” But before Natasha could finish the sentence, Wanda silenced her with a kiss. Then another, and a few more quick, playful ones, all smiles and teeth bumping.

“I want to go,” Wanda said against her lips. “Anywhere in the world, as long as it’s with you.”

Notes:

alright! Who’s joining the trip? lol

I wanted to give a little more space to vulnerable Nat because :( baby needs time to start feeling better

the messages you’ve been sending me about last chapter have been so beautiful, they’ve really moved me <3 I hope you enjoy this one too, and the next ones, and the ones after that, and all of them :( It makes me so happy to write and to know that you’re enjoying it

thank you so, so much for the kudos and the messages!
love you all! 💖

Chapter 24: All inclusive (especially her) (+18).

Summary:

“I can think of a few ways to break this room in,” Natasha murmured. “Fucking you in the shower, pressed against the glass…”

Wanda’s smile was slow, eyes locked on their mirrored selves. “Yeah?”

Natasha nodded, arms wrapping around Wanda’s waist, a soft kiss brushing her cheek.

The sun’s heat pressed warmly against her skin, prickling like a thousand tiny sparks. Wanda smiled —wide and easy— feeling the warmth seep into her bones. Her hands were a little slick—one clutching her suitcase handle, the other entwined with the familiar, steady grasp of the person responsible for all of this.

Natasha Romanoff.

That unmistakable, almost cocky smile curled at the edges of Natasha’s lips, the one Wanda couldn’t help but love.

The hotel looked like a set piece from some lavish Hollywood film —something Wanda had never dared to imagine stepping into.

“Welcome to paradise, miss…” the voice of a friendly receptionist echoed in her ears.

Music floated softly through the air, weaving around the sound of waves brushing the shore. Salt and sand and something sweet drifted to her nose. She inhaled deeply, as if tasting the closest thing to freedom she’d felt in a long while.

They moved through the lobby, where sunlight scattered like shards of glass through the open space, glass walls stretching out and blurring the line between inside and out. The scent was sharp and clean —salt, orchids, fresh linens, and an unmistakable trace of wealth. A kind of happiness money could buy, but one that still felt real here.

Their suite was perched on the top floor, also with walls of glass, stone softened by creams and pale woods. When the door swung open, Wanda stopped, blinking as the sight settled in.

“Oh,” she breathed. Just that. Simple, stunned.

Natasha stepped in behind her, letting out a low whistle. “Not subtle at all.”

The room was enormous—open, airy. A balcony faced the ocean, promising endless blue. The bed looked massive, swaddling enough for the two of them to disappear inside. Pale wood floors, ivory sheets, warm golden fixtures. Soft luxury—quiet and unassuming but impossible to ignore.

But it was the bathroom that stole Wanda’s breath.

Through a glass wall visible from the bedroom, a sleek, modern shower waited—black stone tiles, a rainfall head, spacious enough for two. No curtain, no screen, no walls to hide behind.

Wanda blinked. “Is that…?”

Natasha leaned casually against the doorframe, eyes scanning the space like a strategist plotting her next advantage.

“Oh yeah,” she said, voice low and amused. “Exactly what I asked for when I booked this.”

Wanda turned to her, eyebrows lifting.

Natasha’s grin sharpened. “Planning to put on a show?”

Wanda flushed, meeting her gaze without shame. “You’re the one who likes an audience.”

A slow tilt of Natasha’s head, lips twitching at the corner. “I don’t know if that’s a complaint or a request.”

Her stomach flipped; the air felt suddenly heavier, charged. “Maybe both.”

Clearing her throat, Wanda stepped further inside, fingers trailing over the smooth marble counter. Everything gleamed —marble, backlit glass— luxury layered with temptation. A place made for lingering. For quiet indulgence.

Behind her, Natasha appeared in the mirror’s reflection, eyes dark and roaming, slowly tracing Wanda’s figure before settling back on her face.

“I can think of a few ways to break this room in,” Natasha murmured. “Fucking you in the shower, pressed against the glass…”

Wanda’s smile was slow, eyes locked on their mirrored selves. “Yeah?”

Natasha nodded, arms wrapping around Wanda’s waist, a soft kiss brushing her cheek. “But first, the pool.”

Wanda laughed, reaching up to stroke the nape of Natasha’s neck, fingers gentle. “We’ve got days to enjoy this room, baby.”

She pulled her suitcase onto the bed as Natasha disappeared into the closet, already half-unzipping her bag on the floor. The air conditioning hummed quietly, the balcony doors open to the steady soundtrack of waves and breeze.

Wanda eased the straps off her shoulders, the dress sliding down her body in a slow whisper of fabric before pooling at her feet. She bent to gather it, folding it with care and setting it on the bed —a small, tidy act in a room that suddenly felt much too intimate. The air seemed warmer, heavier, as the quiet pressed in around her. Alone here. With Natasha.

Then Natasha’s voice came from behind the pale wood panels, teasing. “I still can’t decide if we’re just two friends unwinding after long days… or maybe newlyweds on a honeymoon.”

Wanda smirked. “Do you want us to be friends?”

Natasha laughed under her breath. “Oh, so you want us to be the newlyweds then,” she teased from the dressing room.

“We could be two friends who like each other…”

There was a quiet pause, soft sounds of hangers and zippers, then Natasha stepped out, already in a bikini. Red, bold, cut high enough to be a challenge. The curve of her hips and the roundness of her ass were unmissable.

Wanda stared.

Noticing, Natasha smirked. “You okay?”

Wanda blinked. “Yeah. It’s just... pretty hot in here.”

Natasha moved past, pulling a bottle of sunscreen from the bed and squeezing lotion into her hands, slowly rubbing it over her shoulders and arms. Her fingers brushed lightly along her pale skin, tracing the curve of her collarbone, lingering at her waist with deliberate care.

“Want help finding your bikini?” Natasha offered, looking at her.

Wanda unzipped her bra, holding Natasha’s gaze steadily. “Thanks, I can manage.”

Natasha sighed softly, lips twitching as she continued applying sunscreen, her eyes flicking to Wanda’s bare skin —soft, round, delicate— almost calling to her.

Still locked in that quiet exchange, the room hummed with tension —sharp and electric, but calm and almost playful.

Wanda reached for her own bikini —black, simple, perfect— and started changing while Natasha opened the minibar with practiced ease. She hadn’t meant to look, but she did.

Natasha bent to grab a water bottle, and the effortless way her muscles flexed, the way the sunlight kissed her skin, the curve of her body. It was unfair.

“Enjoying the view?” Natasha teased without turning.

Wanda flushed, caught. “Almost as much as you,” she shot back, a sideways smile tugging at her lips.

Natasha straightened, twisted the bottle cap open, and sipped slowly—all the while watching Wanda. She sighed as she finished, the witch applying sunscreen to her own body in the meanwhile.

“Let’s go,” she said, tossing her a towel. “Before we melt in here.”

Wanda caught it, one eyebrow raised. “You sure you don’t want to try the shower first?”

Natasha stepped close, breath grazing Wanda’s cheek. “You’d never make it to the pool if we did.” She bit playfully at Wanda’s jaw.

Swallowing hard, Wanda whispered, “That’s not a no.”

Natasha adjusted her sunglasses, moving toward the door, but paused when Wanda didn’t immediately follow.

“You coming?” she asked over her shoulder.

Wanda stood at the edge of the bed, a sheer cover-up in hand, and very deliberately not looking at Natasha’s ass.

Natasha spun around, hands on hips, disbelief written all over her face. “You’ve been staring a lot.”

Wanda didn’t flinch. “Can’t I?”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be.”

An amused eyebrow raised. “Do I need to spin for you? Give you the full view?”

Wanda’s answer was slow, deliberate —head tilting, eyes steady. “I’ve seen the full view.”

 

 

 

It was almost too beautiful to be real.

Wanda stepped barefoot onto the poolside deck, blinking against the sharp Mediterranean sun. The infinity pool stretched endlessly toward the horizon, where sea and sky blended into a seamless blue mirror. Cyprus felt like another world —the heat, the light, the breeze that did nothing to cool her skin.

But it wasn’t the view that made her breath hitch.

It was Natasha, walking just ahead.

Wrapped in nothing but a fiery red bikini and a sheer, matching cover-up that fluttered around her thighs, Natasha moved like she wasn’t aware of the stares —but Wanda knew better. She always did.

Heads turned. Conversations stilled. Two women at the pool bar paused mid-laugh, eyes locked on her with bold admiration. A man in aviators nearly dropped his towel.

Everyone was watching her.

And Natasha’s figure was impossible to ignore.

Her body looked sculpted by a Renaissance artist —full breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that curved with effortless sensuality. Wanda’s cheeks flushed as she took in the woman beside her —because for her, this was everyday: sometimes Natasha in just a bra, sometimes in a shirt that barely covered her ass.

But here, in public, with so little between her and the world…

Fuck.

That Natasha Romanoff had an incredible body was no news. But knowing so many eyes were on her —and on her— lit a fire Wanda couldn’t ignore.

She closed the gap in two quick steps.

Without thinking, she slid a hand across Natasha’s bare lower back. It was instinctive. Possessive. Soft enough to be casual, firm enough to stake a claim.

Natasha turned just slightly at the touch, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that could undo continents.

“You’re tense,” she said, amused.

“I’m not.” Wanda pulled down her sunglasses, squinting. “It’s hot.”

Natasha kept walking, hips swaying beneath the sheer cover-up. Wanda felt her pulse hit her throat.

They found two lounge chairs near the pool’s edge, half-shaded by a white canopy, and dropped their towels. Wanda hadn’t even settled before Natasha untied her wrap, letting it fall in slow motion —deliberate, rehearsed. She sank onto her sunbed with a satisfied sigh, tilting her face toward the sun.

Wanda took longer.

She felt out of place here —this wasn’t Sokovia, or the compound, or even Norway. This was heat and salt and extravagance. Desire made visible, skin bared to the world. And they were watching.

Her eyes drifted across the pool, slow and unfocused. She didn’t need enhanced senses to feel the weight of the gazes on Natasha’s body —the length of her legs, the curve of her waist, the way she tilted her head to sweep back her hair.

Even lying still, she shifted the air around her.

Wanda perched on the edge of her lounger, legs curled beneath her, reaching for the paperback Natasha had tossed in her beach bag. She flipped it open absentmindedly, barely reading the words.

Every time Natasha moved —to sip water, adjust her bikini top, or tie back her hair— Wanda’s eyes followed.

After several long minutes, Natasha spoke, voice low and teasing.

“You look hot jealous.”

Wanda turned a page she hadn’t read. “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh no?”

“No.” She reached out, casually resting her hand on Natasha’s thigh. “I just don’t like them looking at what’s mine.”

Natasha hummed, a satisfied little sound. “Mmm. That’s even hotter.”

Wanda said nothing, pressing her fingers gently into Natasha’s skin —not hard enough to hurt, just enough to leave a mark of presence. She leaned back in her chair, brow furrowed, not quite convinced as she slowly withdrew her hand. Reading with one hand so far away wasn’t easy.

She was still adjusting to all this —the sun, the view, the idea they could exist like this, outside secrecy.

But one thing was crystal clear: she didn’t like sharing. Not even the idea of it. Especially not with Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha said nothing more —not yet— but Wanda caught the smirk teasing the corner of her lips as she leaned back and soaked up the sun.

Then came footsteps.

Soft, deliberate—less the idle shuffle of a guest, more the assured stride of someone who knew exactly why they were here.

Wanda didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. She felt the shift in Natasha’s posture, the faint click of her spine straightening against the lounge chair.

“Excuse me,” a male voice said, directed at Natasha —too casual to be accidental.

Wanda turned a page, expression neutral, but her ears sharpened.

Natasha lifted her gaze slowly from behind her sunglasses. Her red wrap lay discarded beside her, skin glowing golden in the sunlight. She blinked at the man.

“Yes?”

He was handsome in a forgettable vacation kind of way —crisp swim shorts, a shell necklace, and too much cologne baked in the heat. Probably American.

“I noticed you earlier,” he said with a practiced grin. “Didn’t want to leave without saying hi.”

He tried to be charming —a few years too confident, shirtless, tanned, his ego slightly sunburned.

Natasha tilted her head, lips twitching.

“How thoughtful.”

He chuckled, missing the edge in her voice. “Well, you’ve got half the resort wondering if you’re a model or just… outrageously blessed.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. She didn’t turn the page.

Natasha’s eyebrows lifted in mock surprise —a rather fake gesture, given the sly smile tugging at her lips.

The man’s eyes flicked to Wanda for a brief moment before he asked, “Are you here alone?”

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “I’m very much not alone.”

“Oh?” His tone shifted, curious. “Boyfriend?”

Natasha glanced at Wanda, who was still pretending to read. Her lips curled just slightly. “Kind of.”

He hesitated, caught off guard. “Ah. Lucky girl.”

Natasha looked back at Wanda. “I’m the lucky one.”

A beat of awkward silence stretched between them. Wanda could feel the tension shift.

“Oh, okay,” the man said, glancing toward Wanda. “Sorry— I didn’t realize you were with your girlfriend, thought you were just friends.”

His eyes flicked to Wanda —who, with the slow, smug calm of a cat soaking up the sun— licked her fingertip and turned another page.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Well, enjoy your day.”

Natasha nodded, not unkindly. “Thanks.”

He left quickly after that.

The silence that followed was warm, heavy with satisfaction.

Wanda still didn’t look up. She smiled quietly into the pages. 

“Are you done pretending to read?” Natasha asked.

“Maybe.”

Natasha didn’t wait. She leaned over, hand sliding up to cradle Wanda’s jaw, and kissed her.

Not a quick kiss. Not playful. Open-mouthed, bold, unapologetic —the kind of kiss that told everyone watching exactly who she belonged to. Her fingers slipped under Wanda’s chin, anchoring her gently but possessively.

When she pulled back, Wanda’s breath caught. Her lips parted for just a moment longer than necessary.

Then she set her book down and murmured, “That was for him, wasn’t it?”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, hands folded behind her head. “No.”

Wanda blinked. “No?”

Natasha smirked, eyes on the sky. “That one was for you.”

Wanda smirked back. “You love the attention.”

Natasha turned to her with that tender smile —the one that made butterflies explode in Wanda’s stomach.

“I love your attention,” she said, effortlessly.

 

 

 

The afternoon unfolded with easy laughter and warm smiles as they wandered from the pool to the beach. The book Wanda had tried to read that morning lay forgotten in her bag —her full attention captured by the woman at her side, who kept suggesting new adventures but mostly offering a breathtaking view.

Natasha Romanoff, with long, wavy red hair cascading over sun-kissed shoulders, clad in a striking red bikini. Her skin was flushed, already beginning to burn under the fierce sun... damn.

Wanda smiled softly, caught in the quiet, simple beauty of her.

Unlike Wanda, Natasha reveled in the warm embrace of the pool water. Wanda preferred to dip just her feet, watching with quiet admiration —so free, so confident— Natasha gliding effortlessly, droplets of water tracing down her face.

She was so distracted by Natasha’s subtle gestures that she barely noticed the waiter approaching with a tray.

“Excuse me…” the young man murmured, balancing a vibrant, colorful cocktail. “From the gentleman at the bar,” he added, nodding toward a handsome man lounging nearby.

Wanda frowned slightly. “For her?” she asked, nodding toward Natasha, who watched the exchange calmly from the pool.

The waiter shook his head. “No, he said it’s for you.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, casting a casual glance toward the bar where a man in sunglasses gave a small nod and lifted his glass in Wanda’s direction.

“Wow,” Wanda breathed, accepting the drink. “Thanks…” she said softly to the waiter, who gave a polite bow before retreating, leaving them alone again.

Natasha smiled slyly, shaking her head. “How considerate.”

Wanda returned the smile warmly. “Looks like you’ve got some competition,” she teased, taking a slow sip under Natasha’s amused gaze.

The Russian rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. Unlike Wanda, Natasha took pleasure in showing off the woman at her side.

What Wanda didn’t realize was just how stunning she looked—her bikini hugging her graceful curves, brown hair dancing with the breeze, cheeks flushed by the sun. It was a side of herself she hadn’t fully discovered yet.

But Natasha knew the beach suited her perfectly, and it was a shame the world couldn’t see just how beautiful Wanda truly was.

Still, there was a difference between admiring and claiming what was hers.

Natasha didn’t like anyone crossing that line. Wanda Maximoff was hers.

Biting her lower lip, Natasha slipped closer to where the pool’s shallow edge met the deck, settling between Wanda’s legs and pressing her body gently against hers. She took a slow sip from the straw, eyes locked on Wanda’s.

