draw me a sheep.

20 she/her :) birdie

[piinkdahliia]

Just Relax

WandaNat x Pregnant!Fem!Reader  

MDNI 18+ 

Summary: Ever since finding out you were pregnant, your wives have been attentive and soft in a way you’ve never seen before. Tonight, they help take special care of you in the bath.  

Warnings/Tags: domestic wanda and nat, no use of Y/N, they really love petnames, wanda speaks romanian, fluff, smut, bathtub sex, soft sex, bottom/sub reader, implied top/dom wanda and switch nat, kissing, groping, orgasm from nipple stimulation, i kinda robbed yall of the bedroom action sorry 

Word Count: 4.45k 

A/N: Let’s pretend poly-marriages exist for a second, okay? Also, this lowkey came out later than I wanted it to but I got a little caught up on Love Island twitter icl. Plus, apparently idk how to stfu so this got longer than I expected it to, especially for my first time writing something explicit.  

Masterlist 

Ever since Wanda and Natasha forced you onto maternity leave, you’ve had a sickening amount of time to yourself. Instead of taking your place beside them at the company, you stayed at home meal prepping their lunches, cleaning, and making dinner.  

Everything you once found fun or relaxing became boring after the first month. Especially after the two of them started meal prepping for you instead, getting a firm handle on both your dietary restrictions and fleeting cravings. Next was Wanda starting to insist more on going out for dinner. Then it was Natasha hiring private cleaning services.  

Rather than there being time between tasks, there was just time. There was nothing to do. So, you decided to fill that space in another way.  

Shopping.  

You figured it was the one activity they couldn’t stop you from doing if it was all for the baby and you—mostly you at this stage. You were prepared to endure nagging when you checked the time and noticed you’d be getting home later than your wives.  

Part of you was expecting a suggestion to do online shopping instead, hire a personal shopper who had your measurements down pat, or let them pick everything up before coming home to you. Wanda sure did love dressing you.  

Instead, you came home to a kind of quiet that left you skeptical of their intentions. Not quiet in the way there was no chatter, just quiet in the way there was no fuss or sweet words steering you towards the “right” choices.  

It was shocking. 

Earlier this week, Natasha was stressed out of her mind when you joined her on your usual run about the park. You figured, if you couldn’t join them at the office, might as well enjoy the ritual before work. Not only did she jog half the usual pace, she cut the route short altogether. She turned back home a mile in.  

None of your cursing changed her mind. You both cleared this routine with your doctor weeks ago, but Natasha would always turn around the second your breathing lost its usual rhythm. 

You’ve been making her walk the mile with you since. And though she thinks you’re not aware, you hear her visit the home gym forty-five minutes before your alarm goes off every morning.  

You know she’s using the treadmill.  

Upon walking in, you found Natasha rushing across the foyer to meet you at the door. Before your bags could touch the ground, there was a kiss upon your cheek and fists around the handles of your totes.  

“Go sit in the mudroom. I’ll put these in the living room. Wanda wants a haul after dinner malysh.” From the aroma alone, you could nearly taste the steak at the entryway.  

“Of course she does.” You sighed out.  

That was another thing. You weren’t allowed to take your own shoes off anymore. You grunted while bent over, three weeks ago, and the two of them had taken it with the utmost seriousness. It was almost terrifying how adamant they were about tying your shoes.  

Eventually you learned to stick with sandals for most of your outings. Thinking you’d be home before them, but knowing how much you’d be on your feet, you chose your favorite sneakers today.  

Leave it to Natasha to assess you from head to toe in a heartbeat.   

Your redhead was back within seconds, eager to attend to you. Her adoring eyes fell over you again as she reached towards you to smooth out your hair. She rubbed and brushed gently over your head before bending down for a real kiss.  

Natasha’s palm rested over your ear as she pressed her lips onto yours. It was tender. And while all you tasted was home, all she got was a hint that you’d indulged in mall food before getting back.  

You pulled away, decided you weren't finished, and leaned back in to peck at her lips. “You’re ruining my appetite.” Natasha smirked and caught your bottom lip between hers, sucking it softly. The two of you fell back into an easy rhythm. You wanted to deepen it, open wider for her, hoping to slide your tongue in her mouth. But before you could go for it, she was drawing away from you.  

“I think those cinnamon pretzel bites already did the job, malyshka.” You pouted at her, annoyed by how easily she figured it out even after you took care of washing the treat down on the drive home.  

“I only had like five Natty.” You rolled your eyes, making a more than obvious effort to lose eye contact.  

You could see the way she raised her eyebrows at you before kneeling. “Right.” You faced her again, following her movements as she rolled up your pants' leg.  

“I did.” 

“Tell that to Wanda.” You were quiet for a moment as she started to undo your shoelaces.  

“You think I can brush my teeth before we get to the kitchen?” There was a fifty percent chance she’d kiss you before dinner and find out the same way Natasha did, but you were hoping that a chaste peck and chatting her up could distract her enough later.  

“Baby, your receipt’s in the Rosie’s Boutique bag.” She slid your right sneaker off.  

“Maybe I could trash it then?” You wondered.  

Natasha pats your calf before getting up to store your shoes away. “I’ll throw it out in my office. It’ll be our secret.”  

You kicked your leg out and rubbed your feet up and down her leg, slightly dragging her sweats with the movement, giggling as you spoke. “Mm, you’re so good to me.” She shakes her head, amused by your actions, as she closes the mudroom cabinet.  

You bit your lip at the sight of your slightly swollen ankles, hoping Natasha wouldn’t say anything to you about them, or worse, to Wanda.  

She’s back on her knees again, and you watch as she lightly massages them. Unbothered by the dampness, she brushed her thumbs over the indents your socks had pressed into your skin. She slid your house shoes from underneath the seat and slipped them onto your feet with a breath of finality.  

Natasha pulls you from the bench and back through the formal entry way, ready to make good on her promise to you. She leaves you standing in the hall as she runs to snatch up the evidence. She returns with a small smile on her face, waving the receipt at you, then slipping it in her pocket. 

“Keep her company while I wrap up this email for Maria. I’ll be right down.” Natasha kisses your forehead.  

A hum vibrates in your throat, and you turn to leave, but not before pinching her ass and rushing away; ultimately, fearing her retaliation. “You better be.”  

A couple turns later and you’re greeted with the homely sight of your lover hovering over the island stove, two pans on the eye and a cutting board nearby. Seeing her in the kitchen always gave you a rush of warmth, loving how she seemed so at peace in the space. Every time you saw her standing there, it brought you back to the first time she saw the kitchen after the rebuild. Even as her wife, you’re not sure you ever saw her look more in love.  

Your arms wrap around her midsection with swiftness. You stand somewhat to the side of her, knowing this was as close as you could get to her with your bump growing larger by the day.  

“Hi draga mea, we missed you today,” she turns and pecks your lips “talk to me while I finish with the asparagus, will you?” You hummed and found a stool nearby, ready to tell her all about the deals you got on items for the nursery and how your new earrings match perfectly with your anniversary bracelet from them.  

Wanting to give you something to do, your wife tasks you with pouring water for each of you. Usually, on a night like this, wine was the go-to. But with your predicament, it’d be a few more months before you could enjoy alcohol again.  

Soon, Natasha was joining both of you and plating dinner for everyone. The food was steaming. Wanda carries her own plate, and yours, to the dining table while Nat sets her meal down, pulls out your seat, and grabs cutlery from the kitchen.  

Your plates weren’t full for long. 

A bowl of ice cream, two cookies, a chopped-up cucumber drenched in sriracha and sesame oil (courtesy of the Russian who insists you stay away from knives), a cup of tea, and two sad Disney movies later you were sat waiting on your ottoman as one of your wives drew the bath and the other handled dishes. 

You rested against the foot of the bed, hand rubbing over your belly as you fought to keep your eyes open. Eating so much had worn you out, and now sleep was calling your name. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to get up again without Natasha’s help.  

“Oh god, I’m stuffed.” You whine out.  

Your wife walks in the room, drying her hands with a small towel. There’s no doubt she’d already tested the water for you. “Honestly, I’d be scared if you weren’t.” You grunted at her words and closed your eyes.  

“Don’t fall asleep on me, it’s almost ready.” She laughs. “Do you want the chamomile or the lavender, krasotka?”  

You had no energy to choose.  

“Could you decide? I want you in there with me.” That was all you knew.  

“We’ll do a blend tonight.” You nod and watch her disappear into the on suite once more.  

Soon she’s reentering the bedroom and dragging you to the bathtub.  

Natasha helps you undress quietly. It’s a ritual you wouldn’t give up for the world. You rest your hands on her shoulders as she helps you step out of your pants and underwear, grateful for all the ways she provides you with stability.  

She proceeds to remove her clothing as you wait beside her, watching with, now, awake eyes. They trail over her form, taking in the scars of childhood, her curves, the freckles littered across her skin, and the goosebumps from standing bare.  

She helps you into the water, one hand holding tightly onto your arm and the other supporting your back as you sit inside. Natasha joins you in no time. She settles in behind you, arms sitting loosely around your sides, legs encapsulating your own.  

The two of you sit skin-to-skin, enjoying the dimly lit bathroom, evenly heated water, and a kind of serenity enhanced by the perfectly measured essential oils.  

“I’m so happy Wanda decided on the heated tub during the remodel. I think this is my favorite part of the night.” Natasha was silent behind you. You giggle before turning to look back at her; her eyes closed as her head lay against the edge of the bath. She’d tell you she wasn’t sleeping if you asked, “just resting” instead.   

“I’m starting to think you drawing a bath every night is definitely more for you than it is for me.” You pinch her lower thigh, drawing a performative hiss from your wife.  

“So what? Now it’s criminal for me to need to hold my girl after a long day at work?” She kisses the side of your head.  

You deadpan. “We cuddle almost every night, Natasha.”  

“We don’t cuddle naked every night.” Her tone was full of grievance, as though it was criminal you weren’t always nude for her past 7pm.  

“Just about.” There was no more giggling, just loud, unrestrained, laughter after you said those words. 

You feel her chest jump against your back as she begins to laugh along with you. Then, it was quiet for a moment.  

“I miss you when you’re at work—both of you. I miss being at work. I thought I’d enjoy leave, but there’s way too much nothing to do.” Natasha chuckles at that.  

“We don’t want you stressed—we talked about this.” Wanda spoke from the doorway. She pads over to both of you and settles on the rug adjacent to the tub.  

You turn to look at her, not having heard her enter the bedroom. “I know, trust me, I do. But I just feel useless. I miss doing something as simple as bringing files to your office, in heels, or cleaning the bathroom on weekends.”  

“Celine does look good on you.” You flicked water on Wanda’s face and pouted.  

“I’m being serious. You guys don’t even let me carry groceries in from the garage anymore.”  

“Malyshka, you are not useless. You are creating life. You deserve this. We want to take care of you. We need to take care of you.” You feel Natasha’s hands splay out atop your own and across your stomach, your bump looking especially precious to her in that moment. Wanda’s hands join yours there; the three of you interconnected in a single moment.  

“I think, in a way, we feel on the outside of things. You’re carrying twins for us. Your body is changing every day and the least we can do for you is give you peace of mind. So no, we don’t want you handling harsh chemicals, no we don’t want your feet swollen into designer heels for nine hours a day, and no we don’t need you hauling bags into the house. You are the one doing all the heavy lifting between us. And you may not see it that way, or acknowledge it, but we do. And we admire you for it.”  

Natasha’s fingers lace with yours, creating a ripple effect. You all squeeze each other’s hands tightly. “We love you for it.”  

Wanda nods in agreement and speaks. 

“We do. It’s not that we see you as fragile or incapable now. We see you as stronger than ever. Doing what we do for you gives us a chance to match that strength.”  

“We want this journey to be as safe for you as possible. We’d do anything to make sure you and the girls come out of this healthy.” Natasha peppers kisses along your right shoulder while Wanda brings your intertwined hands out of the water and presses her lips long and hard against the back of your palm.  

“I understand. I appreciate both of you. I just…miss my old routine.” 

“And you’ll get back to some version of it, we promise. But for now, we just want you to relax. And while Natasha and I are beyond excited to see the twins, once they come, none of us will be able to enjoy our usual lifestyle. So much is going to change, my love. Let’s enjoy the slow period while we can.” Your lip quirks up at that.  

The way the two of them always manage to speak to you so gently made you swoon. No matter how irritated you were with the slower routine, at the end of the day, it was always these two taking care of you.  

Every annoyance was washed away by their patient explanations and getting you to see their perspective of things. While it didn’t dissolve all you felt, watching your old life slip from your grasp, you were content to be reminded that this wasn’t forever.  

“Let us take care of you.”  

You expect to find warm affection in Wanda’s eyes, and you do, but along with it is a look you know all too well. “I feel like that means something really different right now.” You whisper.  

“Maybe.” Natasha mumbles against your skin.  

You knew they’d be plotting something at some point this evening.  

“You want it to?” An eager nod answers her question. In a split second, Wanda is on her knees and pulling your face close to hers. Her thumb brushes across your helix before coming to a rest right below your jaw. She feels the way it works as you open up for her.  

There’s no hesitation, only heat. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, eager to wrap around your own. To drag the tip of it across the roof of your mouth and feel you shiver—like you always do. It was intoxicating, to be dragged into this space by her, by either of them, and to sit in a haze as they have their way with you.  

The pregnancy only made you more submissive, if possible, and they relished your obedience and surrender. But the best part was how sensitive you became under their care. 

Natasha squeezes your hip and you moan into Wanda’s mouth. You’d never been as vocal as you were now, and the two of them loved to grip onto you wherever they could—waiting to hear the way you responded to their teasing touches.  

Both women wasted no time getting you on your knees. You face Wanda entirely, Natasha holding you up from behind, making sure you don’t slip and keeping your legs open for the two of them. She’s careful not to push her weight into you, keeping your belly from pressing hard against the wall of the tub.  

Still, you start to feel annoyed at the barrier between you and Wanda, the tub’s edge and how, not, naked she was. Before you could whine about it, her hands were rushing up the front of your body, fervently, seeking a place to rest.  

One hand drags down from your head to your hip, the other going to wrap around one of your breasts. You choke back a whimper as she pulls at a nipple, rolling it between her forefinger and thumb.  

“I bet we could make you fall apart for us just like this draga. Won’t even have to touch that little cunt of yours.” Your heart jumps, and the building ache between your thighs become unbearable at the very thought of climaxing without either of their fingers inside you.  

Your mouth falls open, unable to properly respond. Only her name comes out. “Wands...”  

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded bashfully.  

“Oh sweetheart, we’ve taught you better than that. Haven’t we, Natalia?”  

Natasha’s touch was softer, not lacking passion, just slower, not hesitant, only intent. Her mouth sucked at the skin right under your ear, one of the spots that’d make you fall into her, just right, when she wanted to see you unravel. She was completely caught up in you, her ears only perking at the sounds of your breathless moans and pants, her body entirely attuned to the way you squirmed between them.  

“Don’t tell me you need to be retrained too. Both of you, I want to hear you.” Natasha raises her head, partially dazed by the heat of the moment. Her skin flushed further at being called out.  

A synchronized yes answers her.  

You turned away from Wanda to look at Natasha. Your wife’s hands fell just under where you craved her and just above where you needed her.  

Out the corner of your eye, you see Wanda begin to pull away. She ties her hair up quickly before getting her hands back on you. Your breath hitches as she dips her head lower and lower. Going from soft kisses and suckling across your sternum to having her teeth scratch lightly against the peaks of your breasts. Natasha watches your chest rise and fall. She feels arousal build at the sight of Wanda flicking her tongue over you and drawing in as much as she could fill her mouth with.  

“Need you too. Please ‘Tasha.” Your hips rocked into her front.  

“You up for the challenge, detka?” Instead of speaking, you take one of Natasha’s hands, bringing it to brush against the nipple Wanda had yet to touch.  

It was enough of an answer for her.  

Your head falls back onto her shoulder as she starts to massage you gingerly, knowing the softness of it all would keep you right where she wanted. Her hand was full of you.  

As Natasha switches between thumbing over your nipple and letting the pads of her fingers circle them. Wanda’s letting her nails skim over your spit covered tit, drawing back whenever your moans heighten in pitch, then nipping at them when Natasha holds both steady for her.  

The two work in tandem. Wanda swirling her tongue around the tips while Natasha restrained herself from manhandling the flesh between her fingers. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, tingles spread from the bottom of your spine to the base of your neck, and you attempted to push yourself further into Wanda’s mouth. 

You tried to cover your moans, but your wife was quick enough to restrain you. Your wrist was brought back down to your side.  

“Uh-uh, we wanna hear all your pretty sounds.” Natasha’s voice was deep and full of warning, only adding to the buildup.  

The noises you wanted to mask came spilling out as Wanda dragged her tongue heavily across your chest. They came out messy and long. Your breathing turned erratic, your gut tightened, and your back arched as she worked you. The steam around you had each of you glistening with sweat. Instead of your muscles being relaxed by an evening soak, they were now drawn taut by the effort of keeping up with the women embracing you.  

“Look at what she’s doing to you, malysh.” Natasha commanded. “Already got you on that edge, huh?”  

“Please I—Fuck!”  

You could barely hold eye contact with her. Those deep green eyes that glinted, almost sinisterly, when she had you on the precipice. When she knew she could take it all away from you. You could only pray she wouldn’t.  

“Faster. Wanda. Need it.” She hummed over your skin. Any other night, she’d never take a demand from you. She expected pretty pleas at all times, play or not, she gave you what she wanted you to have.  

Natasha went from looking over your shoulder, admiring your wife on her knees, a sight she doesn't get often, to leaving hickeys up and down the span of your neck. You hissed when she bit down, moaned when her heated tongue smoothed over the mark, smiled when she kissed you and whispered in your ear.  

“So perfect for us. The sooner you cum, the faster I clean up your little mess down here, krasotka.” She palms your ass, spreading you apart, exposing you, and letting the air graze against your most sensitive area.  

You were dripping by now, aching for either of them to slide a finger between your folds, over your clit, to dance around your opening, all before stretching you open. You could feel the way your arousal trickled down your thighs, not taking long before it dribbled into the fragrant water below.  

