Okay! So I'm trying to hype myself up to write again for wandanat cause I miss them so so so damn much. I'm going through ideas on what I could write and if anyone out there would want to put up a request and I'll see what I can come up with? 🫶
Okay! So I'm trying to hype myself up to write again for wandanat cause I miss them so so so damn much. I'm going through ideas on what I could write and if anyone out there would want to put up a request and I'll see what I can come up with? 🫶
Wanda gets wet watching Natasha kill a man with her thighs during a mission, and it becomes a problem. Natasha's known about Wanda's obsession for weeks and has been waiting for her to break first.
A/N: So if it helps you visualize, I had this set after Age of Ultron, before Civil War. In my mind, though I know it's not exactly canon in comics (MCU changed it), Wanda is over 18 (early twenties), and Natasha would be late 20's-ish. That's not exact, but it's what I imagined for this. Also, I actually have no clue what language to use for Sokovian (since that is not real). I went with sort of Russian? Don't get on my ass for it, enjoy the smut.
Inspired by Magdalena Bay's song "Killshot"
18+, NSFW oneshot | 7.6k words
ao3
All alone, staring at my phone.
3:47 AM, and Wanda couldn't sleep.
She'd given up an hour ago, lying in the dark of her assigned quarters at the compound with her phone clutched in one hand against her chest, staring at the ceiling and trying desperately not to think about Natasha Romanoff. Which was impossible. Functionally, completely impossible when the woman had somehow invaded every corner of her mind over the past few months and taken up permanent residence there, refusing to leave no matter how many times Wanda told herself this was dangerous and stupid and absolutely could not happen.
The problem was very simple: Natasha Romanoff was going to get her killed.
It wasn’t going to be directly. And it wasn’t because Natasha would hurt her intentionally. Wanda had seen enough by now to know that despite the reputation that preceded her like a shadow, despite the body count that stretched back decades through multiple governments and agencies, despite the cold efficiency with which she moved through the world like violence given form, Natasha was careful with the people she cared about. Protective, even. Wanda had watched her with Clint, with Bruce before he'd left, even with Steve and Tony during their constant bickering. There was gentleness there, buried deep beneath all the training and trauma, but present.
No, Natasha was going to get her killed because Wanda could not fucking focus when she was around, and distraction in their line of work meant death. It was simple, unavoidable math.
The previous day's training session proved it perfectly. Steve had been running them through close-quarters combat drills in the main gym, working on disarm techniques and defensive combinations. Wanda had been doing fine for the first hour, actually managing to execute most of the moves correctly, feeling like maybe she was finally getting the hang of this whole hand-to-hand combat thing that didn't rely solely on her powers.
Then Natasha had walked in.
She'd been late to the session, coming straight from a solo mission that had apparently run long. Still in her tactical gear, black from head to toe, her hair pulled back in a tight braid that was half falling out. There had been blood on her knuckles that she'd wiped away casually with a towel from the bench, not her own blood clearly, and she'd moved onto the mat with that fluid, predatory grace that made Wanda's stomach flip and heat pool between her legs every single time.
"Sorry I'm late," Natasha had said to Steve, not sounding even remotely sorry. "Had to clean up some loose ends."
Steve had just nodded, used to Natasha's vague explanations that everyone understood meant bodies, and integrated her into the drill rotation without comment.
Wanda's entire brain had short-circuited from that moment forward.
She'd watched Natasha run through the disarm sequence that Steve had just spent an hour painstakingly teaching them. Watched her drop into a fighting stance, all coiled power and controlled violence waiting to be unleashed. The way her body moved was hypnotic, almost serpentine in its grace. Economical. Every motion precise and deliberate, nothing wasted, pure efficiency honed over decades of brutal training. She'd taken down the training dummy in maybe three movements total—a leg sweep executed with perfect timing and leverage, controlling the dummy's fall with one hand while her other arm came up for what would have been a devastating elbow strike to the throat that would absolutely have crushed a real person's windpipe and killed them in seconds.
It was brutal. Efficient. Beautiful in the way a knife blade catching light is beautiful. Dangerous and sharp and utterly mesmerizing.
And then Natasha had straightened up, barely breathing hard, and turned those sharp green eyes directly on Wanda. "Your turn, Maximoff. Reading minds won’t do all the work for you.”
Wanda had completely blanked. Just absolutely, entirely forgotten everything Steve had taught them over the past hour. She'd moved forward on autopilot, attempted something that was supposed to be a strike combination but came out completely wrong, fumbled the leg sweep so badly she'd nearly twisted her own ankle, and ended up flat on her ass on the mat while everyone watched.
Natasha had stood there with one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. That knowing smirk that said she understood exactly what the problem was and was enjoying watching Wanda struggle.
"Again," Natasha had said, extending a hand to help Wanda up.
When their skin made contact—Natasha's hand warm and calloused and strong wrapping around Wanda's—Wanda's magic had flickered involuntarily. Red energy crackled around her fingers in a way she couldn't control or suppress, responding to the sudden sharp spike of want that had shot through her system at the simple touch.
Natasha had noticed. Of course she'd noticed. Those eyes missed absolutely nothing. Her gaze had dropped to Wanda's hand where the red energy was dancing and crackling, then back up to Wanda's face, and something had shifted in her expression. Something considering. Calculating. Knowing.
Then she'd released Wanda's hand and stepped back. "You're distracted," she'd said, loud enough for Steve to hear across the gym. "That's dangerous. You need to find a way to focus or you're going to get hurt during a real fight." A deliberate pause, her eyes locked on Wanda's. "Or worse."
The "or worse" had hung in the air between them, weighted with meaning that Wanda was absolutely certain only she had caught.
Now, lying in bed hours later in the dark silence of her room, Wanda couldn't stop replaying that moment. The way Natasha had looked at her. The way her magic had responded without permission or conscious thought. The way everyone in the gym had definitely noticed something was off even if they couldn't pinpoint exactly what.
This was bad. Genuinely, seriously bad in ways that went beyond just embarrassing.
Because Wanda was supposed to be proving herself here. She was the newest Avenger, still living down her involvement in the whole Ultron disaster even though she'd switched sides and helped stop him in the end. Still learning to control her powers properly, still figuring out their full extent and limitations, still trying to earn her place among people who'd been doing this for years, some of them for decades.
She needed to be focused and professional and dedicated to becoming better. She needed to show them she belonged here, that she wasn't a liability, that she could be trusted in the field and wouldn't get someone killed because she was too distracted.
She did not need to be lying awake at night thinking about the way Natasha Romanoff moved when she killed people.
But that's exactly what she'd been doing for weeks now. Months, if she was being honest with herself. Obsessing over every interaction, cataloging every moment, building this thing in her mind that was becoming impossible to ignore or suppress.
Something chronic, bit demonic, I've been on the late shift.
The ache in her chest felt permanent now, this dark consuming thing that had taken root and refused to let go no matter how hard she tried to be rational about it.
She thought about Natasha constantly. The way she moved during training sessions, all controlled power and lethal grace. The way she fought on missions, efficient and brutal and absolutely terrifying in the best possible way. The casual way she discussed violence and death, like ending a life was just another item on a to-do list that needed checking off before lunch.
On that mission in Eastern Europe—too close to Sokovia, or….formerly Sokovia, for Wanda's comfort but she'd gone anyway because the team needed her—the intel had been bad, more guards than expected, and Wanda had found herself pinned down in a hallway with three hostiles advancing on her position. She'd been about to use her powers when Natasha had appeared out of nowhere like a ghost.
Wanda had watched her move through those guards like water flowing around obstacles. Like inevitability itself. Like death given form and purpose.
The first one she'd dropped with her batons, those extendable weapons appearing in her hands so fast Wanda had barely tracked the movement. Two hits executed with surgical precision—one to the knee that had buckled the guard's leg and brought him down to her level, one to the temple that had dropped him instantly, unconscious before his body finished hitting the ground.
The second guard had tried to grab her from behind, thinking size and strength would matter against someone Natasha's size. Natasha had dropped low, used his own momentum and weight against him with perfect leverage, and somehow ended up behind him with her arm wrapped around his throat in a textbook blood choke. Wanda had watched the precise application of pressure, had seen the way Natasha's bicep flexed as she cut off blood flow to his brain with controlled force. Seven seconds of steady pressure and he'd gone completely limp in her arms. She'd lowered him to the ground almost gently before moving on to the next threat.
The third guard had been the one that haunted Wanda's dreams and occupied her thoughts during sleepless nights.
He'd been significantly bigger than Natasha, taller by almost a foot, probably outweighed her by seventy or eighty pounds of muscle at least. He'd charged at her like that would matter, like physical size meant anything when you were facing the Black Widow.
Natasha had jumped without hesitation or fear. Just launched herself at him with absolute confidence, using his own forward momentum against him, and somehow ended up on his shoulders with her powerful thighs locked around his neck like a vice. Wanda had watched those legs flex, had seen all that controlled strength and devastating pressure concentrated in her thigh muscles, and then Natasha had twisted her entire body with brutal efficiency.
The crack of his vertebrae had been audible even over the blaring alarm klaxons and distant gunfire.
His body had dropped like a puppet with all its strings cut simultaneously, completely lifeless before it hit the floor, and Natasha had landed in a perfect crouch beside him, breathing barely elevated, like killing a man with her thighs was just another Tuesday afternoon for her. Which, Wanda supposed with a mixture of horror and arousal, it probably was.
Then Natasha had looked up, found Wanda frozen in the hallway just staring at her with wide eyes, and said calmly, "You good? We need to move, there'll be more coming."
Wanda had nodded mutely, completely unable to form words or coherent thoughts, because she'd just watched Natasha kill a man with her thighs and her immediate visceral physical response had been to get wet. Right there in the middle of an active firefight with alarms blaring and gunfire echoing through the facility and enemies potentially around every corner, arousal had spiked through Wanda's system so sharply and suddenly that she'd actually gasped out loud. Her magic had flared bright scarlet, visible even in the dim emergency lighting, and she'd had to actively suppress it with conscious effort before someone noticed the red glow and started asking questions she absolutely could not answer.
That should have disturbed her, Wanda thought now as she lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. It should have made her question what was fundamentally wrong with her that watching someone commit brutal, efficient violence made her aroused instead of horrified.
Instead, she'd spent the rest of that mission completely unable to stop staring at Natasha's thighs. Ogling, it felt like, the way that black catsuit hugged the defined muscle and powerful curves. Memorizing the way she moved with all that controlled power that could break bones and end lives and apparently make Wanda's brain completely stop functioning like a rational human being.
When they'd finally gotten back to the quinjet after mission completion, Wanda had locked herself in the tiny bathroom and touched herself with trembling hands, biting down hard on her fist to stay quiet while she came thinking about Natasha's legs wrapped around her neck instead of that guard's, wondering what it would feel like to have all that strength and control directed at her in entirely different ways.
She'd felt guilty about it afterward. For maybe five minutes. Then she'd done it again the next night when the memory refused to fade. And the night after that. And basically every night since then because apparently the arousal she felt watching Natasha be lethal was something she couldn't shake.
Now, lying in bed approaching 4 AM with sleep impossible and her body wound tight with unfulfilled need, Wanda could feel that familiar ache building between her legs again. The one that had become constant over the past few weeks, only temporarily satisfied by her own hand before building right back up again within hours, sometimes less.
She needed to stop this. She needed to get over this completely inappropriate attraction to her teammate before it became an actual problem that affected her performance or got someone hurt. Before someone on the team noticed and started asking uncomfortable questions. Before she did something catastrophically stupid that she couldn't take back.
But her body had other ideas, and the insistent throb between her legs was becoming impossible to ignore.
She could get up. She could take a cold shower. Go for a run through the compound grounds, work off the restless energy that way and exhaust herself enough to finally sleep.
Instead, Wanda let her hand slide down her body, slipping under the waistband of her sleep shorts and past the elastic of her underwear. Her fingers found her clit already slick and swollen and sensitive, and she bit down hard on her lip to suppress the sound that wanted to escape as she started circling it with practiced, familiar pressure.
Her other hand stayed clutched around her phone against her chest, the screen dark but somehow still a tether to reality even as she let herself sink into the fantasy.
Images flooded her mind immediately, unwanted and absolutely impossible to stop or control.
Natasha during training a couple weeks back, demonstrating knife techniques to a group of visiting SHIELD agents. The way she'd moved with the blade like it was a natural extension of her own body—strike, parry, reverse grip with a fluid spin, slash across where the throat would be on a real opponent. The casual precision of every movement. The way she'd held the training knife up afterward, examining the dulled edge like she was checking for imperfections or damage, and said in that matter-of-fact tone, "Carotid artery here. Slice across deep enough and they bleed out in about thirty seconds, faster if you manage to hit the jugular at the same time."
The clinical, detached way she'd discussed ending human life. Like she'd done it countless times before, which she obviously had. The training knife might have been blunt but Wanda had no doubt Natasha carried real ones, had used them, knew exactly how much pressure it took to slice through skin and muscle and artery.
Wanda's breathing picked up as her fingers moved faster against her clit, her hips starting to roll up into her own touch seeking more friction and pressure. She spread her legs wider under the sheets, her free hand pressing her phone harder against her chest as she worked herself steadily toward release.
Another image rose unbidden in her mind—Natasha on the training mats, demonstrating submission holds and chokes to those same SHIELD trainees. The way she'd gotten one of them in a rear naked choke, her arm wrapped around his throat with textbook perfect form, her bicep flexing as she applied carefully calibrated pressure. "Three seconds of proper pressure and they start to panic," she'd explained calmly while the trainee had tapped frantically against her forearm with increasing desperation. "Seven seconds and they lose consciousness. Eleven seconds and you start causing permanent brain damage. Fifteen to twenty seconds of sustained pressure and you've killed them."
She'd released the trainee and he'd dropped to his knees on the mat gasping and coughing, trying to suck air back into his lungs, while Natasha had stood over him looking completely unaffected by what she'd just done. Like choking someone unconscious was nothing. Routine.
Wanda had been forced to sit down on the bench along the wall, her legs suddenly weak and unsteady, arousal and adrenaline making her genuinely dizzy and lightheaded.
Her fingers moved faster now, more insistent, two of them sliding lower to press inside herself while her thumb maintained pressure on her clit. She was so wet already, had been wet since lying down hours ago unable to sleep, and the obscene sound of her fingers moving in her own arousal should have embarrassed her but instead just made her hotter.
She added another finger, stretching herself, imagining it was Natasha's hand instead of her own. Natasha's strong, capable, deadly hands that knew exactly how to hurt people, how to kill them, now focused entirely on making Wanda feel good instead.
Natasha during that mission in Prague, moving through a room of four guards like she was performing a dance she'd rehearsed a thousand times. The crack of ribs breaking under precise baton strikes delivered with devastating force. The efficiency with which she'd stepped over the bodies she'd created, like they were just obstacles in her path and nothing more, already forgotten as she moved toward the next objective.
The way she'd looked after the fight was over—not even breathing hard despite the exertion, blood on her knuckles that wasn't hers, that cold and focused look in her eyes that meant the Black Widow was in full control and Natasha Romanoff had taken a temporary backseat to let the weapon do its work.