“Mhm,” she murmured, savoring the taste. “Daiquiri,” she added dismissively, her lips barely grazing Wanda’s as her hands rested softly on either side of her. “Basic.”

Wanda laughed softly, brushing Natasha’s damp hair back with one hand, her fingers lingering as she gently caressed her cheek.

“I like it,” she said. “It’s sweet.”

“So are you,” Natasha murmured, her voice low, breath warm against Wanda’s skin as she kissed a slow path along her cheek. “So very sweet.”

Wanda melted under her touch. “Natasha…”

The Widow laughed softly, pulling back just enough to glance again at the man who’d sent the drink, watching them too closely. Her eyes rolled—he still wasn’t getting the hint.

With quiet confidence, Natasha lifted Wanda’s left hand, her fingers brushing over the green stone glinting on her ring finger —almost the same shade as Natasha’s own eyes. She kissed Wanda’s knuckles softly, the message unmistakable.

Wanda laughed, watching her with a teasing smile. “Marking your territory?” she giggled.

Natasha sighed, turning to meet her gaze. “Of course,” she replied, her voice low and husky as she leaned in to press a series of slow, deliberate kisses to Wanda’s lips. “They can look all they want, but they can’t touch.”

Wanda chuckled, sliding her hand up to cradle Natasha’s jaw, pulling her closer to lock eyes. “You’re jealous too,” she teased.

Natasha nodded, licking her lips with a sly smile. “Tell me something new,” she murmured playfully. “I’m Russian, darling— possessiveness runs in my blood.”

Wanda smirked. “Now I understand that look you gave me when we talked about Vision,” she joked, watching Natasha’s expression darken.

The redhead leaned in, biting firmly where Wanda’s neck met her shoulder. “Very funny, talking about your ex in a tropical paradise with your woman…”

“He’s not my ex,” Wanda whispered, taking a slow sip of her drink.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, voice low and teasing. “Oh, really?”

“Nope. He wasn’t my partner.”

“But he was your first kiss, and that makes me crazy jealous,” Natasha admitted, her voice rough with emotion.

Wanda bit her lower lip, eyes softening. “You wanted to be my first everything, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Natasha whispered, voice thick with longing, “I want to be your first and your last… everything.”

 

 

 

And this was only the beginning of the day.

They had spent the morning tangled in flirtation, stolen glances, and salt-slicked kisses by the pool. Laughter rippled over the water, soft and golden, as if the sun itself had leaned in to listen. Everything here felt slower —warmer, gentler. Like they were the only two people on Earth.

But the beach called eventually, as it always did. The quiet rhythm of the waves, the tempting stretch of soft sand, the promise of stolen hours beneath the sun —it was impossible to resist. So they walked, hands brushing, bare feet sinking into the hot grains.

They swam until their skin wrinkled and the sun hung heavier overhead. Then came towels, sunglasses, and the slow, lazy ritual of drying off under the sun’s gaze. Natasha settled onto a lounge chair with the ease of someone who owned the beach —her damp hair tied up, skin glistening, long body stretched out face-down.

Wanda sat beside her, sipping something cold, pretending not to notice the eyes drifting over them.

But she noticed.

She was painfully aware.

The way Natasha’s swimsuit cut low across her back, hugged her hips —Wanda’s hips, dammit— and sculpted her curves like a work of art. Wanda could feel the heat of those glances rising like waves off the sand. And the worst part? Natasha, as always, seemed either oblivious or utterly unconcerned.

Wanda cared.

“Hey, baby?” Natasha’s voice came lazy, muffled in the crook of her arm.

Wanda hummed, sliding her sunglasses down to look.

“Could you put sunscreen on my back? I forgot earlier. You know I burn like a damn shrimp.”

Wanda swallowed. “Sure.”

She took the bottle, popped the cap, and climbed onto the back of Natasha’s thighs, straddling her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Natasha barely flinched—just shifted her arms slightly, giving Wanda better access.

The lotion was cool against sun-warmed skin. Wanda’s fingers moved slow and deliberate, smoothing it across the curves of Natasha’s spine, the dips of her shoulders. Natasha let out a soft hum of contentment.

Wanda leaned close to Natasha’s ear.

“They’re still looking,” she whispered, voice low.

Natasha grinned without opening her eyes. “Let them. You’re the one sitting on me.”

“Exactly,” Wanda muttered.

She glanced around, making sure no one was paying too much attention. Then —on impulse— she squeezed a generous dollop of sunscreen into her palm and, with secretive, careful strokes, wrote a single word across the soft curve of Natasha’s ass.

Mine.

Childish. Petty. And Wanda didn’t care one bit.

Natasha shifted, and Wanda froze.

“You’re awfully quiet back there,” Natasha said, lifting her head just enough to glare.

Wanda smiled innocently. “Just being thorough.”

Natasha tilted her head, suspicious and amused. “You’re not writing spells on me, are you?”

Wanda kissed her shoulder. “Maybe.”

Natasha laughed. “Whatever it is, it’s warm and definitely sunscreen. So, safe for now.”

Wanda settled back beside her, pleased. She reached for her drink, catching a man in passing sunglasses definitely not staring this time.

The afternoon stretched on, golden and slow. They stayed on the beach until the light softened, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the sand. Their laughter quieted into lazy smiles, skin warm and salty, towels damp from earlier swims.

Back at the villa, the sky was streaked with rose and tangerine. The sea breeze followed them inside, carrying salt, jasmine, and something distinctly theirs —sunscreen and heat and the comfort of a day well spent.

They took turns in the shower, washing off ocean and sun. Wanda went first, hair still wet, lounging on the bed in one of Natasha’s oversized shirts, flipping through the room service menu.

The bathroom door opened behind her.

Soft footsteps padded across the cool floor.

Then—silence.

Too much silence.

Wanda looked up. “You okay?”

She turned—and the look on Natasha’s face was rare: mouth parted slightly, eyebrows raised, eyes sparkling with surprise and amusement.

“What,” Natasha said, stepping closer and turning so Wanda could see the faint, sun-warmed imprint on the lower curve of her back, “the hell is this?”

There it was, unmistakable. A soft, barely-there tan line traced in bold, smug letters:

M I N E.

Wanda froze, then burst out laughing —really laughing— the kind that made her curl forward, hiding her face in her hands.

“I didn’t think it would stay!” she choked out. “It was just—for fun!”

Natasha crossed her arms, fighting a smile and failing. “You branded me.”

“It’s sunscreen, not fire,” Wanda giggled, looking up at her. “I didn’t think the sun would actually—oh my god, you look like a stolen artifact.”

Natasha glanced in the mirror again, fingers tracing the faint but unmistakable mark like a claim. She laughed softly.

“You’re lucky it’s subtle,” she said warmly, teasing. “If it were any darker, I’d be wearing a towel for the rest of the trip.”

Wanda sat up, grinning like a fool, beckoning her with a curl of her fingers. “Turn around.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“So I can admire my handiwork.”

“Oh my god.” But she turned anyway.

Wanda reached out boldly, hands landing squarely on Natasha’s ass. She squeezed unapologetically, thumbs tracing the faint outline of the letters.

“Perfect,” she murmured. “I’m obsessed with this ass. It’s not even fair. Like, of course I had to mark it. Look at it.”

Natasha looked over her shoulder, struggling to bite back laughter. “You’re unhinged.”

Wanda leaned in close, lips brushing Natasha’s lower back just above the mark. Her voice dropped.

“Next time,” she whispered, “I’m marking you with a bite.”

Natasha blinked, stunned silent for a beat.

Then: “Oh.”

Wanda pulled back with a smug smile. “What? Something wrong, Romanoff?”

Natasha tilted her head, eyes narrowing with a spark of challenge. “You better commit to that.”

Wanda leaned back on her hands, still grinning. “Oh, I plan to.”

A warm, charged moment hung between them before Natasha stepped forward, straddling Wanda right there on the bed. She leaned down so close their noses nearly touched.

“Well,” she murmured, “at least warn me next time so I can write yours in something more permanent.”

Wanda’s breath hitched. “Like what?”

Natasha smirked, already kissing her. “Red,” she murmured, lifting the Sokovian’s shirt with a delicacy that was painfully delicious.

Wanda’s shirt hit the floor with a soft rustle, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Natasha simply looked at her —really looked. At the faint flush creeping down Wanda’s neck, at the way her chest rose and fell just a little faster now. At the softness, the curves, the sheer intimacy of being allowed to see her like this.

“You are,” Natasha said slowly, pushing her onto the bed, “so unbelievably perfect.”

Wanda huffed a bashful laugh and tried to look away, but Natasha didn’t let her. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sternum, right where her heart beat fast beneath the skin.

Then another, lower.

And another.

Wanda’s breath hitched when Natasha’s lips brushed over the swell of her breast, soft and reverent. “Nat…”

“Hm?” Natasha murmured, already placing another kiss —open-mouthed this time— directly over her nipple. It drew a small, surprised sound from Wanda —not a moan, more like a breath catching in her throat. Natasha smiled against her, letting her tongue flick gently before kissing again, slower now.

“I could stay here forever,” she whispered, trailing kisses in a slow curve across Wanda’s chest, from one breast to the other, her hands cradling her with that mix of care and awe that always made Wanda feel seen.

Wanda let her head fall back against the pillows, her hands coming up to rest in Natasha’s damp hair. “You’re so good…”

“Always with you.”

Natasha grinned and nuzzled into the other side, peppering more kisses around the sensitive skin, pausing on the swell of her breast only to suck lightly —just enough to make Wanda gasp and arch under her. Her lips curved into a smug smile as she pulled back and looked at the little mark she’d left.

“There,” she said. “Now we’re even.”

Wanda glanced down, flushed and wide-eyed. “You gave me a hickey?”

“Just one,” Natasha said sweetly, brushing her nose against Wanda’s. “A tasteful one.”

Wanda laughed, breathless. “You’re the worst.”

“Liar.” Natasha leaned in and gave another kiss, slow and wet, right over Wanda’s nipple. She circled it with her tongue, gentle and unhurried, before kissing lower, down the curve of her ribcage. “I’m the best, and you’re completely obsessed with me.”

Wanda could barely speak, her fingers curling in the sheets. “Maybe…”

Natasha kissed her belly, then trailed back up with small, playful nips along her waist, making Wanda squirm.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Wanda whispered.

Natasha pulled herself up, her bare chest brushing Wanda’s as she straddled her again, kissing her gently. “I think I do,” she said softly. “Because you do the same to me.”

Wanda blinked up at her, touched by the sudden tenderness in her voice —and in the way Natasha’s hands came up to caress her breasts again, thumbs brushing over her nipples like she couldn’t help but admire every inch.

“Your body,” Natasha whispered, her voice dipping low with sincerity, “is incredible, detka. Every curve, every sound you make when I touch you… I could worship you all day.”

Wanda smiled shyly, her arms wrapping around Natasha’s waist, pressing them fully together, chest to chest. “Actually, I think I’d like that.”

Natasha grinned and kissed her again, deeper this time, slow and molten. She let her fingers drift —featherlight— down Wanda’s sides, across the curve of her waist and back to her hips. Her touch was reverent, almost teasing, like she was mapping her out with pure devotion.

Wanda felt like she was floating, her chest pressed to Natasha’s, skin buzzing with every caress and kiss. Her heart thudded in her ears, and something about the way Natasha held her —steady, sure, soft and strong— made her want more. Not just to be touched, but to be taken care of. Worshipped. Loved.

Natasha’s lips brushed her jaw, her voice a low, almost playful hum against her skin. “Can I ask you something a little bold?”

Wanda blinked, breath catching. “Since when do you ask?”

Natasha chuckled. “Fair.” She pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, fingers still gliding across Wanda’s lower back. “But I want you to feel safe. Comfortable.”

Wanda softened. “Always do.”

Natasha’s grin turned a little wicked, but her eyes stayed soft. “...Would you ride my face?”

Wanda’s breath hitched —a small, involuntary sound that escaped her throat. Her cheeks flushed instantly, deeply.

“I—I’ve never done that,” she admitted, voice small, but not unsure. Just shy. Curious. A little stunned by the offer.

Natasha’s smile turned gentle. “I know…” she said, hands smoothing down Wanda’s thighs. “You’d love it. You’d look so good above me, baby.”

Wanda laughed nervously, trying to hide her face in Natasha’s shoulder. “That’s—God, that’s so much.”

“It’s just me,” Natasha murmured, kissing her temple. “And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But if you want to try… I want to see you like that.”

Wanda looked at her then —really looked— and felt a thrill pulse low in her belly. The confidence in Natasha’s gaze wasn’t demanding. It was admiring. Like she genuinely wanted her to feel powerful, wanted, cherished.

Her lips parted slowly, her voice quiet but firm. “Okay. I want to try.”

Natasha’s eyes darkened with desire, but she only nodded, guiding her gently as she lay back on the bed, hair fanned out across the pillow, mouth already parted in anticipation.

Wanda shifted, crawling up with careful movements, her thighs trembling just slightly as she removed her panties. But Natasha looked up at her like she was the most stunning thing in the world —and that made her feel braver.

“You’re so beautiful,” Natasha whispered, hands resting on Wanda’s hips now, grounding her. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

Wanda nodded, breath shallow, and lowered herself slowly, letting her thighs straddle Natasha’s face.

And when Natasha’s mouth met her —warm, open, eager— Wanda gasped, head falling back, a trembling moan escaping her lips.

She’d never felt anything like this.

Wanda’s breath hitched again as she settled above her, hands planted softly on the headboard to keep her balance, thighs trembling slightly from the nerves and sheer anticipation. But Natasha looked up at her like she was the sky itself —dark lashes fluttering, eyes half-lidded with hunger, hands gliding up the backs of Wanda’s thighs like she was savoring the approach of something holy.

The moment Natasha’s lips sucked on her, Wanda gasped. Her hips jolted forward instinctively, and a moan escaped before she could stop it —soft and breathy and real. Natasha groaned low in her throat, like the taste of her had made something deep in her chest tighten.

“You taste so good, baby,” Natasha murmured against her soaked lips. “Look so pretty riding my face, mmm.”

She wrapped her arms around Wanda’s thighs, guiding her just right, and Wanda felt her entire body melt. Her core pulsed with heat, and Natasha’s tongue moved with slow, deliberate strokes —steady, worshipful, like she had all the time in the world.

Wanda’s back arched as her hands fumbled for something —anything— to hold onto, and she found herself threading her fingers through Natasha’s damp red hair.

“Nat—” she breathed, the syllable breaking on a gasp.

But Natasha didn’t let up. “I know, babygirl,” she muttered, voice deep and hungry.

She moaned again, low and rough, sending vibrations up through Wanda’s body. Her hands slid upward, cupping Wanda’s breasts without hesitation, thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks. Wanda whimpered —the pleasure doubled now, her chest tingling from the attention, her thighs trembling above Natasha’s mouth.

“You feel so good,” Natasha murmured, her voice muffled but hungry, her hands sliding down again, squeezing Wanda’s ass with a firm, greedy grip.

Wanda nearly cried out when she felt the tip of the Widow’s nose bump so deliciously against her clit. Her hips began to move almost unconsciously —grinding against Natasha’s face, making her moan loudly.

She could feel Natasha’s fingers digging into her skin possessively, holding her steady, guiding her gently —not forcing anything, just encouraging her to move harder, to grind, to let go.

It was overwhelming —the rhythm of Natasha’s mouth, the way she knew exactly when to flick her tongue and when to press deeper, the way her hands worshipped her body like every inch of Wanda belonged to her.

Wanda’s breath came in short gasps now, hips beginning to roll instinctively, slowly at first, then with more confidence as pleasure bloomed in hot waves inside her.

“Oh my God,” she whimpered, her voice catching, “Natasha—”

“You like that, baby?” Natasha growled. “Fucking my face like a good girl.”

One of Natasha’s hands slid up again, gently squeezing Wanda’s breast, while the other kneaded her ass, guiding her motions with delicious slowness. Her tongue didn’t falter once —licking, sucking, tasting her like she was something sacred.

“I’m so close, baby —oh my God, yeah, just like that.” Wanda’s legs began to shake.

She was close. So close it hurt. And Natasha knew —Wanda could feel it in the way she groaned again, mouth greedy and hands even firmer, coaxing the orgasm out of her like she wanted to pull it from Wanda’s soul.

Wanda’s fingers tugged Natasha’s hair gently, her back arching again, lips parting on a high, broken moan —and then she came hard.

Her body shuddered, thighs clenching, her orgasm crashing over her in trembling waves. Natasha held her through it, tongue still moving gently as she worked Wanda through the aftershocks, as if savoring every second of her falling apart.

Wanda collapsed forward with a shaky laugh, bracing herself with one hand on the bed, the other gently stroking Natasha’s temple.