Natasha sucks your earlobe into her mouth, teeth grazing it, as Wanda’s tongue flits around your areola, and you cry out for the both of them in a single breath.  

You clenched around nothing, feeling a pleasant wave of warmth wash over you from your chest to your core. The feeling was euphoric; you had only ever come once from nipple stimulation alone. Natasha and Wanda have been vying to get you there since.  

The night it happened led to their longest session with you. The state you entered following that wave of ecstasy was the highest they’d ever brought you to. It was addictive to watch as your eyes glaze over, to have you cling to them, to hear the most unrestrained sounds fall out of your mouth as they fucked you.  

Your hands clutch Wanda’s shoulders as she laps over your nipples for the last time, feeling especially overstimulated even through the carefulness of her motions.  

Wanda pulls back with a triumphant look on her face, watching you go limp in Natasha’s arms. Her thumbs rub circles into the sides of your hips as she watches you twitch, your bottom half searching for the same stimulation.  

Her hands leave to hold your face, her fingers pushing back strands of damp baby hair before your cheeks rest in her palms.  

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.” She kisses your forehead. “We‘re so proud of you sweetheart.” You whine at her tone, her praise, and her smile widens. She bites down on her lip, shooting a look to Natasha before standing on slightly shaking legs, her knees weak from kneeling too long. 

They had you in the perfect state for them. Blissed out and pliant, soaked, ready for whatever came next, willing to take everything they could give you.   

“Let’s take you to bed. We’ll get you all comfortable so Natty can do something about this, my love. Yeah?” Wanda’s palm slid over your folds, collecting your arousal and spreading it over her fingers, as she spoke.

She reaches out to take your hands while Natasha lifts you up. They work together in getting you to dry your feet on the rug, not wanting you to slip on the tile as they aided you to the bedroom. 

The three of you spend the rest of the night tangled up in one another, both of them mindful of your physical limitations, but stretching you out every way they desired. Natasha was the first one to knock out, leaving you and Wanda cuddled up in the center of the bed, Nat’s limbs hanging off the side, sheet barely drawn over her naked form.  

You two spoke gently to each other, not wanting to wake her up, but wanting this quiet, soft, moment to last even a minute longer.  

“I was thinking of going to mommy yoga downtown. It’s low impact. Plus, I can do a majority of their classes up until my due date. They have lessons for every trimester. What do you think, Wands?” You turned your head towards the wife that was barely hanging on to consciousness, the other breathing deeply behind you.  

“I think we already do enough mommy yoga, iubi.” She muttered drowsily.  

“Wanda! I swear to God—”   

[piinkdahliia]

Just Relax

WandaNat x Pregnant!Fem!Reader  

MDNI 18+ 

Summary: Ever since finding out you were pregnant, your wives have been attentive and soft in a way you’ve never seen before. Tonight, they help take special care of you in the bath.  

Warnings/Tags: domestic wanda and nat, no use of Y/N, they really love petnames, wanda speaks romanian, fluff, smut, bathtub sex, soft sex, bottom/sub reader, implied top/dom wanda and switch nat, kissing, groping, orgasm from nipple stimulation, i kinda robbed yall of the bedroom action sorry 

Word Count: 4.45k 

A/N: Let’s pretend poly-marriages exist for a second, okay? Also, this lowkey came out later than I wanted it to but I got a little caught up on Love Island twitter icl. Plus, apparently idk how to stfu so this got longer than I expected it to, especially for my first time writing something explicit.  

Masterlist 

Ever since Wanda and Natasha forced you onto maternity leave, you’ve had a sickening amount of time to yourself. Instead of taking your place beside them at the company, you stayed at home meal prepping their lunches, cleaning, and making dinner.  

Everything you once found fun or relaxing became boring after the first month. Especially after the two of them started meal prepping for you instead, getting a firm handle on both your dietary restrictions and fleeting cravings. Next was Wanda starting to insist more on going out for dinner. Then it was Natasha hiring private cleaning services.  

Rather than there being time between tasks, there was just time. There was nothing to do. So, you decided to fill that space in another way.  

Shopping.  

You figured it was the one activity they couldn’t stop you from doing if it was all for the baby and you—mostly you at this stage. You were prepared to endure nagging when you checked the time and noticed you’d be getting home later than your wives.  

Part of you was expecting a suggestion to do online shopping instead, hire a personal shopper who had your measurements down pat, or let them pick everything up before coming home to you. Wanda sure did love dressing you.  

Instead, you came home to a kind of quiet that left you skeptical of their intentions. Not quiet in the way there was no chatter, just quiet in the way there was no fuss or sweet words steering you towards the “right” choices.  

It was shocking. 

Earlier this week, Natasha was stressed out of her mind when you joined her on your usual run about the park. You figured, if you couldn’t join them at the office, might as well enjoy the ritual before work. Not only did she jog half the usual pace, she cut the route short altogether. She turned back home a mile in.  

None of your cursing changed her mind. You both cleared this routine with your doctor weeks ago, but Natasha would always turn around the second your breathing lost its usual rhythm. 

You’ve been making her walk the mile with you since. And though she thinks you’re not aware, you hear her visit the home gym forty-five minutes before your alarm goes off every morning.  

You know she’s using the treadmill.  

Upon walking in, you found Natasha rushing across the foyer to meet you at the door. Before your bags could touch the ground, there was a kiss upon your cheek and fists around the handles of your totes.  

“Go sit in the mudroom. I’ll put these in the living room. Wanda wants a haul after dinner malysh.” From the aroma alone, you could nearly taste the steak at the entryway.  

“Of course she does.” You sighed out.  

That was another thing. You weren’t allowed to take your own shoes off anymore. You grunted while bent over, three weeks ago, and the two of them had taken it with the utmost seriousness. It was almost terrifying how adamant they were about tying your shoes.  

Eventually you learned to stick with sandals for most of your outings. Thinking you’d be home before them, but knowing how much you’d be on your feet, you chose your favorite sneakers today.  

Leave it to Natasha to assess you from head to toe in a heartbeat.   

Your redhead was back within seconds, eager to attend to you. Her adoring eyes fell over you again as she reached towards you to smooth out your hair. She rubbed and brushed gently over your head before bending down for a real kiss.  

Natasha’s palm rested over your ear as she pressed her lips onto yours. It was tender. And while all you tasted was home, all she got was a hint that you’d indulged in mall food before getting back.  

You pulled away, decided you weren't finished, and leaned back in to peck at her lips. “You’re ruining my appetite.” Natasha smirked and caught your bottom lip between hers, sucking it softly. The two of you fell back into an easy rhythm. You wanted to deepen it, open wider for her, hoping to slide your tongue in her mouth. But before you could go for it, she was drawing away from you.  

“I think those cinnamon pretzel bites already did the job, malyshka.” You pouted at her, annoyed by how easily she figured it out even after you took care of washing the treat down on the drive home.  

“I only had like five Natty.” You rolled your eyes, making a more than obvious effort to lose eye contact.  

You could see the way she raised her eyebrows at you before kneeling. “Right.” You faced her again, following her movements as she rolled up your pants' leg.  

“I did.” 

“Tell that to Wanda.” You were quiet for a moment as she started to undo your shoelaces.  

“You think I can brush my teeth before we get to the kitchen?” There was a fifty percent chance she’d kiss you before dinner and find out the same way Natasha did, but you were hoping that a chaste peck and chatting her up could distract her enough later.  

“Baby, your receipt’s in the Rosie’s Boutique bag.” She slid your right sneaker off.  

“Maybe I could trash it then?” You wondered.  

Natasha pats your calf before getting up to store your shoes away. “I’ll throw it out in my office. It’ll be our secret.”  

You kicked your leg out and rubbed your feet up and down her leg, slightly dragging her sweats with the movement, giggling as you spoke. “Mm, you’re so good to me.” She shakes her head, amused by your actions, as she closes the mudroom cabinet.  

You bit your lip at the sight of your slightly swollen ankles, hoping Natasha wouldn’t say anything to you about them, or worse, to Wanda.  

She’s back on her knees again, and you watch as she lightly massages them. Unbothered by the dampness, she brushed her thumbs over the indents your socks had pressed into your skin. She slid your house shoes from underneath the seat and slipped them onto your feet with a breath of finality.  

Natasha pulls you from the bench and back through the formal entry way, ready to make good on her promise to you. She leaves you standing in the hall as she runs to snatch up the evidence. She returns with a small smile on her face, waving the receipt at you, then slipping it in her pocket. 

“Keep her company while I wrap up this email for Maria. I’ll be right down.” Natasha kisses your forehead.  

A hum vibrates in your throat, and you turn to leave, but not before pinching her ass and rushing away; ultimately, fearing her retaliation. “You better be.”  

A couple turns later and you’re greeted with the homely sight of your lover hovering over the island stove, two pans on the eye and a cutting board nearby. Seeing her in the kitchen always gave you a rush of warmth, loving how she seemed so at peace in the space. Every time you saw her standing there, it brought you back to the first time she saw the kitchen after the rebuild. Even as her wife, you’re not sure you ever saw her look more in love.  

Your arms wrap around her midsection with swiftness. You stand somewhat to the side of her, knowing this was as close as you could get to her with your bump growing larger by the day.  

“Hi draga mea, we missed you today,” she turns and pecks your lips “talk to me while I finish with the asparagus, will you?” You hummed and found a stool nearby, ready to tell her all about the deals you got on items for the nursery and how your new earrings match perfectly with your anniversary bracelet from them.  

Wanting to give you something to do, your wife tasks you with pouring water for each of you. Usually, on a night like this, wine was the go-to. But with your predicament, it’d be a few more months before you could enjoy alcohol again.  

Soon, Natasha was joining both of you and plating dinner for everyone. The food was steaming. Wanda carries her own plate, and yours, to the dining table while Nat sets her meal down, pulls out your seat, and grabs cutlery from the kitchen.  

Your plates weren’t full for long. 

A bowl of ice cream, two cookies, a chopped-up cucumber drenched in sriracha and sesame oil (courtesy of the Russian who insists you stay away from knives), a cup of tea, and two sad Disney movies later you were sat waiting on your ottoman as one of your wives drew the bath and the other handled dishes. 

You rested against the foot of the bed, hand rubbing over your belly as you fought to keep your eyes open. Eating so much had worn you out, and now sleep was calling your name. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to get up again without Natasha’s help.  

“Oh god, I’m stuffed.” You whine out.  

Your wife walks in the room, drying her hands with a small towel. There’s no doubt she’d already tested the water for you. “Honestly, I’d be scared if you weren’t.” You grunted at her words and closed your eyes.  

“Don’t fall asleep on me, it’s almost ready.” She laughs. “Do you want the chamomile or the lavender, krasotka?”  

You had no energy to choose.  

“Could you decide? I want you in there with me.” That was all you knew.  

“We’ll do a blend tonight.” You nod and watch her disappear into the on suite once more.  

Soon she’s reentering the bedroom and dragging you to the bathtub.  

Natasha helps you undress quietly. It’s a ritual you wouldn’t give up for the world. You rest your hands on her shoulders as she helps you step out of your pants and underwear, grateful for all the ways she provides you with stability.  

She proceeds to remove her clothing as you wait beside her, watching with, now, awake eyes. They trail over her form, taking in the scars of childhood, her curves, the freckles littered across her skin, and the goosebumps from standing bare.  

She helps you into the water, one hand holding tightly onto your arm and the other supporting your back as you sit inside. Natasha joins you in no time. She settles in behind you, arms sitting loosely around your sides, legs encapsulating your own.  

The two of you sit skin-to-skin, enjoying the dimly lit bathroom, evenly heated water, and a kind of serenity enhanced by the perfectly measured essential oils.  

“I’m so happy Wanda decided on the heated tub during the remodel. I think this is my favorite part of the night.” Natasha was silent behind you. You giggle before turning to look back at her; her eyes closed as her head lay against the edge of the bath. She’d tell you she wasn’t sleeping if you asked, “just resting” instead.   

“I’m starting to think you drawing a bath every night is definitely more for you than it is for me.” You pinch her lower thigh, drawing a performative hiss from your wife.  

“So what? Now it’s criminal for me to need to hold my girl after a long day at work?” She kisses the side of your head.  

You deadpan. “We cuddle almost every night, Natasha.”  

“We don’t cuddle naked every night.” Her tone was full of grievance, as though it was criminal you weren’t always nude for her past 7pm.  

“Just about.” There was no more giggling, just loud, unrestrained, laughter after you said those words. 

You feel her chest jump against your back as she begins to laugh along with you. Then, it was quiet for a moment.  

“I miss you when you’re at work—both of you. I miss being at work. I thought I’d enjoy leave, but there’s way too much nothing to do.” Natasha chuckles at that.  

“We don’t want you stressed—we talked about this.” Wanda spoke from the doorway. She pads over to both of you and settles on the rug adjacent to the tub.  

You turn to look at her, not having heard her enter the bedroom. “I know, trust me, I do. But I just feel useless. I miss doing something as simple as bringing files to your office, in heels, or cleaning the bathroom on weekends.”  

“Celine does look good on you.” You flicked water on Wanda’s face and pouted.  

“I’m being serious. You guys don’t even let me carry groceries in from the garage anymore.”  

“Malyshka, you are not useless. You are creating life. You deserve this. We want to take care of you. We need to take care of you.” You feel Natasha’s hands splay out atop your own and across your stomach, your bump looking especially precious to her in that moment. Wanda’s hands join yours there; the three of you interconnected in a single moment.  

“I think, in a way, we feel on the outside of things. You’re carrying twins for us. Your body is changing every day and the least we can do for you is give you peace of mind. So no, we don’t want you handling harsh chemicals, no we don’t want your feet swollen into designer heels for nine hours a day, and no we don’t need you hauling bags into the house. You are the one doing all the heavy lifting between us. And you may not see it that way, or acknowledge it, but we do. And we admire you for it.”  

Natasha’s fingers lace with yours, creating a ripple effect. You all squeeze each other’s hands tightly. “We love you for it.”  

Wanda nods in agreement and speaks. 

“We do. It’s not that we see you as fragile or incapable now. We see you as stronger than ever. Doing what we do for you gives us a chance to match that strength.”  

“We want this journey to be as safe for you as possible. We’d do anything to make sure you and the girls come out of this healthy.” Natasha peppers kisses along your right shoulder while Wanda brings your intertwined hands out of the water and presses her lips long and hard against the back of your palm.  

“I understand. I appreciate both of you. I just…miss my old routine.” 

“And you’ll get back to some version of it, we promise. But for now, we just want you to relax. And while Natasha and I are beyond excited to see the twins, once they come, none of us will be able to enjoy our usual lifestyle. So much is going to change, my love. Let’s enjoy the slow period while we can.” Your lip quirks up at that.  

The way the two of them always manage to speak to you so gently made you swoon. No matter how irritated you were with the slower routine, at the end of the day, it was always these two taking care of you.  

Every annoyance was washed away by their patient explanations and getting you to see their perspective of things. While it didn’t dissolve all you felt, watching your old life slip from your grasp, you were content to be reminded that this wasn’t forever.  

“Let us take care of you.”  

You expect to find warm affection in Wanda’s eyes, and you do, but along with it is a look you know all too well. “I feel like that means something really different right now.” You whisper.  

“Maybe.” Natasha mumbles against your skin.  

You knew they’d be plotting something at some point this evening.  

“You want it to?” An eager nod answers her question. In a split second, Wanda is on her knees and pulling your face close to hers. Her thumb brushes across your helix before coming to a rest right below your jaw. She feels the way it works as you open up for her.  

There’s no hesitation, only heat. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, eager to wrap around your own. To drag the tip of it across the roof of your mouth and feel you shiver—like you always do. It was intoxicating, to be dragged into this space by her, by either of them, and to sit in a haze as they have their way with you.  

The pregnancy only made you more submissive, if possible, and they relished your obedience and surrender. But the best part was how sensitive you became under their care. 

Natasha squeezes your hip and you moan into Wanda’s mouth. You’d never been as vocal as you were now, and the two of them loved to grip onto you wherever they could—waiting to hear the way you responded to their teasing touches.  

Both women wasted no time getting you on your knees. You face Wanda entirely, Natasha holding you up from behind, making sure you don’t slip and keeping your legs open for the two of them. She’s careful not to push her weight into you, keeping your belly from pressing hard against the wall of the tub.  

Still, you start to feel annoyed at the barrier between you and Wanda, the tub’s edge and how, not, naked she was. Before you could whine about it, her hands were rushing up the front of your body, fervently, seeking a place to rest.  

One hand drags down from your head to your hip, the other going to wrap around one of your breasts. You choke back a whimper as she pulls at a nipple, rolling it between her forefinger and thumb.  

“I bet we could make you fall apart for us just like this draga. Won’t even have to touch that little cunt of yours.” Your heart jumps, and the building ache between your thighs become unbearable at the very thought of climaxing without either of their fingers inside you.  

Your mouth falls open, unable to properly respond. Only her name comes out. “Wands...”  

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded bashfully.  

“Oh sweetheart, we’ve taught you better than that. Haven’t we, Natalia?”  

Natasha’s touch was softer, not lacking passion, just slower, not hesitant, only intent. Her mouth sucked at the skin right under your ear, one of the spots that’d make you fall into her, just right, when she wanted to see you unravel. She was completely caught up in you, her ears only perking at the sounds of your breathless moans and pants, her body entirely attuned to the way you squirmed between them.  

“Don’t tell me you need to be retrained too. Both of you, I want to hear you.” Natasha raises her head, partially dazed by the heat of the moment. Her skin flushed further at being called out.  

A synchronized yes answers her.  

You turned away from Wanda to look at Natasha. Your wife’s hands fell just under where you craved her and just above where you needed her.  

Out the corner of your eye, you see Wanda begin to pull away. She ties her hair up quickly before getting her hands back on you. Your breath hitches as she dips her head lower and lower. Going from soft kisses and suckling across your sternum to having her teeth scratch lightly against the peaks of your breasts. Natasha watches your chest rise and fall. She feels arousal build at the sight of Wanda flicking her tongue over you and drawing in as much as she could fill her mouth with.  

“Need you too. Please ‘Tasha.” Your hips rocked into her front.  

“You up for the challenge, detka?” Instead of speaking, you take one of Natasha’s hands, bringing it to brush against the nipple Wanda had yet to touch.  