God, why was that so attractive? What was fundamentally wrong with Wanda that seeing Natasha covered in someone else's blood, that witnessing her be brutal and efficient and lethal, made her want to drop to her knees?
Sin and tonic, stupid promise, something like a death wish.
Wanda's hips were rolling steadily now, grinding against her own hand with increasing desperation, her fingers working inside herself while her thumb pressed hard circles against her clit. She was gasping softly into the darkness of her room, trying to stay quiet but losing the ability to care as much as she should about the noise she was making.
Her free hand abandoned her phone, sliding up under her tank top to palm her own breast roughly, pinching her nipple the way she imagined Natasha would.
She was so close now, her thighs starting to tremble, her back beginning to arch off the mattress. Just a little more, just a little bit more pressure—
And the image that finally pushed her over the edge was the one that always did, the one that had been burned into her brain since that mission—
Natasha's powerful thighs wrapped tight around that HYDRA operative's neck, the way those defined muscles had flexed with controlled strength and devastating pressure. The precise, efficient twist of her entire body, so casual and easy like she'd done it a hundred times before. The sickening crack of vertebrae. The immediate complete stillness of the body as it fell. The way Natasha had landed in that perfect crouch afterward, completely unaffected and unbothered, beautiful and terrifying and absolutely lethal.
Wanda came hard, her free hand flying up to press desperately over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound that wanted to escape. Her magic exploded outward involuntarily in response to the intense pleasure, red energy crackling wildly through the air of her room and rattling everything on her nightstand with violent force. Her water glass tipped over and rolled off the edge, hitting the floor with a muted thud that sounded impossibly loud in the quiet. The lamp on her desk flickered erratically, the bulb buzzing and threatening to blow. The picture frame on the wall vibrated against the plaster hard enough that she could hear it clattering, the sound sharp in the silence.
Her whole body trembled and shook through the intense aftershocks, her thighs clenching tight around her own hand, her back arched completely off the mattress, her fingers still moving inside herself to draw out every last bit of pleasure. She had to bite down hard on her palm to keep from crying out Natasha's name into the darkness, from letting that desperate sound escape and potentially be heard through the walls.
When she could finally think again through the haze of satisfaction, she was gasping for air and trembling all over, covered in a thin sheen of sweat that made her sleep clothes stick uncomfortably to her skin. Her sleep shorts were damp with her release, her underwear completely soaked and probably unwearable at this point.
She felt temporarily satisfied and wrung out but somehow even more desperately wound up than before, because this wasn't enough. Touching herself while thinking about Natasha wasn't even close to enough, would never be enough, was just a pale shadow of what she actually wanted.
If I fall in every time, wicked love will leave me blind.
Her phone buzzed against the mattress where she'd dropped it.
Wanda jumped violently at the sudden vibration, her heart rate spiking from already elevated to genuinely concerning levels, and scrambled to find it in the tangled sheets with fingers that were still trembling slightly and slick from being inside herself.
One new message. From Natasha.
Wanda's entire body went cold and then hot and then cold again in rapid succession as she opened it with shaking hands, not even bothering to wipe her fingers clean first.
Natasha: I know you're awake.
Wanda stared at the message for several long seconds, her post-orgasm haze evaporating instantly, panic starting to claw up her throat and make breathing difficult. How did Natasha know she was awake at nearly 4 AM? Was she monitoring security feeds? Did she have motion sensors in the hallways? Some kind of enhanced hearing that—
Another message popped up before Wanda could spiral completely into paranoid speculation.
Natasha: I can hear you from down the hall. Walls are thinner than you think.
Oh god.
Wanda's face burned with mortification so intense it was almost painful, and she seriously considered just never leaving her room again for the rest of her natural life. Maybe she could fake her own death somehow and move to a different country where Natasha would never have to look at her again and she could die of embarrassment in private.
Her phone buzzed again in her trembling hands.
Natasha: Training room. Now.
Wanda stared at that message for a long time, trying desperately to decode what it meant through her panic. Was Natasha angry with her? Was this her way of addressing what she'd heard without directly confronting it? Was she going to kill Wanda quietly in the training room where no one would find the body until morning?
Another buzz, more insistent this time.
Natasha: That wasn't a suggestion. Move.
And that commanding tone, that absolute authority in just those few words, went straight between Wanda's legs even though she'd literally just orgasmed less than five minutes ago and her body should not be physically capable of responding again this quickly. And it was ridiculous, considering it was a text message and not actually Natasha’s voice.
This was a terrible idea. Being alone with Natasha right now when Wanda's self-control was already completely shredded and her body was still trembling from climax seemed like the kind of catastrophically bad decision that got people killed in horror movies.
Wanda was already getting out of bed anyway, her body moving on autopilot while her brain screamed protests. She pulled on somewhat clean workout clothes with hands that wouldn't stop shaking, not bothering to change her ruined underwear because what was even the point at this stage.
She found her phone tangled in the sheets, shoved it in her pocket, and headed for the door on legs that felt unsteady and weak.
Whatever was about to happen in that training room, there was no coming back from it. She could feel it in her bones, in the way her magic was flickering red around her fingers without conscious thought or permission. This was the cliff edge she'd been walking toward for weeks and months, and she was about to step right off it into empty air.
If I wanna stay alive, you should never cross my mind.
(-)
The training room was completely dark when Wanda arrived, just the dim emergency lighting strips near the floor casting everything in shadow and making the space feel larger and more ominous than it did during the day. She paused in the doorway, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness, trying to locate Natasha somewhere in the gloom.
"Come in," Natasha's voice came from somewhere in the darkness near the center mats, low and controlled. "Close the door behind you."
Wanda obeyed on autopilot, her body responding to the command before her brain fully processed it. She stepped inside and let the heavy door click shut behind her, sealing them in together. The lock engaged automatically with a quiet snick that sounded impossibly loud in the thick silence.
"Lights," Natasha said.
The overhead fluorescents flickered on, bright and harsh after the darkness, making Wanda squint and blink against the sudden glare.
When her eyes finally adjusted, her breath caught audibly in her throat.
Natasha was standing in the exact center of the mat, dressed entirely in black—fitted workout pants that hugged every line and curve of her legs and a black tank top that showed her defined arms and shoulders. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun with several red strands escaping to frame her face. She looked like she'd just woken up, which somehow made her appear even more dangerous.
She looked like death. Controlled, beautiful, purposeful death.
"You look exhausted," Natasha observed, her sharp green eyes tracking slowly over Wanda in a way that made her want to squirm under the scrutiny. "How long have you been having trouble sleeping?"
"A while," Wanda managed to get out, staying near the door because moving closer to Natasha seemed genuinely dangerous to her continued survival.
"How long is a while exactly?"
"Few weeks. Maybe longer. I don't know, I haven't been keeping careful track."
"Nightmares?" Natasha asked, but something in her tone suggested she already knew the answer, was just testing to see if Wanda would lie to her.
"Something like that," Wanda hedged, unable to meet Natasha's eyes.
"Liar."
The single word hung heavy in the air between them, weighted with knowledge and accusation and something darker that Wanda couldn't quite identify.
Natasha moved then, crossing the mat toward her with that fluid, predatory grace that made Wanda's stomach flip and her pulse spike. She moved like a big cat stalking prey. Like something designed by nature to hunt and kill efficiently. And Wanda was suddenly hyperaware that she was alone in this room with someone who could end her life in seconds.
"You're not having nightmares," Natasha said, stopping just inside Wanda's personal space, close enough that Wanda could smell her shampoo and feel the heat radiating from her body. "You're having the opposite. Want to tell me about them?"
"I don't know what you're—"
"Yes you do." Natasha's head tilted slightly to one side, studying her with those eyes that saw and cataloged everything. "You've been having dreams about me. Very specific dreams. Very detailed ones based on what I just heard through the walls."
Wanda's magic flared involuntarily around her fingers, red energy crackling and dancing in response to her spiking emotions.
"There it is," Natasha said softly, her gaze dropping to watch the scarlet energy with clear interest. "Your control slips every single time I get close to you. Every time I'm in your space. I've been watching it happen for weeks." Her eyes came back up to lock with Wanda's. "You've been watching me too. Very closely. Very... intensely."
"I don't—I haven't—"
"Stop lying to me, Wanda." Natasha moved even closer, Wanda's back hitting the door behind her with a soft thud. She was trapped now, pinned between the solid door and Natasha's body with nowhere to go. "I see everything. That's what I was trained to do from the time I was a child. Notice details other people miss. Read micro-expressions and body language. Track behavioral patterns and changes." Another small step that brought her within touching distance. "And I've been tracking yours very carefully."
"What did you notice?" Wanda's voice came out rough and strained, barely more than a whisper.
"That you stare at me during training sessions when you think I'm not looking. That your breathing changes in a very specific way when I get close to you. That your pupils dilate when you watch me fight or demonstrate techniques." Natasha's hand came up, pressing flat against the door right beside Wanda's head, effectively boxing her in with her arm—that toned, strong arm. "That your magic responds to my presence in ways it doesn't respond to anyone else on the team. That you get wet watching me hurt people."
Wanda couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. The air felt too thick and hot in her lungs.
"On that mission," Natasha continued, her voice dropping even lower and more intimate, "you watched me kill a man with my thighs. And immediately afterward, you locked yourself in the quinjet bathroom for fifteen minutes. Want to tell me what you were doing in there? Or should I just tell you what I know you were doing?"
Wanda's face burned with mortification and arousal in equal measure, heat flooding through her entire body. "How did you—"
"I told you. I notice everything." Natasha leaned in closer, her lips almost but not quite brushing against Wanda's ear. Wanda could feel every word against her skin. "I know you touched yourself thinking about me. And I know what you've been doing every single night since then when you're alone in your bed. I hear you. The walls in this compound are thinner than you think, and my hearing is better than most people's. I hear you touching yourself. Hear you trying to stay quiet and failing. Hear how wet you are, hear your fingers working inside that desperate little cunt, hear the way you gasp when you cum thinking about me."
Wanda made a choked sound somewhere between mortification and desperate want, unable to form actual words.
"You know what I think about?" Natasha asked, her voice dark honey, dangerous and hypnotic. "When I'm lying in my bed and I hear you through the walls getting yourself off?"
Wanda shook her head mutely, not trusting her voice to work properly.
"I think about what specific scenario you're imagining that makes you that desperate. What you're picturing me doing to you with these hands." Natasha's hand slid down from the door to Wanda's throat, wrapping around it loosely, not squeezing but just resting there in a clear reminder of what she was capable of doing. "I think about how you look at me after missions when there's blood on my hands. I think about how I can practically smell how wet you get when you see me be lethal."
"That's not—I don't—" Wanda tried to protest weakly but it came out entirely unconvincing even to her own ears.
"You do," Natasha stated with absolute certainty. "You're attracted to how dangerous I am.You see me kill and you get soaking wet from it like a good little slut who can't help herself."
Stolen nectar, misadventure, something like a death kiss.
Wanda's breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps now, her chest heaving with the effort of getting air into her lungs.
"It’s fucked up," Wanda managed to gasp out, needing to acknowledge it, to say it out loud and admit what she was.
"Yes," Natasha agreed easily, no judgment or condemnation in her tone. "It is. But that doesn't make it any less true. Doesn't make you any less wet right now thinking about all the ways I could hurt you." Her hand tightened slightly on Wanda's throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing require conscious effort and thought. "Does it scare you? Being attracted to something that could kill you so easily?"
"Da," Wanda admitted breathlessly, her Sokovian accent thick and heavy now, slipping through her carefully practiced English without permission.
"Good. It should scare you." Natasha tightened her grip more, actually restricting Wanda's airflow now, and Wanda's vision started to blur slightly at the edges as oxygen became harder to pull in. "I could kill you right this second. Snap your neck before you could even think about raising a hand to use your magic against me. I know seventeen different ways to end your life with just my bare hands and nothing else." She held the pressure steady for several long seconds, letting Wanda truly feel it, letting her understand exactly how much control Natasha had in this moment and how little power Wanda actually possessed, before finally releasing enough to let air flow again. "Does knowing that scare you?"
Wanda nodded as much as she could manage with Natasha's hand still wrapped around her throat.
"Does it turn you on?"
Another nod, smaller this time, more ashamed and embarrassed by the admission.
"Good girl," Natasha said, and the praise sent a sharp spike of heat straight between Wanda's legs, made her magic flare brighter and more visible. "You're honest when you can't hide behind words and clever deflection." She released Wanda's throat completely and stepped back slightly, reaching for something. "On the mat. Right now."
Wanda's legs moved before her brain fully processed the command or decided whether to obey, carrying her across the space to the center of the training mat on unsteady feet.
Natasha followed slowly, and Wanda's eyes widened when she saw what Natasha had pulled from the holder strapped to her thigh—a combat knife, the blade dark and wickedly sharp, clearly real and not a training weapon.
"This," Natasha said, holding up the knife so the fluorescent lights caught the edge, "is what I was going to use on my mission earlier. Before I decided to just use my hands instead." She turned the blade slowly, letting Wanda see it from every angle. "Do you know what I could do with this?"
Wanda swallowed hard, unable to look away from the weapon. "Yes."
"Tell me." Natasha moved closer, circling her slowly like a predator. "Tell me what you think I could do with this knife."
"Kill me," Wanda breathed. "Cut my throat. Stab me. Make me bleed."
"Very good." Natasha stopped directly behind her, so close Wanda could feel her breath on the back of her neck. "But I'm not going to do any of those things. Do you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because you're mine now," Natasha said simply, bringing the flat of the blade up to rest against Wanda's throat. The metal was cold against her overheated skin. "And I don't destroy what belongs to me. But I do like watching you shake when you remember how dangerous I am."
Wanda was trembling, her whole body taut with tension and arousal and fear all mixed together until she couldn't tell them apart.
"Do you trust me?" Natasha asked, the blade still resting against Wanda's throat.
"I don't know," Wanda admitted with complete honesty.
"Smart answer." Natasha dragged the blade down slowly—cold metal sliding over skin—down her throat, over her collarbone, between her breasts. "You shouldn't trust me completely. I'm dangerous in ways you can't fully comprehend yet. But I'm not going to hurt you. Not unless you ask me to."
"What if I ask?" The words escaped before Wanda could stop them.
Something shifted in Natasha's expression.
"Then we'd have a very interesting time," Natasha said.
She moved faster than Wanda could track, using the knife to slice through Wanda's tank top in one clean motion, the fabric falling away in pieces. Then her sports bra, the blade cutting through the band with precision that spoke of decades of practice. The ruined clothes dropped to the mat.
Wanda gasped, suddenly topless, and Natasha tossed the knife aside carelessly before sweeping Wanda's legs out from under her.
Wanda hit the mat hard, air knocked from her lungs, and before she could recover Natasha was on top of her. Straddling her hips, hands pinning Wanda's wrists to the mat with iron grip, her full weight settling against Wanda's body.
"Fight back," Natasha commanded. "Use your magic. Show me you're not helpless."
Wanda didn't hesitate. Red energy flared bright and powerful, and she reversed their positions in one surge—Natasha on her back, Wanda straddling her hips, breathing hard.
For a moment they just stared at each other, both breathing hard, the air crackling with tension and magic and months of want.