“You’re…” she whispered breathlessly. “Oh my God—”

Natasha, still smiling with pride, kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and sweet. “Only for you.”

Wanda’s breath was still uneven, her body trembling faintly with the echoes of pleasure as she tried to steady herself. Her hands were in Natasha’s hair, her heart beating somewhere in her throat, and everything felt distant —sweet and blurry— like she was floating.

Natasha kissed her thigh one last time, then gently guided her off with steady, careful hands.

“Come here,” she whispered, her voice a low hum —reverent and full of adoration.

Wanda let herself be moved, pliant in Natasha’s arms as the redhead coaxed her down onto the bed. She lay back against the pillows, dazed and flushed, her skin dewy with sweat and glowing in the dim light.

Natasha climbed up beside her, still naked, and curled her body close like she was claiming the space around Wanda as sacred. She brushed strands of hair from Wanda’s damp forehead and kissed the crown of her head, then her cheek, then her lips —slow, warm, grounding.

Wanda sighed into the kiss, soft and content, eyes fluttering shut as she let herself melt.

“My precious girl,” Natasha murmured, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her fully against her chest.

Their skin pressed together —warm, smooth, soft. Wanda let her hand rest against Natasha’s hip, then slowly trace up her side, brushing faintly across the small scars there. She didn’t say anything —just kissed her shoulder gently and let her fingers move in slow, quiet circles.

“I feel like I’m glowing,” Wanda whispered against her skin, the words a little sleepy, a little bashful.

“You are,” Natasha replied, tucking her closer. “You always are.”

Wanda peeked up at her, eyes heavy but full of emotion. “You’re too good at that.”

Natasha smirked lazily, brushing her knuckles down Wanda’s jaw. “Well, I did say I wanted to be your first and last everything.”

Wanda let out a soft laugh, chest rising and falling gently with each breath as she nestled her face against Natasha’s shoulder.

They stayed there, tangled up in each other —warm, relaxed, safe. Natasha kept kissing her —her temple, her neck, her shoulder— all slow and loving, like she wasn’t in any rush to stop.

And Wanda didn’t want her to.

She reached up, fingers brushing over Natasha’s ribs again, then her back, then her waist —hands slow and curious, like she was still exploring.

“You okay?” Natasha asked quietly, brushing her thumb over Wanda’s lips.

Wanda nodded against her shoulder, pressing a kiss there. “More than okay.”

They lay like that for a while —soft skin against soft skin, hearts beating close, the room smelling faintly of salt, lime soap, and heat and something that was just them. Wrapped in each other, held together by nothing but quiet affection and the afterglow of something beautiful.

Natasha’s body was already warm and flushed, her skin kissed pink from the heat of the shower and Wanda’s touch. She straddled Wanda again, fully naked now, her red hair damp and curling gently down her back. There was something about the way she looked in the golden light filtering through the curtains —unapologetic and beautiful and vulnerable all at once— that made Wanda’s heart ache.

Natasha leaned down, her forehead brushing Wanda’s. “I’m so wet,” she whispered, soft and low, like a secret.

Wanda’s breath hitched, her fingers moving to Natasha’s hips, slow and reverent. “Yeah?” she asked sweetly, caressing her gently, thumbs sweeping up over her sides, fingertips tracing the softness of her waist and the strength beneath it. Natasha hummed at the contact, closing her eyes.

Wanda’s touch climbed higher, gliding up over her belly, her ribs, until both hands cupped her breasts—soft, full, perfect in her palms. She gave a gentle squeeze, brushing her thumbs over the nipples and watching how Natasha responded: a sharp inhale, her hips twitching forward slightly.

“You’re so beautiful,” Wanda murmured, kissing just below her collarbone. “Every inch of you…”

Natasha smiled, eyes still closed, breath growing heavier. “I hope you know I think the same about you.”

Wanda’s hands slid down again, over the curves of Natasha’s ass, squeezing just enough to make her moan. Natasha rocked into her slowly, the motion instinctive, her breath catching as Wanda slid her hand between them, teasing her folds with slow, deliberate fingers.

Natasha bit her lip. “Wanda…”

“Let me fuck you, baby,” Wanda whispered, kissing her chest again, open-mouthed and soft, tongue flicking lightly over a nipple before sucking gently. Natasha shivered.

Then Wanda slid two fingers inside her.

The sound Natasha made was quiet but raw, pleasure and relief all wrapped together. She braced herself with one hand on the bed beside Wanda’s shoulder, the other tangled in Wanda’s hair. Her hips moved slowly, beginning to ride Wanda’s fingers with a rhythm that built between them like a tide.

Wanda’s free hand never stopped moving. She caressed Natasha’s back, her hips, her thighs —anywhere she could reach— loving every dip and curve, every scar and freckle. Her mouth stayed busy too, kissing her chest, her neck, her jaw. She wanted to give her everything.

“You feel so good,” Wanda murmured, voice thick. “You’re driving me crazy, Natalia…”

Natasha’s head fell back, a low moan escaping her lips as she rocked harder against Wanda’s hand, her breath catching with every thrust.

“Detka—don’t stop—it feels so fucking good.”

Wanda’s fingers curled deep inside her, the heel of her hand pressing just right against her clit. Her other hand came back to Natasha’s breasts, gripping gently as she thrust up, slow and steady. She loved watching her like this —flushed and falling apart.

And then Natasha leaned down and kissed her, desperate and wet, their mouths sliding together as their bodies moved. Wanda felt everything —her weight, her heat, her heart.

Natasha was already riding Wanda’s fingers, her thighs trembling slightly with each slow, deep thrust. Her eyes were dark, wild with heat, her lips parted as she let the pleasure wash through her in waves. Wanda lay beneath her, hand working steadily, fingers buried deep inside her.

Wanda’s other hand gripped Natasha’s ass, pulling her down with each roll of her hips, helping her move in that perfect rhythm. She couldn’t stop touching her —caressing her thighs, her waist, her breasts. She was completely obsessed.

“God, you’re hot like this,” Wanda murmured, staring up at her, breathless. “You look like a dream.”

Natasha grinned through a shaky moan, sweat glistening on her chest. “Yeah? You like fucking me like this, don’t you, dirty girl?”

She leaned down slightly, her body arching, pressing her tits into Wanda’s chest. Their skin slid together, slick and flushed, and Wanda immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her close.

“God, I wish I had a cock,” Natasha whispered against her ear, voice low and desperate. “So I could fuck you so hard until you begged me to stop.”

Wanda’s breath caught hard in her throat.

The filthy words, spoken in that deep, husky rasp, lit something dark and hot inside her. Her fingers curled deeper, harder, and Natasha gasped above her.

“I’d ruin you,” Natasha growled, rocking faster now, her body trembling. “Pin you down and fuck you until you forgot your name.”

Wanda whimpered, her thighs instinctively clenching. Her hand never slowed —if anything, she thrust up harder, her palm slick with how wet Natasha was for her.

“I’d make you get on your knees,” Natasha whispered, brushing her lips over Wanda’s cheek, then her jaw. “I’d have you suck it slow. Look up at me with that sweet little mouth full.”

“You’re—fuck, you’re so wet,” Wanda gasped, her voice trembling with lust. “You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Natasha moaned. “God, yes. I’d fill you up, detka. I’d make you take it so deep—make you come screaming on my cock.”

Wanda was blushing, trembling beneath her, completely wrecked by the image.

“You’d take it so well,” Natasha went on, dragging her hand down Wanda’s body, cupping her breast with a lazy squeeze. “So soft, so eager. Fuck, baby—I’d grab your hair, fuck into that perfect mouth until you were gagging for more.”

Wanda’s breath hitched. “Jesus, Natasha—”

Natasha laughed, low and satisfied, licking a stripe down her neck. “You’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

Wanda nodded, stunned. “Yes.”

“I know you would.” Natasha kissed her again, deeper now, tongue slipping past her lips. “I’d watch your lips wrap around my cock while I held your head in place. Make you swallow every drop.”

Wanda moaned into her mouth, utterly ruined.

Their mouths met again —this time messy and rough, full of tongue and teeth. Wanda’s hand on Natasha’s ass squeezed hard, guiding her as she rode her fingers faster, deeper. She didn’t care about anything else —just the feel of Natasha’s tight heat gripping her hand, the slick, obscene sound of her body moving against her, the way she moaned Wanda’s name over and over like a prayer.

Natasha broke the kiss with a gasp, her eyes fluttering.

“Close,” she whispered. “Wanda—I’m so close—”

“Come for me,” Wanda begged. “Fuck—come on me, Nat. I want to feel you.”

That did it.

Natasha cried out, head thrown back, as she came hard, grinding down on Wanda’s fingers with a helpless rhythm. Her whole body trembled through the climax, thighs clenching, voice breaking on Wanda’s name.

Wanda watched all of it —memorized it. She never wanted to forget the sight of Natasha like this: wild and undone, falling apart in her arms.

Natasha collapsed onto her with a strangled moan, their bodies still tangled, her breath hot against Wanda’s neck.

“God,” she panted, “that was… fuck.”

Wanda smiled, dazed and flushed, running her hand slowly down Natasha’s back.

Natasha was still pressed against her, skin damp, her breath ragged against Wanda’s throat. But her hips hadn’t stopped moving. Even in the aftershocks of her orgasm, she ground herself against Wanda’s hand, like she couldn’t get enough —like Wanda had rewired her with nothing but touch.

Wanda was in awe. She’d never seen anyone fall apart so beautifully.

Natasha lifted her head just enough to look down at her—hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a smirk that was all trouble.

Wanda swallowed thickly, trembling now, desire taking over.

“I’d let you fuck my mouth,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded. “If you had a cock, I’d let you fuck me all the ways you want to.”

Natasha groaned, clearly wrecked by that. She dipped her hand between Wanda’s legs, teasing now, fingers brushing over soaked walls.

“Fuck, baby,” she whispered. “You’re dripping.”

Notes:

okaaay… 😈
babes I can’t promise I’ll post the next chapter next week because my schedule’s a little complicated right now 😪 I’ll do my best to update, I promise

as always, thank you for all the love you give this story, it’s so lovely to read your messages 💘
hope you enjoy this funnnnny trip

Chapter 25: Making love (+18)

Summary:

With soft force, she pushed Natasha back against the bed to see her fully.

A smile curled on her lips, equal parts mischief and pride. There was something about surprising Natasha like this that made her feel unstoppable. Almost immortal.

The power swelling in her chest mingled with the desire—and the love—she felt for this woman.

Notes:

TW: shameless smut

“Love…”

“If you want, I can try—” Wanda murmured, her breathing heavier than usual. “I can try to give you one,” she finished, seeking out Natasha’s mouth, kissing each word against her lips.

Natasha met every kiss with a smile, her fingers exploring the wet heat between Wanda’s thighs.

“It’s different…” she tried to speak between the desperate kisses the young Sokovian was giving her. Her other hand cupped Wanda’s jaw, gently pulling her back to look into her eyes. “Are you listening to me?”

To Natasha, there was something almost amusing about seeing Wanda like this —desperate, intense. With every night of passion they shared, their trust and intimacy kept growing deeper.

But this Wanda…

Fuck. This unrecognizable version of her was driving the Russian absolutely wild.

Wanda nodded, her eyes half-lidded, drunk on the need to have this woman inside her, pleasuring her, making her scream. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, gasping for air in a room that felt full of everything and still somehow burning. The mix of Natasha’s natural scent and the faint trace of soap clinging to her skin made Wanda salivate.

“Yes,” she nodded again, swallowing hard, feeling another wave of heat ripple through her from the hand on her neck. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips.

“Do you like that, detka?” Natasha asked, tightening her grip just slightly.

Wanda moaned, nodding as her eyes squeezed shut, her hips using a near-supernatural strength to resist grinding against Natasha’s fingers.

Natasha grinned proudly. “Kinky girl…” she murmured, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Wants my cock so bad you can’t even hear me when I talk?”

Wanda’s fingertips glowed faintly where they touched Natasha’s skin—a flicker of scarlet, gentle and intimate. Then she let one hand drift down —between Natasha’s legs, over her lower stomach— and the glow followed.

A slow breath. A heartbeat.
And then—

Natasha gasped as she looked down. “Baby, what the f—”

Wanda bit her lip, watching her, wide-eyed. “Do you like it?”

Her whole body trembled under the strange sensation washing over her. Wanda’s magic no longer frightened her —it always felt the same now: calm, warm.

Like a tight, enveloping embrace.

Like that time she used it to warm her.

Like the times she uses it just to know where she is.

This time, the tingling was more focused.

Natasha’s eyes darkened. Her hips shifted slightly, testing the weight, the presence —and she moaned, low and raw. Wanda smiled, watching her. With soft force, she pushed Natasha back against the bed to see her fully.

A smile curled on her lips, equal parts mischief and pride. There was something about surprising Natasha like this that made her feel unstoppable. Almost immortal.

The power swelling in her chest mingled with the desire —and the love— she felt for this woman.

Even though Wanda usually enjoyed letting the redhead take control in their relationship —especially when it came to sex— right now, she couldn’t help but feel…

Empowered.

The air was thick with heat and salt, and they were sprawled across the rumpled sheets, skin sticking slightly from sweat and touch. Wanda’s thighs still trembled from the way Natasha had kissed her earlier —slow and deep and teasing— but now, she was focused on something else entirely.

She’d done it without thinking —without even meaning to— just a flicker of red and want, and now it pulsed against Natasha’s belly, long and stiff and almost intimidating.

Wanda sat back on her heels, wide-eyed and breathing hard. “It’s... big.” 

Natasha smirked, one arm lazily thrown behind her head. “Yeah? Have you ever seen one before?” 

The question was bold —risky, even.

But there was something in that gaze, brimming with desire, passion, and uncertainty, that filled her with tenderness.

No matter how intense the air between them grew —thick like never before— her deepest instinct was still to make sure the witch felt safe by her side.

That pleasure came from care. Like it always had.

Wanda looked up through her lashes, eyes gleaming.

“No.”

But she felt curious. Turned on. Spellbound.

Natasha’s cock stood awake, hard, brushing against her abs —thick, smooth, calling for the witch’s attention as she shifted restlessly, feeling her wetness soak her entire core. The flushed tip glistened, almost begging for Wanda.

It was true she had never seen a cock before, but something about the fact that it was part of Natasha —something new, big, slick, pulsing… fuck, she couldn’t help but drool at the sight. Almost decadent, as if it had been made to be worshipped.

She reached for it, fingers wrapping around the base, stroking upward experimentally. Natasha sucked in a breath.

“Oh, detka. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

Wanda smiled faintly. “Feels heavy.”

“Yeah?” Natasha asked, her hand guiding Wanda’s, showing her how to touch her. “What else do you feel?”

The Sokovian bit her lower lip.

“That I want to taste you.”

“That would make me cum quickly.” Natasha teased.

Wanda blinked, then laughed —low and breathy, a little nervous, but far more turned on than anything else. “You want my mouth that bad?”

The Widow’s gaze softened. “Baby, I want you whole.”

The witch licked her lips, leaning down slowly, still lazily pumping her fist along the shaft, watching it twitch under her touch. Her breath ghosted over the tip, and Natasha swore under her breath.

“I’ve never done this,” Wanda murmured.

Natasha’s voice was rough. “You can start slow, baby. Lick it.” She suggested, caressing Wanda’s cheek.

Wanda dragged her tongue over the head —slow, tentative— and watched Natasha’s abs tense. She did it again, firmer now, tasting the heat of her skin and the hum of magic, then sucked the tip into her mouth with a soft, wet pop.

“Oh fuck, baby. Yeah. Just like that,” the redhead mewled, pushing her head back.

Wanda moaned around it, surprised by how good it felt to have it in her mouth —thick and full and just... powerful. She started moving, shallow bobs of her head while her hand kept stroking what her lips couldn’t reach.

Natasha tangled a hand in her hair but didn’t push —just gripped tight and let her do her thing. She had learned to control herself years ago —but there was no doubt that ever since she started this thing with Wanda, that self-control had sharpened even more. Her voice rasping out between groans. “Look at you, detka. You look so pretty with your mouth full.”

Wanda popped off for a second, stroking her faster now, her palm sticky with spit. “You like it?”

“Yeah, ‘feels so good,” the widow nodded, eyes fluttering shut repeatedly —desperate not to miss a single second of the view.

Wanda grinned, then leaned in again, licking and sucking with more confidence —messier now— her own thighs rubbing together beneath her. She needed something between her legs —she needed this.

And then she pulled back, panting, eyes wild. “Lie back, baby. I want to make you feel good.”