It was enough of an answer for her.  

Your head falls back onto her shoulder as she starts to massage you gingerly, knowing the softness of it all would keep you right where she wanted. Her hand was full of you.  

As Natasha switches between thumbing over your nipple and letting the pads of her fingers circle them. Wanda’s letting her nails skim over your spit covered tit, drawing back whenever your moans heighten in pitch, then nipping at them when Natasha holds both steady for her.  

The two work in tandem. Wanda swirling her tongue around the tips while Natasha restrained herself from manhandling the flesh between her fingers. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, tingles spread from the bottom of your spine to the base of your neck, and you attempted to push yourself further into Wanda’s mouth. 

You tried to cover your moans, but your wife was quick enough to restrain you. Your wrist was brought back down to your side.  

“Uh-uh, we wanna hear all your pretty sounds.” Natasha’s voice was deep and full of warning, only adding to the buildup.  

The noises you wanted to mask came spilling out as Wanda dragged her tongue heavily across your chest. They came out messy and long. Your breathing turned erratic, your gut tightened, and your back arched as she worked you. The steam around you had each of you glistening with sweat. Instead of your muscles being relaxed by an evening soak, they were now drawn taut by the effort of keeping up with the women embracing you.  

“Look at what she’s doing to you, malysh.” Natasha commanded. “Already got you on that edge, huh?”  

“Please I—Fuck!”  

You could barely hold eye contact with her. Those deep green eyes that glinted, almost sinisterly, when she had you on the precipice. When she knew she could take it all away from you. You could only pray she wouldn’t.  

“Faster. Wanda. Need it.” She hummed over your skin. Any other night, she’d never take a demand from you. She expected pretty pleas at all times, play or not, she gave you what she wanted you to have.  

Natasha went from looking over your shoulder, admiring your wife on her knees, a sight she doesn't get often, to leaving hickeys up and down the span of your neck. You hissed when she bit down, moaned when her heated tongue smoothed over the mark, smiled when she kissed you and whispered in your ear.  

“So perfect for us. The sooner you cum, the faster I clean up your little mess down here, krasotka.” She palms your ass, spreading you apart, exposing you, and letting the air graze against your most sensitive area.  

You were dripping by now, aching for either of them to slide a finger between your folds, over your clit, to dance around your opening, all before stretching you open. You could feel the way your arousal trickled down your thighs, not taking long before it dribbled into the fragrant water below.  

Natasha sucks your earlobe into her mouth, teeth grazing it, as Wanda’s tongue flits around your areola, and you cry out for the both of them in a single breath.  

You clenched around nothing, feeling a pleasant wave of warmth wash over you from your chest to your core. The feeling was euphoric; you had only ever come once from nipple stimulation alone. Natasha and Wanda have been vying to get you there since.  

The night it happened led to their longest session with you. The state you entered following that wave of ecstasy was the highest they’d ever brought you to. It was addictive to watch as your eyes glaze over, to have you cling to them, to hear the most unrestrained sounds fall out of your mouth as they fucked you.  

Your hands clutch Wanda’s shoulders as she laps over your nipples for the last time, feeling especially overstimulated even through the carefulness of her motions.  

Wanda pulls back with a triumphant look on her face, watching you go limp in Natasha’s arms. Her thumbs rub circles into the sides of your hips as she watches you twitch, your bottom half searching for the same stimulation.  

Her hands leave to hold your face, her fingers pushing back strands of damp baby hair before your cheeks rest in her palms.  

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.” She kisses your forehead. “We‘re so proud of you sweetheart.” You whine at her tone, her praise, and her smile widens. She bites down on her lip, shooting a look to Natasha before standing on slightly shaking legs, her knees weak from kneeling too long. 

They had you in the perfect state for them. Blissed out and pliant, soaked, ready for whatever came next, willing to take everything they could give you.   

“Let’s take you to bed. We’ll get you all comfortable so Natty can do something about this, my love. Yeah?” Wanda’s palm slid over your folds, collecting your arousal and spreading it over her fingers, as she spoke.

She reaches out to take your hands while Natasha lifts you up. They work together in getting you to dry your feet on the rug, not wanting you to slip on the tile as they aided you to the bedroom. 

The three of you spend the rest of the night tangled up in one another, both of them mindful of your physical limitations, but stretching you out every way they desired. Natasha was the first one to knock out, leaving you and Wanda cuddled up in the center of the bed, Nat’s limbs hanging off the side, sheet barely drawn over her naked form.  

You two spoke gently to each other, not wanting to wake her up, but wanting this quiet, soft, moment to last even a minute longer.  

“I was thinking of going to mommy yoga downtown. It’s low impact. Plus, I can do a majority of their classes up until my due date. They have lessons for every trimester. What do you think, Wands?” You turned your head towards the wife that was barely hanging on to consciousness, the other breathing deeply behind you.  

“I think we already do enough mommy yoga, iubi.” She muttered drowsily.  

“Wanda! I swear to God—”   

[prentisswh0re]

the exact thought process during that one scene and no one can convince me otherwise

the background song goes: and i'm sinking, i'm drowning. i'm so afraid of loosing

[jemilysversion]

Bless up for whoever made it tank top and vest day at the BAU.

[prentisswh0re]

yep. that's exactly how everyone looks at their good old friends.

GIVE THIS POOR LESBIAN HER FUCKING COOKIE

[callitacurse]

CRIMINAL MINDS EVOLUTION | 18x05 "The Brutal Man"

Which could mean nothing.

[jemilysversion]

Babes.

[witchdose]

i think about this clip A LOT.

[emilys-bangs]

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐞.𝐩

Tags: fem!reader, amnesia, established relationship, forced proximity, fluff!!, comfort, liight angst, mentions of food, soft emily, soft reader, pacing? I don’t know her, petnames, physical therapy as flirting, they're sad but they're getting through it, bantering #marriedcoupleenergy, non sexual nudity, yn are you ready to resist emily's game

Summary: You start to settle—in your home, in your skin.

Word count: 6.9k

Series masterlist

Emily clings in her sleep. There's no other way for you to put it: she clings, molded entirely around you, her limbs hooked into every minuscule space that dares pronounce itself. The bed is big, at least a queen, and yet you feel her in your lungs. Actually in your lungs, her weight pressing down, hair tickling the tip of your nose.

Koala, you think groggily, tilting your head back.

At first, you'd been confused. You had woken up overly hot, sweat-dampened in the creases of your limbs, strangely pinned down. Your arm and legs wouldn't budge. A brief panic had overtaken you, the hospital rushing back in, cold and unfamiliar, but then you felt the rhythm of her chest against yours and you realized. Your spiked pulse had beat loud in your ears.

In the time it took for it to slow down, you'd noticed the faint ache in your arm, weighed down by her head. Noticed your own arm slung across her back. You shift your fingers now, gently bunch them in her sweater.

She runs incredibly warm, bundled in thick pajamas and a sweater over her top, fuzzy ankle socks pressed to your own bare skin where your pant leg had ridden up. All of her heat bleeds into you; you burn in your entirety, all the places where she has you trapped and everywhere else where you're not.

You find, even so, that you don't want to move.

It's all so different to the arctic, lonely spread of the king-sized bed back in your bedroom. Here, your space is not yours. It's hers, claimed in her sleep, and you don't do anything to take it back. You just listen to the rhythm of her breathing. Even asleep, she's—grounding. Solid.

The rooms don't feel the same without her. The air is too empty, the silence, somehow, too heavy, even more than it would be if she was there, just quietly. The way she takes up space…you're constantly attuned to it, her absence taking a big claw out of your chest, a gaping hole left behind.

Ridiculous. You don't remember ever being so attached to a partner—a person—this strongly before. It's not healthy, it can't be.

She shifts in her sleep and your heart lurches, promptly proving your own point. You hold your breath but she stays asleep, her eyes closed, face lax, knee slipping down from your hip and worming into the part between your legs.

Slowly, you let out your exhale.

At least you know your attachment isn't one-sided.

She doesn't let herself show it, too focused on not overstepping, considering and reconsidering her every move to make sure it won't set you off. (It won't. It won't.) This side of her is one you're fairly enjoying. It's nice, to see—feel—her like this, wholly unguarded. She's usually so careful around you. Here she's entirely unaware of her own boundaries, just giving in to instinct.

Pins and needles begin to numb up your hand. They creep up from your fingers, spread to your forearms, up your shoulder. You hold still for another minute before the feeling becomes unbearable.

Slowly, carefully, you try to slip your arm out.

But her sleep is light. You hear the hitch in her breath, a long, deep inhale before she starts to shift, burrowing into you, her forehead rooting into your collarbone with a sound like a whine. The action is so thoughtlessly tender you briefly stop breathing.

Emily doesn't notice. She wakes slowly, like a flower unfurling, all lazy hums and slow shifts of her limbs. A yawn against your shoulder, her cheek rubbing against the meat of your bicep. It's a slow, sweet eternity before her head tips up, her sleep-hazed eyes meeting yours.

She blinks. A smile spreads across her face, small, close-lipped.

"Hi."

Jesus, her voice. It sends a trail of goosebumps down your skin.

"Hi," you breathe. "Sorry I woke you."

Emily shakes her head. "No, no—" She pauses as she takes in your current predicament. Realization creeps up in a faint blush, staining her cheeks. "Sorry I trapped you." She mumbles, shifting back, freeing your arm.

You find your mouth tugging, find your thumb reaching over to brush off a fallen lash from her cheekbone. It's okay, you should say, but you don't. "You're—really clingy." You hum instead, sweeping the lash from your thumb.

The words unfurl something: her head on your collarbone, your legs entangled on a couch—You're clingy, your voice teasing, fingers threaded though her hair. The indignant huff of her breath, buried beneath your laugh.

Warmth flutters through you.

Emily smiles again, her eyes nearly squinting closed, still soft around the corners.

"I've been told. Sleep well?"

You nod. "Warm," you admit.

Maybe a little too warm, but.

Her gaze sharpens as you carefully shift onto your side to face her. There's a little breathing room between you, your head on your pillow and her head on hers, the sheets rumpled, loose with your movement.

"How are you feeling?" She checks in, her eyes sweeping over your face. "Any soreness?"

"No, I'm fine." You've gotten used to the dull pain in your shoulder. It's more manageable than it was, sometimes quieting down for long enough that you forget and pull an abrupt move, sending it flaring again. It's the only thing giving you trouble, apart from your lingering headaches.

You ignore the pins and needles in your arm and adjust the strap of the sling so it doesn't bite into your neck. Emily notices. She shifts an inch closer, tugs up the collar of your sleep shirt and shifts the strap onto the fabric instead of your raw skin. You exhale, warming under the gentle touch of her fingers, the brush of her knuckles against your throat.

"We should get some aloe—"

"I want you to come back." You blurt out, catching her wrist, keeping her hand there on your shoulder.

Emily pauses.

"To the room," you clarify, softer. The words are clumsy in your mouth, heavy with plain want. "You don't have to stay here. I don't want you to."

Her eyes are dark, impossible to read. You drop your gaze.

"I mean—unless you want to, of course—"

"Honey," she huffs, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Come on." She says it so softly, so matter-of-fact, you feel your blood start to boil beneath your skin.

You swallow, leaning into the hand she cups to your cheek. Every inch of you winds a little tighter at the contact. You can feel the slight rush of her pulse under your finger; the faint cloud of her exhales over your jaw.

Soft as down feathers, Emily's thumb draws slow strokes over your cheek. It catches the corner of your mouth as it comes down.

"Are you sure?" She murmurs, earnest, achingly careful.

You nod. Squeeze her wrist. "I'm sure."

It's like watching a sunrise—seeing her face as it softens, melts, totally, with the pleasure. Her lips press together against a smile and there's the faint shadow of a dimple in her cheek; you itch to touch it, smooth your finger over the dent, memorize its spot, press it in—

"I hog the covers." She warns.

"Hog them all you want."

Emily laughs, and it's soft, it's yours, the gauzy cotton of a cloud draping over your skin, wrapping you in it, your ears reverberating with the sound.

"Yeah?" She whispers. "Okay, then."

-

It comes without warning as you're slipping out of bed. Emily suddenly goes still, her hands curling around the edges of the mattress, head ducking down into her chest. Her voice abruptly tapers off into silence.

You frown at her hunched figure. "Emily?"

She makes a faint noise in her throat. You round the bed over to her side, already knowing before you see her swallow hard, inhale sharply through her nose.

"Nauseous?"

"A little," she says, her voice strained. Her grip is so tight, it turns her knuckles bloodless. She squeezes her eyes shut and shoves in a few more deep breaths, her jaw set. "It's fine. It'll blow over."

You don't get a chance to do anything before she jumps and makes a beeline for the bathroom, her hand clamped tight over her mouth.

You wince and follow her in, try your best to hold her hair back with your one hand, offer some semblance of something. But there's little you can do. Her body wages violent war against her; her skin beads with sweat, bruises standing out under her eyes.

It itches in you, drags under your skin. You've never felt more useless.

You're murmuring nonsense when she finally quietens, her skin damp, chilled where you sweep your fingers. You brush the sweaty bangs away from her face and feel her shiver with the motion, shoulders tremulous. Instinctively, you tug her into you, your lips brushing the skin of her temple.

"You're okay, Em." You murmur, rubbing her arm. "You're okay, honey, you did good."

She slumps into your chest, muffling a weary noise in your shirt. Your heart twists. Pulling up your sleeve over the heel of your hand, you dry the sweat on her temple, feeling it wet the fabric.

"I've got you," you say. The floor is hard and cold under you, your back aching from the awkward position, the added strain of her weight, but you force yourself upright and as steady as you can muster.

You'd already left her once. You're not going to do it again.

-

"It's really not that—"

She dies down at the look you give her. It thrills you a little, the way her jaw snaps, but it doesn't last long before she's giving you a look, imploring.

"Sweetheart."

"Emily. I'm not going to die if you don't make me breakfast. I can make it myself—"

"I know you can—"

"—and anyway, I'm not hungry. So just." You make an impatient gesture with your hand. "Stay put."

The sweat has dried from her forehead, her usual color back in her cheeks, but you're still uneasy. You can still feel the way she'd gone limp against you on the bathroom floor—tremors along her shoulders, the harsh staccato of her breath echoing on the tiles. You could see her heart beating fast under the thin skin at the base of her throat.

On some level you think you know you're overreacting—overcorrecting, flooded with guilt because you'd left her, you'd seen her go through it but you still left her, too absorbed in your own grief—but the image of her pale and drained is too clear in your head for you to care.

Emily seems to have forgotten the whole ordeal. She looks at you with her eyes soft. Too used to it by now, probably.

The thought makes you sick.

"Y/N," she says gently. "I'm okay. I'm not going to die just because I got sick a few times, it's fine."

"A few times," you echo. "Remind me again, it's been how many weeks of this?"

How far along is she? The question briefly unsettles you, a big blank throwing your head into silence.

It's like she reads it on your face.

"I'll be going into my second trimester next week," she says, her smile small, just a press of her lips. "It should ease up by then."

You don't know how many weeks that is, exactly, but you do know it's in the double digits. Early teens, maybe.

Just a couple of weeks now, and she'll start to show. Your stomach cramps at the thought. Just a couple of weeks, and she'll start to show, and then a few months will blur by and you'll have a baby between you, and you'll raise a kid with her even though she still doesn't fully trust that you will, she still doesn't let you in, she doesn't believe that you can or want to—fuck, you want to—she doesn't—

Emily sits up in bed and takes your hand. Hers is warm, her fingers skating over your knuckles, squeezing. Your eyes snap back to hers.

"Sweetheart, I'll be fine," she reassures. Slowly, as if she's explaining it to a kid. "I am fine. I'm"—she huffs out a laugh—"I'm hardly the first person to get pregnant."

A stone sinks low in your gut.

Just pretend I'm the old me. Please just pretend I'm the old me and stop pretending with me, stop lying, let me in, let me help, I want to help—

"Not the first," you say, "but you're mine, and it's—it all feels so—" You break off, losing your grasp on the words.

It's all jumbled in your head, everything you want to say, everything you don't know you have the right to ask. You inhale roughly, eyes fluttering closed for just a second—"It's so much, Emily, god. It's so much and it's all on you and I just—" The desperation rises in you, "I don't want you to pretend with me. You keep up these fronts and you think I don't notice. I do." Your voice goes thin, bending. You swallow it down, queasy at the way her face collapses back into its familiar guilt.

Her eyes flit away from yours; you cup her jaw, bringing them back, bringing her back.

Let me in, let me in.

"Hey." You say raggedly, holding her gaze. "You can admit that it's overwhelming," you whisper, "or that you're exhausted or just—just sick of it all. You're allowed to be, and you can tell me. This can't just all be on you, Emily."

You're startled at how fast her eyes go shiny, brimming with tears. Your chest collapses in on itself. It's too much, for anyone.

And she keeps taking it all without a word.

You speak past the lump in your throat. "I'm here for you," you mumble. "I'm not going anywhere, but you're not being honest with me."

Emily blinks, swallowing hard. It's like all her indifference drains out of her; she grows uncertain-looking—her face sobering, posture curling small, like a scolded child. She doesn't move, doesn't say a word, the room so quiet you hear the silence ring.

You lean your forehead against hers. "Please, baby." You murmur, pleading—for what, you don't know.

Emily sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry," she says hoarsely. "I'm—this isn't easy for me."

Your eyes flood with heat. "I know it isn't."

"Not you," she rushes out, grabs the hem of your sweater in a fist. "I don't mean you."

Her voice goes cracked, desperate. It gnaws at you, hearing her like this, seeing the glaze of tears in her eyes, but you want her to just stop burying it all.

I could've waited. I wasn't hurt, I was just uncomfortable. I could've waited.

It becomes harder to swallow. "You're not alone." You stroke along her cheek, just as desperate. "Do you know that?"

Emily's eyes close. "I do. I do know that. Fuck, hon, I—"

"You can trust me."

"I do," she breathes. "I swear I do."

"I don't have one foot out the door." The words crack, and Emily's eyes shoot open, go wide and round—and fuck, you're making it about you again, twisting it all to bring it back to—

"I'm not leaving you."