Then Wanda made a decision.
She leaned down and kissed Natasha hard.
Desperate and hungry, months of restraint snapping. All teeth and tongue and barely controlled aggression. Natasha responded immediately, kissed back just as hard, her hands gripping Wanda's hips with bruising force, pulling her down harder, a low sound of approval rumbling in her chest.
The kiss was demanding and perfect. Wanda poured everything into it—all the want, all the frustration, all the need. Natasha took it all and gave it back just as intensely.
Natasha let it go on for maybe thirty seconds before she moved.
Flipped them with brutal efficiency. Suddenly Natasha was on top again, pinning Wanda with her full weight, one hand wrapped around both of Wanda's wrists holding them above her head.
"Nice try," Natasha said against her mouth, smiling. "But I'm in charge here."
"You knew," Wanda gasped. "You knew the whole time—"
"Of course I knew. You're not subtle, sweetheart." Natasha's free hand slid up Wanda's side. "The staring. How you react when I'm close. How your magic, or energy, or whatever the fuck it is responds to me." Her hand moved to Wanda's breast, palming it roughly, thumb finding her nipple. "I've been waiting to see how long you'd last before you broke."
"You could have said something—" Wanda arched into the touch.
"I wanted to see you break first. Wanted to watch you suffer." Natasha's teeth found her neck, biting down hard enough to mark. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're desperate."
Natasha's hand moved lower, and in one motion she yanked down Wanda's workout pants and underwear together, tossing them aside.
Completely naked while Natasha was fully dressed. The power dynamic sent fresh heat between Wanda's legs.
"Spread your legs," Natasha commanded. "Let me see you."
Wanda obeyed, face burning as she spread her thighs wide, completely exposing herself.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Natasha breathed. Her fingers slid through Wanda's arousal, and the obscene wet sound made Wanda want to die. "You're fucking soaked. Absolutely dripping. Look at this."
She brought her fingers up into the light, visibly glistening.
"This all from me?" Natasha asked, deliberately licking them clean while maintaining eye contact. "From me being rough with you? From thinking about all the ways I could hurt you?"
"Da," Wanda gasped. "Yes—all of it—"
"From watching me kill people," Natasha continued, her hand returning between Wanda's legs. "From being a desperate little slut who gets wet thinking about how dangerous I am. Say it."
"I'm a slut for you," Wanda's voice broke. "I get wet watching you kill—I want you—molim—"
"There's my good girl," Natasha said with dark satisfaction, and finally her fingers pressed inside. She started with two, filling Wanda suddenly.
Wanda cried out, back arching.
"So fucking tight," Natasha observed, starting to move with deliberate thrusts. "So wet and desperate and needy. You've been thinking about this for months, haven't you? About my fingers inside you. About me making you fall apart."
"Yes—god yes—please—"
Natasha worked her ruthlessly, building her up with focused attention that came from decades of reading people. Her thumb found Wanda's clit while her fingers maintained their rhythm.
Wanda was getting close fast, wound so tight from touching herself earlier and from months of want.
"Not yet," Natasha said, reading her perfectly. Her fingers slowed. "You don't cum until I say."
"Please—"
"There it is. I knew you'd beg." Natasha looked satisfied. "But no. Not yet. You're going to wait."
She worked Wanda with devastating precision, bringing her to the edge and backing off. Over and over, keeping her suspended in that desperate state. Until Wanda was sobbing with frustration.
"Molim te," Wanda gasped desperately, control over language gone. "Ne mogu više—I can't—please—"
"English," Natasha commanded. "Come on, Maximoff, we’ve been working on that."
"Please," Wanda forced out through tears. "Please, I need to cum, I can't take anymore, please let me—"
"I want to taste you first." Natasha pulled her fingers out, and Wanda made a desperate sound. "Want to know what you taste like when you fall apart for me."
She moved between Wanda's thighs with clear intent.
For a moment she just looked, breath hot against oversensitive skin.
"Fucking perfect," Natasha murmured. "So wet and swollen. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
Oh God, can you make my heart stop? Hit me with your kill shot, baby.
The flat of Natasha's tongue dragged through her folds, tasting thoroughly, and Wanda screamed.
"Stay still," Natasha commanded, but Wanda couldn't. Her hips moved on their own.
Natasha's hands gripped Wanda's thighs hard enough to bruise and pinned her down.
"I said stay still. Let me work."
Her tongue returned, moving with deadly precision. Finding every sensitive spot, cataloging what made Wanda gasp versus moan. She worked Wanda's clit with focused attention, circling and flicking and occasionally sucking in ways that made Wanda see stars.
"Fuck—Natasha—bože—" Wanda babbled incoherently, her hands in Natasha's hair, gripping desperately.
Natasha hummed against her, the vibration traveling through her. Then added fingers again, three this time, stretching her, filling her while her tongue maintained devastating attention.
"Please," Wanda begged. "Please, I can't—I'm going to—"
"Cum for me," Natasha finally said. "Right now. Let me taste it."
Wanda came so violently her magic exploded outward, shattering every overhead light. Glass rained down. Equipment flew across the room. The building shook.
Her body seized, back arching despite Natasha's hands holding her down. Her hands pulled at Natasha's hair. Her thighs clamped around Natasha's head, cutting off air, but Natasha kept working her through it until Wanda collapsed gasping.
When Natasha crawled back up, her face was wet and she looked satisfied.
"Fuck," Natasha said. "That was even better than I imagined. You taste incredible."
Wanda could only stare, incapable of words.
"That was one," Natasha continued. "But we're not done."
"I can't—" Wanda's voice was wrecked. "I can't feel my legs."
"You can. And you will." Natasha's hand slid between her legs again. "Because I'm not finished with you."
She worked Wanda gently this time, building her back up despite the oversensitivity. And impossibly, Wanda felt herself responding.
"That's it," Natasha encouraged. "Your body knows what it needs."
Her fingers pressed inside again, moving slowly while her thumb circled Wanda's clit.
"I'm going to make you cum again. And then a third time. I want to completely ruin you."
"Natasha—ne mogu—" But Wanda's hips were rolling up to meet her movements.
"You can. Stop thinking. Just feel."
Wanda's second orgasm rolled through her differently. It was less explosive but deeper, leaving her gasping. Her magic flared, cracking mirrors on the wall.
"That's two," Natasha said with satisfaction.
She pulled out and sat up, stripping off her own clothes finally. Tank top, sports bra, pants, underwear—all discarded until she was naked too.
Beautiful. All lean muscle and pale skin and scars.
"Sit up," Natasha commanded.
Wanda managed to push herself upright, and Natasha pulled her into her lap, positioning her straddling one powerful thigh.
"You're going to ride my thigh. Make a mess of me."
Natasha's hands gripped Wanda's hips, guiding her, pulling her down harder and starting a rhythm.
Wanda rolled her hips experimentally, gasping at her clit dragging against Natasha's skin. Perfect friction.
"That's it. Fuck yourself on my thigh like the desperate slut you are."
Wanda moved with more confidence, grinding down while Natasha controlled the pace. It was filthy and overwhelming and she couldn't look away from Natasha's face.
"You're so beautiful," Natasha said, hand sliding up to palm her breast roughly. "Falling apart on me. Completely mine."
"Yours," Wanda agreed. "Tvoja. Yours."
"Say it again."
"Yours—I'm yours—tvoja sam—" Wanda was gasping, movements frantic.
"Cum for me," Natasha commanded. "Right now."
Wanda came with a sob, less intense but deeper, and collapsed forward against Natasha's chest.
Natasha's arms came around her immediately, holding her close.
"I've got you. You did so well. So perfect."
They stayed like that for several minutes, Wanda trying to remember how to breathe while Natasha held her and murmured praise. Eventually, Natasha shifted them so they were lying down, Wanda tucked against her chest.
"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked, fingers moving gently through Wanda's hair.
"Like I died," Wanda managed. "Multiple times."
Natasha laughed softly. "Good."
"I don't think I can walk."
"I'll carry you." Natasha pressed a kiss to her head. "But we should clean up before someone investigates why half the equipment is embedded in walls."
"Your room?" Wanda looked up.
"You think I'm done with you?" Natasha's smile was wicked. "That was just the beginning. I have so many more things I want to do to you. And we have all night."
I mean it so serious.
A/N #2: This was originally 9k words, then I cut 7k of it, then I added 4k back, then the last bit. Basically, this one has always been a bit of a mess. It didn't turn out quite how I wanted it to. I feel like I still have the problem of my smut being really repetitive? I think it stems from the fact that I write plot, then smut, so the smut ends up repeating the plot, if that makes sense?
I've never really written anything like rough sex (with knives and hands on throats), and I'd usually do more research than I did, but the research I was getting was...not really stuff I wanted to see. I'm not here to kink-shame, I swear, it was more of I personally did not want to see a woman getting choked. I really wanted to capture that darker Natasha that the MCU didn't show us, though. Also, it's my understanding that at this point in her life, Wanda didn't know much about her magic, hence why I wrote it as "energy" or "powers". Canon? I don't know. Realistic? I also don't know. I'm just a smut writer, don't get too hung up on stuff like that.
nobody talks about how exhausting it is to live in that space between "things will get better" and "i can't handle this anymore." it's like your emotions are constantly swinging. leaving you both hopeful and defeated in the same day.
NSFW | Wanda gets to try and earn a spot on Natasha's nice list.
18+, oneshot | 8k words
ao3
A/N: i think this is my first time writing something with a strong dynamic and kink level. I tried to be as accurate, while entertaining, as possible. Check ins, and such. Please let me know your thoughts! I’m always trying to get better with my writing!
Wanda pushed open the apartment door with her hip, arms full of shopping bags that threatened to spill their contents all over the hallway. She'd been out for hours—holiday shopping was absolutely exhausting, especially when you were trying to find the perfect gifts for a team of superheroes who could literally buy themselves anything they wanted. Her feet were killing her in these boots, her arms felt like they might actually fall off, and all she wanted was to collapse on the couch with Natasha, order some overpriced Thai food, and maybe watch one of those terrible Hallmark movies they both pretended not to enjoy.
"I'm home!" she called, kicking the door shut behind her with more force than strictly necessary and dropping the bags in the entryway. "And I am never going to the mall two weeks before Christmas again. It was an absolute nightmare. There were so many people, and this woman literally tried to fight me over the last—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Her brain completely short-circuited.
Because Natasha was sitting in their armchair—the expensive buttery-soft leather one they'd splurged on last year, the one that was definitely big enough for creative activities if they wanted—and she was wearing exactly two things.
A Santa hat.
And a strap-on.
That was it.
Red and white fuzzy hat with a pristine white pom-pom at the end, sitting jauntily on her head like she'd just casually decided to accessorize. Black leather harness wrapped around her hips and thick thighs, the straps emphasizing every muscle. And jutting out from the harness, proud and obscene—thick maroon silicone that Wanda recognized immediately as one of their favorites. The big one. The one that always made her feel impossibly full.
Nothing else.
No shirt. No pants. No underwear beneath the harness. Just miles of pale skin and lean muscle on display. Broad shoulders, defined arms, sharp collarbones, perfect breasts, those incredible abs that Wanda loved to trace with her tongue, powerful thighs.
Natasha had clearly been hitting the gym harder lately. Her shoulders looked broader, her biceps more defined even in their relaxed state, her abs more pronounced. She looked like she could throw Wanda around the apartment without breaking a sweat. (She could. She had. It was great.)
And that fucking Santa hat, sitting perfectly on her head like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Wanda's shopping bags hit the floor with a muffled thud as her hands went completely slack. Her mouth opened but no sound came out.
Natasha was sprawled in the chair like it was her throne—and honestly, right now it felt like it was. One leg crossed over the other in a way that somehow made the dildo look even more prominent, arms resting casually on the armrests, muscles flexed just enough to show their definition. She looked powerful and confident and dangerous and so fucking hot that Wanda forgot how to breathe for several long seconds.
"Are you—" Wanda had to stop and swallow because her mouth had gone completely dry. "Are you wearing a Santa hat?"
"I am." Natasha's voice was casual, conversational, but there was something in her eyes—something dark and knowing and commanding that made Wanda's stomach flip and her thighs clench involuntarily. "Do you like it?"
"I—" Wanda's eyes couldn't decide where to look. They kept tracking from the ridiculous hat down to Natasha's face, lingering on those sharp cheekbones and that slight smirk, down to her shoulders and chest, those abs, the harness sitting on her hips, the dildo—
"Eyes up here, baby girl," Natasha said, and her voice had dropped into that register. The one that made Wanda's knees weak. The one that meant they were doing a scene, that Natasha was fully in control, that Wanda was expected to follow every single instruction without question.
Wanda's gaze snapped back up immediately, heat flooding her face. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. I like when you look." Natasha's lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. "I wore this for you, after all. Sat here for thirty minutes waiting for you to come home. But right now, I asked you a question, and I expect an answer. Do you like the hat?"
"Yes," Wanda breathed, still rooted to the spot in the entryway.
"Good." Natasha's eyes dragged slowly, deliberately down Wanda's body—taking in her flushed face, the way her chest was rising and falling too quickly, the white-knuckled grip she had on her purse strap, the way she was standing frozen like a deer in headlights. "Now. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to come over here and sit on the couch. You're going to be very, very good for Daddy. And if you follow all my instructions perfectly—" her hand came down to wrap loosely around the base of the dildo, "—then maybe I'll let you have this. Understand?"
Oh fuck.
Wanda felt arousal slam into her with the force of a freight train. They'd played with the daddy dynamic before—Wanda loved calling Natasha that, loved the way it made Natasha's eyes go impossibly dark, loved the way it shifted their usual power exchange into something even more intense. But it had been a few weeks at least, and hearing it now, with Natasha sitting there in nothing but a Santa hat and harness, was almost overwhelming.
"Yes," Wanda managed, her voice coming out rough and desperate. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good girl." The praise washed over Wanda like warm honey, settling deep in her chest. "Now come here. Put down your things. Sit on the couch where I can see you properly."
Wanda moved on autopilot, her legs carrying her forward on shaky knees. She set down her purse on the side table, shrugged off her coat without really paying attention to where it landed, and sat down on the couch across from Natasha's chair. Hands folded in her lap, back straight, eyes fixed on Natasha. Already slipping into that headspace—the one where everything narrowed down to Natasha's voice, Natasha's commands, Natasha's approval. Where the world outside this room ceased to exist, where nothing mattered except being good.
"Look at you," Natasha said, her voice rich with approval. "Already being such a good girl for me. Sitting so pretty. Waiting for instructions." She tilted her head slightly, the Santa hat shifting with the movement but somehow staying perfectly in place. "Do you know what today is?"
"Tuesday?" Wanda's brain was completely offline. She genuinely couldn't remember what day it was, what month it was, her own name.
"It's the day we find out if you've been naughty or nice this year." Natasha's hand stroked down the length of the dildo once, twice, in a slow movement that made Wanda's mouth water and her core clench. "Santa's checking his list. And I have to say, detka, I'm thinking you've been very naughty. Haven't you?"
The Russian endearment sent a shiver down Wanda's spine. "I've been good—"
"Have you?" Natasha's eyebrow raised, challenging. "Because I seem to remember you touching yourself in the shower last week. Without permission. Remember that?"