Natasha blinked. “You just did—”

Wanda pushed her down and slid between her legs, fingers caressing her thighs before gripping the base of the cock as she sucked it in deeper—wetter, filthier this time—moaning around it as her free hand slid up to squeeze Natasha’s breast.

“Such a good girl, baby,” Natasha gasped. “Gonna let me cum in that pretty little mouth?”

Wanda just moaned harder, nodding as she swallowed around her again, lips stretched and shiny, her jaw aching but her body thrumming with power. Her free hand moved down to cup Natasha’s balls like she owned them.

“Oh my god,” Natasha groaned, hips lifting into her fist. “Wanda—fuck, detka, be careful—”

“You taste so fucking good,” Wanda whispered, licking a stripe up the shaft, then circling the head with her tongue —slow and messy. “You’re so hard. You look like you’re gonna explode.”

Everything felt new. Wanda moved on instinct, reading the expressions of the woman she loved —trying to make her feel good, to please her.

Though she had to admit… she’d read more than a few erotic novels. And she was grateful the scenes had been explicit enough to give her some idea of what to do in a moment like this.

But nothing drove her more than the desire to bring Natasha pleasure.

Nothing thrilled her like knowing the Widow was melting for her.

She leaned down and sucked one of her balls into her mouth, humming around it as she stroked her cock at the same time, thumb teasing the underside.

Natasha’s whole body jerked. “Fuck. Fuck. That’s it—oh god, feels so fucking good.”

Wanda giggled against her, letting it pop free before kissing all over them —soft and open-mouthed— her hand still working the shaft. “They’re so warm. And heavy. You like when I play with them?”

“You’re going to kill me, babygirl,” Natasha rasped. “I swear—”

She was panting now, hands in Wanda’s hair—not pulling, just holding on like it was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

Wanda wrapped her lips back around the tip, slow and sensual, then sank down —deep— as far as she could take her, while her fingers kept rolling and tugging gently at her balls.

Natasha’s head dropped back against the pillows with a thud. “Oh, fuck me, baby, yes—take that cock, just like that. Mouth so full, so pretty.”

Natasha felt… strange. The sensations were so different from when Wanda went down on her pussy. Not better, not worse —just completely different. And just as good.

But she had to admit, there was something about this moment that gave her chills, laced with a sense of power.

She couldn’t help but think about all the times she had been in Wanda’s position —handling a cock that so often brought her nothing but disgust and anger.

And now, seeing the witch completely undone, desperate to draw out her loudest moans, to make her feel good, to give her every ounce of pleasure with this genitalia…

It was genuinely beautiful.

Wanda moaned in response, the vibrations making Natasha twitch. She’d never heard Natasha like this and… God, she felt so sexy, those words only encouraged her to go further, to wanting to get fucked hard by the redhaired. Her spit was everywhere now, running down the length, dripping from her chin. She didn’t care. She looked up at Natasha, eyes glassy with need, cheeks hollowed as she bobbed faster.

“Greedy little thing,” Natasha panted, her voice a rasp. “Fuck—can’t believe this is your first time sucking a cock.”

Wanda’s hand left her balls and moved lower, sliding between her own thighs. She was soaked, dripping, moaning around Natasha as she rubbed herself, eyes fluttering closed.

“You touching yourself now? You got that turned on just by sucking me off?” Natasha was spiraling now, hips fucking up gently into Wanda’s mouth, her voice wrecked. “Fuck. Fuck, baby. I’m so close. You want me to cum in that pretty mouth?”

Wanda pulled off just long enough to whisper, breathless and wrecked, “Please.”

Then she dove back down, both hands on Natasha’s thighs now as she sucked her like she meant to drain her dry.

Natasha cried out, loud and raw, thighs shaking. “Wanda—fuck, I’m—”

Her hips bucked hard once, then again, and then she was groaning, shaking, coming deep in Wanda’s mouth as she held her down gently, nearly whimpering, “Swallow it. That’s it. Good fucking girl.”

Wanda moaned low and thick as she obeyed, licking her clean, still stroking her balls like she wanted to make her cry.

Natasha collapsed back, completely ruined, her voice a hoarse rasp.

“…You’re insane.”

Wanda licked her lips, pupils blown wide. “You taste so good.”

Natasha covered her face with one arm, the other still tangled in Wanda’s hair.

Wanda crawled up her body, flushed and sticky, lips swollen from sucking her off, her thighs trembling with want. She straddled Natasha’s hips, wet and slick against her belly, and reached back to stroke the still-hard cock resting between them.

Natasha took her by the neck, leaning her down to smash their lips together. The kiss was wet, sweet, rough —everything— and full of what Wanda’s tongue had on her. The Widow moaned, tasting herself on the witch’s mouth, lips puffy and swollen, kissing her with a will that was almost animalistic.

“You’re still hard,” Wanda whispered against her mouth, voice thick with awe and arousal.

Natasha nodded, moving back to look at her pretty face —eyes shiny, lips red, wearing that beautiful, relaxed expression that said I’m so full of you and I still need more.

“I want to fuck you so bad, detka.”

Wanda moaned softly, her hips grinding down, teasing herself against it. “I want it too.”

Natasha’s brows lifted. “Yeah?”

Wanda nodded quickly. “I want you inside me. I wanna feel you.”

Natasha sat up a little, her hands finding Wanda’s thighs, thumbs rubbing slow, grounding circles. “It’s not fingers, baby. It’s different. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Wanda leaned down, forehead brushing Natasha’s, lips brushing hers as she whispered, “I’m okay. You’re not going to hurt me. Please.”

And fuck, how could she say no to that?

Natasha kissed her —deep and hot— then guided Wanda’s hips with careful hands, letting her reach back and hold the cock steady as she lined herself up. She was so wet, her folds glistening as she rubbed the tip between them, teasing herself, getting used to the pressure.

“Go slow,” Natasha murmured. “Let your body take it.”

Wanda bit her lip and began to sink down, gasping as the head slid inside —stretching her open, new and intense. Her thighs trembled. She let out a broken whimper, one hand bracing on Natasha’s chest.

“Oh my god.”

Natasha grabbed her hips, firm but steady. “You okay?”

Wanda nodded, eyes wide, lips parted. “It’s… a lot. But it feels so good.”

Bit by bit, she took more, her breath hitching, her nails digging into Natasha’s skin. And then—fuck—she was fully seated, their hips pressed together, the cock buried deep inside her.

“Oh,” Natasha groaned. “You’re so tight. So fucking wet.”

Wanda was shaking slightly, but she rolled her hips experimentally and let out a sound that was pure, desperate need.

”I want more,” she gasped.

“Go slow, detka, get used to the stretch,” Natasha rasped, eyes half-lidded, fighting to stay still. “Easy, baby—”

Wanda started moving, shallow, clumsy little rocks of her hips. She moaned. “It feels so good.”

“God, baby.” Natasha growled, her grip tightening. “Do you like it?.”

“Yeah—fuck.” Wanda’s voice was nearly a whine now, her eyes wild. “Please—fuck me harder, Nat. I can take it.”

That was all it took.

Natasha snapped her hips up, just once, and Wanda cried out, her head falling back, hair a wild halo as she bounced once, twice, her moans rising with every thrust.

The whole scene looked like a work of art. Wanda’s pale, naked body, her furrowed brow welcoming every thrust, her breasts moving with the rhythm.

With half-lidded eyes, Natasha watched her intently —not wanting to miss a single detail of the moment.

Her chest swelled with something indescribable with every passing second. She saw her like this: wild, free, strong, powerful.

The movement of her body, the raw nature she took on, how it enveloped her with such heat and intensity.

The delicate chain Natasha had given her bounced against her sweat-slicked chest until the pendant finally disappeared into her dark hair— The Widow witnessing every step, just as she herself often marked the path with kisses, vanishing against her neck, soaking in the scent of her shampoo.

Natasha felt she could come just from looking at her.

Fuck, she was so in love.

“Oh my god—yes, yes—don’t stop,” Wanda babbled, riding her now, greedy and unrelenting.

Natasha met her rhythm, holding her tight, thrusting up into her slick heat, watching her fall apart.

“You were made for this. Look at you—so cockdrunk already. My perfect girl.”

“Yours,” Wanda gasped. “Only yours.”

Natasha lost it.

She flipped them, pressing Wanda into the mattress, never slipping out, grinding deep inside her. She fucked her slow but hard, making Wanda sob her name, her legs wrapped tight around Natasha’s waist.

“I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,” Natasha promised into her neck.

Wanda moaned. “Yeah, please, baby—”

Wanda was panting beneath her, mouth open, eyes glassy, moaning with every slow, deep thrust. Her hands clawed at Natasha’s back, trying to pull her closer, trying to get more.

“You feel that?” Natasha whispered against her ear, breath hot and ragged. “Feel how deep I am, baby?”

Wanda whimpered, nodding frantically. “So deep… so good…”

Natasha ground her hips down slow, making Wanda scream. 

Then she shifted carefully, reaching for a plush pillow nearby and sliding it gently beneath Wanda’s waist. The soft support lifted her hips, tilting her pelvis just right to open her up more fully. Wanda’s breath hitched as the new angle stretched her pussy wide and welcoming, slick and glistening with the warmth of their desire.

Her folds were swollen and flushed, edges tinged with pink, shining wetly as Natasha’s fingers traced teasing circles along her clit. The delicate, sensitive skin pulsed lightly around Natasha’s cock as it pressed deeper, every inch soaked and trembling with need.

With the pillow propping her hips higher, Wanda’s back arched in perfect surrender, exposing her beautifully flushed, glistening folds even more, inviting Natasha to dive deeper, to fill her completely.

Natasha’s hands gripped her thighs firmly, guiding her movements with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent shivers of bliss coursing through Wanda’s core. Every thrust pressed into that tender heat.

“Better?” Natasha murmured, voice low and husky against Wanda’s skin.

Wanda’s lips parted in a breathless moan, eyes half-lidded with pure need. “So much better,” she whispered, completely lost in the delicious stretch and overwhelming pleasure.

Natasha's eyes gleamed with a mysterious light as she took in the sight of Wanda—completely open before her, at her mercy, her warm, sweaty body wrapped in a layer of desire that mingled with love, all laid bare.

The widow swore she could count every one of her freckles, that being inside her like this was the closest thing to touching heaven with her hands, that the butterflies in her stomach multiplied uncontrollably.

And that the melody their bodies created together was the most beautiful music she’d ever heard in her life.

“You’re taking it so fucking well. My perfect girl—so tight, so wet around my cock. You hear how wet you are? Fuck—listen to that.”

Every thrust echoed with slick, obscene sounds. Wanda’s thighs trembled as she wrapped them higher around Natasha’s waist, trying to anchor herself.

“You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?” Natasha groaned, her voice shaking with restraint. “Wanted to be filled up. Wanted my cock buried in that sweet pussy.”

Wanda moaned something incoherent, trying to kiss her, but Natasha was too far gone. She licked down her neck instead, biting softly at her collarbone. Leaning down, she peppered kisses across her chest, leaving one special kiss on Wanda’s mole on her left breast.

“Look at you—look at you. You’re fucking dripping, baby.”

Wanda sobbed into her shoulder, nails digging into her arms. “I’m gonna come—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Natasha grabbed her chin and tilted her face up, making her look into her eyes as she kept thrusting—slow and deep—rolling her hips with perfect precision. “Yeah? Gonna come on my cock like a good girl?”

Wanda nodded helplessly, her whole body arching up. “Yes—yes, please—”

“Do it. Come for me. Let me feel you squeeze me while I’m inside you, detka.”

That broke her.

Wanda’s body locked up, back arching, eyes rolling as she came hard, shaking beneath Natasha, crying out her name like a prayer.

Natasha groaned, feeling her tighten around her cock, milking her, sucking her in deeper. “Fuck, yes, baby—god.”

Wanda’s legs were still twitching, her body limp but needy, her cunt fluttering around her. Natasha reached between them and rubbed quick circles over Wanda’s clit, making her scream again. “I’m gonna fuck another one out of you.”

Wanda was already gasping, overstimulated but so desperate for it. “Please,” she moaned. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop—”

Natasha smirked and kept fucking her—slow and deep—fingers working her clit until Wanda was a wreck beneath her again: sweating, trembling, moaning with every single thrust.

“You’re mine,” Natasha whispered against her lips. “This pussy’s mine.”

Wanda nodded frantically, already on the edge again. “Yours—yours—yours—fuck—”

She came again, harder than before, her voice breaking, legs shaking violently around Natasha’s hips. Natasha held her through it, whispering sweet things the whole time.

Wanda was barely coherent beneath her —sweaty, flushed, whimpering with every shallow breath. Her pussy was still fluttering around Natasha’s cock, clenching rhythmically like it didn’t want to let her go.

Natasha was losing it.

“You’re so tight when you come, detka,” she growled, hips grinding deeper, slower, trying to hold back and failing miserably. “Squeezing me like you want me to fill you up.”

Wanda just moaned, head rolling to the side, lips parted, completely wrecked. Natasha’s voice was raspy like never before —the intensity pouring from her lover’s body made her powers spark at her fingertips.

She felt like the Russian was possessed, but almost as much as she was.

Because no matter how overwhelming the passion, there was a breath of air filled with love that calmed them both, held them steady, kept their feet grounded.

But fuck, Natasha was hotter than ever.

“Is that what you want?” Natasha whispered, her voice filthy, low, hungry. “You want me to cum inside you?”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open —dark and hazy— and she nodded, slow, eager, desperate. “Please, baby… want it. Want you to come in me.”

Natasha groaned, cock twitching deep inside her. She thrust once—hard—then again, watching Wanda whimper and arch. “Gonna give it to you,” Natasha panted. “Gonna fucking breed this pretty pussy.”

Wanda cried out, her nails clawing at Natasha’s back, legs wrapped tight as she rocked her hips up, meeting every thrust.

“Fill me,” she whispered, eyes locked on Natasha’s. “I wanna feel you cumming inside me, baby, please.”

That broke her.

Natasha thrust one final time, as deep as she could go, and came hard, burying her face in Wanda’s neck, her whole body shuddering as she spilled deep inside her—thick, hot pulses that made Wanda gasp and moan, her hands stroking Natasha’s hair as she felt every wave of it.

“Fuck—Wanda—baby—so good—”

Wanda kissed her cheek, her jaw, her ear. “I know, love. It feels so good.”

Natasha stayed buried deep, twitching, both of them shaking in the aftermath. Wanda was still grinding gently against her, drawing out every last drop.

“You came so much,” she murmured, dreamy and ruined. “I can feel it in me.”

Natasha finally lifted her head —flushed and dazed— looking down at her with a dark, fucked-out grin. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

She leaned in and kissed her slow, tasting sweat and spit and everything they’d just done.

They lay tangled in the sheets, limbs entwined and skin slick with sweat and the remnants of their messy, furious ride. Wanda’s thighs were still glistening, a thin trail of Natasha’s cum dripping slowly down, pooling softly on the mattress beneath them.

Wanda let out a breathy laugh, tracing her fingers lazily over Natasha’s chest, smearing the warmth of their mess between them.

“We’re such a mess,” she whispered, voice low and playful.

Natasha’s lips curled into a wicked smile, one hand threading through Wanda’s tangled hair, the other resting possessively on her hip.

“Did you like it?”

Wanda nodded, her smile as sweet as ever. “I did. Did you?”

Natasha’s grin softened into something more tender. “It’s really weird to have this thing between my legs,” she confessed, glancing down at their bodies tangled. “But I loved feeling you around me, detka,” she finished, kissing her lovingly on the lips.

Wanda lifted her hand and wiped a slick strand from her thigh with the back of her fingers, tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweetness left behind. “I’ll never get enough of how delicious you taste,” she said with a grin, eyes glittering with mischief.

Natasha chuckled, her voice thick with desire and amusement. “This particular taste is completely your magic, you know?”

“It’s completely you, baby.”

They kissed then—slow, sticky, and full of all the heat they’d just shared. Wanda’s fingers tangled in Natasha’s hair as their lips moved in perfect rhythm, tasting, teasing. But after a moment, Wanda pulled back just enough to grin wickedly.

“Race you to the shower,” she teased, voice sultry and challenging.

Natasha groaned, catching her breath. “You’re impossible.”

But she wasn’t about to let Wanda win. She grabbed Wanda’s wrist gently but firmly, pulling her closer, eyes shining with a playful pout on her lips.

“I want cuddles.”

Wanda laughed, arching up to press her body fully against Natasha’s. The soft, sticky mess between them made everything slippery and delicious, but neither of them cared. This—this chaotic, tangled aftermath—was theirs. 

Natasha leaned down, lips brushing Wanda’s ear as she whispered, “I feel so fucking happy.”