Her face crumples, a sharp sob gasping out of her. She clamps a hand over her mouth but it's too late, the sound is already echoing, her tears are tipping over fast, trailing down the length of her cheeks.

You can feel your own tears wetting your face. Emily's shoulders are heaving silently as you bring her into you, wrap your arm around her shoulder and bring her close—still far, too far—your neck tipping forward into the top of her head.

"I'm not leaving you," you whisper into her hair. "Get the thought out of your head, okay? It's not happening." You say hoarsely, damp patches growing on the front of your sweater. Emily sniffles and everything trembles—her hands, clutching your sides, her shoulders, your strained, pounding heart. The sound of her sobs cleaves through the rush in your ears.

You palm the nape of her neck, smoothing over the the taut muscles there.

"It's not happening."

-

"You can't just not tell me this shit." You're crying, tears pattering down onto the floor like rain. Emily is blurry, but you can still see the bruise staining her side, the bandages cutting across her ribs. "Jesus, Emily, do you think no one cares? You think I don't?"

"I didn't want you to worry." She says, almost desperately. "See, you're worrying—"

"Of course I am! I fucking love you, I'll always be worried!"

Emily sucks in a breath. You barely even notice what it is you've said, never mind that it's been on your mind for weeks now, taunting you. You can only stare at the bruise, her skin marred, marked, violent.

"I'm sorry." She cups your face, thumbs at the wet slip of tears. "I'm sorry, honey, fuck—don't cry. Please don't."

You can't not. You're not a crier, not really, but it's all you can see—someone with a boot to her ribs, an elbow, a gun, a knife splitting her skin open. Someone wanting her harmed. Dead.

You still see it as she brings you into her chest.

"You can't keep doing this."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I love you. I love you."

-

The near-empty jar of Will's granola balances precariously on your thighs as you sit in the living room, your neck craned down at the phone in your lap, eyes burning from the strain and everything else. Sergio purrs at your side, warding off the void. He's a welcome companion as the sky darkens around you and leaves you with a time capsule of memories.

You wade through it all with bated breath.

You keep your phone's brightness turned low, your eyes still sensitive to too-bright light. You've been combing it through for nearly an hour now, reading back text threads, searching through the photos in your camera roll, gathering bits of your life like an ant collecting crumbs. It's a bit surreal, to be able to poke around. The person in your phone is clearly you; you haven't changed enough in three years to become unrecognizable to yourself. It's more of a relief than anything, but you still find yourself factoring in the newer variables, wondering how they came about.

Your habits are the same. You text dryly, keep few pictures of yourself, have a hundred more or less useless notes taking up space in your notes app. Your social media accounts are as sparse as they've ever been. Your call log consists of the same three people—Emily taking up most of it.

There's no rhyme or rhythm to your searching. You jump from app to app—your photos to your messages and back, opening up a new text thread, scrolling through another album. There's things you ignore: texts asking after your health, some from people you recognize, others whose names are fuzzy; Christmas well-wishes, continuations to conversations you don't have the context for, fourteen new messages from Pen🩷, three missed calls from Emily—11:17 P.M., 11:18, 11:19, December 16.

You're briefly queasy again.

Some of it comes back, the fog drawing thin. Your high-school best friend is still in your life—you're still just as close—though no longer as easy to see. Your eyes glaze over when you read the latest message, dated six days ago.

I'm here for you, anytime you want.

There's a few more from that same vein. Texts from Emily's friends, in varying degrees of familiarity—none from her mother, which doesn't surprise you. (Your lack of surprise, however, does). A name you vaguely recognize turns out to be a coworker you go out with on occasion; you dig through your camera roll and connect the face to the name when you find a picture, shadowy from the weak lighting of a bar.

Pictures of you and Emily, you find, are laughably rare. It's mostly her, or Sergio, or both of them together. They're sickeningly domestic—blurred, or in warm lighting, or posed up close. Emily mid-laugh, mid-yawn; deep in concentration with a book in her hands, Sergio sprawled across her legs.

It feels like you're intruding, somehow. You're not able to go through half the photos before you click back into your messages, an incessant gnawing in your stomach.

You have two new texts from her. Her name sits a few rows down (Em, the contact photo one of her with a beach splayed behind her). You tentatively open up the thread, not knowing what to expect.

December 16, 10:47 P.M.

You

Want anything else?

Em

My wife back.

You 

T-minus ten minutes

Em

That's a little more than ten minutes.

Honey, where are you?

Missed voice call

Missed voice call

Missed voice call

December 13, 10:04 A.M.

Em

Are we out of Advil?

You

There's a strip in my bag

What's wrong?

Em

Mother called.

You

Jesus

Em

Good news, though, she'll be out of state this Christmas.

You

Sweeeeet

December 11, 2:36 P.M.

You

Hey

Do you have a minute?

Em

Tell me.

Voice call

December 8, 7:23 P.M.

Em

Boarding.

It's around five hours, don't wait up.

You

Don't tell me what to do

Em

Seriously?

You

My bad for missing you

And for being a good wife

Em

A perfect wife, you mean.

You

Flattery will get you everywhere

Em

I love you.

Please don't wait up.

December 7, 8:14 A.M.

You

How's the nausea, baby

Em

Not so bad. I at least made it through breakfast today.

JJ caught me, though.

You

Better her than Pen

Em

That's what I thought.

December 3, 6:53 P.M.

You 

Okay so

Does anyone in your office happen to like peanut butter cookies?

Em

Babe.

How much did you make?

You

Well

Emily

I'm still waiting for an answer.

December 1, 5:18 P.M.

Em

In the store, you want anything?

You

Takis!!!

Em

Those things will genuinely kill you.

You

Two takis :))

"Hey."

Your head snaps up at the sound of Emily's voice. You turn the phone off. "Hi."

She sits down next to you, close enough for your arms to brush. Sergio trills and eagerly migrates onto her lap. She gives his chin a few lazy scratches, the sound of his purrs taking up space in the silence.

You notice, as your fingers itch to smooth out the reddened sleep lines on her cheek, that she sits on your good side. She always sits on your good side.

You set your phone down and reach over to stroke an idle path down Sergio's back. With the movement, your shoulder gently presses into hers. She turns to steal a glance at you, her wayward bangs brushing your cheek, lightly ticklish on your skin.

Her free arm shifts against yours and you feel her reach into your lap, pick up the abandoned—depleted—jar of granola, the few grains left inside rattling as she turns it over.

"Hungry?"

"Very." You sift your fingers through Sergio's fur, only a slight bit embarrassed. His purring cranks louder, seeping into your bones.

"What do you say to takeout?"

Her voice is so close, brushing your jaw, that you have to fight not to shiver. You take your hand back and keep your shoulder pressed against hers and suddenly feel it, all around—the stillness, in you, in her, in the house.

There's too much grief clouding you.

"Why don't we go for dinner?" You venture. "If you're feeling up to it."

Emily's eyes snap up to yours. "Yeah," she says, eager if a little surprised. "Yeah, sure."

"Sure?" You reiterate.

"Yes," she insists. "Anything particular in mind?"

You shake your head. "Just nothing fancy. Take me…" your arm loosely hooks around her hers, "take me somewhere I like."

Emily smiles, then. It still throws you off—how it softens her face, the shine of unadulterated pleasure making her glow. Beautiful, your stomach twists, tying itself in knots. Beautiful even with her eyes still shot through with red, the skin around them puffy with sleep, with tears, the heartache clinging to her even now.

"Okay."

-

The neon lights of a 24/7 diner glint off of her hair.

"Is this okay?" She asks, a thread of hesitation ringing in her voice.

You can't fathom the warmth flowing through you. You yourself hadn't known what to want or expect, but standing in front of the restaurant, a sense of rightness clicks. And, warmer than the weight of your hand in hers—

She knows you. Even when you don't.

You turn to kiss her cold cheek and feel the doubt slump out of her. "Perfect." You murmur.

Emily blushes a faint pink, pleased.

Inside, the lights are warm, the leather of the booths soft and worn. The whole place smells like sticky maple and deep-fried chicken. It's familiar, sugar and grease, setting off the hunger in you again.

A young, bored-looking waitress seats you.

"You sure this won't upset your nausea?" You ask Emily as she settles opposite you.

"I don't think so, this place is tried and tested. We've been a couple of times," she shrugs, "seems to be okay. What are you feeling?"

"Breakfast," you say resolutely, picking up the menu and skimming the options. "You?"

"Anything with maple."

Your mouth quirks. Much the same, your eyes skip over the egg combos and head straight down to the griddle dishes.

Belgian waffles, strawberry French toast, cinnamon roll pancakes…

"We missed pancake Sunday." You say idly. The image blooms in your head: your sun-drenched kitchen, Emily in just a t-shirt, humming some aimless tune and stirring pancake batter. You cutting up fruit, dotting chocolate chips on the still wet puddles she scoops out onto the pan. It's a ritual of sorts, implicitly sacred. Yours and hers.

Surprise washes over Emily's face. "Oh," she says. "Yeah—right. Slipped my mind."

"That's quite a serious offense, Mrs. Prentiss."

Her eyes go pinched, smiling. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, velvet-soft as she leans across the table. "How do you want me to make it up to you?"

She's teasing, you can distantly tell. But her voice, already low, drops lower, pours over your skin like honey. She looks at you from under her lashes and it sets you on fire, your wife toying with you, flirting.

"Are you guys ready to order?" The waitress comes over, clicking her pen, saving you.

You lean back into your seat and nod a little too quickly, the heat of Emily's eyes still on your face. You can hear the barest hint of a smile in her voice as she places her order—her menu still closed, hands folded neatly on top of it. You—a few degrees above your normal temperature, the words on the menu blurring before your eyes—go for the pancakes.

Outside, flecks of snow start fluttering down. They streak through the dark backdrop of the evening, sweep up against the window, stick and melt on the glass. A bell chimes as the door of the diner pushes open, a belated gust of wind rushing past you.

It cools your cheeks enough that you can pick up the conversation again.

"So." You look back at your wife. "How did we find this place?"

Emily's mouth softens, pulls up into a half smile. "It's not anything special, really. We were going out for dinner, but we didn't make it in time for our reservation. My flight was delayed coming back," she explains. "But we were starving and everywhere else was packed, so..."

As she talks, threads of memory start to connect.

It was a weekend. You'd been annoyed with her, but—I'm not the one flying the jet, babe.

"Our old complex is close by." You mention.

This earns you a proper smile. Dimpled and all. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." Emily says.

There's a new weight to her gaze, a heavy fondness, her eyes bright with it. It warms you up on the inside as she takes your hand from the table and lifts it up to her lips. "You're doing good," she whispers, kissing the ridges of your knuckles.

Air thins in your lungs, a swooping feeling rushing through your gut.

You're doing good.

You carefully twist your hand in her grip and reach over to cup her cheek. You see the breath rush in her, fast, then slower, quieter, like she's trying to pace herself. The table edge digs into your ribs as you brush your thumb over her cheek, not quite where her dimple lays—too high up.

Her eyes are so dark you can see tiny, twin reflections of yourself in them, pulled over her irises.

"How can you stand it?" You ask quietly.

She doesn't need to ask what you're talking about. She knows, squeezes your wrist, ghosts her thumb over your pulse.

"Because I love you, and you're my best friend."

She says it so plainly. It's near laughable—almost childishly simple. Still, your eyes grow hot, a lump expanding in your throat as Emily keeps her hand over yours, lightly skates her thumb over your skin. "I've always been alone," she murmurs. "Ever since I was a kid. I never had many friends, and the ones I could make—" she shrugs, "it was impossible to stay in touch. That kind of stuck, I think." Her voice seeps into your bones, through muscle, through skin. "Even as I grew up, I wasn't exactly popular. It was hard to…connect."

Your chest twinges. Emily rubs absent, soothing circles on your skin, almost like she can feel it.

"The BAU was my first time feeling like I belonged. Sappy, I know, but—I'd never really had friends, much less family." She says softly, passively. A tiny bit amused, like she's laughing at herself.

"And then, you came along." Her lips tug, brushing the heel of your hand—not quite a kiss, but not quite not. It's enough to send your heart in a tailspin, but then her eyes pin you in place, impossibly dark, brimming with such focus you nearly squirm. She exhales heavily, warmth fogging over your skin. "I've kind of been waiting my whole life for you."

The words burrow deep. There's such a palpable tenderness to them that you have to look away, catch your breath.

You. All of this is for you. Somehow, for some reason.

"Charmer," you muster out.

Emily smiles. She clasps your hand between both of hers and gently lays it back on the table. You barely notice the strain that loosens in your arm, your head overfull with her. She lets you stay in it, a little dazed, but before long she's nudging your ankle under the table, trapping your leg between both of hers, your knees knocking into each other.

"So, does that mean you'll let me sleep in your bed tonight?"

You're surprised when you laugh, so loud you have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle it.

-

With a sling, every normal activity takes about ten times longer. Changing; eating; showering; even sleeping is tedious. Brushing your teeth and washing your face take an eternity when Emily's not helping you—she insists, but so do you, that you've got it. Because you have. It just takes about two hours to get through what used to take you five minutes.

You flick open the cap on the bottle of aloe gel and squeeze out a cool dollop. Emily had gotten you the squeezable bottle after you'd struggled with the jar—you don't know when she'd gotten it, only that it was there on your nightstand the next time you needed to switch out your bandage. At the reminder, you find yourself biting down on a smile as you spread the gel on the half-healed burn.

Sweet. She's sweet—in a way that makes you fuss and flounder and go hot despite yourself. It's nothing overly loud or frivolous, just deeply earnest. You've never met anyone so thoughtful.

At least, you think.

Every day, it just becomes more surreal—the fact that she's yours, unwavering and entirely devoted. Funny. So beautiful it physically aches in your chest. You feel like you've done nothing to deserve her, like you just woke up and she was there, hovering over your hospital bed, her eyes glazed with tears.

Honey. Talk to me, please.

Honey, breathe. Honey, you're killing me.

Honey, I'm kidding. Honey, let me in, honey I love you, fuck, honey, there you go—

You wipe off the excess gel with a towel, somersaults in your stomach.

It's a strange thing, to be falling in love with your wife. You love her, you know you do, you feel it. It's dormant, living inside your bones.

But this, it's different. It trips along your insides, burning hot and growing hotter, glowing, in your chest, the pit of your stomach. You look up at yourself in the bathroom mirror, eyes bright, the ghost of a smile lingering around your mouth, and you think—yes.

You're falling in love with her.

-

"Oh—god, I'm sorry—"

"Hm?" Emily turns, to you, topless—nearly entirely topless, a shirt clutched in her hand, and that's—

That's a tattoo. Arched over her hip, curling to wrap around her waist.

A tattoo. She has a tattoo.

"I—" You mouth goes achingly dry. You swallow, hard. "Fuck, sorry, I didn't—I didn't know you were changing. Or that you have a tattoo," you blurt out, cringing as the words echo in the silence. Your back is still to the bathroom door, your feet firmly planted on the ground even as your eyes rove, heat ripping through you.

Your first thought is: she's not as soft as she feels. There's lean muscle in her arms, toned and firm even from afar, her shoulders strong, chest rounded and soft. Your eyes are gluttonous, eating across every inch of her pale skin. They skate up the plane of her stomach, to her exposed collarbones, to the curve to her neck, down to the ink splayed on her side—

The corner of Emily's mouth ticks up. You're still glued in place as she steps closer, much to the dismay of your poor, weak knees.

"I have a couple," she says easily. "You like this one?"

You tell yourself not to look—don't look, don't, don't, don't—but you fail yourself.

Your eyes drop to it.

Up close, it's even more catching—a little faded, worn into her skin. The inkwork is elegant—a string of lilies, arching up, curving around to cup her waist. Pale white stretch marks ripple through it. Loose, curling tendrils of stem reach up just to her ribs; the rest of the tattoo dips below her waistline, snaking down her hip, a petal peeking over—

You avert your eyes, too late, the ink already burned into your brain.

"Sorry," you mutter belatedly, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"What for?"

Your eyes snap back to hers. Emily's smile is now a full-blown grin, more than a little pleased.

"You can look, honey, it's okay." Her voice is faintly teasing. "Touch, even. I won't bite."

You swallow, feeling your back press against the door. "I'm sorry." Your voice is embarrassingly ragged. Her gaze is impossible to hold; you flick your eyes away, rubbing skittishly at your brow. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"So polite," she murmurs, unbearably fond. "Sweetheart, you're my wife. I'm not on any spot."

Your brows scrunch. You look back at her to find a similar look on her face. It fades into a smile when your eyes meet, her shrug easy and careless. "You get what I mean. Really, it's okay." Her voice softens. Coaxing. "If you want to."

It feels like uneven ground. You're bared open, every inch of your want out on display and it's—it's new to you but it's not new to her and even though, in all technicality, she's the one stripped to her skin but you feel exposed down to your bones, falling after she's already fell, her feet steady on the ground while you're still tumbling and tripping over yourself.

Unfair.

But you still can't help yourself.

Swallowing your heart, you let your eyes drift lower.

"Twenty-year-old me was onto something, huh?" She murmurs.

Twenty-year-old you would have straight fainted at the sight. Current-age-you isn't faring much better, really.

"It's pretty." You manage.

"You think?"

"Emily," you inhale, swallowing to dispel the dryness in your throat, "I mean this in the nicest way possible—please put on your goddamn shirt."

She laughs, ducking her head. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

"No, you're not." You mutter, relieved and disappointed in equal measure when she shrugs her shirt on. It becomes marginally easier to breathe, a relentless flame flicking out.

Her smile is in her eyes as she pulls out her hair from under the shirt. "Want me to help? You didn't ice your shoulder today, did you?"

"Didn't, no." You finally find the strength to push off of the bathroom door and make your way to the closet.

You pick a considerably lighter pair of pajamas to account for the clinginess. (King bed, yes, but can you really trust her to stay on her side?)

There's no good reason to let her help you, but you hand her the shirt anyway.

It's become a routine of sorts. You sit down on the edge of the bed and take your arm out from your sling, carefully holding it stiff. Emily kneels down in front of you and reaches for the hem of your sweater, bunches it up to help you get your arm out of the sleeve.

It's easy to pull your good arm out, but the other one needs more maneuvering. Emily guides the collar over your head and gently tugs the sleeve down your injured shoulder.