Oh god. Wanda had really, really hoped Natasha had forgotten about that. "I—that was—"
"That was you breaking the rules," Natasha said calmly. "That was you putting your hands between your legs and making yourself cum when you know that's Daddy's job. When you know you're supposed to ask first."
"I'm sorry—"
"I'm not done." Natasha leaned forward slightly, and the movement made her muscles shift in ways that were deeply distracting. "And then there was the time you wore those shorts to training. You know the ones. Those tiny little things that barely cover your ass. The ones that made Sam walk into a wall and made Steve forget what he was saying. The ones you know drive me absolutely crazy."
Wanda bit her lip. "Maybe."
"Maybe," Natasha repeated, her voice dropping lower. "You were trying to make me jealous. Trying to get a reaction out of me. Trying to be a tease."
"Maybe," Wanda admitted again, quieter this time.
"And what about yesterday?" Natasha sat back again, looking far too pleased with herself. "When you sent me that picture while I was in a meeting with Fury? The one where you were in our bed, wearing that red lingerie I bought you, with your hand between your legs?"
Wanda's face was burning now. "You looked stressed. I was trying to help."
"You were trying to be naughty." But there was warmth in Natasha's voice, affection beneath the stern exterior. "So. The evidence is pretty clear. You've been naughty. Very naughty. Which means you need to earn your way onto the nice list. Think you can do that?"
"Yes, Daddy," Wanda said immediately, desperately. "I'll do whatever you want. Anything."
"I know you will." Natasha's smile was warm, proud, possessive all at once. "You're always so eager to please. So desperate to be good for me. So ready to do whatever I tell you without question. That's one of my favorite things about you, malyshka. You try so hard."
The praise made Wanda's chest warm, made her sink even deeper into the headspace. "I want to be good for you."
"Then you will be. And here's how this is going to work." Natasha settled back in the chair, legs spreading slightly wider. The dildo jutted up obscenely, impossible to ignore, and Wanda couldn't stop staring at it. Couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel, how full she'd be, how good Natasha always made her feel. "First, you're going to watch. You're going to sit there like a good girl and watch Daddy touch herself. And you're not going to move. You're not going to touch yourself. You're not going to touch me unless I explicitly tell you to. You're just going to sit there and watch and be good. Understand?"
Wanda nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Out loud, baby girl. I need to hear you say it."
"Yes, Daddy. I understand."
"Good. And what are the rules?"
"No touching myself. No touching you unless you tell me to. Stay on the couch. Watch you."
"Perfect." Natasha's hand moved to her own chest, cupping one of her breasts, thumb brushing over her nipple. "And if you're very good—if you follow all my instructions perfectly, if you don't complain or beg too much—then maybe I'll let you on the nice list. Maybe I'll let you ride Daddy's cock. Would you like that?"
"Yes," Wanda breathed, clenching her hands together in her lap to keep from touching.
"I thought so." Natasha's thumb circled her nipple again, watching it harden under her touch. "Now. Watch. Don't miss a single thing. Because this is what you get when you've been naughty—you get to watch Daddy make herself feel good, and you don't get to help. You don't get to touch. You just get to sit there and want."
Wanda's hands clenched tighter in her lap as she watched Natasha touch herself. One hand on her breast, playing with her nipple, occasionally pinching it in a way that made her breath catch and her eyes flutter. The other hand slid down those perfect abs—Wanda watched every muscle twitch and flex—and under the harness between her legs.
"Fuck," Wanda whispered before she could stop herself.
"Language, baby girl," Natasha chided, but there was amusement in her voice. Affection. "Just watch. That's all you have to do right now. Sit there and be good and watch Daddy touch herself."
Wanda bit her lip hard and watched.
Natasha took her time. Her fingers moved lazily through her own wetness—and she was wet, Wanda could see the shine on her fingers every time they reappeared, could hear the soft slick sounds that made her mouth water and her core clench desperately. Could see the way Natasha's thighs tensed slightly with each movement, the way her stomach muscles jumped.
"You want to know something?" Natasha asked, her voice slightly breathless now. "I've been sitting here for thirty minutes. Waiting for you. Thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you tonight. Thinking about how pretty you're going to look sitting on my cock. How good you're going to feel. How beautiful you look when you fall apart for me. And it got me so fucking wet just thinking about it."
Wanda whimpered, unable to help herself. The sound escaped before she could stop it.
"You like that?" Natasha's fingers found her clit—Wanda could tell by the way her hips shifted, by the small gasp that fell from her lips. "You like knowing that Daddy got wet thinking about you? That I've been sitting here aching for you?"
"Yes," Wanda gasped. "God, yes."
"Such a good girl. Sitting there so still. Being so obedient even though I can see how much you want to touch." Natasha's hand on her breast squeezed harder, and her other hand moved faster between her legs. "I can see it on your face. See how badly you want to come over here. But you're not going to, are you? Because you're going to follow my rules perfectly."
"Yes, Daddy."
"That's my girl."
Natasha's movements were getting more focused now, more purposeful. Two fingers working her clit in tight, quick circles while her other hand moved from her breast down to her entrance. Wanda watched with desperate, rapt attention as Natasha pushed two fingers inside herself with a low, filthy moan that went straight to Wanda's core.
"Fuck," Natasha breathed, her head falling back against the chair. The Santa hat stayed perfectly in place—somehow, impossibly. "That's good. That's so fucking good."
Wanda was going to die. She was going to actually die from watching this. From watching Natasha fuck herself with her own fingers while that thick dildo jutted up from the harness, while her muscles flexed and moved with every motion, while those gorgeous sounds fell from her lips—gasps and moans and the wet sounds of her fingers working inside herself.
Her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. Her thighs were pressed together, trying to get any friction at all. She was so wet already, could feel it, and Natasha hadn't even touched her yet.
"Daddy," Wanda breathed, and she didn't even know what she was asking for.
"I know, baby girl. I know." Natasha's eyes opened, locking onto Wanda's, and the intensity there was almost enough to make Wanda look away. Almost. "You're being so good for me. So perfect. Just watch. Watch Daddy make herself cum thinking about you."
Her movements were faster now, more desperate. Fingers working her clit, fingers pumping inside, both hands moving in perfect coordination. Her breathing was harsh and uneven, her thighs trembling, her abs tensing in a way that made Wanda want to bite them, lick them, worship them.
"That's it," Natasha gasped, talking to herself now, lost in it. "Right there—fuck—so close—"
Wanda watched, completely transfixed, as Natasha's whole body went rigid. Her back arched off the chair, her thighs clenched, her hands never stopped their movements as she came with a low, guttural moan that Wanda felt in her bones.
It was the hottest thing Wanda had ever seen in her entire life. And she'd seen a lot.
When Natasha finally relaxed, breathing hard, she looked at Wanda with heavy-lidded eyes and a satisfied, dangerous smile.
"Good girl," she said, her voice rough and wrecked. "Such a good girl. You didn't move once. Didn't touch yourself even though I could see how badly you wanted to."
"I wanted to so much," Wanda admitted, her voice shaky. Her whole body was trembling with the effort of staying still.
"I know you did. I could see it. Could see how much it cost you to just sit there and watch." Natasha pulled her fingers out—both hands—and Wanda could see how wet they were, glistening in the light. "But you did it. You followed my instructions perfectly. Do you know how good that makes you?"
Wanda shook her head, not trusting her voice.
"So good," Natasha said. "So incredibly good. I'm very proud of you, detka."
The praise washed over Wanda like a wave, and she felt herself sinking even deeper into subspace. That floaty, soft place where everything was simple and good and right. Where Natasha's approval was the only thing that mattered in the entire universe.
"Color?" Natasha asked, her voice gentler now. Checking in like she always did.
"Green," Wanda said immediately. "So green, Daddy. So, so green."
"Good." Natasha's smile widened, pleased. "Then let's continue. Come here. Kneel for Daddy."
Wanda was off the couch immediately, crossing the space between them on legs that shook slightly. She dropped to her knees in front of the chair without being told, muscle memory and instinct guiding her, settling between Natasha's spread thighs. She looked up with wide eyes, waiting for the next instruction.
The dildo was right there, inches from her face. She could smell Natasha's arousal, could see the wet shine on her inner thighs, and she wanted it so badly she could taste it.
"Look at you," Natasha murmured, reaching down to cup Wanda's face with one hand. The hand that had just been inside herself. Wanda could smell her arousal even stronger now, and it made her dizzy. "So eager. So ready to please. So perfect on your knees for me. You want to suck Daddy's cock, don't you, malyshka?"
"Yes, Daddy," Wanda breathed. "Please. Please let me."
"Such good manners." Natasha's thumb brushed over Wanda's bottom lip, pressing slightly. Wanda's mouth opened automatically, and Natasha pushed her thumb inside. "Suck."
Wanda did, closing her lips around Natasha's thumb and sucking obediently. She let her tongue swirl around the digit, tasting Natasha's arousal, making it a show because she knew Natasha liked to watch. She hollowed her cheeks, sucked harder, kept her eyes locked on Natasha's face.
"Fuck," Natasha breathed, her eyes darkening even further. "You're so pretty like this. On your knees for me. Mouth open and eager. So ready to be good." She pulled her thumb out slowly, watching the way Wanda's lips clung to it, the way a thin strand of saliva connected them for a moment before breaking. "Okay, baby girl. You can suck Daddy's cock now. Show me what a good girl you are. Show me you deserve to be on the nice list."
Wanda leaned forward immediately, one hand coming up to grip the base of the dildo for stability, the other bracing on Natasha's thick, muscular thigh. She could feel the strength there, the power, and it made her even wetter.
She pressed a kiss to the tip first—reverent, grateful for permission, worshipful—then licked a long stripe up the entire length of it. The silicone was smooth and tasteless, warmed slightly from being against Natasha's skin, but Wanda didn't care. This wasn't about the dildo. This was about Natasha. This was about showing Natasha how good she could be, how much she wanted this, how perfectly she could follow instructions.
"That's it," Natasha encouraged, her hand moving to rest in Wanda's hair. Not pulling, not pushing, just holding. Grounding. Present. "Take your time, detka. Show Daddy how much you want it."
Wanda took the tip into her mouth, sucking gently, letting her tongue swirl around it like it was real. Like she could actually taste Natasha. Then she took more, working her way down inch by inch, using all the skills she'd perfected over years of doing this. Years of learning exactly what Natasha liked. Relaxing her throat, breathing steadily through her nose, taking it deeper and deeper until her nose was pressed against Natasha's stomach and the dildo was buried completely in her throat.
"Fuck," Natasha gasped above her, and Wanda felt the hand in her hair tighten almost painfully. "That's my good girl. Taking it all. Taking all of Daddy's cock like you were made for it."
Wanda held there for a moment, eyes watering slightly from the stretch, throat working around the intrusion. Then she pulled back to breathe, gasping slightly, before doing it again. And again. Setting a rhythm. Bobbing her head, taking the dildo deep every time, occasionally pulling off completely to lick up the sides or focus on the tip before taking it back down her throat.
"You look so fucking pretty like this," Natasha said, her voice strained now. Affected. "So beautiful with your mouth full. With Daddy's cock down your throat. Wish you could see yourself right now. See how perfect you look."
Wanda moaned around the dildo, the vibration making Natasha gasp. She knew that every time she took it deep, the base pressed against Natasha's clit. Knew that she was giving Natasha pleasure even while following instructions. The thought made her work harder, take it deeper, move faster.
"That's it, baby girl. Just like that." Natasha's hips started moving slightly, small rocks that pushed the dildo even deeper into Wanda's throat, making her gag slightly before she adjusted. "Gonna make Daddy cum again just from watching you. Just from feeling you suck my cock so perfectly. Just from seeing how eager you are to please me."
Wanda doubled her efforts, hollowing her cheeks, relaxing her throat even more. Drool was dripping down her chin now, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes from the stretch and the effort, her jaw starting to ache. She knew she must look absolutely wrecked—messy and desperate and used—and she knew Natasha loved it.
"Fuck—fuck—" Natasha's hand tightened in her hair almost to the point of pain. "I'm gonna cum, baby girl. Gonna cum from watching you be such a good girl for me—don't stop—yes—"
Wanda felt Natasha's thighs tense on either side of her head, felt the way her whole body went completely rigid. She kept sucking, kept moving, drawing it out as long as possible until Natasha finally pushed her back gently with a shaky hand.
"Stop—too much—sensitive—" Natasha was breathing hard, her chest heaving, a light sheen of sweat on her skin. "Good girl. Such a good fucking girl. Come here."
Wanda sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her jaw ached, her throat felt raw, her knees hurt from the hard floor, and she'd never been happier in her entire life.
"Up," Natasha said, tugging gently on her hair. "Come up here, malyshka."
Wanda stood on shaky legs, and Natasha guided her into her lap. Not sitting on the dildo yet—not yet—just straddling Natasha's thick thighs, both of them pressed close together. Natasha's arms came around her immediately, holding her tight, and Wanda melted into the embrace.
"You did so well," Natasha murmured, pressing kisses everywhere she could reach. Wanda's neck, her jaw, her cheeks, her forehead. "So incredibly well. I'm so proud of you, detka."
"Thank you, Daddy," Wanda whispered.
"How are you feeling? Check in with me properly."
"Good. Really good. Floaty."
"Jaw okay? Knees?"
"Little sore but nothing bad. All green."
"Color overall?"
"So green. The greenest."
"Good." Natasha pulled back slightly to look at her properly, studying her face. "Because now it's time for the next part. You've been such a good girl—watching when I told you to, sucking Daddy's cock so perfectly—but you're not on the nice list yet. You still need to earn it. Think you can do that for me?"
"Yes," Wanda said immediately. "Anything. I'll do anything."
"That's what I like to hear." Natasha's hands moved to the hem of Wanda's shirt—a soft cashmere sweater she'd worn for shopping. "But first we need to get you naked. Can't have you warming Daddy's cock with all these clothes in the way."
Wait. Warming?
"I—what?" Wanda's brain stuttered.
"Did I stutter, baby girl?" Natasha was already pulling off Wanda's sweater, helping her navigate her arms out of the sleeves. "You're going to warm my cock. Sit on it nice and still while you finish wrapping those presents you brought home. Show me how good you can be at following instructions even when you're desperate."
Oh fuck.
Wanda's core clenched hard at the thought. At the idea of being full, stretched, aching, while trying to accomplish a task. While trying to focus on anything other than the need building inside her.
"Daddy," she breathed.
"That's not a color." Natasha unhooked Wanda's bra, tossing it aside. "What's your color, detka?"
"Green. So green."
"Good girl." Natasha's hands moved to Wanda's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. "Up. Let's get these off."
Wanda stood on trembling legs, and Natasha helped her out of her jeans and underwear—cute lace panties that were absolutely soaked through. Soon she was completely bare, standing between Natasha's legs, and Natasha's hands roamed appreciatively over every inch of newly exposed skin.
"Beautiful," Natasha murmured, her hands cupping Wanda's breasts, thumbs brushing over nipples that were already hard. "So beautiful. And all mine."
"Yours, Daddy," Wanda agreed, her voice dreamy.