Wanda shivered, breath hitching as Natasha’s fingers slid down her spine, goosebumps rising where her touch grazed. “I feel happy too. You make me happy,” she murmured.

They stayed wrapped together like that for a long time—soft kisses, whispered dirty jokes, gentle teasing touches that sent shivers through both of them. The world outside the room faded, leaving only their breath, their warmth, their sticky, chaotic love.

Eventually, Wanda’s fingers traced slow circles over Natasha’s chest, still slick and warm.

“Okay, maybe I’ll let you win the race.”

Natasha laughed, tugging Wanda close for one last kiss before they both rolled out of bed—still dripping, still laughing, still completely and utterly theirs.

And very much in love with each other. 

Notes:

okay, this was… a lot 😳
sorry if it’s not really your thing —I get it. it’s been a while since I’ve written smut like this, I feel a bit rusty lol but I think it was about time 😈

thank you for your comments and kudos, the ones from the last chapter made me laugh so much. Just… thank you 💓 it makes me so happy that you’re enjoying the fic. I think you give it meaning, and personally, it really motivates me to keep writing

some very cute chapters are coming 🤓 stay tuned, babessss

Chapter 26: Teach me how to dance.

Summary:

“How did you sleep, baby?” Natasha asked after a while.

Wanda smiled. “Really well.”

“Did you dream of me?”

“I always dream of you,” Wanda replied. “I always have…”

Wanda smiled as she felt Natasha’s warm hand spread across her stomach. Playful nails scratched her sun-kissed skin while those full lips — the ones she now felt she knew by heart — kissed her shoulder.

Immediately, a wave of peace washed over her.

Because there was only one thing that could rival the anthropological comfort of sleep:

And it was waking up like this — with kisses, with caresses, feeling loved, cared for.

Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the Mediterranean sunlight streaming through the window. The heat was undeniable. Their naked bodies had already grown used to each other’s temperatures, but the sheen of sweat from warm skin against warm skin was still present.

Not that they minded. Because along with that thin layer of sweat, there was also leftover shower gel from the night before, and body cream they’d smeared across each other with kisses and slow, wandering hands after a long night of sex.

Natasha let out a low moan as she moved one of her legs between Wanda’s and felt her warm sex wrap around her thigh. They’d spent so many nights together already, and still, she didn’t think she’d ever get used to the feeling of the Sokovian’s wet heat pressed against her. The knowledge that she was the one who caused it — that it was her touch alone that made Wanda tremble like this.

“Good morning, my love,” she murmured, her voice rasping in a way that never failed to make Wanda wet.

Wanda sighed. “Good morning. I’m hopelessly in love with you,” she mumbled, still half-asleep, prompting immediate laughter from the Widow as she hugged her tighter from behind.

“Yeah?” Natasha asked against her ear.

“Yeah. And with your morning voice, ugh,” Wanda groaned, squeezing Natasha’s hand where it rested in the curve of her breast. “You’re insufferable.”

“Babe, I brought you on vacation to the Mediterranean and I’m the insufferable one?” the Russian leaned over her shoulder, raising a perfectly arched brow.

Wanda nodded, looking at her with sleepy amusement. “You’re just too perfect.”

Natasha smirked, leaning in to place a trail of soft kisses along her neck. “So are you. And I don’t think you’re insufferable.”

“Love, you’re being very cheesy,” Wanda laughed, finally turning over to face her.

Natasha pouted in mock offense — a look Wanda immediately leaned in to kiss away, her hands caressing her face as she pressed repeated kisses to her lips.

“You have no idea how many people would’ve killed to see the fearsome Black Widow like this,” Natasha teased, squeezing Wanda’s hip bone and drawing a small squeal from the witch, who only rolled her eyes in response.

“Well, if the fearsome Black Widow is like this with me… must mean something,” Wanda murmured with smug confidence, making Natasha chuckle.

The redhead nodded, and after a long sigh, they let themselves fall into a quiet moment, just watching each other.

Natasha smiled, her attention drifting to the tiny freckles scattered across Wanda’s face. Mentally, she began to count them, tracing invisible lines between them, connecting the dots one by one.

Wanda was lost in an internal battle over which part of the Widow’s face she loved most. It felt impossible to rank them: her eyes, her nose, her lips, those sun-kissed cheekbones…

“How did you sleep, baby?” Natasha asked after a while.

Wanda smiled. “Really well.”

“Did you dream of me?”

“I always dream of you,” Wanda replied. “I always have…”

“Yeah?” Natasha raised her brows, surprised.

The young Sokovian felt her cheeks flush. “Not you specifically, Natasha,” she clarified, swallowing hard and shifting slightly to stare up at the ceiling. “But I always dreamed of being like this with someone. In love. Being able to love. I don’t know… it’s a little silly.”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all,” Natasha replied, her warm hand drawing lazy, meaningless patterns on Wanda’s stomach.

Wanda turned to look at her. “Have you ever loved someone before?” she asked shyly.

Natasha gave her a mischievous smile. “I’m scared this is a trap and if I answer, you’ll get jealous and mad.”

“Depends on the answer…”

The Widow laughed, then sighed as she looked at her. “Honestly? No. Not like this.”

“I’m your first…?” Wanda asked, wide-eyed with surprise. Her expression was so tender it made Natasha’s heart melt.

Natasha nodded, leaning in to kiss her lips softly. “You’re my first love, my love,” she whispered against her mouth.

Wanda blinked slowly, her lashes brushing against her flushed cheeks as she processed Natasha’s words.

There was a part of her that still couldn’t believe this was real — that the woman wrapped around her, the same one whose name used to send shivers down her spine for very different reasons, was now whispering things like “you’re my first love.”

She touched Natasha’s jaw, tracing the edge with her thumb. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she murmured.

Natasha chuckled softly, her voice still raspy from sleep. “That’s the plan.”

They stayed like that for a moment — eyes locked, noses brushing, breath mingling — until Wanda broke into a grin and shook her head.

“You’re not even denying it.”

“Would it help if I said I was a little bit ruined too?” Natasha tilted her head, lips brushing the corner of Wanda’s mouth. “You make me soft. It’s disgusting.”

Wanda laughed, the sound muffled by Natasha’s skin as she buried her face in the crook of her neck.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Wanda teased.

“I don’t,” Natasha muttered, deadpan. “It’s horrible. I caught myself smiling at a baby yesterday.”

“You smiled at a baby?” Wanda gasped dramatically, pulling back.

“I almost smiled. Then it drooled, and I remembered who I am.”

Wanda snorted. “Oh, you’re so tough.”

Natasha smirked. “I know, I’m charming.”

There was a beat of silence, filled only with the sound of the Mediterranean waves crashing faintly in the distance and their legs lazily tangled under the sheets.

Then Wanda stretched with a groan, her body arching like a cat. “Breakfast?”

Natasha hummed. “Only if you let me serve you like a princess.”

“That’s suspiciously romantic of you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Natasha replied, already sliding out of bed and reaching for her robe — but not before Wanda smacked her bare ass with a grin.

“Hey!” Natasha turned, feigning indignation.

Wanda only shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “What? Just claiming what’s mine.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes playfully. “If you keep doing that, we’re not leaving this room.”

“Promise?” Wanda purred, sitting up on her knees.

Natasha groaned. “God, you're gonna kill me.”

“Death by Sokovian affection,” Wanda declared. “There are worse ways to go.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, yanked her robe closed, and pointed a warning finger at her. “Put some clothes on. Before I forget breakfast and take you back to the shower.”

 

 

Even though the resort buffet was buzzing with people, the atmosphere felt relaxed—soft murmurs of conversation blending with gentle music that floated through the open-air dining area, just steps from the beach. There was something infectious about the way the guests smiled, like joy was something you could catch just by breathing in the salty air.

There was something addictive about the feeling of people on vacation.

At least for Wanda, whose only real holidays in her life had been these past few months—and always with Natasha by her side.

The Russian, for her part, looked far more at ease in a setting like this. Not because her life had been full of luxury—nothing could be further from the truth—but because she carried years of undercover missions with Steve, playing young lovers at coastal resorts to catch mafia bosses in the act. Still, she had to admit—she'd never enjoyed paradise quite like this.

And really, it made perfect sense.

Just a few feet away, her favorite witch was standing in front of the fruit bar, plate in one hand, tongs in the other, frozen in deep contemplation. Watermelon? Melon? Strawberries? Her brows were knitted together in the kind of internal war only Wanda Maximoff could wage over breakfast choices, and watching her made butterflies riot in Natasha's stomach.

With a quiet sigh, Natasha filled her coffee cup and returned to their table in the corner, the one with the perfect ocean view.

“Do you want orange juice?” Wanda asked sweetly as she passed by, fingers brushing Natasha’s shoulder in a soft caress.

Natasha looked up and smiled at her over her shoulder. “No, love. I’m good, thank you,” she replied, pressing a kiss to the back of Wanda’s hand before she walked off.

Wanda returned a moment later with her glass full and a glow of contentment on her face that Natasha didn’t think she’d ever seen before. Her loose shirt had a few buttons undone, revealing a hint of a peach-colored bikini top that made Natasha’s mind spiral into dangerous places.

“Oh?” Wanda’s voice lifted in surprise when Natasha slid a small plate toward her with a slice of lemon tart—her favorite.

“You remembered?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Obviously,” Natasha replied proudly, popping a strawberry into her mouth, its juice slipping down her fingers.

Wanda blushed, then leaned closer with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Lucky strawberry…”

Natasha burst into laughter, leaning back in her chair, reaching for a napkin to clean her hands. Her grin was wide and wicked.

“Funny coming from you, you know?” she said, grabbing Wanda’s juice and taking a cheeky sip.

Wanda rolled her eyes in mock annoyance.

But then Natasha’s expression softened. Her hand reached across the table, fingers seeking Wanda’s, weaving them together. “Does it hurt?” she asked quietly.

Wanda shook her head, swallowing a bite of toast before answering. “No,” she said, her eyes drifting toward the sea. “Nothing you do ever hurts. You take such good care of me.”

Natasha’s smile turned tender. “You take care of me, too,” she murmured.

Wanda turned to her then, eyes soft. “I love you,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss her—once, twice, three times.

“I love you,” Natasha replied against her lips, smiling as she kissed her back.

Wanda’s fingers still tangled with Natasha’s, she leaned her cheek into her palm and smiled dreamily. “I think I could live like this forever,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded from sun and kisses. “Sun, sand, sugar... and you.”

Natasha gave her a teasing look, quirking one brow. “So I’m just part of the dessert buffet now?”

Wanda shrugged, feigning innocence. “I mean, you are sweet. And bite-sized.” She leaned forward to bite into her lemon tart, then licked a bit of filling off the corner of her lip. Deliberately slowly.

Natasha nearly dropped her fork.

“Oh, we’re playing that game today,” she said under her breath, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion.

“I’m just having breakfast,” Wanda replied, voice syrupy. “What’s your problem, Romanoff?”

“You. You’re my problem,” Natasha muttered, before sitting back and letting her gaze trail over Wanda’s bare legs beneath the table. “You walk around all morning in my shirt, looking like that, and then have the audacity to flirt with fruit and call me the sweet one?”

Wanda’s laugh was low and warm. “Would you prefer I flirted with something else?”

“Try it and see what happens,” Natasha murmured, voice dropping a little too low to be innocent.

Wanda giggled, reaching over to steal a strawberry from Natasha’s plate and pop it into her mouth.

Natasha leaned in then, just enough for only Wanda to hear her. “I’m starting to think we should skip the beach and stay in the room today.”

Wanda hummed. “Mm. Tempting. But then who’s going to watch you in that bikini I packed for you?”

“You what?”

“I snuck it into your suitcase,” Wanda whispered, the picture of mischief. “Blue. High cut. Tiniest straps I could find.”

Natasha blinked at her, then shook her head with a breathless laugh.

A sudden hush fell between them as a small family passed by the terrace. Two women, walking close but unhurried, like they belonged not just to each other, but to the moment itself. One wore a baby snug to her chest, asleep in a wrap with a sunhat too big for its tiny head. The other gently guided a boy no older than five, whose chubby hand clutched a red bucket and whose curls bounced with each sulky stomp.

Wanda watched, sipping the last of her juice, eyes soft.

The boy let out a dramatic sigh, clearly displeased about leaving the beach. His mother crouched down, whispering something that made him smile despite himself. He nodded, accepted a gummy snack, and leaned against her with complete, unthinking trust.

“They’re cute,” Wanda murmured, without thinking.

Natasha followed her gaze and smiled. “Yeah... they are.”

Wanda’s expression lingered on the baby’s head bobbing against its mother’s chest, then shifted toward the boy’s bright bucket. “I like kids,” she said, almost absently, as if she were still caught in that little scene.

Natasha glanced at her sideways, a fond curve appearing at the corner of her lips. “Yeah? You’re not afraid of all the noise and chaos and finger paint?”

Wanda gave a soft chuckle. “No. I think it’s kind of... grounding. Honest.”

Natasha nodded slowly, turning her glass in her hand. “Clint’s kids are like that,” she said. “Lila especially. She’s got this ridiculous stubborn streak, always tries to beat me at card tricks. Fails every time, but swears she’s onto me.”

Wanda smiled at the mental image. “She sounds adorable.”

“She is.” Natasha’s voice lowered just slightly. “You’d like them. I think they’d like you too.”

There was a small pause. Wanda blinked down at the table, brushing her thumb over the condensation ring on her glass.

“I’d like to meet them,” she said quietly, but her words carried something more than politeness—something unsure, but hopeful.

Natasha turned to her fully, tucking her leg under the table, and leaned a bit closer. “Yeah?” she asked, eyes flicking between Wanda’s.

Wanda nodded, cheeks warm from more than the sun. “Yeah.”

 

 

Wanda stopped a few feet from the dock, arms crossed, her bare feet sinking into the warm, wet sand. Natasha was already on the jet ski, standing with her feet planted on the base, the seat between her legs, balancing easily as she adjusted her sunglasses. The blue swimsuit hugged her like a secret, her thighs glistening with water droplets, confidence radiating off her in waves that rivaled the ocean.

Wanda tilted her head, lips curving. “I want to give you head again so bad,” she said casually, loud enough for only Natasha to hear.

Natasha’s head turned slowly, her brows lifting behind her sunglasses.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, voice low and smooth, barely hiding the twitch of a smirk. “Is that your idea of foreplay now? Compliments with a death wish?”

Wanda just grinned and started walking toward her. “You started it—looking like that. You’re practically begging for it.”

“I’m begging for you to get your ass on this jet ski before I leave without you,” Natasha warned, but her voice was warm, almost giddy. Her sunglasses slipped down her nose just enough to let Wanda see the spark in her eyes. “Though I can’t promise I won’t drive us straight into a wave if you keep talking like that.”

Wanda stepped onto the jet ski behind her, wrapping her arms snugly around Natasha’s waist, chest pressed to her back. She rested her chin on her shoulder, lips brushing against her ear.

“I like it when you threaten me,” she murmured, fingers splaying slowly across her stomach, not entirely innocently. "Turns me on." 

Natasha let out a shaky breath and turned her head slightly, just enough for her nose to brush Wanda’s cheek. “Careful, Maximoff.”

“What, scared you’ll like it too much?”

“I’m scared I won’t be able to concentrate and I’ll drive us into a rock,” Natasha muttered, but she was smiling now—flushed and biting the inside of her cheek. "Wanna drive, baby?" 

Wanda giggled, “The only thing I’m riding…” she purred near her ear, “is you.” Then tightened her grip as the engine roared to life. The jet ski surged forward, slicing through the water, and Wanda shrieked in delight, holding onto Natasha like her life depended on it.

“Then, hold on tight!” Natasha shouted over the wind, thrilled by the adrenaline—her own and Wanda’s.

“Oh, I’m not letting go,” Wanda called back, laughter bubbling from her chest. “You’re way too sexy when you’re reckless.”

They rode hard across the waves for a while, wind tangling Wanda’s hair and Natasha whooping like she hadn’t in years. But eventually, Natasha eased the throttle, guiding the jet ski toward a small cove where the cliffs blocked most of the view from the beach.

The ocean settled around them, gentle swells rocking the jet ski. The sun glinted off the water like scattered diamonds, and everything felt still.

Natasha let out a breath, her back rising and falling beneath Wanda’s arms.

“That’s better,” she murmured, reaching up to push her sunglasses into her hair.

“Mm, very private,” Wanda noted, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of her neck.

“You sound like you have plans.”

Wanda’s fingers, which had been lazily resting on Natasha’s stomach, slipped lower with aching slowness. Her voice stayed light. “Maybe I do.”

Natasha tensed when Wanda’s fingertips brushed along the edge of her bikini bottoms. “Wanda…”

“Shh,” Wanda whispered, lips at her ear. “Please, I just wanna play a little.”