"Bruising's getting better." She murmurs, eyeing the discoloration around the joint. She sets your sweater aside. "Have you been doing the exercises?"

You wince a little.

"Honey."

"Forgot."

She sighs. "Can we do them now, do you feel up for it?"

You're not sure she realizes it, but her voice does the thing. Sweetens, almost, goes softer than it already is. She doesn't push, but she does this. Gently coaxes and poses it all as a question, gives you the illusion of making a choice when, really, she makes it impossible to refuse.

"Fine."

Emily squeezes your knee, pleased. She helps you slip your pajama shirt on then shifts closer to your left, picking up your hand from its perch on your thigh.

"I've been doing the finger ones." You allow.

She hums. "What about this one?" She keeps your arm supported with one hand and takes your wrist in the other, gently bending it down.

You shake your head. She holds the position for a few seconds then switches, pushing your wrist up until your hand hovers in a high-five. Your head quietens as you let her guide you through the motions. It's nothing tedious or painful, but having her do it is strangely relieving.

Her hands are warm, the room quiet but for the shift of her knees on the floor, the springs in the bed as your weight eases and settles. You feel every thud of your heart in your chest.

Emily is quiet as she moves on to the other exercise—this one to help you bend your elbow. She gently guides your arm, searching your face for signs of pain, a faint crease between her brows. You're not really thinking when press your thumb to it, but she huffs out a sound like a laugh, her skin smoothing out, the crease disappearing.

As she brings your arm back down, she lays a soft kiss to the side of your wrist.

You're acutely aware that she has all of your hurt in her hands. Your biggest physical vulnerability, entirely in her control. She could pull an abrupt move, push or pinch or grab where it hurts, but she doesn't. You don't know why the thought even creeps up; she's almost unbearably cautious, sitting, on her knees, for you. Everything she's done has been to ease your pain. You don't even believe that she'd do anything to hurt you, but she just.

She could.

"You seem well practiced." You remark quietly.

Emily hums. "I've dislocated my shoulders enough for a lifetime."

You frown.

"How many times?"

Her lips purse. "Two on my right, I think. Three on my left."

"Jesus."

"Yeah." She smiles humorlessly. "Perks of the job. They heal a lot faster after that first time, though."

Your nose wrinkles. "It's still awful."

She gives a little hum. "It's not something I ever wanted you to know the feeling of." Her brows draw together, lips thinning as she sets your hand down. Quick and nimble, she grabs the sling and eases your arm back into it, careful to adjust the strap so that it sits on your pajama shirt.

"How's that?" She checks in.

"Perfect," you nod. "Thank you."

She straightens, takes your face in her hands and kisses your forehead. "Bed?"

"Bed."

-

You dream of her.

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[softlymaximoff]

ᴡʜɪꜱᴋᴇʏ ꜱᴛᴀɴɢ — ꜱᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴀᴜ

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked) you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

Summary: new town, new people, new rules. You weren’t a fan of the people running the ranch, Whiskey was. Three days in this new town and it’s already looking like a disaster waiting to happen. How bad could first introductions be?

Characters: WandaNat x fem!reader and her mustang, Whiskey. Oh and the barn cat menace, Liho.

Warnings: mentions of shooting a cow, I don’t think anything else xx

Word count: 1.7k

You’d heard about this place from your friend. She was a Flank Rider back home and had suggested to your mother that you move out west to get yourself together. You weren’t a bad person or out of control per se, just careless and dumb. A few weeks ago you were working alongside your team of cattle drivers when one slippery fucker took off. Sure enough, you and Whiskey were on it. At one point the cow managed to get itself stuck literally between a rock and a hard place. You should have trusted your gut, you should have listened to your horse who was refusing to work with you. Instead, you drove the cow further and further into the wedge, its legs scrambling for leverage in the tight space.

You were adamant about handling it yourself.

You positioned Whiskey directly in front of the cow a few feet back, got your lasso and caught the mother fucker. Instantly Whiskey pulled back, attempting to use her weight to drag this cow out. Remember about being careless? Yeah that cow pulled you right off the saddle because you ‘forgot’ to follow safety procedures. In the span of five minutes you were scrambling for your stirrups to pull yourself up. The rope now tangled in your legs and around the cows neck. Good news, the cow was moving, bad news, it was coming straight for you. Not angrily or anything of the sorts, purely because you were in the way of the only exit out.

And then a gunshot echoed through the valley and the rope went slack.

You knew instantly what happened.

Kudos to the team, if anything ever happens it’s always been the rule. If it’s you or the cow, it’s always the cow who suffered.

“Get back on the stang. Go back to the ranch. You’re done” a rough voice came from above you and there she was, your oh so amazing mother glaring down at you.

“I fucking had it. The stupid fucker panicked and got us here. Mom I had it under control!” You spat as you climbed back into your saddle. “You would have been ground beef if I hadn’t come in. Don’t make me repeat myself. I’ll talk to you when we’re done moving the herd. The darn coyotes can eat this beeve.” she gave you another once over and left. “Great just fucking wonderful. Let’s go Whisk, suns comin low and the coyotes now have a full five star course” you sighed and drove your horse away from the livestock.

That was weeks ago. Your mother gave you an ultimatum. You stay home and take a year off from cattle herding or you move and take your reckless and dumb decisions elsewhere. In any scenario, you weren’t allowed to work on your ranch for a year. So, here you were, three days into a new town, miles away from home with your horse and small travelling trailer. Everything a cowgirl needs right? Wrong. The town was full of ringers who wore the American flag on their chests, horses, town shops, cars just absolutely anything and everything was “American”. What a tourist hot spot.

Unfortunately for you, your mother had booked the year long program and now you were stuck. Fucking wonderful. “Hey sweet Whisk, let’s go see the ranch hmm” you gave the mustang a gentle pat on her neck and jumped up bareback, starting your adventure along the dusty path towards town. The air was hot, muggy and sticky, perfect weather to greet people in. It took all of 15 minutes to get to the centre of town and the minute you and Whiskey came through all eyes were on you. You smiled, tipped your hat and gave a wave to anyone who looked at you sideways. The last thing you wanted was to become an outsider.

“C’mon girl, let’s get you into the shade” you mumbled and skirted along the minimal shadows until you passed the fence line and into the ranch driveway. A head swing and a gruff from Whiskey made you chuckle as the two of you strolled further into the property, not really paying attention to your surroundings and more so enjoying the view. “Hey! You lost darlin? Can’t be ridin horses in here unless they’re tagged and flagged as ours!” A husky voice came from the right of you and you pulled your horse into a stop.

“Oh hey sorry! I’m here for the program I’m supposed to meet som-” “Natasha Romanoff, yep that’s me. Come ‘round to your right after the broken x frame fence. Tie the stang up to that tree in the shade and we’ll chat” she pointed to where she meant and then she was gone. “Well miss Whiskey, I guess that’s my boss eh? She’s hot, hopefully shes not an asshole” you sighed and made your way to said fence, jumping it gently and dismounting the horse, loosely tying her to the tree like Natasha had told you to.

A few minutes of waiting and dotting over Whiskey, Natasha finally came around to greet you. “You ride bareback?” Were the first words Natasha greeted you with and you rose an eyebrow at her question. “Got a problem with it?” You smirked as she rolled her eyes, “your mother said you’d have an attitude” she spoke flatly and your arms prickled. “I don’t have an attitude, I have opinions she doesn’t like” she didn’t respond instead she grabbed Whiskeys rope and you stood in front in a split second.

“Hey what the fuck” you yanked the rope out of Natasha’s hands and she held her hands on her hips. “Calm down cowgirl, don’t go airin the lungs now. Bring her to the stables, she’s panting and unless you want a dead horse by sundown let me give her some water” she took the rope back and Whiskey huffed giving you a side eye, walking effortlessly with Natasha. “Traitor” you whispered under your breath as you followed them.

“As I was sayin sweet stuff, your mother said you needa sharpen up. I’ve got you workin on the ranch during the week with weekends off. Don’t like it, don’t care. You’ll be working alongside myself in herding Mavericks, Bulls, Steers and Slicks. In the stables or the barn you’ll be with my wife feeding and cleaning the horses/ livestock. We’ve got chickens, geese and barn cats. Three days with me two with her. Got it?” She looked over her shoulder and smirked as she saw your sour face.

“Buckle up darlin, this ain’t no walk in the park. I promised your mother you’d be in shape when you go back, don’t make me regret it. I ain’t got no time to be kickin rocks when I’ve got a ranch to run. You said you herd? Well this opportunity don’t appear for just anyone. Make it worth my while” she deadpanned and set Whiskey up into a free stable.

“When do I start” you huffed out and she smiled approvingly. “In an hour. Check out the barn and stables, we’ll herd a mob soon. Let your stang rest and you’re not riding bareback. Find the right fit, there’s a spare shirt inside the house. When you’re ready get changed and we’ll head out” she tipped her hat and sauntered off back to the house leaving you and Whiskey catch your breaths from the sun.

“Well sweets, shes not all too bad. Shes got a wife though so that’s minus ten points” you chuckled at the horse who just swished her tail. In the corner of your eyes a small black thing darted out from the hay and instinctively you grabbed Whiskey’s rope. “Oh you’re a cat” you pulled a small face and the cat just meowed. “Shoo, go away. Leave us alone” you whisper reprimanded as the cat simply jumped up on the horses back. Whiskey had absolutely no reaction to the sudden small weight on her back and the black barn cat shwooshed its tail, staring straight at you. You hated cats, no you loathed them. The amount of times you were training new horses on your old ranch and one of those fluffballs sent you flying off the horses backs was astounding.

You picked the cat up off Whiskeys back and low-key football threw the black thing across the hallway but to your surprise, it came running back. “Leave me alone you fool” you grumbled and did the same thing but it came back again. “I can’t believe I’m playing football with a cat” you mumbled and this time picked the cat up, took it to the other side of the stables hoping it would get the hint. It didn’t. “Stop following me!” You half whispered half hissed as the cat weaved through your legs, almost tripping you over.

“I see you found Liho” a softer voice made you look up and saw another woman, a little taller but just as beautiful as Natasha. “No this menace found me and he’s using Whiskey as a launchpad” you groaned frustratedly as Liho jumped up on Whiskey again and went to pounce Im your direction. “Shes a girl, and you’re lucky. She doesn’t just like anyone, shes Natasha’s personal cat. I’m Wanda, stable hand, Natasha told me you were out here with your Mustang. Shes a beaut by the way” Wanda smiled sincerely as she ran her hands along Whiskeys back, grabbing Liho and reprimanding the cat in a language you didn’t know. The cat meowed and trotted off.

“Now what kinds of sorcery was that, I’ve been fighting with that void for five minutes and you speak gibberish and suddenly it listens?” You furrowed your eyebrows and Wanda chuckled, “It’s a mix of Russian and Sokovian, you’ll pick it up eventually. Go get changed, I’ll fix Whiskey up with a saddle and your gear. Don’t keep Nat waiting. She hates people being late” Wanda winked and turned towards your horse, cooing over her in her native tongue.

Great, first day on the job and you’ve already got homework. Learn Russian and Sokovian. If Wanda was in charge of the stables, it’s bound to happen that most of these other horses and livestock know the language. Hopefully Natasha talks to her horse in English.

[emilys-bangs]

blurb game!

For Emily: infatuation

I am indeed infatuated with her!! Drunk!reader

"God, you are so pretty."

Emily's skin reddens with a blush. Her smile is small, shy, but her eyes—god, her eyes—they're bright and gorgeous and so pretty.

"The prettiest ever." You mumble, kissing her warmed cheek. Her smile grows wider under your lips, and it only makes your heart squeeze in your chest. She could kill you. Actually, literally, put-you-in-your-grave kill you.

And you'd be happy to go.

"Okay, charmer," she whispers, taking your face in her hands. Her thumb sweeps gently under your eye, catches something, and dusts it off. "Do you want to go home?"

"Yes," you slur, queasy with how soft she touches you.

This time Emily's smile has dimples, and you see them, get drunker off them than you have from the drinks you'd been having all night. You feel it even stronger when you're like this. Your skin to Emily's skin, her body pressed along yours, all your infatuation rising, climbing, to the tip of your tongue and out.

[softlymaximoff]

Always and forever

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DN/ (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

Summary: when Agatha and Rio come back from vacation they stir up a bratty little bunny in the hands of their neighbours Wanda and Natasha. Their patience with your attitude and quips is running dangerously thin. Nat finds it amusing to an extent but Wanda’s having none of it.

Characters: Mommy!Wanda, Daddy!Nat x brat!fem!reader || neighbours!AgathaRio

Warnings: lots of fingering, mentions of choking, gentle sub space and aftercare, mean Wanda, biting, mentions of oral fixation, overstim, begging, spreader bar, vibrators, edging, traffic light system/ safe word check ins. I THINK THATS IT!

Word Count: 4.5k words

Patience was never your strong suit, neither Natasha’s nor Wanda’s. Particularly when you were in a mood from having their attention taken away from you during conversations with Agatha and Rio over the fence. The five of you were good friends, great friends even. The coupled neighbours were familiar and safe company, having been invited to many of their hosted dinners, lunches, brunches you name it. Today however, you had been helping Wanda in her garden picking out fresh berries and vegetables for the week when Rio ever the friendly neighbour chimed in. “If that isn’t the cutest thing I’ve seen this week. Apart from Agatha failing to make me brownies yesterday” her voice was smug and full of mischief.

Your ears perked up and went to thank her before you realised she was practically eye fucking Wanda. A low sound vibrated within your chest and in the corner of your eye you saw Nat lean against the doorframe leading inside. She had heard Agatha’s car pull up and Rio’s voice trail off towards the side of their house. They normally never split up and Nat was a spy after all, she knew Rio all too well, she wanted something, or better yet, cause a playful stir. “Oh look and there’s your precious little bunny too. Hi sweetheart” she cooed sickly sweet to you and as much as you fawn over praise, this time it just felt condescending.

“Rio, ever a joy to see” Wanda paid you no mind as she chuckled and discarded her gloves before heading over to the fence where Rio was coyly waiting with her arms out. The hug was a quick exchange but to you felt like a thousand years. Your eyes narrowed as you then saw Agatha walk down their back steps to also greet Wanda. This was supposed to be your time with her. She had just come back from an avengers meeting yesterday and by the time she got home you were fast asleep so ultimately you hadn’t seen her for ever and you wanted her and her only.

A hand on the small of your back snapped you back into reality and Natasha had a knowing smirk plastered on her stupidly perfect lips. “Calm down. They’ve been away for weeks. Wanda’s just catching up” the Russian murmured with a controlled tone and your shoulders slumped slightly. “Mine” you grumbled and picked at the hem of your shorts, a quirk Natasha had grown to scold you for over the months of your relationship. All Natasha did was hum in amusement knowing you weren’t actually feeling upset just jealous and possessive. “C’mon let’s say hi” she took your hand in hers and left you no room for argument as she walked with confidence to the fence, your stubborn footsteps echoing behind hers.

“Ladies” Nat greeted them the same way Wanda did and gave your hand a gentle warning squeeze. “Hi” you waved to them and felt Wanda’s eyes on you. “Behave” her voice echoed in your head and you glared at her when their attention was on the Russian. You wriggled out of Natasha’s grip and stood as close as you could to Wanda, to the point where some would think you were actually glued together. Your hand found Wanda’s hands and immediately started fiddling with her rings. “And you doll, how are you?” Agatha turned her attention to you but all you could see was the way Rio was pushing her chest out and staring Wanda down like she was prey.

“Mine” you growled defensively, completely ignoring Agatha’s question and locking onto Rio. All she did was smirk, and purse her lips. Wanda on the other hand, gave your hip a warning pinch and a reassuring kiss to your jaw. “Always and forever. Rio stop riling her up, you know how she gets when you start shit she can’t handle” Wanda rolled her eyes at the scene and Rio chuckled before easing up and giving Agatha a kiss on the lips. “Well it was nice catching up quickly we should all do something over the weekend. Put our pool and your great cookings skills to use” Agatha pointed a teasing finger in Wandas direction and the Sokovian nodded quickly in agreement.

As the five of you bid goodbyes, Wanda’s finger’s were nimbly playing with one of your belt loops. Natasha’s hand swinging your free one back and forth absentmindedly. “I’d say they had a good trip” Natasha concluded from the conversation over the fence and Wanda hummed sweetly. “If Rio’s neck were any more littered with Agatha’s trademark you’d think she’d lost a fight against a mountain lion” Wanda smirked at the way your chest rose ever so slightly at the mention of her name. Natasha also caught it. “Yeah in bed” the Russian’s response was witty and quick, paying no mind to your current jealousy. “You’re awfully quiet devochka-krolik (bunny girl)” Wanda feigned her sympathy as the three of you finally stepped into the house.

You ignored her comment and kicked your shoes off, slipping onto the couch grumpily. Natasha rolled her eyes at your attitude and sat next to you, wordlessly moving you so you were plastered in the middle of the couch. Wanda joined the two of you shortly after she put her herbs in the kitchen for a later task, sitting on the other side of you. Wanda raised an eyebrow and Natasha smirked lazily. “Hello? Earth to my favourite bunny?” Wanda tried again but received a glare from you. Natasha’s hands were tracing small patterns on the outside of your thigh, attempting to alleviate the building tantrum.

“I don’t like the way she gives you ‘fuck me’ eyes every goddamn time when she sees me with you. Be friends with a witch they say, trust a witch they say. Yeah, well that fucking witch is a bitch” you glared at the seams of the couch and growled at the confession as the exchange kept replaying in your head. “Watch your fucking tone little one” Wanda’s hands were instantly cupping your jaw and tilting your head up to meet her eyes. Your scowl however never left and she squeezed a little more. “Fix your attitude or I will. That’s a fucking promise” she threatened in a low voice, her green eyes piercing into yours under the warm morning light. It was a tense few seconds before you shrugged your face out of her palm and rolled your eyes. Now that, that made Natasha chime in.