"That's right." Natasha's hand slid down Wanda's stomach, between her legs, and they both gasped when her fingers made contact. "Fuck, baby girl. You're soaked. You're dripping."
"Been like that since I walked in," Wanda admitted breathlessly.
"Since you saw Daddy sitting here in just a hat and a harness?" Natasha's fingers circled Wanda's clit teasingly, making her hips jerk forward. "Since you watched me make myself cum?"
"Yes—god—yes—"
"Such a good girl. Getting so wet for Daddy without even being touched." Natasha's fingers moved lower, pushing inside easily—two at once because Wanda was so ready. Wanda gasped at the intrusion, at the stretch, and Natasha worked her gently for a moment. "And so ready. Think you can take Daddy's cock now? Think you're ready for it?"
"Yes," Wanda breathed desperately. "Please, Daddy. Please let me."
"Since you asked so nicely." Natasha removed her fingers, making Wanda whimper at the loss. "Turn around. I want your back to me for this."
Wanda turned, confused for a moment, until she realized what Natasha wanted. She'd be facing out into the room, facing the coffee table where her shopping bags were sitting. Where she'd be wrapping presents.
"Lift up," Natasha instructed, her hands on Wanda's hips guiding her. "Nice and slow. I want to watch you take every inch."
Wanda lifted up on shaky legs, and Natasha positioned the dildo at her entrance with one hand while the other gripped Wanda's hip firmly.
"Slowly," Natasha commanded, her voice low and rough. "Take it slow. I want to feel you sink down on it. Want to watch you take all of Daddy's cock."
Wanda started to lower herself, and the stretch was immediate and intense and perfect. The dildo was thick—one of their bigger ones—and even though she was soaked, it took effort to take it. She went slowly, inch by inch, feeling every bit of the stretch.
"That's it," Natasha encouraged, and Wanda could hear the strain in her voice. Could feel the way Natasha's hands tightened on her hips. "That's my good girl. Taking it so well. Taking Daddy's cock so perfectly."
When Wanda was finally fully seated—the dildo buried completely inside her, her ass pressed against Natasha's hips—they both just breathed for a long moment. Wanda felt impossibly full, stretched in the best way, and Natasha's hands on her hips were grounding and possessive.
"Okay?" Natasha asked, genuine concern beneath the dominance.
"Yes," Wanda managed. Her voice came out strangled. "So okay. So full."
"Good." Natasha's hands stroked up and down Wanda's sides soothingly before one moved around to cup her breast. "Now here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit here and warm Daddy's cock. You're going to keep me nice and deep inside you, keep me warm, while you wrap those presents on the coffee table. And you're not going to move your hips. Not an inch. Not even a little bit. Understand?"
Wanda's eyes widened. "But—"
"But nothing." Natasha's hand on her breast squeezed, thumb brushing over her nipple. "You wanted to earn your spot on the nice list, didn't you?"
"Yes, Daddy, but—"
"Then this is how you earn it. You sit here and warm my cock like a good girl. You wrap your presents neatly, and they better be neat because I'll be checking, while staying completely still. No grinding. No moving. No trying to fuck yourself on me. You just sit here full and desperate and show me how good you can be."
"How long?" Wanda asked, already feeling desperate. She was so full, so stretched, and she wanted to move so badly.
"As long as it takes to wrap those presents." Natasha gestured to the coffee table. "I count three. Should take you maybe fifteen, twenty minutes if you focus. But we'll see how good you are at concentrating when you're stuffed full of Daddy's cock."
"I can't—that's too long—"
"Color?" Natasha's voice was firm.
Wanda took a breath. Checked in with herself. She was nervous, yes. This would be hard, yes. But it wasn't too much. Not really. "Green."
"Good girl." Natasha kissed her shoulder. "Now. Lean forward. Grab that first present. Let's see how steady your hands are."
Wanda leaned forward slightly—and immediately had to bite back a moan because the movement shifted the dildo inside her, pressed it against different spots, made her so aware of how full she was. She reached for the coffee table, for the first gift bag sitting there, and pulled it and the wrapping supplies toward her.
"Good," Natasha murmured. Her hands stayed on Wanda's body—one on her hip, one cupping her breast, keeping her grounded but also constantly reminding her of the situation. "Now wrap it. Nice and neat. Show Daddy how good you can be even when you're desperate."
Wanda pulled out the first gift, a book she'd bought for Steve, and reached for the wrapping paper. Her hands were already shaking slightly.
This was going to be torture.
She cut a piece of paper, laid the book on it, tried to fold it neatly. But her hands wouldn't cooperate. They were trembling too much, and every small shift of her body made the dildo move inside her, made her more aware of how full she was, how much she wanted to move.
"Struggling?" Natasha's voice was amused. Her hand moved from Wanda's breast to her stomach, splaying wide, holding her steady. "You're shaking, malyshka."
"Can't help it," Wanda gasped. She managed to get one side of the paper folded, but the tape kept sticking to her fingers instead of the paper.
"Try harder." But Natasha's other hand moved from her hip to between her legs, fingers finding her clit and circling it lightly. "Maybe this will help. Or make it worse. We'll see."
"Daddy," Wanda whimpered. The added stimulation was almost too much. She was so full, so stretched, and now Natasha was touching her clit in teasing circles that made her want to grind down, to move, to fuck herself on the dildo.
"Keep wrapping," Natasha commanded, her fingers never stopping their lazy circles. "You're not done with that present yet. The paper's all crooked."
Wanda looked down at her work with watery eyes. The paper was crooked, one corner folded completely wrong, tape everywhere except where it was supposed to be. She tried again, tried to straighten it, but her hands were shaking so badly now that she could barely hold the paper.
"I can't—" she gasped. "Daddy, I can't focus—"
"Yes you can." Natasha's fingers pressed harder against her clit, making Wanda's hips jerk involuntarily before she caught herself. "Stay still. You moved. That's not following instructions, baby girl."
"Sorry—I'm sorry—"
"Shh. It's okay. Just try again. Take your time." Natasha's hand on her stomach rubbed soothing circles even as her other hand kept up the torturous teasing between her legs. "You can do this. I know you can. You're my good girl, aren't you?"
"Yes, Daddy," Wanda breathed, trying desperately to focus on the wrapping paper instead of the fullness inside her, the fingers on her clit, the heat of Natasha's body behind her.
She managed to get the paper mostly straight, managed to get tape on it (after three tries where it stuck to her fingers instead), managed to fold the ends down. It wasn't perfect—nowhere near her usual neat wrapping job—but it was done.
"Good girl," Natasha praised, and the warmth in her voice made Wanda's chest glow even through the overwhelming sensation. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
"It was impossible," Wanda gasped.
"But you did it anyway. Because you're good for me." Natasha's fingers left her clit—Wanda whimpered at the loss—and both hands moved to Wanda's hips, steadying her. "Two more to go. And I think you can handle them without my help this time. Think you can do that for Daddy?"
"I—yes—I'll try—"
"That's my girl." Natasha leaned forward slightly, pressing her chest against Wanda's back, and the movement shifted the dildo inside her in a way that made Wanda see stars. "Remember. Still. No moving. Show me how good you can be."
Wanda reached for the second gift with trembling hands. A sweater for Tony, because the man owned approximately three hundred iron man hoodies and nothing actually nice. She pulled out wrapping paper and tried to cut it to the right size.
The scissors slipped. She had to try again.
Every small movement made her more aware of what was inside her. Made her core clench involuntarily around the dildo. Made her thighs tremble with the effort of staying still when every instinct in her body was screaming to move, to ride, to chase the relief she desperately needed.
"You're doing so well," Natasha murmured in her ear, her voice low and rough. "Look how hard you're trying. How focused you are even though I know you're desperate. Even though I can feel how wet you are, how much you're clenching around my cock. You're being so good for me, detka."
The praise helped. Wanda focused on it, let it ground her, let it give her the strength to keep going. She got the paper cut to size, wrapped it around the sweater, managed to get the tape on correctly this time. Her hands were still shaking, but less. She was finding her focus, sinking deeper into the subspace where Natasha's voice was the only thing that mattered.
"There you go," Natasha encouraged. "That's better. That's neater. You're getting the hang of it now."
"Feels so full," Wanda gasped as she reached for ribbon to tie around the package. "Daddy, I'm so full, I need—"
"I know what you need. And you'll get it when you've finished your task." Natasha's hands moved up to cup both of Wanda's breasts now, thumbs brushing over her nipples. "But not until then. You need to earn it. Need to show me you can follow instructions even when it's hard."
Wanda tied the ribbon with shaking fingers, managing a decent bow on the third try. The second present was done. One more.
"Good girl," Natasha praised, pinching Wanda's nipples gently. "One more. Just one more and then you'll have earned your reward. Can you do it?"
"Yes, Daddy," Wanda breathed. She was so far gone now, so deep in subspace that the only thing keeping her grounded was Natasha's voice, Natasha's hands, Natasha's presence behind her.
The third gift was a set of nice pens for Bruce—the man was always losing his and borrowing other people's. Wanda pulled out the last of the wrapping paper, this time a elegant silver pattern. Her hands were steadier now, her focus sharper despite the overwhelming fullness inside her.
She was getting into a rhythm. Cut the paper. Lay it flat. Center the gift. Fold one side, then the other. Tape. Fold the ends. More tape. Smooth it down.
"Look at you," Natasha murmured, and there was genuine pride in her voice. "Look how well you're doing. Such a good girl. So obedient. So perfect for me."
Wanda's hands were still shaking, but she managed. She wrapped the present neatly—not perfect, but much better than the first one. She reached for the ribbon, tried to tie it, fumbled it twice, and felt tears of frustration prick at her eyes.
"Shh," Natasha soothed immediately. "It's okay, malyshka. You're doing so well. Let Daddy help."
Natasha's hands came around her, covering Wanda's shaking ones. Together they tied the ribbon, Natasha's steady fingers guiding Wanda's trembling ones through the motions. It was intimate and grounding and perfect, and when the bow was finished, Wanda felt a wave of accomplishment wash over her.
"There," Natasha said softly. "Perfect. You did it, baby girl. You wrapped all three presents while keeping Daddy's cock warm inside you. While staying so still and good even though I know how hard it was. I'm so proud of you."
"Thank you, Daddy," Wanda gasped, and she was crying now—not from sadness but from overwhelming emotion, from the intensity of the scene, from how good it felt to please Natasha.
"Oh, detka." Natasha's arms came around her fully, holding her close. "You're okay. You did so well. So incredibly well. Are you with me? Color?"
"Green," Wanda managed through her tears. "So green. Just—a lot—"
"I know. I know, baby girl." Natasha pressed kisses to her shoulder, her neck. "You did perfectly. You earned your spot on the nice list. You earned everything. And now Daddy's going to take care of you. Does that sound good?"
"Yes—please—"
"Okay. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to let you move now. You can ride Daddy's cock. You can take what you need. But you're not going to cum until I give you permission. Understand?"
Wanda nodded frantically. "Yes—yes, Daddy, I understand—"
"Good. Then move, baby girl. Show me how much you need it."
Wanda didn't need to be told twice. She immediately started lifting up and sinking back down, and the relief was overwhelming. Finally—finally—getting the friction she'd been craving for what felt like hours. The dildo dragged against every sensitive spot inside her, and she set a desperate rhythm immediately.
"That's it," Natasha encouraged, her hands gripping Wanda's hips hard enough to bruise, helping guide her movements. "Take it. Take what you need. You've been so patient. So good. Now take Daddy's cock like you've been dying to."
Wanda bounced in Natasha's lap, completely graceless and desperate. All technique abandoned, just pure need driving her movements. The dildo was hitting that perfect spot inside her with every drop of her hips, and combined with how worked up she already was, she was careening toward orgasm embarrassingly fast.
"Not yet," Natasha said, somehow reading her body perfectly. "You don't cum yet. Hold it."
"I can't—" Wanda was gasping now, her rhythm faltering. "Daddy, I can't hold it—I'm so close—"
"Yes you can." Natasha's hand moved between Wanda's legs, fingers finding her clit and circling it firmly. "You can hold it because I told you to. Because you're my good girl and you follow my instructions. Even when it's hard. Even when you're desperate."
Wanda sobbed, trying desperately to hold back the orgasm that was building rapidly in her core. Her thighs were burning from the effort of riding, her body was trembling all over, and Natasha's fingers on her clit were making it nearly impossible to maintain control.
"Please," she begged. "Please, Daddy, I've been so good—I wrapped the presents—I stayed still—please let me cum—"
"Not yet," Natasha said firmly. "I want to watch you struggle. Want to see how long you can hold it for me. Want to see how obedient you can be."
Wanda let out a broken sound, something between a sob and a moan. She was right on the edge, teetering, every muscle in her body tensed with the effort of holding back. Her movements had become erratic, losing the rhythm, just desperate grinding.
"Look at you," Natasha murmured. "Look how desperate you are. How badly you need to cum. But you're not going to, are you? Not until I say so."
"I'm trying—" Wanda gasped. "I'm trying so hard—"
"I know you are. I can feel it." Natasha's fingers pressed harder on her clit. "You're shaking. Your thighs are trembling. You keep clenching around my cock. You're right there, aren't you? Right on the edge?"
"Yes—"
"Good." Natasha's other hand moved up to wrap loosely around Wanda's throat—not squeezing, just holding, just reminding her who was in control. "Because now I want you to beg for it. Beg Daddy to let you cum."
"Please," Wanda sobbed immediately. "Please, Daddy, please let me cum—I've been so good—I've done everything you asked—please—"
"More," Natasha commanded. "Tell me why you deserve it."
"I watched you—I stayed still—I sucked your cock—I wrapped the presents even though I could barely focus—I warmed your cock for so long—I've been so good, Daddy, please—" The words were tumbling out now, desperate and broken. "I need it so much—I need to cum—please let me—please—I'll do anything—"
"Anything?" Natasha's voice was rough now, affected. "You'd do anything for me?"
"Anything—please—Daddy, please—"
"Such a good girl." Natasha's hand on her throat tightened just slightly, and her fingers on Wanda's clit moved faster. "Okay, detka. You've earned it. Cum for Daddy. Cum right now."
The permission was all Wanda needed. She came with a sharp, broken cry, her whole body seizing in Natasha's lap. The orgasm crashed over her in intense waves, and she kept moving through it, kept riding, drawing it out as long as possible. Every nerve ending was on fire, pleasure rolling through her in waves that seemed endless.
"That's it," Natasha praised, her hands never stopping their movements. "That's my good girl. Cumming so beautifully for Daddy. Look how perfect you are. Look how good you are."
When Wanda finally started to come down, she was completely wrecked. Gasping and shaking, tears streaming down her face, barely able to hold herself up. Natasha caught her immediately, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close.
"I've got you," Natasha murmured, pressing kisses everywhere she could reach. "I've got you, baby girl. You're safe. You did so well. So perfectly."
"Thank you," Wanda managed to gasp out. "Thank you, Daddy."
"No, thank you." Natasha carefully lifted Wanda up, helping her off the dildo. Wanda whimpered at the sudden emptiness, at the loss, and Natasha soothed her with gentle touches. "You were incredible. So obedient. So perfect. I'm so proud of you, malyshka."