Her fingers dipped lower, teasing the fabric aside until she could touch bare, warm skin. Natasha’s breath caught sharply when Wanda’s fingers brushed over her clit—light, barely-there strokes.

“Detka,” she warned again, but it was shaky, desperate. “This thing could tip.”

“Then you better stay very, very still,” Wanda purred, nuzzling her shoulder. Natasha’s breath hitched when Wanda’s other hand crept upward, gliding over her stomach and slipping beneath her bikini top with confident ease. Fingers found a nipple, already hard, and Wanda smiled against her skin when Natasha whimpered.

 

 

When the coastline turned a deep orange as the sun sank to kiss the sea, Natasha decided to head down to the beach.

From the room’s window, she had seen hotel staff busy with preparations—torches and small fire pits glowing with calm, controlled flames decorated the setting. The bar—made entirely of wood—was being run by a very cheerful bartender. And of course, the music was the cherry on top: rhythmic and upbeat, a sweet and gentle playlist of slow reggaeton played in the background. It invited a little hip-swaying, sure, but it was clearly meant for a romantic, fun evening.

Guests were asked to wear white linen clothing.

Which made Wanda laugh out loud—because they didn’t own anything like that.

But Natasha dragged her into a clothing store near the hotel and bought a long dress for Wanda, practically forcing her to try it on—and, obviously, knowing it would look incredible on her. Natasha herself went for some comfortable pants and a fitted top.

Guests were starting to fill the beach, relaxed and barefoot, drinks in hand and smiles on their faces.

Even though the atmosphere was incredibly beautiful and peaceful, Wanda couldn’t quite shake the nerves that came with being in such a public place—so exposed.

“Your hands are sweaty,” Natasha murmured calmly as they stood in a corner, quietly observing everything. Wanda blushed, quickly letting go of Natasha’s hand, which made her frown.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked, almost with a pout, grabbing Wanda’s hand again.

“Sorry,” the witch whispered, resting her head on the redhead’s shoulder. “I’m just not used to being around so many people.”

“Want to go back to the room?” Natasha asked, pulling away slightly to look into her eyes.

Wanda shook her head. “I want to show you off a little longer,” she said with a smile.

Natasha laughed, the sound a melody that melted Wanda, while her other hand wrapped around the witch’s waist.

“I see the way women look at you,” Wanda murmured against her neck, “even with their boyfriends right there…”

The redhead smirked, hugging her tighter, her hand gently squeezing Wanda’s waist. “Let them look all they want, baby. I only have eyes for you.”

Wanda stepped back just enough to rest her hands on Natasha’s hips. “You better,” she muttered with mock annoyance, leaning in to kiss her lips.

Natasha kissed her back, lifting her hands to cradle Wanda’s face.

The kiss lingered sweetly between them, warm and slow, as the music drifted over the beach like a lazy wave. Wanda smiled against Natasha’s lips, eyes half-lidded and glowing with the fading sunlight.

“I’m going to get us some drinks,” Natasha murmured, brushing her nose against Wanda’s. “Will you wait for me here?”

Wanda smiled slyly. “I always wait for you.”

With one last kiss to her cheek, Natasha walked away across the soft sand toward the bar, her silhouette elegant and confident under the amber sky. Wanda watched her go, already missing the warmth of her body so close to hers.

She folded her arms loosely, taking in the sight of the torches flickering around the beach, the laughter of strangers, and the rhythm of the music. It was beautiful. Too beautiful to be real, almost.

Then she felt it—a presence behind her… and a hand, unfamiliar, gently settling on her waist.

She tensed.

“Sorry,” said a male voice, low and smooth. “You looked a little lonely here, and I figured someone as stunning as you shouldn’t be left waiting alone.”

Wanda blinked, her expression shifting quickly from confusion to barely-contained amusement. Before she could respond, she heard Natasha’s unmistakable laugh behind her.

“Hey,” Natasha said sweetly, stepping into view with two cocktails in hand—and a glint in her eyes that didn’t quite match the tone of her voice. “Are we making new friends?”

“Oh, hi,” the man said with a smile. “I’m here with my brother—do you two want to dance with us?” he asked, turning slightly to motion at another man dancing enthusiastically on the sand.

Wanda shifted uncomfortably, still feeling the man’s hand on her waist. Almost instinctively, her body leaned into Natasha’s.

Natasha raised her eyebrows, clearly amused by the offer. As she removed the man’s hand from Wanda’s body, she tilted her head and cleared her throat before saying, “Sorry, but I don’t think my girl is interested.”

The man froze, swallowing hard.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t know she was—”

“You didn’t know she was what?” Natasha tilted her head the other way, her tone still pleasant, but her smile growing sharper. Her hand spread across Wanda’s waist like a claim. “Taken? Or completely, absolutely out of your league?”

Wanda coughed, trying not to laugh.

The guy raised his hands in surrender, already backing away with a mumbled apology.

Natasha turned back to Wanda and offered her the drink.

“You were gone for two minutes,” Wanda said, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

“Exactly. Two minutes too long,” Natasha muttered, stepping close again and slipping an arm around Wanda’s waist possessively. “I leave you alone for two seconds and people line up to hit on you.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Wanda replied innocently, taking a sip of her drink. “I was just standing here.”

“Oh, it’s because you’re so damn pretty,” Natasha said. “That’s the problem.”

Wanda bit back a smile, cheeks warm, eyes sparkling. “You’re not actually mad, are you?”

Natasha leaned in, her lips brushing Wanda’s ear. “No. But if you want to make it up to me… you’re going to have to dance.”

The Sokovian smiled as she watched the widow's body move to the rhythm of the music. The soft firelight from the torches flickered across Natasha's features, making her hair glow like molten copper, and her eyes sparkle—part from the drink in her hand, part from something Wanda couldn’t name, but always felt.

She looked happy. Honestly happy. And it made Wanda feel warm in a way no fire ever could.

“You move really well,” Wanda murmured, a little shy, though she swayed gently to the music, her hips following Natasha’s lead.

Natasha grinned. “Surprised?” she teased, reaching out to grab Wanda’s hand and raise it above her head, spinning her in a loose, playful twirl.

Wanda giggled, the motion making her dress flare. “After last night?” she teased back. “Not even a little.”

The music drifted into something soft and dreamy, and the firelight cast golden shadows across the sand. Natasha swayed with Wanda, hands resting low on her waist, noses brushing with every gentle turn.

Wanda looked up at her, cheeks warm, eyes lazy and happy. “Do we have to go back?”

Natasha tilted her head. “You getting spoiled already?”

Wanda gave her a dramatic little pout. “Maybe. I like it here. I like you here.”

Natasha chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle her nose. “You like the cocktails.”

“I like you,” Wanda insisted, still pouting, wrapping her arms around Natasha's neck. “And the beach. And this dress. And the way you dance. And the way I don’t have to think about anything except how cute you look in linen.”

Natasha grinned, clearly pleased. “I do rock linen.”

Wanda’s arms tightened around her. “Let’s never leave.”

Natasha hummed, her hand resting on the sokovian's lower back. “Tempting. But I think they’ll notice if we move into one of the cabanas.”

Wanda groaned dramatically, burying her face in Natasha’s neck. “Ugh. You’re so reasonable.”

Natasha kissed her temple. “Tell you what—next time, you pick the place. Beach, mountains, weird little cottage in the woods... I’m yours.”

Wanda peeked up at her, hopeful. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Natasha whispered, tugging her in by the waist.

Notes:

I’ve realized I love writing beach scenes while listening to reggaeton lol. So yeah, wanna know the inspiration?

Como dormiste bb by Rels B
Enséñame a bailar by Bad Bunny
Weltita by Bad Bunny
basically almost the whole last album by Bad Bunny 🤓

okey, hope you like this chapter babes! of course, I wrote these last three while I was on holiday, so I was TOOOO inspired 🫦

today, life’s a lot, so let’s hope I find the time to keep writing 🥹

thank you for your comments and kudos — I’ll be replying to them in these few days promise 💖

Chapter 27: New friends.

Summary:

Wanda’s heart ached as she looked at him. “Hey there,” she replied sweetly, stepping closer, careful not to startle him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, crouching to meet his eyes.

The boy nodded, though he didn’t look very okay at all.

“I was playing at home and then—well, then…” His voice faltered.

"Hi, mama," Wanda whispered softly, her feet stepping carefully over the rocks along the edge of the Norwegian lake she now felt was hers. "How are you up there?"

Her mind filled with images of her family—images that still lived as vividly in her memory as they did years ago. Her heart thudded with the overwhelming flood of love and sorrow that came rushing in.

"It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to you," she admitted quietly. And it was true—these moments of ancestral conversation usually happened with Pietro, the last one to leave. "But I have so many things to tell you…”

She made her way to the familiar rock she always used as her seat—the big one that faced the lake and offered a beautiful view, with a patch of wild daisies nearby. Wanda liked to imagine they turned their faces toward her whenever she spoke.

“I think you already know I’m dating Natasha…” she let out a small, bashful laugh at saying it out loud. It always amused her to imagine her family watching everything from above, witnessing every detail of her earthly life. “Yeah, Pietro must be happy I finally did it.” She laughed again, thinking back to those early nights at the Avengers Tower, talking with her brother about how intimidating Natasha felt—and how quickly Pietro had pointed out that what she felt was more than fear. It was a full-blown crush.

Yes, mixed with admiration… and maybe a little fear.
But more than anything—desire.

“I’m getting to know the most wonderful person in the world.” Wanda sighed, her gaze dropping to the light green ring Natasha had given her, her fingers tracing its edges. “You would’ve loved meeting her like this,” she added, smiling softly through the ache in her chest.

Her eyes began to fill with tears, but she fought to keep them in—her heart needed to speak, and she didn’t want crying to get in the way.

“I feel as safe as I did when you were here with me.” The confession left her lips in a breath. “I’m scared of losing her… I feel so sad when she’s not around.” She took a deep breath. “She’s sweet, and kind, and loving, and gentle…” Wanda laughed, warmth blooming in her chest as she thought of how tender Natasha could be. “She’s funny too—she makes me laugh so much.”

And she did—Wanda laughed again just thinking about her.

Biting her bottom lip, she went on. “She’s so warm. Papa would’ve liked her—though, yeah… she’s Russian.” She rolled her eyes fondly, remembering the little tensions between their home countries.

“And she’s beautiful…” she added after a long, heartfelt sigh. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Her voice softened. “I know you’ve probably already seen her from up there, but I don’t think you can imagine how breathtaking she is up close.” Wanda felt her cheeks warm as she said it. “She’s so feminine, so stunning—she’s like a princess from the stories you used to read me before bed, mamochka.”

“But she’s also so charming… and she makes me feel like a princess too.” Wanda said softly, her body gently swaying as she let herself bask in the warmth of her love for Natasha. “I’m completely in love.”

She sighed, eyes drifting up toward the sky. “I think I want to start a family with her,” she admitted bashfully. “But I know it’s probably too soon to be thinking about that.”

“Hi. Sorry—I heard you talking to your mom…” a soft, high-pitched voice interrupted gently.

Wanda turned to find a child standing next to her—a little boy, brown hair and brown eyes, with tears clinging to his lashes and scraped knees.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but… could you help me find mine?”

Wanda’s heart ached as she looked at him. “Hey there,” she replied sweetly, stepping closer, careful not to startle him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, crouching to meet his eyes.

The boy nodded, though he didn’t look very okay at all.

“I was playing at home and then—well, then…” His voice faltered. Wanda extended her hand, and the child took it without hesitation, pressing into her side as if she were a safe harbor. His head rested against her stomach as a few tears finally escaped. “I got lost. I want to go back to my moms.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Wanda murmured, gently running her fingers through his hair and wrapping her arms around him. “I’ll help you, but first I want to check those scrapes, okay?”

He nodded again, looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes. Wanda’s heart broke a little more at the sight. She wiped his tears gently, kneeling fully in front of him so they were eye-to-eye.

“I’m Wanda. What’s your name?”

“Nicky.”

 

 

 

“Detka, I know I promised you Russian soup, but I ran into a problem—I forgot some of the spices, so… grilled meat for lunch it is.”

Natasha called out as she heard the motorhome door open. She expected a quick answer, but when the silence stretched, her body turned instinctively. Apron tied around her waist, knife still in hand.

“Hi…” Wanda murmured, standing in the doorway with a child holding her hand.

Natasha’s brow furrowed as she slowly lowered the knife, her eyes flicking from Wanda to the boy and back. “Baby, what… what is this?” the Russian asked, visibly confused.

“A child,” Wanda replied, deadpan, with a teasing smile.

The redhead rolled her eyes, but when she noticed the scrapes on the boy’s knees, she immediately knelt down to his level. “Hey there, little guy.”

“Hi…” Nicky replied shyly, half-hiding behind Wanda’s legs.

“You’re a little banged up. Can I help you with that?”

Wanda smiled gently, giving his hand a small squeeze. “That’s Natasha,” she told him. “The pretty girl I was telling you about—she’s going to help us.”

Natasha chuckled at hearing that, and the boy visibly relaxed. The atmosphere around them felt safe. He could sense it. Even though the women’s presence gave off a strong red hue—intense and powerful—there was a warmth to it, like a stove lit in the middle of winter, warming frozen hands and wrapping the space in comfort.

“Hi, I’m Natasha,” the Widow said softly, introducing herself.

When Nicky didn’t respond right away, Wanda answered for him. “This is Nicky. I found him lost by the lake,” she explained calmly.

“So, you adopted him and now we’re moms?” Natasha teased, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “No. I want to heal him and return him to his moms.”

“Where are your moms, sweetheart?” Natasha asked the boy gently.

“I don’t know. I was playing and then I got lost… I walked alone for a long time.”

Natasha nodded, lifting her eyes to meet Wanda’s. One of those loaded glances they often exchanged—filled with meaning, silent understanding passing effortlessly between them.

“Let’s sit on the couch,” Wanda offered, guiding the boy with her. “So Nat can get the first aid kit.”

Nicky didn’t let go of her. He didn’t want to be separated from the witch for even a second.

He felt safe with Natasha too—but Wanda… Wanda reminded him of mama.

The Sokovian gave him a warm smile and turned on the TV, putting on some cheerful cartoons to distract him. Meanwhile, Natasha returned, now without the apron and carrying the first aid kit in her hands.

“Okay, little man,” the redhead murmured, kneeling in front of him again. “Can I clean up your wounds now?”

Nicky nodded, but immediately curled closer into Wanda’s side, seeking her warmth and comfort.

And Natasha… she had to admit, the sight of it—Wanda, nurturing this lost little boy with such tenderness—warmed something deep in her heart. Something she didn’t know had ever been cold.

As Natasha prepared the supplies, her mind filled with images of Wanda just like this—caring for a child. But not just any child—their child. She pictured Wanda stroking soft hair—hair that might be red, with eyes either green or honey-brown, depending on who the little one resembled more.

Wanda knew exactly what Natasha was thinking. She knew this woman too well.

Of course she was worried. They didn’t know who the child was, and helping him could expose them to serious trouble, especially considering they were still fugitives in the eyes of the American government.

But there was something else in Nat’s eyes. A glimmer. Like a wish. A quiet, unspoken “maybe someday.”

When the damp cotton touched the boy’s skin, he flinched. But Natasha moved so gently, offering him her free hand to hold, that the pain didn’t last long.

“You’re doing great. So strong,” she whispered, discarding the bloodied cotton and preparing another for his other knee. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”

Nicky’s lower lip trembled, forming a small pout that nearly melted the Widow. “I started running to look for my mama, and I tripped on the rocks by the lake,” he said, eyes now fixed on the scrapes—less bloody now, easier to look at.

“Does it hurt?” Wanda asked tenderly, her fingers threading softly through his hair.

Nicky nodded, but when Natasha’s warm hands gently wrapped the wounds with gauze, he let out a soft sigh. The pressure of the fabric felt comforting—protective.

“Alright, Nicky,” Natasha said with a breath. “You’re all set. Are you hungry?”

Of course, Nicky nodded.

 

 

 

While Nicky sat on the couch, quietly eating and watching cartoons, Wanda slipped into the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around Natasha from behind, resting her face against her back, feeling her exhale and pause mid-motion over the dishes.

“Please don’t be mad…” Wanda whispered gently, just for her.

Natasha chuckled, drying her hands on a towel. “I’m not mad, dorogoya. I’m worried,” the Widow admitted in the same soft tone.

“I know… but I didn’t know what else to do. He found me, and he asked for help,” Wanda murmured. “I couldn’t leave him out there, love… not alone.”