She lowered her head slightly and she brought her lips to the shell of your ear, “I wouldn’t even think about pushing it malen’kiy parshivets (little brat)” its like her voice was coated in honey with a sinful taste. The Russian language always made you feel a certain way and they knew exactly when to use it. A low whine left your lips and you kicked your feet, heels hitting the couch lightly but purposely. “It’s not fair! They flirt, you flirt back! You’re mine!” A desperate and jealous plea fell from your lips as your arms crossed and lips turned into another scowl. “Honey, they’re just being friendly. The four of us go way back you know that. They know that we’re yours” Natasha chuckled humorously and gave you a fake pout when you grumbled.

“Not with the way Rio was fucking throwing her tits in Wanda’s face. The nerve that witch has I swear to god I’ll make a goddamn point that you’re mine next time I see her” you spat dangerously and Wanda’s eyes locked onto you. “Watch your words little girl” the witch growled and brought her hand up again to rest on the base of your neck, thumb brushing just under your jaw. “You’ve got all of three seconds to fix your tantrum so we can forget about it and have a day night together like I had planned” her tone was clipped and daring you to disobey, something you did best when you got like this, jealous and stubborn. “Why don’t you plan a day with Rio since you’re defending that fucking manipulative witch anyway.” it slipped out before you could realise. The room was an eerie quiet. “Wanda I’m-” you rushed out but the look she gave you was enough to make you cower ever so slightly.

“Upstairs now. Do not make me wait or repeat” her voice was laced with control and a little bit of hurt and god did you want to take it all back but you just couldn’t. She was sending you off before she could say anything hurtful or mean, you knew that and yet your jealousy was bigger than your sympathy at this point. With a frustrated huff you slinked away from the living room and into your shared bedroom. Did she want you to strip? Kneel? Sit on the bed? You hadn’t been given any other instructions other than going upstairs. You could faintly make out their conversation from downstairs and your cheeks flushed when you heard a few stray words being repeated from your outburst only moments before. After an agonising five minutes you decided to perch yourself up on the end of the bed, criss cross applesauce style and fiddled with the loose strands from your shorts. Now sitting in your thoughts, an anxious feeling gnawed at you as they still hadn’t come up to you.

Did you push them to their limit? Did you actually fuck up for real? Was Wanda okay? Did she hate you? Does she still want to be your girlfriend? Your thoughts were so loud, almost deafening and you hadn’t noticed the tremble in your hands or the way your heart was sporadically beating now. “Colour?” A soft voice made you jump and your head shot up to the intruder. There, standing in the doorway was Nat, Wanda was no where in sight which made you panic even more. “Green I think, Where’s Wanda?” A slight raise in octave in your voice and Natasha knew you were starting to spiral. “Take a breath for me, she still loves you she’s just cooling off for a minute.” The Russian padded across the floor and joined you at the end of the bed standing in front of you.

“Arms up” she murmured softly and you complied quite easily despite everything. She took her time in taking your top and bra off, running a delicate hand across your front just getting lost in you. “Shorts off devochka-krolik (bunny girl)” another soft command left her lips as she stepped back for you to stand and you were in no rush as she admired you. Once fully bare, she pulled you in for a slow but dominant kiss, one hand on your neck the other snaking it’s way between your legs. She made no effort in giving you what you wanted though, she just ran a teasing finger across the inside of your thigh. “Colour” she pulled away as you struggled to form a sentence. “Green but I want Wanda” you sighed into the junction of her collarbone and neck.

“And I told you she was cooling off, lie down on the bed zaya (bunny)” Natasha cooed as she turned you around and motioned for you to get up on the bed. “Do you want the black silk or red ribbon” she asked as she started to remove her own clothes, your mind went blank as she stripped, eyes glued every little detail of her body. “Don’t ignore me” she sing songed in with a smirk. “Ribbon please” you squeaked out as she made her way on the bed and traced your thighs with precision and control. “Red just like Mommy, how sweet” Wanda’s voice interrupted the quiet and you immediately went to greet her but Natasha was quicker and placed a stern hand on your chest as she straddled your middle. “Stay still” she warned and you fought every urge to disobey. “Daddy’s gonna tie your hands and Mommy’s gonna have her turn to play with you” Natasha whispered against your ear as she started tying your wrists together to the headboard and a small whine left your lips.

The sound of your whine made Wanda roll her eyes unamusedly. Not at all fazed at your behaviour or attitude. “What a shame that you can be our perfect little bunny with the fucking attitude of a needy little brat” Wanda’s lips pursed together and she ran a calculated finger across your lower tummy. “Maybe if you listened for once in your life you’d get the reward you hoped for. Mommy’s gonna fuck Daddy right here while she’s on top of you.” Wanda mused as she casually slipped two fingers through your folds, emphasising the word. The Russian chuckled at your frown and kissed the pout away, arching her back just enough for her chest to hover over your sensitive nipples. Wanda pulled Natasha down a little further so she was directly in line with you and the spy released a tense breath when Wanda started slow circles on her clit. “How pretty, Daddy and her bratty bunny all exposed for me” Wanda hummed as she slipped a teasing finger through Natasha’s folds. “Don’t fucking tease Wanda” Natasha almost growled but let out a groan when Wanda unapologetically slapped her ass as a warning.

“I’m not the one lying naked right now. Behave or our bunny won’t be the only one with a sore ass tomorrow” Wanda narrowed her eyes but kept her ministrations up. “God Nat, you’re literally dripping onto her” Wanda let out almost an animalistic growl at the sight and grinned when Natasha ground her hips down onto you. “Mommy please” you whimpered, you needed to feel something, anything and they knew it. They were just being mean. “Aw look at that, now you want to use manners” Wanda cooed and removed her fingers from Natasha, wasting no time to push them straight into you, fingering you lazily like she had all the time in the world. The fact that you knew her fingers were coated in Natasha made your head spin. “So fucking messy” Wanda murmured at the sight in front of her. Natasha was making a mess just above your pussy and you were making a mess down your own thighs. A strangled moan escaped your lips as Nat wrapped her lips under your jaw and sucked, hard.

“yebuchaya shlyukha (fucking slut)” Wanda chuckled darkly as you tried to raise your hips in hope of getting more attention. You let out a frustrated huff as Wanda pulled out completely and moved to the side of the bed to face you. She grabbed your jaw with her clean hand and locked eyes with you, bringing her slick coated fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean. “Mommy” you whined frustratedly. It was one of your favourite things to do, normally they’d make you clean their fingers off. This wasn’t fair! “Keep her entertained Nat, I need to get a few things” Wanda let go of your face and patted your cheek condescendingly before she disappeared into the closet. “Looks like it’s just you and me devochka-krolik (bunny girl)” the red head murmured as she sat up, running her hands across your bare chest, skimming over your nipples. “I wonder what would happen if Daddy did this?” Natasha asked in faux suspicion as her fingers traced your nipples, leaning down to wrap her lips around one while twisting the other one gently.

Your back arched as she sucked deliberately, teeth grazing and soothing it with a swirl of her tongue. “I’d say by that reaction you enjoyed it, but we can’t leave the other one out can we?” She mocked sympathy and gave you the same treatment, if not more intense to your other nipple. “Such a sensitive little bunny hmm?” She teased and rolled her eyes as you glared at her. “Pretty fucking hard not to be” you barked back and in an instant, her hand was wrapped around the base of your throat. “Watch your fucking mouth dorogaya, you’re already on a thin line” she snarled lowly and you flicked your eyes off her piercing green ones. With a satisfied smirk, she let go of your throat and dragged her hands down the front of your chest just drawing silly patterns until Wanda came back with a vibrator and spreader bar. “Spread your legs zaya (bunny)” Wanda ordered and you complied quickly, not wanting to ruin your chances of an orgasm any more than you already have.

Once tied securely on the bar, Wanda brought Nat down again and the widow grinned at what her girlfriend had planned. “Once Daddy cums then you can. If you cum before her that’ll be the only time tonight.” Wanda warned as she turned the vibrator on and positioned it between the two of you. The second it made contact with your clit you involuntarily bucked your hips upwards, pushing it further onto Natasha’s clit. “Oh god” the spy groaned and started grinding her hips down into you, taking back the control. Wanda ever the tease started working Natasha open, two fingers steadily pumping in her pussy as she collected more of her slick. “Messy messy girls” she hummed and curled her fingers ever so slightly against Natasha’s walls. You were panting and squirming, attempting to close your legs against the spreader bar and Wanda held in a chuckle. “Is it too much sweet girl? What’s your colour zaya” She pouted and left an open palm smack right onto your pussy. “Green Mommy” you tugged at your wrists trying to free them but to no avail and Natasha laughed breathlessly into the crook of your neck. “Next time don’t be a brat” she stuttered out as Wanda raised the intensity of the vibrator.

A sharp smack echoed out into the bedroom and a muffled moan followed it. Wanda had also taken advantage of Natasha’s position and delivered another open palm smack on the rear of her ass, the widow jolting into you and the vibrator. Your head was spinning, the weight of Natasha onto you and the vibrator nestled right between made that smack feel like the gateway to an orgasm. “Do it again Wanda, you almost broke her” Natasha giggled darkly and Wanda had a wicked grin plastered across her face. You barely had two seconds to recover when another smack rained down on Natasha rippling into you. “Mphf Mommy- please-” you whined but hitched your breath when Wanda ignored you and did it again, this time Natasha added a subtle hip roll to experiment. Your hips bucked up into her violently and you cried out weak profanities. “Aw Natasha, posmotri na nashu malen'kuyu shlyukhu (look at our little whore)” Wanda cooed and you blinked at her, your brain foggy and your pussy clenching around nothing. Natasha knew how to control her orgasms she still had a little more in her, you however were a complete mess.

Your eyes shot to Wanda when you felt her fingers slip in between the two of you and turn the vibrator off, pulling it away. “No! Mommy please-” you pleaded desperately but got cut off when Natasha shut you up with a messy and hungry kiss. You bit down onto her lip when Wanda shoved three fingers into you and Natasha ground her hips simultaneously. The widow groaned at the faint taste of blood and pulled away a fraction off your lips “fucking vampire” she mumbled and went back in to continue her sloppy make out session with you. You gasped into the kiss when you felt Wanda’s tongue lick a bold stripe against your pussy, meeting Natasha’s while she rolled her hips into you. “God the two of you taste absolutely delicious. Colours?” the witch mumbled against the two of you and Natasha shuddered lightly.

“Green! Mommy please!” You cried out as you struggled to find any friction while Natasha tried to control her breathing against your neck. “Green Wanda. If you don’t fucking-” Natasha groaned breathlessly as Wanda slipped her tongue inside Natasha’s folds, sucking gently when her tongue traced up to her clit. You were trapped underneath and couldn’t do anything about it other than whine and hope they give you some attention. Natasha’s composure was slowly crumbling as she attached her lips to your neck and tried to conceal her moans with messy and sloppy kisses. A particularly harsh suck from Wanda caught Natasha off guard and she bit down into the soft skin of your neck, the mix between pain and pleasure sending you into a complete frenzy. “Please please please-” you chanted, head thrown back, arms pulled tight against the ribbon, neck littered with deep blues and purples and all Wanda did was slip one finger into your soaked folds, both from Natasha’s slick, Wanda’s spit and your own slick. “I think Daddy’s close don’t you devochka-krolik (bunny girl)” the witch mumbled into Nat and you cried out. “Yes! I do! Daddy’s close please Mommy! Please please please!” You were absolutely desperate, pleading like reciting a prayer. “Wanda I swear to fucking god-” Natasha panted and held onto the last bit of control she could before Wanda mumbled an ‘okay’ into her and used every skill she had to bring Natasha over the edge.

Wanda never let up on her pace, lapping up every bit she could as Natasha trembled on top of you. Her breathing was laboured as Wanda helped ride out her high, tongue idly teasing and tasting every bit of her. It wasn’t until Natasha tried to wriggle off you that Wanda realised you were waiting for their permission to cum. You had your eyes closed and your chest was rising up and down shakily. “Does our bunny need some help?” She pouted and slipped her middle finger into your soaked, palm flat against your clit and kept it still. “If you want it so bad do it yourself” she shrugged absentmindedly as Natasha retreated to the bathroom to grab a washcloth for later. You whined and panted as she stuck to her word and didn’t help in the slightest, your hips were aggressively grinding down on her palm but the bar was pissing you off. “Need- out- bar off-” you screwed your eyes shut and arched your back trying anything and everything to get some sort of rhythm. Wanda seemed to take pity on you as she sighed and made quick work of untying you from the restraint, your legs locking her in place as you attempted to chase your high. It still never came.

“Mommy please!” You wailed out for the last time, tears rolling freely down your cheeks and the witch smirked before giving you everything. Her tongue wrapped around your clit and she sucked it hungrily, three fingers pumping in your now over sensitive folds as she pretty much made out with your pussy. “Mommy, mommy, mommy” you chanted as she sent you flying over the edge blindly. She was greedy, almost sadistically greedy, always was when she has her lips on both you and Nat. You don’t even know when Natasha came back with a washcloth or when she went downstairs to grab water. Wanda was still in between your legs, making the most of how pliable you were and just how fucking good you taste. It was only when Natasha grabbed a fistful of Wanda’s hair to pull her off you that she saw just how pussy drunk Wanda was. “Kiss me” Natasha whispered and without missing a beat, Wanda pulled her in, the spy groaning at the taste of you on Wanda’s lips. “Babe you killed her” Natasha murmured after the two of them pulled away flushed and heightened.

Wanda turned around to see your chest rising and falling rapidly with your eyes closed. She rolled her eyes playfully and carefully crawled on top of you to untie your wrists, kissing them as they slumped down on either side of your head and a huff left your lips. “Thank you for grabbing all that” Wanda mused as she spotted everything her girlfriend brought back and the Russian smiled softly. “Someone had to do it and you’re too greedy to give up. Didn’t even get naked what a shame” she chuckled and joined the two of you on the bed, bringing over the washcloth. Wanda lifted you up slightly so she could shuffle behind you, your back resting on her still clothed chest. Natasha delicately ran the cloth over your pussy and you whined tiredly, unintentionally kicking your legs. The Russian shushed your fuss and made quick work of getting you cleaned up the best she could before you could attack her any more. “C’mon my love you gotta drink a little water for me” Wanda spoke softly, resting the glass to your lips but you groaned and turned your head into her neck.

Aftercare was a big thing between the three of you and you knew they specifically fawn over you more so Wanda grabbed your jaw gently and repeated her words. This time you opened your mouth ever so slightly making Wanda narrow her gaze, not that you were watching but it came naturally to her. She tipped the glass just enough for some water to drop it and she mumbled a few praises as you lazily gulped the mouthful down. “Good girls do swallow” Natasha snickered from somewhere next to you and she fake gasped as your heavy hands turned into a middle finger. “Don’t poke the bear Nat” Wanda warned playfully and she carded you off to Nat as she herself stripped off and joined the two of you in bed moments later. A midday nay never hurt anyone right? Natasha was slowly but surely dozing off behind you and Wanda was mindlessly scrolling on her phone, looking at some texts sent earlier today from Agatha. A few photos of Agathe and Rio on their holiday, some random videos of Rio chasing squirrels with Agatha telling her off in the background, Agatha’s poorly made brownies. A soft giggle left her lips as a particular photo showed both neighbouring witches with flour and brownie dough painting their faces.

What she didn’t anticipate was a hand lazily swatting away her phone. Her head snapped towards you and she couldn’t help but hold in a chuckle. You had a pout quite evident on your face and another middle finger held up, eyes still closed. “Mine” you mumbled through your haze and Wanda booped your nose, placing her phone on the nightstand as she sandwiched you between her and Natasha. “Always and forever bunny” she kissed your lips softly and your body melted even more than she could imagine. You were purely in a soft sleepy fucked out haze and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

[maggierogers]

Prentiss + growing up

It was hard to get accepted, and when you’re fifteen, that’s all you want.

[splattynatty1984]

Killshot (pt.3)

They're not talking. Natasha picks Wanda's lock anyway. Some things don't require a conversation.

content: consensual somnophilia (wanda is sleepin), pussy munchin, self touchin

18+, NSFW oneshot | 5k words | part one and part two are not required reading but it would help

ao3

The compound was quiet at two in the morning.

Natasha liked it that way. She liked the feeling of a building asleep—the way every small sound carried differently, the hum of the ventilation system audible in the absence of everything else, the distant click of the security rotation changing outside. She moved through the dark without turning on a single light. She didn’t need to. She knew this building the way she knew her own hands. She knew every floor plan and camera blind spot, which doors had stiff hinges, which guards rotated at which intervals. She'd mapped it in the first week and filed it away the way she filed everything: without deciding to, without effort, because that was what she was.

She stopped outside Wanda's door.

They hadn't spoken in three days. Not properly. There had been the briefing yesterday morning where they'd sat on opposite sides of the table and Wanda had looked at her notes and Natasha had looked at the wall and Steve had wisely not commented on the atmosphere. There had been the kitchen, where they'd occupied the same room for approximately ninety seconds before Wanda had taken her coffee and left without a word—back straight, jaw set, communicating with complete clarity that she had things to say and had chosen not to say them. There had been the moment in the training room when Wanda caught her eye for just a second before deliberately looking away. The practiced dignity of someone who had decided to be angry and was being thorough about it.

Natasha had let her have all of it. The space, the silence, the cold shoulder delivered with Sokovian precision. She was patient in ways that made most people uncomfortable. She had held positions for thirty-six hours without moving, had operated in hostile territory for weeks on a single objective, had waited out things that should have broken her. Three days of silence from one person was not a challenge. It was barely an interval.

But Wanda had worn the tank top to bed.

Natasha had seen it on the security feed she definitely wasn't supposed to have access to and absolutely had access to anyway. Wanda at midnight, moving through her room, pulling clothes from the drawer, pausing with the tank top in her hands for a moment before putting it on. The thin straps. The soft black fabric she washed separately because she claimed it went thin otherwise. The one they'd talked about a long time ago in the way they talked about things—not with a direct conversation, but with the careful oblique negotiation of two people who understood subtext, the result of which was that the tank top meant yes, before you ask, if you want to.

Wanda was furious with her.

Wanda had also put on the tank top at midnight and gone to sleep in it.

Natasha reached into her jacket pocket and found the bobby pin she kept with certain other tools, because a bobby pin was perhaps the best tool a woman could have. Bobby pins are versatile. Of course, they’re useful to style hair. They can be used on a pressure point to distract. They can be pushed into an eyeball if the situation deems it necessary. They can also pick most standard locks. She held it for a moment in the dark, turning it between her fingers.