Wanda was completely boneless, unable to do anything but let Natasha maneuver her. Natasha turned her around so they were facing each other, settled her in her lap, and wrapped her arms around her securely.
"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked, genuine concern in her voice now. Scene voice dropping away, just Natasha taking care of her. "Are you okay?"
"Good," Wanda managed, her voice hoarse. "Really good. Tired. Floaty."
"You went pretty deep. That was intense."
"It was perfect," Wanda said, burrowing into Natasha's chest. "Everything was perfect."
"You cried. Was that too much?"
"No. It was just—a lot. A good lot. Overwhelming in the best way." Wanda pulled back slightly to look at Natasha. "I'm okay. Really. More than okay."
"Promise?"
"Promise." Wanda managed a tired smile. "That was amazing. The strapwarming was so hard but so good. And you helping me with the last present—that was—" She couldn't find the words.
"I could see you struggling. Couldn't leave my girl like that." Natasha cupped her face gently. "You did so well, detka. Better than I expected. Twenty minutes is a long time to stay still like that."
"Felt like forever," Wanda admitted.
"I know. But you did it." Natasha kissed her forehead. "Now. Water. Food. Shower. In that order."
"Can we just stay like this for a minute?" Wanda didn't want to move yet. Wanted to stay wrapped in Natasha's arms, warm and safe and loved.
"Of course." Natasha reached over to grab a throw blanket from the arm of the chair, wrapping it around both of them. "We can stay here as long as you want."
They sat like that for a while, just breathing together. Natasha kept up the gentle touches—stroking Wanda's hair, rubbing her back, occasionally pressing kisses to her temple. Slowly, gradually, Wanda started to come back to herself. The floaty feeling didn't entirely disappear, but she felt more grounded. More present.
"Hey," Natasha said eventually. "Still with me?"
"Yeah." Wanda nuzzled into her neck. "I'm here."
"Good." Natasha stood up carefully, keeping Wanda wrapped around her, showing off those muscles Wanda loved. "Bathroom. Let's get you cleaned up."
Natasha carried her to the bathroom—which should have been embarrassing but just felt caring—and set her on the counter. She removed the harness and set it in the sink to be cleaned later, then grabbed a warm washcloth and cleaned Wanda gently, carefully, paying attention to every sensitive spot.
"You're taking such good care of me," Wanda murmured, watching through half-closed eyes.
"Always." Natasha finished cleaning her and tossed the washcloth in the hamper. "That's my job. Taking care of my girl after a scene."
"I like when you call me your girl."
"You are my girl. My good girl. My perfect girl." Natasha kissed her softly. "My girl who just earned top spot on the nice list."
Wanda smiled, warm and happy and satisfied. "What do I win?"
"Whatever you want. Within reason." Natasha helped her off the counter. "Can you stand?"
"Yeah." Wanda's legs were shaky but functional. "I'm okay."
"Good. Then let's get you some water and food, and then we can curl up on the couch." Natasha grabbed her hand, leading her back to the living room. "Thai sound good?"
"Sounds perfect."
They settled on the couch together, Natasha in sweatpants and a t-shirt now, Wanda in one of Natasha's hoodies and soft shorts. Natasha ordered Thai food while Wanda drank an entire bottle of water, then grabbed another one at Natasha's insistence.
"How are you feeling now?" Natasha asked, pulling Wanda close under a blanket. "Really."
"Really good. Satisfied. Happy." Wanda looked up at her. "Loved."
"You are loved." Natasha kissed her softly. "So loved. You know that, right?"
"I know. I feel it every time we do this. Every time you take care of me after." Wanda played with the strings of her borrowed hoodie. "Thank you. For all of it."
"You don't have to thank me. I love doing this with you. I love that you trust me enough to let me control you like that. To push you." Natasha's arms tightened around her. "It's the best gift you could give me. Your trust. Your submission."
"You make it easy to give. Because I know you'll always take care of me." Wanda was quiet for a moment. "The present wrapping was genius, by the way. Evil, but genius."
Natasha laughed. "You did so well with it though. Better than I expected, honestly. I thought you'd give up halfway through the first one."
"I almost did. But I wanted to be good for you."
"You were. You are. Always." Natasha tilted Wanda's chin up, looking into her eyes seriously. "If it ever gets to be too much, you tell me. You know your safewords. You know I'll stop immediately."
"I know. But it wasn't too much. It was perfect." Wanda smiled. "Although I don't know if I'll ever be able to wrap presents again without thinking about this."
"Good. That was the goal." Natasha smirked. "Every time you wrap a gift this holiday season, you'll remember sitting on my cock, desperate and shaking, trying to focus while I teased you."
It's Natasha's birthday, and Wanda has every intention of making sure the entire day is filled with the things Natasha loves…and fantasizes about.
18+, NSFW oneshot | 7.9k words
ao3
Natasha woke up slowly, which was weird for her.
Usually she went from dead asleep to fully alert in about two seconds flat—thank you, Red Room training—snapping awake with her heart already racing and her hand reaching for whatever weapon was closest. Survival instincts didn't just turn off because you'd been deprogrammed and given a nice apartment in an Avengers compound.
But this morning felt different. Softer.
She became aware of things in layers, like her consciousness was wading through honey. The Egyptian cotton sheets against her bare skin. The expensive ones Wanda had insisted on buying because "we literally save the world, Nat, we deserve sheets that don't feel like sandpaper." The early morning light filtering through their blackout curtains, the ones that never quite blocked out all the light, turning everything golden. Traffic sounds from way down below, that constant New York white noise she'd grown to find comforting instead of threatening.
And most notably, the very distinct feeling of Wanda's hands sliding up her inner thighs under the covers.
Her eyes flew open.
"Wanda, what—"
"Good morning," Wanda's voice came from somewhere near her hips, muffled and warm. And then her mouth was exactly where Natasha definitely wanted it to be, tongue sliding through wetness with the kind of purposeful intent that made Natasha's brain short-circuit.
"Oh fuck," Natasha breathed, her head falling back hard against the pillow. Her hands scrabbled for purchase—grabbed fistfuls of sheet, then abandoned that to thread into Wanda's hair instead. Soft. Always so soft. "What are you—oh my god—"
"Mmm." Wanda hummed against her, and the vibration made Natasha's hips jerk involuntarily, made her thighs try to close around Wanda's head before Wanda's hands gripped tighter, holding her open. "Relax, baby. Let me take care of you."
Relax. Right. Sure. Easy. Except Wanda's tongue was doing something absolutely obscene, licking and sucking and occasionally dipping inside just to make Natasha lose her fucking mind, and relaxing was the last thing her body wanted to do.
"Wanda—" Her girlfriend's name came out strangled. Desperate. Wanda had clearly woken up and chosen violence. The sexy kind. The kind that made Natasha's tactical brain completely offline in favor of just feeling.
Wanda gripped her thighs tighter, spread them wider. Held her open with the kind of possessiveness that made Natasha's breath catch, made heat coil low in her belly. She knew exactly what she was doing—where to lick, where to suck, when to add her fingers. Three years together meant she'd mapped out every single thing that made Natasha fall apart, and she was using that knowledge ruthlessly right now.
Natasha tried to stay quiet. They were in the compound. Other Avengers were definitely awake by now. Steve was probably already on his morning run, Tony was probably in the workshop, Clint was probably making too much noise in the kitchen. The walls weren't that thick.
But Wanda was making it impossible.
Every stroke of her tongue, every curl of her fingers inside, every strategic suck on her clit was specifically designed to pull sounds from Natasha's throat. Little gasps. Broken moans. Her name, over and over, like a prayer Natasha didn't know she'd memorized.
"God, right there, don't—don't stop—" Natasha gasped, her fingers tightening in Wanda's hair, holding her exactly where she needed her. Her hips rolled up, seeking more, chasing the pleasure that was building so fast it almost hurt. "Don't you dare stop—"
She didn't.
Wanda worked her systematically. Patiently. Like she had all the time in the world and nothing was more important than this—than taking Natasha apart piece by piece with her mouth. Her tongue circled Natasha's clit in patterns she knew drove Natasha absolutely insane, her fingers curled at exactly the right angle, hitting that spot that made Natasha see actual stars.
The orgasm built fast. Too fast. Inevitable like a freight train. Pleasure coiling tight in Natasha's core, spreading through her limbs like electricity. She was trembling, gasping, so close she could barely breathe, barely think, barely exist as anything other than sensation—
And then Wanda curled her fingers just right and sucked hard on her clit, and Natasha came with a sharp cry she absolutely could not suppress. Her whole body arched off the bed, thighs clamping around Wanda's head, fingers pulling her hair probably too hard but Wanda didn't seem to mind, just kept working her through it until Natasha was boneless and gasping.
Wanda gentled her touches as the aftershocks rolled through her. Soft kisses pressed to her inner thighs while Natasha's breathing slowly, slowly returned to something resembling normal. When Natasha could finally think again, when her brain came back online and remembered how to process information that wasn't just pleasure and Wanda and oh my god, Wanda crawled back up her body.
Left a trail of kisses. Stomach. Ribs. The valley between her breasts. Collarbone. Neck. Each one deliberate. Claiming.
"Happy birthday, baby," Wanda murmured against Natasha's lips before kissing her properly.
Natasha could taste herself on Wanda's tongue. Something about that—the evidence of what just happened, the intimacy of it—made her want to flip them over immediately and return the favor. Her hands moved to Wanda's waist, trying to pull her closer, trying to maneuver them so she could—
But Wanda seemed to sense the thought. (She always could. Fucking mind reading witch.)
She pulled back with a knowing smile and pressed Natasha back down when she tried to sit up.
"Nope," Wanda said firmly. "Today is all about you."
"But I want to—" Natasha tried to argue, tried to reach for Wanda again, but her girlfriend was having exactly none of it.
"I know what you want." Wanda's fingers traced lazy patterns on Natasha's stomach, feather-light touches that made her skin prickle with goosebumps. "And later, maybe. But right now? You're going back to sleep."
"I'm not tired."
But even as she said it, Natasha felt the exhaustion pulling at her. She'd been running herself ragged for weeks. Missions back-to-back. Training the new SHIELD recruits because apparently she was the only one who could teach them proper knife technique. Helping Tony with that thing in Prague that had gone sideways. Sleep had been something she squeezed in between obligations, between crises, between moments of being needed.
"Liar." Wanda kissed her forehead. Then her temple. Then settled down beside her, pulling Natasha against her chest like Natasha weighed nothing. One arm wrapped around Natasha's waist, the other hand moving to card through her hair. Gentle. Rhythmic. Soothing in a way that made Natasha's eyes heavy despite her protests. "You've been running yourself ragged. Sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."
Natasha wanted to argue. She really did. She wasn't the kind of person who just... went back to sleep. Let herself be vulnerable like this. Let someone else take care of her without putting up at least a token fight.
But Wanda's fingers in her hair, Wanda's heartbeat steady under her ear, the post-orgasm endorphins flooding her system—all of it combined to make her feel safe enough to actually let go.
Her eyes drifted closed.
"Love you," she mumbled, already half-asleep.
"Love you too." Wanda pressed another kiss to her hair. "So much. Happy birthday, moya lyubov."
When Natasha woke up the second time—and holy shit, she'd slept for two more hours according to the clock on the nightstand, which literally never happened—Wanda was gone.
The space next to her in bed was cold. Like she'd been gone for a while.
Natasha stretched, feeling loose and relaxed and satisfied in a way she hadn't in weeks. Maybe months. Her body felt good. Rested. The constant tension she usually carried in her shoulders was just... gone.
She could hear movement somewhere else in the apartment. Water running, maybe? Something clattering in the kitchen?
Natasha grabbed one of Wanda's hoodies from the chair—the oversized purple one that was more like a dress on Wanda but fit Natasha perfectly, smelled like Wanda's lavender shampoo and something uniquely her—and pulled it on before padding out barefoot to investigate.
The apartment was spotless.
Not just clean. Spotless.
The dishes from last night's dinner—the ones Natasha had fully intended to do before bed but had been too exhausted to deal with—were done and put away. The counters were wiped down and gleaming. The throw blankets on the couch were folded with the kind of precision that would make Steve proud. Fresh coffee in the pot, still hot, steam rising from the carafe. The whole place smelled like that vanilla candle Wanda loved, mixed with something else. Cinnamon? Cardamom?
Natasha frowned.
She usually insisted on doing the cleaning. It was part of her routine, something that helped her feel grounded. In control. But Wanda had apparently done all of it while she was sleeping. Had probably been up for hours, quietly moving around, letting Natasha rest.
And speaking of Wanda—where the hell was she?
Natasha poured herself coffee. Black. Strong enough that Tony claimed it could strip paint off walls. She was pulling out her phone to text when the front door burst open.
Wanda came in carrying multiple shopping bags, slightly out of breath, her cheeks pink from the December cold. She was wearing her long burgundy coat and that cream-colored scarf Natasha had gotten her last year, her hair windswept and slightly messy.
She looked beautiful.
She always looked beautiful, but there was something about Wanda when she was happy—when she was excited about something—that made Natasha's chest ache in the best way.
"You're awake!" Wanda said brightly, kicking the door closed behind her. "Perfect. How'd you sleep?"
"Like the dead. You drugged me with orgasms and forced me to rest."
"Guilty as charged." Wanda set down her bags—Natasha could see wrapped packages peeking out of them. "Did it work?"
"I slept for three hours total. So yes." Natasha took a sip of her coffee. "Where were you?"
"Out. Getting things ready." Wanda's smile was mysterious. Secretive. "Speaking of which—" She grabbed Natasha's hand, pulling her toward the bedroom. "Get dressed. Wear something comfortable but warm. We're going out."
"Going out where?"
"It's a surprise." Wanda was already pulling clothes out of Natasha's drawers. "Here. Jeans, thermal shirt, your favorite sweater. Boots. That scarf I got you last year. Coat."
"Wanda—"
"No arguments. We have a schedule to keep."
"A schedule?"
"I've planned your entire day." Wanda was practically vibrating with excitement now. "Every single hour. Accounted for travel time, food breaks, bathroom breaks. I even built in buffer time in case we run long at any location."
Natasha felt something warm bloom in her chest. Something soft and overwhelming. "You planned my whole day?"
"Your whole birthday. Yes." Wanda kissed her quickly. "Now get dressed. Clock's ticking."
Twenty minutes later, Natasha found herself bundled up in her warmest coat and favorite scarf—soft green cashmere that Wanda had given her last Christmas, that she'd pretended was too nice to actually wear but secretly loved—walking hand-in-hand with Wanda through Central Park.
It was cold but not unbearable. That crisp December morning kind of cold that bit at your nose but felt refreshing. Made you feel alive. The sun was bright, the sky impossibly blue, and there was frost still clinging to the grass in shaded areas where the light hadn't reached yet.
"So are you going to tell me where we're going?" Natasha asked.
"Nope." Wanda swung their joined hands between them, looking way too pleased with herself. "You'll see."
They walked in comfortable silence for a bit. Well. Not complete silence.
Wanda kept up a steady stream of commentary about everything they passed. That dog was cute. (A corgi in a sweater, which was objectively adorable.) That tree looked like it was about to fall over. (It did look precarious.) Remember that time they'd come here in spring and Natasha had almost fought that guy who was being rude to the hot dog vendor? (She'd been justified. The guy was an asshole.)