Natasha turned around, cupping Wanda’s sad face in her hands. “It’s okay, detka,” the Widow said softly. “Everything you did was right. You’re wonderful.”

Wanda gave her a small pout, and Natasha gently brushed her thumb over it before placing a brief kiss there.

“Motherhood suits you…” the witch teased playfully, her voice light.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the fond smile on her lips didn’t fade. Her gaze drifted to Nicky, still sitting on the couch, eating and giggling at the cartoons.

“We should get him back as soon as we can,” Natasha said calmly. “I can’t imagine how worried his moms must be.”

Wanda nodded, hugging Natasha a little tighter, a wave of emotion swelling in her chest. “I’d be devastated if I lost my baby,” she whispered.

Natasha held her tighter, her embrace deepening with instinct—protective, steady, like a shield between them and the world. “I know, my love,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of their hearts beating in sync.

But suddenly, Wanda’s body tensed.

Her brow furrowed, and a flicker of discomfort crossed her face. She pressed a hand to her stomach, her fingers curling slightly over the knit fabric of Natasha’s sweater.

The grip tightened.

Natasha felt it instantly, and pulled back just enough to look at her, her hands still cradling Wanda’s arms.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concern cutting through her calm, eyes scanning Wanda’s face with growing worry.

Wanda nodded too quickly, one hand already moving to press against her lower abdomen. “Yeah… I think so,” she murmured, but there was hesitation in her voice. A flicker of something she didn’t understand.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” she added, already stepping away.

Natasha watched her disappear down the hallway, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her. She exhaled slowly, worry still pressing against her ribs, but tried to shake it off.

Behind her, a small voice spoke up.

“Nat?”

She turned around to find Nicky looking up at her from the couch, his face lit up with innocence, a purple crayon in one hand and his other pointing toward his snack plate.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can I have more of those?” he asked, holding up the half-eaten cookie. “They’re so yummy.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a soft smile, the contrast between his joy and her unease grounding her. “Of course,” she said gently, brushing a hand over his hair before walking toward the kitchen.

Her fingers lingered on the edge of the counter for a moment before she reached for another packet of cookies.

But her thoughts remained down the hallway, behind that closed door—her heart quietly, cautiously listening for the woman she loved.

The bathroom door opened with a quiet creak.

Natasha turned her head immediately, eyes scanning Wanda’s face as she stepped out. Her skin was a little pale, her movements careful, but she gave a soft, reassuring smile when their eyes met.

“I’m okay,” Wanda murmured, walking over to her. “It was just… weird. A little wave of something. Maybe nerves.”

Natasha reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, her touch lingering. “You sure?”

Wanda nodded and leaned in for a brief kiss on the cheek. “I promise.”

Nicky’s little voice interrupted them again, cheerful and sweet: “I shared my purple crayon with the green one. Now they’re best friends.”

Wanda chuckled, her heart lightening just a bit. “That’s very kind of you.”

Natasha crouched in front of the boy again, her tone soft but gently shifting. “Hey, Nicky. Can we ask you something?”

The boy looked up from his drawing, blinking curiously. “Okay.”

“Do you remember anything that could help us find your moms?” Wanda asked as she moved closer and sat on the floor beside them. “Like… your address, maybe the name of your town, or if you saw anything when you got lost?”

Nicky thought for a long moment, squinting at the paper in front of him as if it might give him answers. “Umm… we were staying at a cabin near a mountain. It had blue windows and a chimney that smells like pancakes in the morning.”

Natasha gave Wanda a look—somewhere between that’s cute and not helpful at all.

“Do you know your last name?” Natasha tried.

“Scratch,” Nicky said proudly. “Like when a cat goes rawr!”

Wanda smiled, keeping her tone encouraging. “That’s perfect, Nicky. Do you remember the name of the lake?”

Nicky frowned. “Hmm… no. But Mama said it’s one of the ‘pretty secret ones,’ and that we were lucky to find it.”

“Do you remember what your moms look like?” Wanda asked gently. “Maybe we could draw them together?”

Nicky lit up at the idea. “I can do that! Mama has curly hair and really pretty eyes. Mommy wears funny socks all the time!”

“Funny socks?” Natasha smirked.

“Like dinosaurs and tacos and stuff.”

Wanda laughed. “That’s very specific. We’ll find them, sweetheart. We’ll do everything we can.”

Nicky set his crayon down and looked at Wanda thoughtfully, tilting his head. “You’re magic, right?”

Wanda blinked, caught off guard, but nodded slowly. “Yes, I am.”

“I knew it,” he whispered with a little gasp. “I can feel it. It’s soft.”

Wanda’s brows raised slightly, heart fluttering at the innocent observation. “Soft?”

“Like... like velvet,” Nicky said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your magic feels warm and velvet-y.”

Wanda glanced at Natasha, who looked just as intrigued.

“You’re not scared of it?” Wanda asked gently.

Nicky shook his head. “No. My moms are magic too.”

Natasha stilled. “They are?”

“Uh-huh,” Nicky nodded, now reaching for the yellow crayon. “Mommy makes flowers grow even when it’s snowing, and Mama can see people’s dreams before they happen.”

Wanda’s heart skipped. She exchanged a slow, loaded glance with Natasha.

“Do your moms have names?” Natasha asked carefully.

“Mama is Agatha. Mommy is Rio.”

 

 

The sun was low on the horizon, dipping into the trees, casting long shadows over the rocky forest paths that bordered the lake. The motorhome was locked up behind them, a backpack slung over Natasha’s shoulder, filled with snacks, water, and a few essentials—just in case.

Wanda walked ahead, one of her hands clasped gently around Nicky’s smaller one, and the other around Natasha’s. The boy stayed close to her side, calm, alert. Like he knew they were getting close.

“How far?” Natasha asked, her eyes flicking over the terrain as she kept pace beside them.

“I’m not sure,” Wanda murmured, her brows slightly furrowed, but her tone steady. “But I can feel it.”

She wasn’t speaking metaphorically. There was a pull, subtle but steady, tugging somewhere beneath her ribs. It wasn’t like the usual way her magic worked—it was gentler, more instinct than power. As if he carried a mental map, a guide calling out for Nicky. The boy’s touch is warm, as though he himself were a powerful source of energy.

“I feel it too,” Nicky said suddenly.

Wanda looked down at him, a little surprised.

“It’s like a song,” he said, his voice dreamy, his fingers squeezing hers. “It’s calling us.”

Natasha glanced between them, a thread of unease woven with something else—something she couldn’t quite name. She trusted Wanda. Always. But there was something about this walk through the trees that felt like stepping through a door they wouldn’t be able to close again.

They moved in silence for a while, save for the sounds of crunching leaves underfoot and the wind dancing through the branches above them. The deeper they went into the woods, the stronger the feeling became—thicker in the air, humming low against Wanda’s skin.

“It’s here,” Wanda said softly as they rounded a bend.

And there it was.

Tucked between tall evergreens, surrounded by wildflowers and moss-covered stones, stood a small, pale cabin. Its windows were painted soft blue, just like Nicky said. A curl of smoke drifted from the chimney, the scent faintly sweet—like syrup or warm sugar.

Nicky let go of Wanda’s hand and ran forward, stopping just before the porch steps.

“Mama!” he called out. “Mommy!”

The door opened.

A woman stepped into the doorway—tall, her hair a waterfall of dark curls, her presence as grounded as the trees around her. She looked down at Nicky and immediately dropped to her knees.

“Baby!”

Nicky ran into her arms, and she scooped him up without hesitation, holding him like she’d been holding her breath for days.

Behind her, another figure appeared in the doorway. A woman with striking eyes and a long coat that shimmered faintly in the light. Wanda couldn’t stop staring.

The woman stared back. Not with suspicion—but recognition.

Not from memory.

From magic.

“I think we’ve been expecting you,” the woman said softly, her voice laced with something ancient.

Natasha stepped forward slightly, protective, but calm. “Are you Agatha?”

“I am,” she replied, tilting her head. “And you must be Wanda Maximoff.”

Wanda’s breath caught.

Rio held Nicky tighter, her eyes filled with gratitude and something more—something awed. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”

Wanda’s lips parted, something in her chest aching with the weight of it all. “He found us.”

Agatha smiled faintly. “Then maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to happen.”

 

 

The mugs clinked softly against the worn wood of the table, steam rising in soft curls, carrying the scent of herbs, honey, and something vaguely floral. Outside, the sky was turning lavender with the approach of dusk. Inside, the small cabin felt suspended in time—quiet, warm, alive with the soft hum of magic and something else even more ancient: comfort.

Nicky had curled into Rio’s lap, his half-eaten cookie forgotten in one hand while she brushed crumbs from his hair with absent tenderness. He blinked slow, drowsy, but stubbornly clung to wakefulness.

“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” she said, glancing toward the stove where something was already heating. Her tone was light, almost matter-of-fact, as though their staying had been decided the moment they walked through the door. “Can’t let the people who saved our baby just walk off into the woods with growling stomachs.”

“We didn’t—save him,” Wanda said with a small smile, glancing at Nicky. “He kind of found us.”

“Semantics,” Rio said with a wave of her hand. “You fed him, cleaned him up, patched his knees, let him draw on your furniture, and carried him home in one piece. That’s top-tier parenting behavior.”

Wanda blushed softly, hands curled around her tea. Natasha, seated close beside her on the bench, had one arm stretched along the back of her seat, fingers occasionally brushing over Wanda’s shoulder like she couldn’t help it. Protective. Instinctive.

“Who are you?” Natasha asked, her voice calm but firm. Warm, yes—but still edged with that quiet caution she rarely dropped, especially around strangers.

Agatha sat across from them, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug she hadn’t touched, eyes soft but unreadable—like she knew far more than she let on. Wanda was just beginning to recognize that kind of gaze.

“Agatha Harkness, darling,” she said with a small, charming smile. “And this is Rio Vidal,” she added, nodding toward the woman beside her.

“Are you witches?” Wanda asked gently, her brow furrowing.

“Are you?” Rio shot back with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Wanda swallowed, her throat dry. Her fingers tensed slightly around her cup—until Natasha’s hand slid to the small of her back, her touch slow and steady. Warm. Reassuring. The kind of touch that said, I’m right here. You’re safe.

“And you’re the super-spy,” Rio added, turning her attention to Natasha with an amused smile. “The Avenger. I’ve seen your face before.”

Natasha gave the smallest nod, her eyes narrowing instinctively. “I’m not… professionally active. But yeah,”

“We know,” Agatha said mildly, taking a slow sip of her tea. “You’re being hunted.”

Wanda’s heart stuttered in her chest. She felt Natasha’s hand tense slightly, felt her own breath catch.

“Oh, relax,” Rio said, rolling her eyes as if Agatha had just declared the sky was falling. “We’re not here to turn you in. Please. Especially not after how sweet you’ve been to our baby.”

From Rio’s lap, Nicky stirred, half-asleep and blinking slowly. He frowned, voice still thick with sleep. “Don’t hurt my friends. I won’t let you.”

Agatha reached over and cupped his cheek with infinite gentleness, brushing her thumb along his skin. “Shh, sweetheart. It’s alright. Your friends are safe here. They’re our friends too.”

Wanda’s chest ached at the sight. At the tenderness. At how easily it lived here.

“How old is he?” she asked quietly.

“Almost seven,” Agatha replied, her voice soft and low, like silk threading through the room. “But sometimes he feels like an old soul.”

“Yeah,” Rio sighed, stretching out a kink in her shoulder. “Especially when he tells me my aura’s ‘too orange’ for real spellwork.”

Natasha snorted, surprised by the comment.

“He’s not wrong,” Agatha added with a sly smile. “He sees things. Feels them.”

Wanda’s eyes drifted to Nicky, who was now dozing again, fingers curled around the hem of Rio’s sleeve. There was something about his energy—present, warm, steady. Not erratic, not dangerous. Just there, like a small flame in a quiet room.

“He’s a beautiful boy,” Wanda murmured. “You must be very proud.”

Agatha turned to Rio, who smiled without hesitation.

“Of course we are,” Agatha said, her eyes softening.

Rio reached over and brushed her fingers through Agatha’s hair. “He’s the best accident we ever conjured.”

“Do you two have kids?” Rio asked after a beat, her eyes flicking curiously to Natasha.

Natasha shook her head slowly. Wanda looked at her, heart tightening for reasons she couldn’t name.

“I don’t,” Natasha said. “And I can’t. It was… taken from me.”

Wanda reached over and brushed her thumb across Natasha’s knuckles under the table.

“But I think it’s too soon to talk about any of that,” Natasha added quickly, glancing at Wanda with a softer gaze, like something unspoken was beginning to form in her mind.

Wanda smiled—small and sweet, a quiet beam of light between them.

Agatha raised her brows. “So… you haven’t been together long?”

Wanda shook her head. “Just a few months,” she said, cheeks warming.

Rio laughed, tossing her head back. “Oh, honey. We’re looking at a younger version of ourselves, aren’t we?”

That drew smiles from all of them—even Natasha.

And from across the table, Agatha just watched them. That unreadable softness still in her eyes, her magic humming low and quiet beneath the surface. She said nothing, but the weight of what she didn’t say lingered between the clink of cups and the murmur of firelight.

Something was already blooming.

And she knew it.

Notes:

Wow, we’re about to reach 600 kudos 😳

guys, I have no words to express how much love I feel you pour into this story. every comment, every message, every kudos, everything is so deeply appreciated and inspires me in such wonderful ways.

I keep writing every week; I already have many chapters written and a general idea of where I want to drag this silly fanfic. I’m always thinking about scenarios, conversations, or just something about them —am I obsessed? perhaps I am.

(I even bought some books to improve my writing because I felt it was getting a little poor, so if the upcoming chapters are kind of INTENSE… now you know why lol)

thank you, thank you so much. I really hope you enjoy this and the chapters to come 🥹💗

love us! 💖

PD: OMGGGG agathario 💜💚

Chapter 28: Fragile certainties.

Summary:

Now, her hand rested on Wanda’s hip as they watched an old comedy show, and every time the witch let out a laugh, Natasha felt it ripple through her body. She felt Wanda’s breath against her chest, and realized—this was her life now.

Is this my life?

The bond Wanda had formed with the Vidal-Harkness family grew stronger with each passing day. The young Sokovian was truly happy to have friends with whom she could share so much—people who understood her, with whom she had so much in common.

Natasha, too, had formed a lovely connection with them, though naturally, the spy had always been far more guarded when it came to friendships. Besides, she believed Wanda needed them in a deeper, more personal way—without Natasha’s own bond with the witches getting in the way of what the three of them shared.

Rio was fun and protective—so much like Natasha in that sense. And Agatha, though always quick with a sharp remark, was affectionate too, ever ready to offer the best advice anyone could hope for. 

“Oh, Maxi, my dear…” Rio teased one night while they were having dinner with the elder witches. “You’ve fallen in love with a human—that’s dangerous.”

Wanda laughed, her gaze drifting to where Natasha was playing with Nicky a few meters away. “Why is it dangerous?” she asked with a smile, her lovestruck expression so obvious it made Agatha feel a wave of fondness for her.

Agatha sighed. “They say witches who fall in love with humans end up with either a tragic or a beautiful ending. There’s no middle ground.”

The Sokovian swallowed hard, glancing at her friends who were watching her with raised brows. Even though the tone was playful, Wanda couldn’t help but feel a little exposed by that comment.

“Well, then I’m betting on the beautiful ending…” Wanda said with a soft smile, raising her glass of fresh cranberry juice that Agatha had made.

Rio nodded. “With a family and everything?” she asked, hiding a bit behind her glass, feeling the sharp look Agatha shot her for the slightly intrusive question.

The young witch shrugged, turning again to watch as Natasha lifted Nicky onto her back, making him fly across the yard as they chased fireflies. Their smiles were wide and sweet, genuine. The redhead caught Wanda’s gaze and sent her a tender wink before turning all her attention back to the child.

“What’s it like… building a family?” Wanda asked, turning back to her friends, her expression curious, sincere.

Agatha sighed, feeling Rio’s hand find hers, their fingers intertwining lovingly.

“It’s not easy…” Rio murmured.

“Pregnancy is painful…” Agatha agreed, remembering her own experience.

“And kids ask a lot of questions sometimes,” Rio added, making her wife laugh softly.

“But it’s the best thing that ever happened to us, no doubt about it,” Agatha finished, glancing toward her baby playing with the redhead. “I think if there’s love in the mix, nothing can truly go wrong…”

Wanda felt safe with them, like she’d gained new big sisters who looked out for her.

And Natasha was simply grateful that they kept Wanda safe.

Wanda stood, brushing her hands over her dress, and made her way toward them, her heart light at the sound of their laughter. Natasha had Nicky perched on her hip now, the boy giggling as she pointed out fireflies glimmering in the growing dusk.