She thought about the tank top, about what it meant, and then she crouched in front of the lock.

It took six seconds. A new record for her, the previous being eight.

Natasha eased the door open with two fingers, slow enough that the hinges made no sound, and slipped inside. She pulled it shut behind her with the same patience. Stood in the dark and let her eyes adjust—which happened faster for her than it would for most people, one of the Red Room's smaller gifts that she'd kept without sentiment.

The room smelled like Wanda. That layered scent of whatever she used in her hair, something with flowers in it, and underneath that something else entirely, something that was just her. Natasha's brain had catalogued it without being asked, had filed it alongside everything else she considered essential information, which was everything she chose to pay attention to.

Wanda was asleep on her back, one arm thrown above her head, the sheets pooled at her waist. The tank top was exactly where Natasha had seen it on the feed—thin straps, soft fabric, resting against her skin like a statement.

Natasha crossed the room without sound.

She stood over Wanda and looked. The window let in thin grey light, just enough for someone who knew how to use it, and Natasha had known how since she was a teenager in a facility that didn't believe in wasted resources. Wanda's face was completely slack in sleep. That careful control she wore through the day was gone.  Her lashes were dark against her cheek. Her chest rose and fell in even breaths.

Beautiful, Natasha thought. And dangerous in her own way. The kind of dangerous that wore a different shape than what Natasha was built for, that ambushed from a different direction entirely.

She sat on the edge of the bed so gradually that the mattress barely registered it—distributed weight, controlled descent, the body mechanics of someone who had spent a significant portion of her adult life not being heard. Wanda didn't stir. Her breathing stayed even and deep.

Natasha touched the strap of the tank top with one finger.

That was all she did. Traced the thin fabric, the line of it from shoulder toward center. She watched Wanda's face while she did it and nothing changed—still asleep, still breathing, still entirely unaware.

"You wore it," Natasha said, barely above a breath, not for anyone's benefit but her own. "You're furious with me and you wore it anyway."

She worked the tank top up slowly, inch by inch, watching Wanda's face the entire time. The fabric gathered and Wanda's stomach came into view—the soft skin there, the rise of her ribs with each breath—and Natasha paused with her palm flat against Wanda's ribcage, feeling the rhythm of her. Alive. Completely trusting.

“Can’t tell if that makes you a fucking idiot or incredibly attractive.” She tilted her head, a laugh huffing out from under her breath. “Maybe both.”

She lifted the tank top the rest of the way. Eased it over Wanda's head, worked it free from the arm still raised above her, set it aside on the mattress.

She took in her fill for a few moments, just soaking in the sight of her girl’s sleeping form, before her hands moved. One cupped Wanda's breast, the other traced the line of her ribs down to her waist, and she let herself have all of it. Her thumb dragged slowly over Wanda's nipple and Wanda's breathing hitched—just slightly, a deviation from the steady rhythm—and she shifted a degree on the pillow without waking. Her nipple hardened under Natasha's thumb, responsive even in sleep, and something dark and satisfied settled low in Natasha's chest.

"These are so sensitive," she said, that same low murmur aimed at no one. "Look at you responding for me and you don't even know I'm here." Her thumb moved in a slow circle, watching goosebumps rise across Wanda's skin. "Maybe you're dreaming about me. You usually are."

She spent real time there. Both hands, both sides, her touch calibrated carefully—light enough not to wake, firm enough to pull genuine responses. Her thumb and forefinger rolled Wanda's nipple gently and Wanda's back arched a fraction, chasing it in sleep, her lips parting around a sound that was almost a word. Her breasts were soft and warm under Natasha's palms and she took her time with them, learning what made Wanda's breathing hitch, what made the flush in her chest deepen. She pressed her lips to the curve of one, her tongue tracing light over the nipple, and she felt the shiver that moved through Wanda's whole body even at that.

"Look at you," Natasha said softly, watching a flush spread up Wanda's throat. "Completely mine right now. Mine, always.”

Wanda’s body had no defenses in sleep. Everything that crossed her face was unguarded—the small sounds, the arching, the way her hips shifted toward contact she wasn't conscious of wanting. Natasha read it all.

"Three days," she said. "Three days of pretending you don’t want me, that you hate me." She pressed a kiss to Wanda's sternum, held it there. "You're not as angry as you want to be, baby."

Wanda made a soft sound into the pillow—not awake, not quite, something suspended between—and her hips shifted, her thighs pressing together briefly before relaxing. Natasha went still and waited, one hand flat on her ribs, until she settled.

Then she moved lower.

Wanda's underwear was simple cotton, pale against the dark sheets. Natasha's fingers found the waistband and she peeled them down with the same glacial patience she'd applied to everything else, watching Wanda's face, watching the way sleep held her through each careful inch. She got them to mid-thigh and stopped.

"Blyad'," she breathed, and this one wasn't for no one's benefit. This one just came out.

The fabric was soaked through.

Dark with Wanda’s arousal, the cotton wet and clinging, unmistakable even in the thin light, and the scent of her hit Natasha's system like something physical. She went very still for a moment with her jaw set and her hand on Wanda's inner thigh and every trained instinct she had reminding her she'd decided on a pace and she was keeping it.

"Wet for me," she said, voice dropping lower. "Soaking through your underwear in your sleep. Don't even need me to do anything and your cunt just—" she shook her head once, slow. Dark appreciation. "Desperate little slut. Can't even dream without wanting me, can you?”

She finished drawing them down and off, and she set them on the bedside table.

Then she looked at Wanda properly. The thin grey light was more than enough. Wanda's thighs had fallen open slightly, her body having arrived at its own conclusions without her conscious input. Entirely unguarded. The flush across her chest, the soft swell of her breasts, and between her thighs—wet, visibly, undeniably, her pussy slick in the low light in a way that said everything about what her body had been doing while her mind slept through all of it.

Natasha moved between Wanda's legs carefully, distributing her weight, and brought her hand to where she needed it. Two fingers pressed flat against that bundle of nerves and she felt Wanda's body respond immediately. Slick heat, the give of her, the obscene wet sound of it even at that light contact. Wanda made a small sound and her hips rolled, chasing it even in sleep.

"There she is," Natasha murmured. She kept her pace—slow and deliberate, re-learning what made Wanda's thighs tremble at the edges, what made the flush in her chest deepen. "I could do this all night. You'd just keep giving it to me and not know."

She worked Wanda's clit in unhurried circles, her fingers slick with her from the first touch, reading every small response. Wanda's hips rolled, her back shifted against the mattress, her lips parted around sounds that had no words in them. Her pussy was wet against Natasha's fingers in a way that made the contact obscenely audible in the quiet room and Natasha pressed slightly firmer and watched Wanda's throat work.

"Soaking my hand," she said, low and even. "Look at that." Her fingers moved through all of it, one slow slide down to Wanda's dripping hole and back up. "Making a mess of yourself for me in your sleep. You don't even know you're doing it." She felt Wanda's hips stutter forward and held them back with her free hand, something that was easy for her. "Your cunt is so fucking needy. Doesn't even wait for you to wake up."

The flush in Wanda's chest had spread to her throat. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, her brow furrowed, her hips working with real intent now. Natasha kept the rhythm deliberate and patient, watching the tension build.

"Three days," she said softly, "of looking right through me. And here you are." She pressed slightly harder and watched Wanda's lips part wider around a sound. "Here your pretty pussy is."

She let the tension climb further. Let Wanda's hips roll and her breathing fracture and her brow furrow deep with the effort of chasing something her dreaming brain couldn't quite locate. When she felt her right at the edge—close enough that her thighs had started to tremble—Natasha lifted her palm.

She held it just above, not touching. Watched Wanda's face pull tight with frustration even in sleep. Her hips rolled forward and found nothing and the small furrow between her brows deepened sharply.

Natasha watched her chase it for a moment. It was beautiful. She’d edged Wanda many times before, but doing it now—while Wanda’s eyes were closed and sleep was still clouding her mind—sent a rush through Natasha that she’d only ever experienced in that moment when she knew she had someone right where she wanted them. So she held there for a second. Two. Three. Four and five.

Then she lowered her head.

She pressed her lips to Wanda's inner thigh first—one side, then the other. Her mouth moved slowly over the inside of her thigh, learning the warmth of her skin there, feeling the small shiver that moved through Wanda even at that soft contact. She let herself linger. Memorize. There was no reason to rush anything.

Then she moved to where she actually wanted to be.

The first press of her tongue was thorough—a full taste, nothing withheld—and she felt Wanda's thighs tighten on either side of her head on pure instinct. The slick heat of her, the way she responded immediately even in sleep, the sound of it in the quiet room. Natasha made a low approving sound against her and felt Wanda's hips roll forward and settled in.

She worked her with everything she knew, and she knew Wanda’s body well. Her tongue found Wanda's clit and she settled there, circling, learning the exact rhythm that made her hips roll and her breath change. Patiently building, not hurrying any of it.

Wanda's pussy was swollen under her tongue, responsive even in sleep, her body so primed that every slow focused circle pulled real responses even through unconsciousness. The sounds she made were soft and broken, no language left in them.

"Sladkaya," Natasha murmured against her, barely lifting enough to form the word. Sweet. Her tongue pressed back, focused and steady. "You’ve made me very upset, you know." Natasha's eyes narrowed at the thought, at every memory of Wanda looking directly at her and ignoring her. She nearly growled thinking about it, about how easily Wanda had been able to pull away. Her teeth grazed Wanda's clit, and she felt her thighs flex. "Acting all angry. Ignoring me. But your pretty pussy knows who owns it.”

She spent time at every place that pulled a response. Her tongue circled Wanda's clit in the long patient rhythm she'd learned, then pressed flat, then returned to the circling, reading every shift and working with it. Wanda's hips moved against her now, the unconscious rhythm of someone chasing something they couldn't name.

"So wet," Natasha murmured, pulling back just enough. "So wet and so good and you have no idea." She pressed back in. "This is what I've been thinking about for three days. You in your bed, doing exactly this." She felt Wanda's thighs tremble. "Giving me everything. Completely mine. Like you should be."

Wanda made a real sound.

Something with actual voice behind it, involuntary, startlingly loud in the still room. Natasha lifted her head just long enough to reach up and press her palm flat over Wanda's mouth.

Wanda didn't wake. Her body absorbed the new pressure the way it had absorbed everything else tonight—processed it somewhere below consciousness, incorporated it without surfacing. Her lips moved slightly against Natasha's palm and she made a muffled sound into it, but her breathing stayed deep and she stayed under. She simply accepted Natasha's hand the way she'd accepted everything else.

Natasha left her palm there and lowered her head again.

She worked her with her tongue and felt the sounds Wanda made vibrate against her palm—every small catch of breath, every muffled sound, every shift of her face as sensation moved through her. Wanda's hips were moving freely now, rolling up to meet Natasha's mouth, and Natasha slid her other hand under her hips and held her down with the strength she never used carelessly, and pressed closer, working her harder.

"Give it to me," she murmured against her. "Moya." Mine. "Give it to me."

The tension crested fast. Wanda's thighs clamped around Natasha's head, her back leaving the mattress, and she made a long muffled sound against Natasha's palm—her magic flickering scarlet at her fingertips, three seconds, four, bright red sparks scattered in the grey dark—and then her body went completely soft and sank back into the mattress with the boneless ease of someone being pulled back under before they'd even surfaced.

The hand over her mouth wasn't necessary anymore. Wanda had gone quieter, deeper under it.

Natasha left it there anyway.

Because she could. Because the weight of her own palm over Wanda's mouth in the dark while Wanda's body came back down from something it hadn't been awake for—that satisfied something in Natasha that didn't have a name she'd ever tried to give it.

Natasha went still. Kept her palm over Wanda's mouth for another moment, then lifted it carefully. Waited. Watched.

Wanda's breathing deepened again. Gradually evened back out into the long slow rhythm of genuine sleep.

Natasha stayed still for another moment with her hand resting at Wanda's hip. The room was quiet and smelled like both of them now and the light through the window hadn't changed.

She straightened up with the same care she'd used for everything else, stood beside the bed, and looked at her one more time. The slack of sleep had returned to her face, softer now than when Natasha had come in—something released that had been held even in unconsciousness.

Natasha picked up the underwear from the bedside table and folded them once, sliding them in her jacket pocket.

She left the tank top on the mattress beside Wanda's shoulder. Didn't put it back on her. Left it where she'd find it.

Then she crossed the room, eased the door open with two fingers, and walked back through the dark compound to her own quarters, moving without sound, without light, the way she moved through every place she wasn't supposed to be.

(-)

Wanda woke at seven-fifteen to grey morning light and the absolute certainty that something had been done to her.

Something more physical than a memory, more present. Her body knew before her brain did. There was a deep ache in her inner thighs. The kind of ache that came from someone holding them, from muscles worked hard without her conscious participation. A tenderness between her thighs that sat right at the threshold of soreness. The full, satisfied heaviness of someone who had been taken apart thoroughly and had slept through all of it. She lay still for a moment with her eyes closed, taking stock, cataloguing it the way you catalogued something you weren't sure was real yet.

It was very real.

She reached down and found bare skin where her underwear should have been.

She sat up.

The tank top was beside her on the mattress, folded once, in a fold that wasn't hers.

Wanda pressed the heel of her hand over her mouth.

She tried to find the appropriate response and found it was complicated. Anger—she was still angry, had been angry for three days, the thing between them was not resolved. But violation wasn't right either, because she'd worn the tank top. She'd stood at her dresser at midnight in the middle of an argument and held the tank top in her hands and put it on. She'd known what it meant. She'd worn it knowing what it meant, which made it not a violation at all but a very deliberate invitation delivered at midnight while she was pretending she wasn't delivering it.

She'd worn it on purpose.

Even furious. Even three days of loaded silences and careful not-looking. Her hand had found it in the drawer and she'd held it for three seconds and put it on. She wasn't entirely sure why she had done that.

What she was, sitting in her bed with no underwear and the folded tank top and the ache in her thighs that she was becoming more aware of with each passing second, was not upset.

She was—her brain reached for it—somewhere between undone and completely feral and landing on both.

Natasha had come into her room. In the dark. While they weren't speaking. She had to have picked her lock, and she had probably crossed the room in total silence, which meant she'd made no sound at all, because Natasha moved through the dark the way she moved through everything: like something that had been trained to be invisible before it understood why.

And then she'd—

Wanda's face was very hot.

She lay back down and pressed her palm flat over her sternum and tried to reconstruct it from what her body was telling her. She'd been dreaming—or something in that neighborhood, incomplete and without clean edges. She remembered the quality of being touched by someone who knew her. The patience of it. Being wanted without urgency. The feeling of Natasha's attention that was different from anyone else's not because it was gentler, but because it came packaged with the knowledge of what those hands could do, what that body was capable of, and the understanding that all of it had been aimed somewhere else.

Her inner thighs ached. They ached in such a perfect way.

Her cunt was still wet, still tender, still carrying everything that had happened to it in the dark.

She noticed that last part with a full-body flush that she lay still through, staring at the ceiling. She was wet, had probably been wet since before she was fully awake, her body three steps ahead of her conscious mind and already knowing what it needed. The tenderness between her thighs told her Natasha had been thorough. The ache higher up told her Natasha had taken her time. The hickeys she felt forming confirmed that Natasha had enjoyed it.

Wanda's magic flickered red at the window, and she slid her hand down.

She was soaked. Her fingers slid through slick heat before they'd even found her clit, her underwear gone and her body giving her every piece of information she needed about last night in the most direct language available. She was wet the way she got when Natasha had been thorough with her—the kind that didn't fade quickly, that came with an ache and a tenderness and the warm satisfied weight of someone who'd been taken apart properly. 

The evidence was embarrassingly complete. She didn't have to wonder. Her body had kept meticulous records.

Her fingers found her clit, and she exhaled sharply. 

She thought about Natasha picking the lock.

She had to have used the bobby pin she always carried. Not a tool brought with intention. Something Natasha kept without attaching occasion to it. She'd crouched in front of Wanda's door at two in the morning during three days of cold silence and opened the lock. Because she'd seen the signal. Because the signal was the only language required and everything else—the argument, the three days, Wanda's careful deliberate not-looking—was logistics. An interval between one decision and its execution.

How long had it taken her? Ten seconds? Less than?

Wanda's hips rolled up into her own hand and circled her fingers around her clit faster.

She thought about being completely asleep. Her body wet before Natasha had even touched her. Her thighs falling open while she slept, her nipples hardening under Natasha's thumb without her brain registering any of it. Her clit under two fingers for however long Natasha had decided, her sleeping body working toward something her conscious mind had no access to.

Wet for me. Even in your sleep. Your cunt doesn't know how to lie to me.

She didn't know for sure if Natasha had said that. But she knew, in her bones, in the fluent certainty she'd developed about someone she'd spent years watching, that she probably had. In that same low voice aimed at no one, in the dark, over Wanda's sleeping body.

Wanda's fingers worked faster, her eyes squeezing shut, thighs spreading wider. 

She thought about what her body remembered that her mind had missed. Natasha's hands on her chest in the dark, learning her through sleep without asking permission. Her sleeping body chasing the contact, rolling forward for it, working toward something her conscious mind had no access to.

She thought about the sound of it. Even just the sound of Natasha’s fingers. The wet sound of her own arousal at that light contact, audible in the quiet room, telling Natasha everything about the state of her without Wanda being awake to feel embarrassed about it.

Her free hand found her breast and she pressed hard, her fingers moving faster between her thighs.

She suddenly pictured a hand over her mouth, and her mind filled in the blanks to confirm it had happened.

The easy authority of pressing Natasha’s palm flat over Wanda's mouth while her tongue worked her from below—the weight of it, the casual claiming of it. Holding Wanda down and muffling her and taking what she wanted with the complete, untroubled possession of something that had already decided. That was the thing underneath all the rest of Natasha. The thing that lived past the body count and the tactical efficiency. The thing that had no name except mine and applied it with no hesitation and no acknowledgment that three days of silence had any bearing on the situation.

"Bože," Wanda breathed, and her magic cracked against the window again, harder.