It was so perfectly Wanda that Natasha couldn't help but smile. Her girlfriend saw magic in everything. Found joy in the smallest moments. Insisted on narrating their life together like she was afraid of missing anything, of letting any moment pass by unacknowledged.
But something was nagging at Natasha.
Wanda hadn't mentioned her birthday. Not since that whispered "happy birthday" this morning while Natasha was still half-asleep and dazed. She was acting completely normal. Like this was just another Saturday. Just a nice walk through the park.
Maybe she'd forgotten?
No. That didn't make sense. Wanda had literally woken her up with oral sex and said happy birthday. That had to have been birthday-related. And she'd mentioned planning the day, having a schedule.
But still. No birthday talk. No singing. No cake. Not even a passing mention.
"Earth to Nat." Wanda bumped her shoulder. "You're thinking too loud. I can practically hear the gears turning."
"Am not."
"Are too. You get this little crease right here—" Wanda reached up and smoothed the spot between Natasha's eyebrows with her thumb. "—when you're overthinking something."
"I don't overthink."
"You absolutely overthink. It's one of your most endearing qualities." Wanda stopped at a coffee cart near Bethesda Fountain, already pulling out her wallet. "Two large coffees, please. One black, one with oat milk and way too much caramel."
The vendor—an older man with kind eyes and a thick accent Natasha couldn't quite place—smiled at them while making their drinks. "Ah, young love. Beautiful morning for a walk, yes?"
"The best morning," Wanda agreed, accepting the cups and handing him cash. "Keep the change."
"Generous! Thank you, miss. You ladies have wonderful day!"
Wanda passed Natasha her coffee without asking what she wanted.
Because of course she already knew.
Three years together and Wanda knew her coffee order, her preferred sleeping position, the exact way she liked her eggs cooked (over easy, runny yolk, lots of pepper), which side of the bed she preferred (left, always left, better angles to the door), what movies made her cry even though she'd never admit it (Wanda knew anyway).
They kept walking. Sipping their coffee. And Natasha tried to relax into the moment. Stop analyzing. Stop waiting for something to happen. Just be here, with Wanda, enjoying the morning.
Easier said than done.
They ended up at a small bookstore tucked between two larger buildings on a side street Natasha had never noticed before. The window display showed stacks of books with handwritten recommendations on index cards, the kind of personal touch that bigger chain stores never bothered with.
"Wait," Natasha said as Wanda pulled her toward the door. "How did you—I mentioned this place once. Like three months ago."
"Four months ago, actually." Wanda grinned. "You read a review online and said you wanted to check it out but never got around to it. I remember everything you tell me. Come on. Let's browse."
Inside, the bookstore was exactly the kind of place Natasha loved.
Cozy. Cramped. Smelling like old paper and coffee and possibilities. Floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books, narrow aisles barely wide enough for two people to pass each other, a cat sleeping on the front counter next to the register. Classical music playing softly from speakers somewhere—something Russian that Natasha vaguely recognized but couldn't name.
The kind of place you could get lost in for hours.
Wanda let her wander. Followed along and occasionally pulled books off shelves to show her.
"Oh, you'd like this one." Wanda handed her a thriller with a dark cover and embossed gold lettering. "The reviews said the main character reminded them of you. Morally grey, competent, kind of terrifying. Takes down corrupt government officials while dealing with her own trauma."
"I'm not terrifying," Natasha protested automatically, but she was already reading the back cover. It did sound good. Right up her alley.
"You're absolutely terrifying, baby. It's one of your best qualities." Wanda moved to the next shelf. "Ooh, and this one! Historical fiction set in post-war Berlin. You love that era."
"How do you remember that I love that era?"
"Because you've read like twelve books about it and made me watch three documentaries." Wanda pulled down another book. "And this one's a memoir by a former KGB operative. I know you're into spy stuff. For obvious reasons."
They spent an hour there. Maybe more. Natasha lost track of time browsing shelves, reading first pages, getting sucked into stories. The bookstore owner—a woman with silver hair and half-moon glasses perched on her nose—clearly recognized kindred spirits and left them alone to explore.
By the time they left, Natasha was carrying a bag with four books that Wanda had insisted on buying despite Natasha's protests.
"You don't have to buy me things," Natasha said as they walked.
"I want to buy you things. It's your birthday."
So there it was.
The first mention since this morning.
"So you do remember," Natasha said.
"Of course I remember." Wanda looked at her with something like fondness and exasperation mixed together. The expression she got when Natasha was being particularly obtuse about something emotional. "Did you think I forgot?"
"You hadn't mentioned it."
"Because we're doing things, not talking about things." Wanda stopped walking, turning to face Natasha properly. Her hands came up to rest on Natasha's arms, warm even through her coat. "Everything today is for you. The bookstore. The coffee. This walk. All of it. I'm not going to sing happy birthday or make a big announcement every five minutes. I'm just going to celebrate you by doing things you love."
"You deserve nice things." Wanda stood on her toes to kiss Natasha's cheek. "Now come on. Lunch reservation is in twenty minutes and you know how I feel about being late."
Lunch was at a small café with exposed brick walls and mismatched furniture that looked like it had been collected from yard sales over the course of decades. Natasha recognized it immediately.
They'd come here once, about a year ago, after a mission that had gone sideways. Natasha had been exhausted and starving and Wanda had found this place almost by accident. And Natasha had mentioned—just in passing, barely even a comment really—that they had the best sandwiches she'd ever had.
Apparently Wanda had filed that information away for future reference.
They ordered. Turkey and brie for Natasha because she always got that when it was available. Caprese for Wanda because she claimed she was trying to eat more vegetables (she wasn't, she just liked the mozzarella). And they settled at a corner table with good sight lines to all the exits.
Old habits.
"So," Wanda said, stealing a chip from Natasha's plate even though she had her own. "How's your day so far?"
"Good. Really good." Natasha caught Wanda's hand before she could steal another chip. "Thank you. For this. All of it."
"We're just getting started." Wanda's smile was mysterious again. That secretive little expression that meant she had plans. "Trust me."
After lunch, Wanda led them to an art gallery featuring a photography exhibition about Cold War Russia.
Black and white images of Moscow, Leningrad, places Natasha barely remembered but felt in her bones anyway. Streets she might have walked down as a child. Buildings that looked familiar in ways she couldn't articulate. People whose faces reminded her of ghosts from a life she'd tried so hard to leave behind.
It was haunting. Beautiful. Made her chest ache in ways she couldn't name.
Wanda didn't say much. Just held her hand and let her look at each photograph for as long as she needed. Sometimes that was what Natasha needed—silence, presence, someone who understood that not everything required commentary or fixing or processing out loud.
"This one," Natasha said quietly, stopping in front of a photograph of a young girl in a school uniform. Maybe seven or eight years old. Serious expression. Shoulders held too straight for someone that young. "She looks like me. At that age."
"Does it make you sad?"
"A little. But also..." Natasha studied the girl's face, the way she held herself. Like she was already bracing for something. "I survived. She survived. We're still here."
"You're more than that." Wanda squeezed her hand. "You're happy. You have people who love you. You have a life that's yours."
"I know." Natasha pulled her gaze away from the photograph. "Thanks to you."
"No. Thanks to you. You did the work." Wanda searched for the right words, her brow furrowing slightly. "I just—provided support. Cheered from the sidelines. Held your hand while you fought your own battles."
They spent another hour at the gallery before moving to the next location: a vintage record store where Wanda had apparently called ahead to hold something specific.
"How did you—" Natasha held the record like it might disappear. An original pressing of a Russian jazz album from the 1960s that she'd been hunting for years. Something her mother used to play, one of the few clear memories she had from before. "Where did you even find this?"
"I have my ways." Wanda was paying the clerk before Natasha could protest. "Also I called like six different stores and made Tony use his connections. And possibly threatened him a little."
"You enlisted Tony?"
"He was surprisingly helpful once I threatened to tell Pepper about the thing with the thing."
"What thing with what thing?"
"If I told you, I couldn't use it as blackmail anymore." Wanda took the bag with the record. "Come on. One more stop before dinner."
The last stop was back at the compound. Specifically, the training room.
Which seemed like an odd choice until Natasha realized what Wanda was planning.
"Spar with me," Wanda said, already changing into workout clothes—black leggings and a sports bra that made Natasha's brain temporarily malfunction.
"You sure? I don't want to hurt you."
"Please." Wanda stretched, rolling her shoulders. Her spine cracked audibly and she sighed. "You won't hurt me. Besides, I've been practicing with Yelena. I've picked up some new moves."
They went a few rounds.
Wanda had been practicing. Her footwork was better, more confident. Her strikes came faster. Her defense was tighter, more intuitive. She even managed to sweep Natasha's leg once—actually got her on the mat—which had never happened before.
Natasha still won their matches. Years of Red Room training versus Wanda's natural talent wasn't exactly a fair fight. But it was closer than it used to be. Harder. More fun.
And Wanda was clearly proud of herself, grinning even when Natasha pinned her to the mat for the third time.
"You're getting good at this," Natasha said, breathing hard.
"I have a good teacher." Wanda smiled up at her from where she was still pinned, hair spread out around her head like a halo. "Plus I'm very motivated to be able to defend myself. And occasionally defend you, when necessary."
"I can defend myself."
"I know. But sometimes you shouldn't have to." Wanda wiggled out from under Natasha and stood, grabbing her water bottle and draining half of it. "Okay. Go shower. We have dinner reservations in an hour."
"Dinner reservations where?"
"You'll see."
The restaurant was in Brighton Beach. Tucked away on a side street that most people would walk right past without noticing. But Natasha knew it. She'd been coming here for years.
First alone, back when she was still figuring out who she was outside of being a weapon. Then occasionally with Yelena when her sister was in town and wanting to experience New York. And eventually with Wanda, once she'd felt ready to share this piece of herself.
It was tiny. Family-owned. And served authentic Russian food. The kind she'd grown up eating, before the Red Room. Before everything. The kind that reminded her of a childhood she barely remembered but somehow still missed. Her mother's hands making pelmeni. Her father sneaking her spoonfuls of honey. Fragments of memory that felt more like dreams than actual history.
"How did you get a reservation?" Natasha asked as they walked in. This place was always booked solid. Sometimes weeks in advance. The owner—an elderly woman named Svetlana who ran it with an iron fist and didn't make exceptions for anyone—was notorious for turning away even local politicians if they hadn't called ahead.
"I have my ways." Wanda's mysterious smile was back. Then she grinned at Natasha's expression. "Fine. I called two months ago. And I may have mentioned you were Avengers. And Svetlana's grandson is apparently a huge Black Widow fan. So."
"You used my reputation to get dinner reservations."
"I used your reputation to get you dinner reservations at your favorite restaurant on your birthday." Wanda squeezed her hand. "There's a difference."
They were seated at a corner table—Natasha's preferred spot, the one with a view of the small kitchen where Svetlana was currently barking orders at her staff in rapid-fire Russian. The place smelled incredible. Garlic, dill, something baking. Natasha's stomach growled despite the large lunch they'd had.
"You still have only said it, like, once," Natasha said quietly as they sat down.
"Said what?"
"Happy birthday. I mean, you said it this morning, but—"
"But you were barely conscious." Wanda finished. "And you think it doesn't count."
"Does it?"
"It absolutely counts." Wanda reached across the table to take Natasha's hand. Her thumb stroked across Natasha's knuckles, a familiar gesture. Grounding. "But if you need to hear it again: happy birthday, Natasha. I'm so glad you were born. I'm so glad you survived everything you had to survive to get here. I'm so glad I get to celebrate this day with you."
Natasha's throat felt tight. "I'm glad too."
"Good." Wanda picked up her menu even though Natasha knew she'd already decided what to order. She always got the chicken shashlik. Every time. Without fail. "Now, order whatever you want. And I mean anything. Today, you get everything you want."
The waitress came by—a young woman who looked like she might be Svetlana's granddaughter based on the family resemblance and the way she moved through the space with comfortable familiarity. She took their orders with a bright smile.
Pelmeni for Natasha because it reminded her of home, of being small and safe. Shashlik for Wanda because it was her favorite. And an order of blini with sour cream and caviar to share because they both loved it.
They fell into easy conversation.
Wanda told her about all the planning she'd done to pull off today. Including threatening certain Avengers with bodily harm if they so much as breathed wrong in Natasha's direction.
"You threatened them?"
"I told Steve that if he scheduled you for training today, I'd tell Bucky about the thing from the 1940s that he's still embarrassed about."
"What thing from the 1940s?"
"No idea. But Steve went pale and immediately blocked off your entire day in the compound calendar." Wanda looked extremely pleased with herself. "And I told Tony that if he called you for tech help, I'd hex his workshop. Just. The whole thing. Every piece of equipment."
"You wouldn't."
"He doesn't know that." Wanda's grin was wicked. "And I told Bruce that if he even thought about asking you to help with science stuff, I'd tell everyone about that thing with Betty Ross."
"What thing with Betty Ross?"
"Again, no idea. But he turned bright red and scurried away very quickly."
Their food arrived, and they ate slowly. Sharing bites of each other's meals the way they always did. Wanda made appreciative sounds at everything—little hums and sighs—that made Natasha want to kiss her.
The pelmeni were perfect. Soft dough, well-seasoned filling, served in hot broth with fresh dill that made the whole thing taste like home. The shashlik was charred just right, tender and flavorful. The blini were delicate and buttery.
"This is so good," Wanda said around a mouthful of pelmeni. "How do they make the dough so soft? I've tried to make these and they always come out too thick. Like, aggressively thick. Dumplings that could be used as weapons."
"Family recipe, probably. This place has been here for decades. Three generations of the same family running it."
"We should come here more often."
"We should," Natasha agreed. "Maybe once a month? Make it a tradition?"
"I'd like that." Wanda reached for another pelmeni, then paused. Her expression shifted slightly. Became more focused. "Oh. Before I forget."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a small wrapped box.
About the size of her palm. Wrapped in black paper with a red bow that matched Natasha's suit colors. Clearly intentional.
"Wanda, you've already—" Natasha gestured vaguely at everything. The whole day. All the gifts. This perfect evening. "You don't have to give me anything else."
"Just open it."
Natasha carefully unwrapped it, saving the paper like she always did. (Wanda teased her about it but Natasha couldn't help it. Gifts were precious. Even the wrapping.) Inside was a small black box, and inside that was a remote control.
Sleek. Black. Minimalist design. Just a power button and a dial for intensity.
She stared at it for a long moment, turning it over in her hand, trying to figure out what it was for. It looked expensive. Professional. Definitely intentional.
"What is this for?" Natasha asked, looking up at Wanda.
Wanda's smile turned wicked.
Her cheeks were slightly pink, but her eyes were dark. Promising. "Remember that conversation we had? A few weeks ago? About trying something new?"
Natasha thought back.
They'd been in bed. Both of them sated and sleepy in that post-sex haze where everything felt soft and possible. Wanda had been tracing patterns on Natasha's stomach—idle touches, fingertips drawing constellations—and had asked what fantasies Natasha had that they hadn't explored yet.
Natasha had hesitated.