The moment Natasha spotted her, her smile softened—but there was still that glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Well, look who decided to join the fun,” she said, tilting her head as Wanda approached.

Wanda smirked, folding her arms loosely. “You looked like you were doing just fine without me.”

Natasha set Nicky down gently, but didn’t waste a second before reaching for Wanda’s hand, pulling her a little closer. “That was before I saw you coming over here looking like that.”

Wanda laughed, rolling her eyes as Natasha tugged her in until they were chest to chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, you love it,” Natasha said, brushing her nose against Wanda’s cheek, her voice low but full of warmth.

“Nat—Nicky’s right there,” Wanda murmured, cheeks flushing, glancing toward the boy who was now completely distracted chasing after a firefly.

Natasha grinned, clearly unbothered. “He’s busy. And I missed you.” Her hands slid to Wanda’s hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Wanda’s heart stuttered, but she managed a breathy laugh. “You saw me ten minutes ago.”

“And it was ten minutes too long,” Natasha said, stealing a proper kiss this time—slow, sweet, like she meant it to last.

Wanda melted, but gave her a playful nudge after. “If Nicky asks questions, you get to explain.”

Natasha smirked. “Deal. But I’m pretty sure he’s rooting for me.”

“Traitor,” Wanda teased under her breath, but she was already leaning in for one more kiss before they both turned to join Nicky in the firefly chase.

 

 

Nicky had fallen completely in love with Wanda, and he adored Natasha with all his heart. He’d always dreamed of having aunts who would spoil him endlessly and play with him without pause, and in them—in this couple—he’d found exactly what he’d wished for.

“My mom doesn’t want me to eat too many sweets, but with you I always get some. Thanks, Aunt Nat,” the boy murmured, hugging himself close to the redhead’s side as they strolled through the village square.

Wanda and Natasha shared a knowing glance—something like, uh oh, Agatha’s going to kill us. But neither of them really cared. The boy was holding their hands so tightly that it felt like their hearts melted a little more for him with every step.

They both lifted him by the arms as they crossed the street, making him “fly” between them, his sweet laughter ringing out between the little shops.

The connection between them as a couple seemed to grow stronger with each day. It was hard to explain, as if they’d been preparing all their lives to finally experience a love like this. As if every sacrifice they’d ever made now had a reason, a purpose. And both of them found themselves thinking that if fate had truly meant for them to find each other, then they would gladly go through it all again—every single trial, every single hardship. And that meant something, considering how difficult their lives had been.

And it was strange—the feeling that here, like this, in this moment, time was infinite. That so much had already passed since that day when Natasha rescued Wanda and they began this life together, and no one had found them. And it felt like no one ever would.

Sometimes, that thought gave Natasha a strange kind of anxiety. She wasn’t used to living like this, even if she liked it.

Now, her hand rested on Wanda’s hip as they watched an old comedy show, and every time the witch let out a laugh, Natasha felt it ripple through her body. She felt Wanda’s breath against her chest, and realized—this was her life now.

Is this my life?
It was so different from anything she’d ever imagined.

“You’re quiet,” Wanda murmured, lifting her head from Natasha’s chest. Her eyes looked lighter than usual, though Natasha saw how her pupils dilated the moment they focused on her face—and it sent that same flutter through her stomach as when she’d looked at her for the first time, a flash of red sparking across the green like she was trying to protect her.

“Are you reading my mind?” Natasha asked, her tone teasing but solemn all the same.

Wanda shook her head, her hand stroking the strings of Natasha’s hoodie as she rested it on her hair. “I don’t need to,” the Sokovian whispered. “I can feel the weight of your energy.”

Natasha nodded, biting her lower lip. Her gaze flicked to the side, searching for something else to focus on.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Wanda asked, frowning gently.

The Russian shook her head. “I don’t even know how to tell myself yet,” she admitted. “I want to understand it before I try to share it.”

“We can try to understand it together…”

Natasha met her gaze, her hand moving to trace the shape of Wanda’s face. She was so beautiful it hurt.

“How are you?” Natasha asked softly.

Wanda sighed, a smile appearing almost unexpectedly at that question—because it made her stop and pay attention, made her consider how she really felt.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” she whispered. “And I don’t ever want to wake up.”

Natasha nodded, listening closely.

“I feel like I’m happy for the first time in my life.”

“I’m so happy by your side too, detka.”

“But…” Wanda said gently, almost as if expecting the weight of whatever Natasha might be feeling.

Natasha was caught off guard, left almost speechless by how quickly Wanda reacted. “But I don’t know if I can promise you this forever.”

Wanda swallowed hard, never imagining she’d hear such a confession in this moment. She pulled away from Natasha completely, sitting on the edge of the couch and looking at her, hurt flashing in her eyes. After a few long moments, she asked,

“What is it? Being happy with me?” Her tone was sharper now, harsher than she meant.

Natasha felt her chest tighten, her heart aching at the misunderstanding. She immediately reached out, trying to pull Wanda back into her arms, desperate to hold her close because of course that wasn’t what she meant, but—

“No, baby—”

“If you want to leave, just go.” Wanda whispered, stepping out of reach as she rose from the couch. “I’m not keeping you here, Natasha. I’m not tying you down.”

“Love, that’s not what I meant—I didn’t want it to sound like that—”

But Wanda’s eyes were already wet, her thoughts spiraling beyond her control. “Don’t talk to me,” she murmured, brushing away her tears as she turned and walked toward the bedroom.

“Wanda…”

 

 

This wasn’t what Natasha had been thinking. Not even close.

She didn’t want to leave—not at all. She couldn’t even allow herself to imagine being so far from Wanda. Once, circumstances beyond their control had forced them apart, and it was something she never wanted to experience again.

Wanda had disappeared into the room they shared, leaving the door—though mostly shut—just slightly ajar, as if part of her wanted Natasha to follow, to hear her apologies, to try again. But another part of her simply needed space to breathe.

Natasha stood frozen for a moment, fists clenched at her sides. The urge to go after Wanda was overwhelming. To hold her, to explain, to make things right. But she knew—truly knew—that wasn’t what Wanda needed right now.

And her heart warmed, in spite of everything, at the realization of how well she knew her.

She understood that no matter how many words she could offer, Wanda wouldn’t hear them—not really. Not until she had time to feel, to process, to understand her own emotions before trying to make sense of Natasha’s.

Natasha ran a hand back through her hair, exhaling deeply as she sank onto the couch again. She hated waiting. Patience didn’t come easy, not when she knew she’d hurt the woman she loved. But this… this was what she had to do.

And today had already been a day full of tangled feelings.

The kind of day where her heart longed for one thing… but her mind kept analyzing, pulling it apart, more than it should.

Inside the room, Wanda lay curled on her side of the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Of course she didn’t want to push Natasha away. But right now, everything felt so heavy, so tense. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, to quiet the storm in her head before she could truly listen again.

Because deep down, she knew Natasha never meant to hurt her with those words. She knew the widow was only trying to put into words feelings she hadn’t even fully sorted out for herself.

But it was impossible—impossible—for Wanda not to be terrified of losing everything again.

From the very start, she’d feared this was too good to be true. That one day Natasha would grow bored of her, would want to go back to the tower, would fall for someone else… someone better. Someone who wasn’t as broken as she was.

And she couldn’t quite explain why, but lately she’d felt even more sensitive than usual.

It felt like her dreams weighed heavier on her heart; like her chest ached as she clutched her pillow, as if trying to hide from the force of her own feelings. She didn’t want Natasha to promise anything—because promises meant conscious decisions.

She drew in a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes, but the tears kept falling. A quiet sob escaped her lips.

 

 

Natasha’s head throbbed with every passing minute as Wanda remained in the bedroom, crying. She could hear that soft, uneven breathing—the kind she would recognize in a room full of noise—the kind she loved to feel against her neck, her skin.

That sound meant Wanda was here, alive, with her.

Her hands trembled slightly as she rubbed them over her face. The silence of the house pressed down on her, heavy, suffocating.

She was sure her entire heart belonged to Wanda. That was undeniable now, impossible to fight. She didn’t want to leave—never wanted to leave. She wanted to be here. With her. To protect her. To wake up beside her. To hear her laugh. To look into her eyes and see that light, that love reflected back at her, like maybe she deserved to be happy.

She wanted it so much it terrified her.

Her jaw clenched as the truth sank deeper. She could understand what was happening—something that had always been there, buried, waiting. Sometimes this beautiful life they shared hid it well. But it always found moments to surface.

Natasha didn’t feel worthy of this love, this happiness, this perfect life. She couldn’t stop thinking about the person she’d been—the one with blood on her hands, innocent lives taken, crimes she could never wash away.

She felt it was her duty to try to make that right.

And in this life with Wanda… all she was doing was trying to leave it behind.

She exhaled slowly, heart pounding.

Her heart broke under the weight of it all, because she felt like she was drowning. Like she wanted nothing more than to shatter the chains that kept her from simply being happy with the woman she loved.

Wanda’s stomach twisted suddenly, a wave of nausea hitting her so hard it stole the breath from her lungs. She barely had time to get up before she was stumbling toward the bathroom, hand over her mouth, heart racing with panic and heartbreak and everything tangled inside her.

Natasha heard it—the hurried steps, the soft gasp—and in an instant, she was on her feet, following, calling her name.

“Wanda—detka, what’s wrong?” She found her on her knees, hands gripping the toilet, body shaking as she vomited.

Without a word, Natasha knelt beside her, gathering Wanda’s hair back, holding it gently in one hand while the other rested firm and steady between her shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” she murmured, voice low, grounding.

Wanda gagged again, her whole body trembling, and Natasha stayed right there—quiet, solid, present—her hand never stopping, her breath even, hoping Wanda could feel it.

When the worst passed, Natasha reached for a tissue, wiping the corner of Wanda’s mouth with care.

“Easy,” she said softly. “Let’s get you to breathe.”

Wanda slumped back, chest heaving, exhausted, her lashes wet with tears. Natasha helped guide her away from the toilet, easing her to sit against the wall.

She grabbed a clean glass from the sink, filling it with water and crouching beside her again, offering it without a word. Wanda took it, her hands still shaking slightly. Natasha watched her, silent but steady, making sure she drank.

When Wanda finished, Natasha brushed a few strands of damp hair from her face, fingers light against her skin. “You okay to sit here a minute?” she asked, voice quiet, calm.

Wanda nodded faintly, not trusting her voice.

“My love…” Natasha murmured sadly, her knuckles gently caressing the witch’s flushed cheek as Wanda tried to sip the water without getting sick again.

After a few minutes—waiting until Wanda’s breathing returned to normal—their eyes met again. And once more, Natasha felt her heart break, because that bright, pale green gaze still held so much pain—and her own eyes quickly filled with tears.

But before those tears could fall, Wanda’s hand rested softly on her leg. A gesture of love that seemed to say “It’s okay now… I’m okay.”

“Do you feel better?” Natasha asked, swallowing hard.

Wanda nodded, closing her eyes for a second before answering with her rough, tired voice. “The food didn’t sit well,” she replied weakly.

Natasha nodded in return. “Come on, let’s get you comfortable,” she said, her voice low, warm.

She slid an arm around Wanda’s back, the other beneath her knees, lifting her slowly, carefully—as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Wanda didn’t resist, too drained, too raw, and maybe—just maybe—grateful for the quiet strength of Natasha’s touch.

Natasha carried her into the bedroom, the soft sound of their breathing filling the space. She lowered Wanda onto the bed with a tenderness that made her own chest ache. Fingers gentle, she smoothed Wanda’s hair back, brushing it away from her damp cheeks.

“You’re okay,” Natasha whispered, not as an empty reassurance, but as a promise she meant with everything she was. “I’ve got you.”

She pulled the blanket up over Wanda, tucking it around her as if it could keep out everything that hurt. Then she knelt beside the bed, resting one hand over Wanda’s, thumb tracing slow, comforting lines along her skin.

“I love you,” she said quietly, like a truth she’d been holding too long. “So much, Wanda. More than I know how to say.”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered closed, but her fingers tightened just a little around Natasha’s, grounding herself in the touch, in the words.

 

 

When Wanda woke, two hours had passed since the argument—if it even made sense to call it that—with Natasha.

Her body still felt exhausted, but lighter somehow, as if the release had done her good, helping both her body and her mind.

When she tried to get up, she couldn’t—not with Natasha’s strong arm wrapped around her from behind, her hand resting over Wanda’s stomach, her breath warm against Wanda’s back. Wanda couldn’t help but smile, resting her hand over Natasha’s and gently tracing her nails along her fingers.

Careful not to wake her, she slipped free from Natasha’s embrace and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth—the bitter taste of vomit still clung to her mouth.

“Love?” she heard Natasha’s voice from the bed.

So Wanda peeked out from the bathroom, toothbrush still in her mouth, foam spilling a little at the corner of her lips, making Natasha smile sleepily and bury her face back into the pillow.

“It tasted awful,” Wanda explained as she returned to the bed, kneeling in front of Natasha.

The widow nodded, opening her arms to invite Wanda in, an offer Wanda gladly accepted.

It was something they both needed so much.

Wanda buried her face against Natasha’s neck, feeling those strong arms pull her tight, as if trying to fuse their bodies together. Soft sounds of comfort and contentment escaped their lips as they clung to each other, small laughs bubbling up at the sheer relief of it, of being so close.

“My beautiful girl,” Natasha murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “You don’t know how sorry I am…”

Wanda let out a small sound from deep in her throat—like a quiet I know—and Natasha understood it completely.

“I didn’t mean it like that, love,” the redhead explained softly. “I’ve never felt as happy as I do now, with you.”

Wanda nodded, still pressed close to her. “I know…” she whispered, almost too softly to hear. “It’s just that… I don’t know. I’m scared you’ll decide to leave me. Leave me alone.”

“I would never do that, detka.”

This time Wanda pulled back just enough to look at her, their bodies still tangled together, but their faces inches apart. “Then what is it?” she asked, her voice barely a thread.

Natasha sighed, lifting a hand to brush a lock of hair from Wanda’s face.

“Sometimes I feel guilty for being so happy,” the redhead admitted. “Because I’m living this beautiful life with you, when I still have so much to atone for.”

Wanda swallowed hard, closing her eyes for a few seconds, listening to every word, savoring the soft caress of Natasha’s fingers.

“I never imagined myself like this with someone, Wanda,” the redhead admitted quietly. “And that scares me too, because I know myself—I know I could hurt you without meaning to.”

Wanda shook her head, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “I trust you, Nat. And I want a future with you,” she added shyly, making Natasha’s smile stretch from ear to ear. “I know it’s soon, that we’re young and still have so much life ahead of us but… damn, I can’t help it.”

Natasha brushed Wanda’s chin gently with her knuckles, listening closely.

“Is that what you can’t promise me?” the witch asked, looking her straight in the eyes.

The redhead sighed, but after a few seconds, she shook her head. “I want us to live in the present, my love,” she explained patiently, watching Wanda’s face carefully, trying to read every emotion that crossed it. “But, I see you playing with Nicky and it drives me crazy, baby,” Natasha confessed. “I can’t help imagining a future like that with you, too.” She hesitated, then added, “I want that. I really do.”

“Then let’s have it…” Wanda said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, making Natasha let out a tender laugh.

Natasha bit her lower lip. “Let’s take it slow, love,” she whispered fondly. “It scares me—how sure I am about wanting this. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“You do know you could’ve just told me you want to be my girlfriend and we could’ve skipped all this, right?” Wanda teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “No, because you told me you wanted to be the one to ask.”

“And I am planning it—God, you’re so impatient…”

Natasha laughed, tipping her head back.

After a few moments, their eyes met again, that familiar glow of love and understanding shining between them.

“Thank you for explaining it to me…” Wanda said quietly, her fingers tracing over Natasha’s collarbone with love.

Natasha nodded. “Thank you for understanding me.”

Wanda sighed, resting her forehead against Natasha’s. “This whole relationship thing isn’t easy…”

Natasha let out a soft chuckle, her nose brushing Wanda’s as their foreheads stayed pressed together.

“No… it really isn’t,” she agreed. “But God, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Wanda’s heart squeezed at that. She tilted her head just enough to kiss the corner of Natasha’s mouth, slow and lingering, like she needed to memorize the shape of it.

“Neither would I,” she whispered, her voice steadier now, though the weight of emotion still clung to her words.

Notes:

well, well 👀 not everything is sunshine and roses, it seems…

I hate writing these kinds of chapters, but at the same time they’re necessary for the plot, so yeah… sorry if it’s not your favorite :(

thank you for the kudos and your sweet messages 💓 I hope you keep enjoying the chapters that are coming next!