She thought about Natasha's mouth on her in the dark. Not abstractly. With the tenderness between her thighs and the wetness still on her fingers and everything her body was confirming about how thoroughly Natasha had taken her apart. That mouth that could recite seventeen ways to end a life in a flat, amused voice. That had been between her thighs in the grey dark, unhurried, tasting her slowly, working her tongue against her clit while Wanda slept and dreamed of something she couldn't see clearly and woke up ruined.

The image of it—Natasha's face between her thighs, her red hair loose, completely focused, completely unbothered by everything between them—made Wanda's hips jerk hard against her own hand.

She thought about those thighs on either side of her head last night. The same thighs. The same controlled muscle that had ended that man in Eastern Europe with a single twist, caging her face in the dark, holding her while Natasha took what she'd come for. The knowledge of what they could do, sitting underneath everything else like a frequency she'd never stopped hearing since that mission.

She thought about Natasha's hands pressing the underwear down her thighs in the dark while she slept. Folding them. Pocket.

She thought about the body count. Seventeen ways. Natasha telling her once—not as threat, just as fact, just information being shared—and the way arousal had moved through her at the sheer flat certainty of it. That woman. That body. Between her thighs last night, unhurried, taking what it wanted. Covering her mouth with one hand and holding her down with the other and not stopping until she'd had what she'd come for.

That same body had been careful with her.

Had used all of it to make her cum in her sleep and then folded her tank top and walked back down the hall.

The orgasm hit her like something structural giving way all at once. The lamp base shattered. The mirror cracked clean across its center. Both hands went over her mouth and Natasha's name was behind her teeth, held there, pressed back, while her whole body seized off the mattress and her magic flooded the room scarlet for several long bright seconds before collapsing entirely inward.

She lay there.

The room was quiet. Morning light through the curtains. Mirror cracked. Hands shaking. The smell of her own arousal on her fingers and the satisfied wrung-out ache in her body and the folded tank top still on the mattress beside her.

She was still angry. She held onto this with both hands because it was the only sensible thing left in the room. The thing between them had not been resolved. Natasha had not apologized. The silence was presumably still standing.

She was also—she pressed her wrist to her forehead, which was burning—completely undone in a way her own hand had very little to do with.

Wanda looked at the tank top.

She picked it up and held it, feeling the texture of it on her still trembling fingers.

Then she got out of bed and went to the dresser and opened the second drawer and put it back flat, smoothed careful and even so she'd find it easily next time she went looking.

She did not examine why she was already certain there would be a next time.

(-)

Down the hall, Natasha sat on the edge of her own bed in the grey morning with her jacket still on and the folded cotton still in the pocket, and listened.

The crack of Wanda's magic through the walls. The flare of it—scarlet even through solid plaster, she'd learned to feel it—and then the silence.

The corner of her mouth moved.

Come and get that killshot, baby.

[h0tcheeet0s]

pov: dating emily prentiss

[h0tcheeet0s]

pov: dating emily prentiss

[ssaprentissdimples]

Faking It

Summary: Emily finds out you’ve been keeping a secret from her and rectifies the situation.

Word count: 3.3k

Tags: bau!reader, established relationship, season 5/6ish Emily, JJ and Garcia non sexual appearance.

A/N: I’m not gonna lie this is gratuitous as hell.

Inspired by *some* true events. Enjoy!

Warnings: PWP, slight degradation, mommy kink, fingering (r receiving), cunnilingus (r receiving), facesitting, mutual masturbation, top!Emily, bottom!reader, multiple orgasms, MDNI, 18+, Men (why would you even be here).

You hadn’t had a proper girls night in weeks. From cases bringing the team to California to Wyoming to Florida, anywhere except home. You were all exhausted and in need of some relaxation. Penelope was usually the one to host but Emily insisted that you christen the new place. It had been almost a year of you and Emily being together. Two months of you both living together. At first you thought it would change the dynamic of the team. That Derek would start to be weird around you now that he couldn’t openly flirt, that Spencer wouldn’t know how to register it in his big beautiful brain, that Hotch would purposefully and constantly separate the two of you. To your surprise no one cared. Just like Emily knew they wouldn’t.

“What do you think we’re the first two agents to ever date?” You remembered her saying this to you over your lunch hour downtown. While you were both still figuring out what things were between the two of you.

When you filed the paperwork with Strauss and Hotch you thought for sure it would ruin the team. That in a couple of months you’d have to switch departments. It all stayed the same. Except of course for some minor teasing. Derek couldn’t help himself when he saw the both of you come into the office together now every morning. Dubbing you and Emily as The Lovebirds.

Girls nights were no different. You, JJ, Penelope, and Emily would get together and share bottles of wine, food, gossip, and laughter. Tonight however, Penelope begged to play a few rounds of never have I ever.

“Okay okay okay guys let me go first,” Penelope waved her arms around the room to shush the groans of protest both JJ and Emily gave her.

“Never have I ever gotten a drunken tattoo,” Penelope excitedly put a finger down.

“Isn’t the point of this game to have as many fingers up as possible?” JJ asked with all ten fingers in the air.

“The point of this game is to bond. Don’t you want to know how and why and where I got this tattoo?” Penelope quipped.

“Pen, I know everything about you. If we bond any further we’re going to fuse together,” JJ replied.

“Fine then Jennifer, since we’re so close why don’t you go,” Penelope faked annoyance.

“Ladies, ladies come on please no fighting tonight,” Emily started, “I’ll go. I have a good one,”

You laughed to yourself watching JJ and Penelope taunt one another like sisters. Emily looked over at you before she took her turn.

“Never have I ever had sex at work,” Emily put a finger down and nudged your side for you to follow suit.

“No!” Penelope drew out the word. You rolled your eyes.

“I thought we said we wouldn’t tell anyone about that!” You covered your face in embarrassment.

“When did this even happen? Where? Is the better question actually. Start there, where?” JJ questioned both of you.

“it was when we first started dating. In the filing room,” you couldn’t get yourself to look at Emily but you could feel the smile radiating off of her.

“How- guys, come on ew! It’s so dusty in there,” Penelope faked disgust.

“Trust me Penelope we were not worried about dust,” Emily beamed.

“JJ, come on, it’s your turn,” you desperately wanted to move on to something more tame.

“Ok. Oh!! Never have I ever faked an orgasm,” JJ pointedly kept her hands raised without a finger down. Both you and Penelope put a finger down.

“You guys are such liars. Never?” You asked.

“I don’t have the time to fake it, you’re either doing the job or you’re not,” JJ said nonchalantly.

“Wow I wish I had your confidence in my early twenties, I thought orgasms were a myth until I was 26,” Penelope joked. You, JJ, and Emily, all laughed with Penelope who turned to you.

“I can’t imagine you not being up front about anything,”

“I get nervous sometimes. Like if I’m taking longer than I expect to, or if I’m tired,”

“Honey, you’re speaking in present tense,” Emily chuckled.

You look away from Emily. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of your friends and coworkers. Penelope picks up her glass of wine from the coffee table averting her eyes to take a long sip. There’s a stretch of silence that you all uncomfortably sit in until you try to muster up the words.

“I-“ you don’t know what to say to Emily, how to calm the storm that you’re sure has already started within her.

“When?” She asks fully turning her back on the company you presently have in your house.

“Em…” you motion with your eyes that you still do in fact have company over.

“Last night?” She asks in shock.

“Emily…” you plead.

“This morning????” Her voice raises by an octave or two.

“Emily!” You groan closing your eyes and rubbing at your temples to lessen the mortification.

JJ tries to jump in, changing the topic, “I absolutely love this rug! Where did you guys get it again?”

Penelope rests her free hand on JJ’s shoulder, “this night just got so much more interesting, please do not ruin it with interior design questions,”

You break eye contact for a moment from the scorching brown looking back at you.

“Anyone want more wine?” you ask meekly.

Penelope and JJ look between themselves and you and Emily. Before they can reply you’re already up on your feet and to the kitchen. Before you can return you hear JJ’s voice politely make an excuse to leave. Something about it getting late and getting back to the boys. JJ who has to practically drag Penelope out, waves goodbye to you as she mouths sorry as she passes the kitchen to the front door.

You pull a glass down from the cabinet and grab some water from the sink. Wanting to extinguish the growing fire of embarrassment inside of you as you see Emily picking up empty glasses and dirty plates to bring them over to the kitchen.

“My angel…” she hugs you from behind after she sets whatever she has down in her hands.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” She asks. You turn to face her and you can’t help the pit of anxiety that’s started to form in your stomach.

“I’m sorry Em… I just.. I didn’t want… I don’t know. I thought everyone faked it sometimes,” you couldn’t make eye contact with her. She was holding your face in her hands, caressing the sides of your cheeks.

“Sometimes?” Emily asked hopefully.

“Most times,” you conceded. She kissed the top of your forehead before she started to kneel in front of you.

“Em? What are you doing?” You asked as she rubbed the sides of your thighs up and down. She leaned forward off of her heels to unbutton the jeans you were wearing.

“I’m going to take my time. And make you cum as many times as I can,” she kissed just below your belly button and you could feel the prickle of goosebumps starting to form.

“Emily, come on, it’s okay really, I take way too long, it’s not you,” you lean down slightly trying to get her to get up.

“Baby, I don’t care if I have to go down on you for two hours, I want you to feel good, and I want you to be able to tell me that you do, I should know your body,” she pins your arms to your sides and all you can do is gulp at the thought of her head between your thighs for as long as you’d like.

“Let me make up for all the other times my love, please,” the tone of her voice sends you into a spiral. Emily pouts as she looks up at you and you almost lose it. With your hands caressing her face, petting her hair, you nod imperceptibly and she’s slowly dragging the denim down your legs. leaving kisses in the wake of exposed skin. Your fingers clutch onto the counter behind you as you close your eyes and let yourself get lost in the sensation of the intimacy with Emily. When she sees the small damp spot in your underwear she groans into your clothed pussy. You let out a soft moan and she looks up at you with those beautiful long lashes that frame her doe eyes.

“Baby,” Emily’s voice is breathy, and she can’t stop herself from touching you, rubbing the backs of your calves and running her hands up to your thighs. You lick your lips and anticipation but suddenly she’s up on her feet again, kissing you.

“Let’s go to our room Angel, I want you to be comfortable,” she says against your lips. She takes your hands and pulls you down the hallway. She kisses you against the wall of the room, her hands sliding beneath your thin t-shirt, “is this what you want?” Your breath hitches as her fingers trace the underside of your bare chest. You go to nod your head and her other hand tangles in your hair pulling your head back as she leaves a trail of kisses up and down your neck. “Tonight. You’re going to use your words baby. So I know exactly what you want.”

You can only muster up a weak “ok,”

“Then answer me. Say, ‘Yes Mommy, this is what I want,’” her hand dips below your underwear. Staying above where you desperately want her. You repeat the words back to her and she moves her fingers to collect your wetness. She starts to play with your pussy.

“You’re dripping my love,” she laughs into the crook of your neck and you feel yourself tighten around nothing, “I’m going to make you cum on my fingers first, and then my mouth, and then I want to watch you cum on your fingers. Okay?” You can feel yourself get wetter as she talks to you. You know she can feel it too because she picks up the speed on your clit making you moan out. You shake your head yes as you say “okay,”

“And you better not fucking fake it,” she kisses you deeply as she finally plunges her pointer and middle finger into you. Your body arches off the wall as your head is thrown back. You’re practically riding Emily’s fingers as she raises your shirt over your tits to take a nipple in her mouth.

“Fuckk, Em, I’m close,” you can feel a knot building in the pit of your stomach as she pumps her fingers in and out of you. You’re close to climax when she pulls her fingers out. You open your eyes to a smug Emily sucking your juices off her fingers. Your eyebrows furrow when you’re about to ask her why she stopped, she takes your shirt fully off and turns you around so you’re facing the wall before you can even get the words out.

“I’m sorry baby, I know you were close. I have to make you work for it a little bit, spread your legs for me my love,” she taps on either side of your thighs to get your legs open. Her fingers dip from your opening to your clit as she kisses your left shoulder blade. She slides back with ease and you let yourself fall against the wall a bit. Emily finds the perfect rhythm and you can hear your wetness echoing in the room between both of your grunts. She leans over you to take one of your boobs in her free hand and she toys with your nipple. Emily’s fingers start moving slower but harder and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you chant, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” she slams her perfect slender fingers into you again and again.

“Let me hear you baby, does that feel good?” She checks in which only makes your pussy wetter.

You let out a shaky reply, “fuck, yes, Em, I’m going to cum,”

Emily pounds into you, “you better. I want you to make a mess on my fingers baby. Go ahead, take your time angel, cum when you’re ready,” she squeezes your nipple and you can feel your orgasm hurdling towards you. You push back on her fingers and hear the lewd noises your pussy makes every time she pushes deeper into you. Emily leans down to bite your shoulder and you see stars with how hard you come on her fingers.

“I’m cumming, em, fuck, I’m cumming,” she slows her movements letting you ride out the wave of your orgasm. Your body jerks when she fully pulls her fingers out. You turn yourself around shakily,

“Mmm that was perfect,” you lean against the wall boneless as Emily towers over you with one hand supporting her, her other hands comes up to her mouth, you see her two fingers covered in a milky sheen before she pulls them between her perfect lips. She closes her eyes as to savor the taste and you feel a warmth growing low in your belly. You bite your lip to hold back a moan that still somehow escapes. Emily’s fingers leave her mouth and she licks her lips, she leans in closer to you, “get on the bed. Now.” You do as you’re told and sit perched on the bed as you watch Emily saunter over to you taking off items of clothing one by one. Yours eyes don’t know where to focus when her bra comes off revealing her perfect tits. The long expanse of her toned thighs makes your mouth water. When she finally gets to the bed she’s naked and you’re wetter than you were before. She’s on top of you in an instant kissing you slowly as you trace your fingers tips against her back, dipping down just above her back dimples. She pulls you closer by guiding your legs on either side of her waist and you whimper against her mouth. You take a fingers and trace up and down her spine, feeling each vertebrae. You know the sensation drives her crazy and it does. She repositions both of you so that you’re now on top of her. Grinding against her, you hear her moan between kisses, her tongue entering your mouth slowly. You let yourself melt into her touch, into her mouth into the moment. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and yanks, causing you to grind harder into her.

“Sit on my face” Emily sounds desperate for you to follow her instructions. You follow them without hesitation. You move above Emily, trying to find the perfect position as you feel her hands forcibly yank at your hips. “Sit baby,” you feel your stomach tighten at the possessiveness. You hold onto the headboard as you feel Emily’s tongue flat against your opening, making its way to your clit as she moans into you. You let out a low moan yourself as you lightly rock your hips against her mouth. “Fuck baby, go ahead ride my face, use me,” she says with her mouth full. You can feel yourself practically dripping onto her chin. Emily sticks out her tongue as you rock your hips back and forth. You drop a hand down to find the top of her head. Her perfect silky hair between your fist as you literally fuck yourself against her mouth. Emily places a hand over one of your boobs finding your nipple and pinching as she begins to rub her nose against your clit, making your hips falter in movement as you get closer to your second orgasm of the night.

“Emily- fuck,” you screw your eyes shut as she repositions her hands on either side of your hips to move you up and down so her tongue can enter your dripping opening. You hear a muffled “mmm,” the vibration bringing you over the edge. Your hips jerk before you dismount from Emily’s face.

You lay on your back with a smile plastered on your face. Emily who’s looking up at you with nothing but love in her eyes, sits up slightly, “you okay?” She asks.

“Yes, baby, I’m perfect. I believe I owe you one more orgasm, don’t I?” You ask innocently as your hands wander your own body. You smile at an idea that comes to you. “Can I ask you…” you look over to Emily. She’s on her side closer to you so that she’s looking down into your eyes, tracing patterns into your bare shoulder.

“Yes angel, anything you want,” her voice is above a whisper.

“Can you to touch yourself while I touch myself,” you pull the corner of your lip into your mouth as the request comes out.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to stop myself while I watched you,” Emily leans down to kiss you.

You move yourself against the headboard as she sits opposite you, propped up on an elbow. She licks her bottom lip as she watches you move your fingers to your mouth coating them before they move to your clit in slow and precise circles.

“Fuckk look at you. Playing with your perfect pussy for mommy?” Emily puts a hand between her thighs as she watches you fuck yourself. When you see her middle and ring fingers plunge into her opening you moan as you begin to rub your clit a bit faster. You bring your free hand up to fondle your tit.

“Yes, mommy fuck,” you keep your eyes locked on your girlfriend’s fingers disappearing inside of her, listening to her squelching pussy as you start for your entrance.

“I want to see you come on your fingers for me,” her eyes flutter close for a second as she curls her fingers, finding the perfect spot. You nod with your mouth agape a croaked moan escaping. You can’t believe your eyes, looking over at a naked Emily Prentiss splayed out on your bed knuckles deep in her pussy. you feel yourself flutter around your fingers at the thought of cumming at the same times as her.

“Mommy I’m so close,” you can barely get the words out as you work yourself towards bliss, “come with me? Please?”

Emily breathing is ragged as she nods her head furiously, relentlessly pounding into herself as you watch her bring her fingers almost completely out and plunging back in. “Mhm, yes, fuckkk,” she lets her elbow rest, laying completely on her back with her legs wide as you watch her with heavy eyes. Your fingertips touch the ridges of your g-spot bringing you closer to your third and final orgasm. Looking over you see Emily’s thighs begin to shake.

“Baby, I’m going to cum, cum with me,” she says breathlessly.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel your stomach drop like you’re on a rollercoaster.

“I’m cumming, fuck, fuck,” you slow your movements as Emily comes at the same time. You feel your orgasm move through the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You pull your fingers out and crawl over to Emily who pulls you into her side bonelessly.

“That was..” Emily starts to say but you finish for her, “fucking amazing,”

“See what can happen when you’re open and honest with me?” She chuckles, ushering for you to rest your head against her chest.

“If this was the consequence of my actions maybe I should keep it up,” you joke.

“If you think you weren’t cumming before, wait until I edge you for months on end,” she rebuts.

“You don’t have it in you,” you challenge looking up at her.

“Want to find out?” She looks down at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Okay, okay,” you raise a hand in mock defense.