She wasn't used to being the one who asked for things. Who admitted to wanting anything. But Wanda had been patient, gentle, and eventually Natasha had admitted that she'd been curious about... control. Having more of it. In public settings. Nothing too extreme, but. Something. The idea of Wanda having to hold herself together while Natasha controlled her pleasure, in a place where they had to be careful. Discreet.
Oh.
Oh.
"You're not," Natasha breathed, her eyes snapping back to Wanda's face. Her voice came out lower. Rougher.
"I am." Wanda took a deliberate bite of her chicken like she hadn't just dropped a bomb in the middle of a family restaurant. "Right now, actually."
"Right now." Natasha's brain was trying to process this. "You're telling me that you're currently—"
"Mmhmm." Wanda took a sip of her wine, maintaining eye contact. "Have been since we left the compound. About an hour and a half now."
"Wanda Maximoff." Natasha's hands tightened on the remote. She looked at her girlfriend—really looked at her now. Wanda seemed completely composed. Sitting there in her burgundy dress with her hair falling over one shoulder in soft waves. But now that Natasha was paying attention, she could see the subtle signs. The slight tension in her shoulders. The way her breathing was a little too controlled, a little too careful. The faint flush on her chest visible above her neckline.
"You said you wanted to try this," Wanda said quietly, her voice dropping so only Natasha could hear over the ambient restaurant noise. "Having control. In a situation where I have to behave. Where I can't just fall apart." She met Natasha's eyes directly. "That remote is yours. Use it however you want. I trust you completely."
"What's the safeword?" Natasha asked immediately, because they always established that first. Safety before anything else. Before play, before experimentation, before anything that involved vulnerability.
"Paprikash." Wanda's smile was soft. "If I say it, everything stops immediately. But Nat? I don't plan on saying it."
Natasha's thumb found the power button on the remote.
She pressed it once—just once, just to test—watching Wanda's face.
The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. Wanda's eyes widened slightly, her breath catching audibly. Her fingers tightened on her fork, knuckles going white, but she kept eating like nothing was happening. Like she wasn't experiencing anything unusual at all.
Holy shit.
This was real. Wanda was sitting here, in a restaurant full of people, with a vibrator inside her, giving Natasha complete control.
"How's your chicken?" Natasha asked conversationally, turning the dial up one notch.
"G-good," Wanda managed, her voice only slightly strained. She cleared her throat. "Really good. You want to try some?"
"Sure." Natasha kept the setting where it was, watching Wanda try to cut a piece of chicken with shaking hands. When she finally got a piece on Natasha's plate—after three attempts and a near miss that almost sent it flying—Natasha turned the dial up another notch as a reward.
Wanda's eyes fluttered closed for just a second before she caught herself. She took a sip of wine, and Natasha could see her throat work as she swallowed hard.
"Okay?" Natasha asked, low enough that the other diners wouldn't hear.
"Perfect," Wanda said through gritted teeth. "Absolutely perfect."
This was...intoxicating.
Having Wanda sitting there, looking completely put-together to anyone else in the restaurant, while Natasha had complete control over her pleasure. Knowing that she was holding it together through sheer willpower. That every small movement, every sip of wine, every bite of food required concentration that was being diverted by the vibrations Natasha controlled.
Natasha ate some of her pelmeni, watching Wanda out of the corner of her eye. She kept the vibration at a steady medium level—enough to be distracting but not overwhelming. Not yet. This was about building anticipation. About making Wanda hyperaware of every sensation.
"So," Wanda said, her voice impressively steady considering, "did you enjoy today? The bookstore and the gallery and everything?"
"I did." Natasha turned the dial up half a notch, watching Wanda's composure slip just slightly. A tiny gasp. A twitch of her fingers. "Every part of it. You went to a lot of trouble."
Wanda's hand clenched on her napkin. "You're worth it. You're—" She cut off as Natasha turned the dial up another notch. "That's—that's good."
"What's good? The chicken or something else?"
"Both. Definitely both."
Their waitress returned to check on them, refilling water glasses with practiced efficiency. "How is everything, ladies?"
"Wonderful," Natasha said smoothly, and cranked the dial up to the highest setting.
Wanda made a sound that was probably supposed to be agreement but came out more like a strangled gasp. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands, her eyes going wide, her breath coming in quick pants that she tried desperately to control.
"Miss?" The waitress looked concerned, leaning closer. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," Wanda squeaked. She grabbed her water glass and took a long drink, nearly choking on it. "Just—really good food. Really, really good. The chicken is excellent. Very well seasoned. You should tell the chef. Tell them immediately. That the seasoning is. Good."
The waitress looked unconvinced but smiled politely. "Well, let me know if you need anything."
The moment she walked away, Natasha turned the vibration back down to low, and Wanda slumped slightly in her chair, gasping for breath.
"You're evil," Wanda breathed, her face flushed, her chest heaving.
"You love it," Natasha said calmly, taking a sip of her own wine.
"I really do." Wanda's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "But if you keep doing that, I'm not going to make it through dessert."
"Who said I want you to make it through dessert?" Natasha's smile was wicked. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping even lower. "Maybe I want to see you fall apart right here. Want to watch you try to stay quiet while you cum in this restaurant full of people who have no idea what's happening."
Wanda's breath hitched audibly. "Nat—"
"But I won't." Natasha turned the vibration off completely, giving Wanda a reprieve. Letting her breathe. "Because I want you desperate by the time we get home. I want you thinking about this all through the drive back. Wondering what I'm going to do to you. How long I'm going to make you wait before I let you cum."
"Fuck," Wanda whispered, barely audible.
"That's the plan." Natasha took a bite of her food, perfectly casual. "Eventually."
They finished dinner like that—Natasha turning the vibration on and off at random intervals. Sometimes she'd let it run for minutes at a time, watching Wanda struggle to eat and make conversation, her hands shaking as she lifted her fork to her mouth. Other times she'd turn it off completely, letting Wanda relax and catch her breath before hitting her with it again without warning.
The unpredictability of it. The control. It was everything Natasha had fantasized about and more. Wanda was trusting her with this, giving her this power, and Natasha was determined to use it well. To push but not break. To tease but not harm.
By the time they paid the bill—Natasha insisted, since Wanda had made the reservation and planned everything—Wanda looked thoroughly wrecked. Her carefully styled hair was slightly mussed from running her hands through it. Her lipstick was chewed off. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her skin despite the restaurant's air conditioning.
"Can we go home now?" Wanda asked, her voice pleading, desperate in a way that went straight to Natasha's core. "Please?"
"I don't know." Natasha stood, pulling Wanda with her, steadying her when she wobbled slightly. "It's a nice night. Maybe we should take a walk first. Look at the holiday lights."
"Natasha Romanoff, I swear to god—" Wanda's threat was cut off by Natasha turning the vibration back on—medium intensity—and her words dissolved into a choked gasp.
"What was that?" Natasha asked innocently, guiding them toward the door with a hand on Wanda's lower back. "I didn't quite hear you."
"Nothing," Wanda managed, gripping Natasha's arm for support. "Home. Now. Please. I'm begging you."
"Since you asked so nicely." Natasha turned off the vibration as they stepped outside into the cold December air. "Come on. Let's get you home."
The car ride back to the compound was exquisite torture.
The good kind.
Natasha had the remote in her hand, resting casually on her thigh, and kept turning it on and off in unpredictable patterns. Five seconds on, thirty seconds off. Two minutes on, ten seconds off. Never long enough for Wanda to adjust, never predictable enough for her to prepare.
Wanda squirmed in the passenger seat, her hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks. Her breathing was uneven, ragged. She kept making these small sounds—half-gasps, half-whimpers—that were driving Natasha crazy in the best way.
"You okay over there?" Natasha asked, perfectly casual, as she turned onto the highway.
"No," Wanda said honestly. "I'm absolutely not okay. I'm so worked up I can barely think. I've been on edge for hours and you keep—" She cut off with a moan as Natasha cranked the vibration to high for just five seconds before turning it off again. "You're a menace. A terror. The worst person I've ever met."
"You gave me the remote," Natasha pointed out. "This is what you wanted."
"I know. And it's perfect and terrible and I love you and I hate you and I need you to fuck me immediately."
"Patience."
"I've been patient for three hours!"
"And you'll be patient for twenty more minutes until we get home." But Natasha reached over and took Wanda's hand, lacing their fingers together. Squeezing gently. "You're doing so good, baby. So perfect for me."
Wanda made a sound that was almost a sob. "Don't be nice to me right now. I can't handle nice. Nice is going to break me."
"No? What can you handle?"
"I don't know. More of this. All of this. Everything." Wanda's head fell back against the headrest. "Just get us home before I lose my mind completely."
Natasha drove a little faster.
They made it to the compound parking garage in eighteen minutes—Natasha was definitely speeding, but it was late enough that traffic was light—and Natasha had barely put the car in park before Wanda was unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for her.
"Inside first," Natasha said, catching Wanda's hands. "I'm not fucking you in the parking garage where anyone could walk by and see."
"Then hurry up."
They made it to the elevator. And the moment the doors closed—the moment they were alone in the small enclosed space—Natasha pushed Wanda against the wall and kissed her properly.
Deep. Claiming. Possessive.
Her thigh pressed between Wanda's legs and she turned the vibration up to maximum.
Wanda cried out against her mouth, her head falling back against the elevator wall with a dull thud. Her hips rolled against Natasha's thigh, seeking more friction, more pressure, more anything, and her hands clutched desperately at Natasha's shoulders.
"That's it," Natasha encouraged, her mouth moving to Wanda's neck. Kissing. Biting. Leaving marks that would be visible tomorrow. "Take what you need."
"Nat, I'm—" Wanda's eyes were screwed shut, her whole body tense and trembling. "I'm so close—I'm gonna—"
The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival at their floor, and Natasha immediately turned off the vibration and stepped back.
"Not yet," she said, her voice firm despite her own racing heart. "Bedroom first."
"I hate you," Wanda whimpered, but she was already stumbling down the hall toward their apartment on shaky legs. "So much. You're the worst person alive."
"You love me."
"I really do. Which is why I haven't murdered you yet."
They barely made it through the apartment door.
Natasha had Wanda pressed against it the moment it closed, the remote in one hand while the other slid up under Wanda's dress, exploring the bare skin of her thigh.
"Please," Wanda begged, her hands scrabbling at Natasha's shoulders, pulling at her clothes. "Please, Nat, I've been good, I've been so good—"
"You have." Natasha kissed her neck, her collarbone, anywhere she could reach. "So good for me. My perfect girl."
She turned the vibration back on—medium setting—and slid her hand higher, cupping Wanda through her underwear.
The fabric was soaked. Drenched completely. And just touching it made Wanda gasp and buck into her hand like she was starving for contact.
"Fuck, you're so wet," Natasha breathed against Wanda's ear. "Is this all for me?"
"Yes, all for you, only for you—" Wanda was babbling now, too far gone for coherent thought. "Please, I need—I need more—"
"I know what you need." Natasha pulled her hand away, ignoring Wanda's whine of protest, and grabbed her hand instead. "Bedroom. Now. And take off that dress on the way."
Wanda obeyed immediately.
Shaky fingers working at the zipper of her dress as they walked. By the time they reached the bedroom, she was in just her underwear—burgundy lace that matched her dress, clearly planned—and she looked absolutely wrecked.
"Lie down," Natasha instructed, her voice rough with want. "On your back."
Wanda climbed onto the bed, positioning herself in the center, and Natasha took a moment just to look at her.
Wanda was beautiful always. But like this—desperate and needy and trusting—she was devastating.
"You're incredible," Natasha said, starting to undress herself now. Slowly. Deliberately. Making Wanda watch. "Absolutely incredible. Do you know that?"
"Nat, please—"
"Patience." Natasha removed her shirt, then her bra, watching Wanda's eyes track every movement. "You gave me this gift today. This trust. This control. I'm going to appreciate it properly."
She climbed onto the bed in just her underwear, settling between Wanda's legs. Her hands slid up Wanda's thighs, feeling them tremble under her touch. When she hooked her fingers in Wanda's underwear and slowly pulled them down, Wanda lifted her hips to help.
The toy was clearly visible now—a small pink bullet vibrator—and Natasha carefully removed it, setting it aside on the nightstand.
Wanda whimpered at the loss, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking something to replace it.
"Shh," Natasha soothed. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you now."
She replaced the toy with her fingers, sliding two inside easily—Wanda was so wet, so ready, so sensitive after hours of stimulation. Wanda's back arched off the bed, a broken sound escaping her throat.
"That's it," Natasha murmured, setting a slow, steady rhythm. Watching Wanda's face. The way her eyes fluttered closed. The way her mouth fell open. "Let go, baby. You've earned it. You've been so patient, so perfect."
"Please," Wanda gasped, her hands fisting in the sheets. "Please, I need—more—faster—"
Natasha added a third finger and increased her pace, curling them to hit that spot inside that she knew drove Wanda crazy. Her other hand moved to Wanda's clit, circling it with her thumb, and Wanda's whole body jerked at the contact.
"Cum for me," Natasha said, her voice low and commanding. "Right now. Let me see you fall apart."
Wanda shattered.
She came with a sound that was almost a scream, her whole body arcing off the bed, clenching around Natasha's fingers like a vice. The orgasm seemed to roll through her in waves—she'd been on edge for so long that when she finally let go, it was overwhelming. Almost violent. Her thighs clamped around Natasha's hand and she sobbed, actual tears streaming down her face.
Natasha worked her through it, gentling her touches as Wanda started to come down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs.
When Wanda finally stilled, she looked completely destroyed.
Her hair was a mess, stuck to her forehead with sweat. Her skin was flushed from her face down to her chest. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, and there were tear tracks on her cheeks.
"Holy shit," Wanda breathed when she could speak again. Her voice was hoarse. Wrecked. "That was—I can't even—"
"Yeah." Natasha carefully withdrew her fingers and crawled up to lie beside Wanda, pulling her close. "You okay?"
"I'm perfect. That was perfect." Wanda turned her head to look at Natasha, and despite everything, her eyes were bright with love. "Thank you. For indulging me. For—" She gestured vaguely. "All of it."
"You don't have to thank me." Natasha cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. "That was amazing. You were amazing. Trusting me with that. Letting me have that control."
"Did you like it?"
"Are you kidding? That was—" Natasha had to pause to find words. "That was everything I fantasized about and more. Watching you try to hold it together. Knowing I could push you over the edge whenever I wanted. Having that power." She kissed Wanda softly. "Thank you. For that gift. This has been the best birthday ever.”
"Yeah?" Wanda smiled, still slightly breathless.
"Yeah." Natasha pressed a kiss to Wanda's collarbone. "You made it perfect. Every single part of it. The bookstore, the gallery, the record store, sparring, the restaurant, the control, all of it. It was exactly what I needed even though I didn't know I needed it."
"You deserve perfect," Wanda murmured, and Natasha could hear the smile in her voice. "You deserve everything. Every good thing in the world."
"I have everything," Natasha said. "I have you."
"You do. Always." Wanda pressed a kiss to Natasha’s jaw. "Happy birthday, my love. Thank you for being born. Thank you for surviving everything you survived to get here. Thank you for letting me love you.”
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