marvel oneshots

wandanat | taste that your lips allow ( s )

summary - after a morning of insatiable teasing, wanda and natasha take turns completely undoing you

word count - 2.5k

warnings - soft dom natasha, soft dom wanda, teasing, lingerie, hickies, fingering, nipple play, choking, edging, oral (r and wanda receiving), begging, thigh grinding, face riding, nipple sucking, orgasms

Wanda has a knack for messing with the thermostat when you and Natasha leave, even if it's just for a few hours. Your comfortable apartment might as well be decorated in icicles if she had her way, the wooden floorboards so chilly that your entire body tenses when the first bare foot is laid upon them after returning home from the shops. You groan Wanda's name into the otherwise quiet space (save for the buzz of the air conditioner that's working overtime to accommodate her request), pulling your arms tightly to your middle, practically drowning in her oversized hoodie that engulfs a third of your body. You shimmy out of your denim shorts, letting them pool around your ankles before taking a step forward, attempting, and failing, at adapting to the frigid shock that's traveling up your body at lightning speed with every step toward the door.

Wanda snickers, knowing exactly what she's being scolded for without any additional context. Natasha grumbles beneath her breath, coming out of the closet with a new set of comfy clothes on her body. Your girlfriend looks entirely domestic in her pajama bottoms and t-shirt, but the sharpness of her jaw and darkness of her eye reminds you of who she really is, and what she's capable of. It's not often that Natasha carries this energy home with her, but she's been set in a mood for the last few days that has your muscles aching and thighs squeezing together, though she's yet to relieve that second issue. She's been teasing you for hours today, your outting to the shops no exception, seeing as she dragged you to each and every lingerie boutique with a sinister smirk on her lips and gave you a healthy description of the ways she'd fuck you into hell in every single skimpy set she suggested.

The thermostat is across the apartment in Natasha's office, and you'd think that would mean the temperature of your space would remain consistent, considering Natasha craves consistency, but whenever she has the chance, Wanda's grimey fingers sneak around the dial and twist it down to the low sixties. You have a suspicion she does it so that you and Natasha cuddle into her warm energy, the scarlet vibrations beneath her skin an incentive to cuddle close, but you can't be entirely sure. Mostly because every time you've suggested that reason to her she denies it with a vicious scowl.

Where Wanda is in the apartment, you're not entirely sure. She wasn't in the kitchen when you came back from the shops and shouted your greetings with arms full of bags, and she's not in your bedroom or Natasha's office, but she's close enough that her muffled laughter was audible from the bedroom, meaning she's most likely waiting to catch you in the act of tampering with her air conditioning. On high alert, you hurriedly shuffle into Natasha's office, letting the cream walls surround you and all of her possessions dance in your viewpoint as you make a b-line for the thermostat. Your fingers barely brush against the ridges of the knob before you feel hands snake around your waist and pull you backward. Your back rests against her chest, the material of her t-shirt rubbing against the material of her hoodie that you've stolen without permission. A shiver runs up your spine, and whether it's from the cold or sheer anticipation, you're not entirely sure.

Her hot breath tickles the back of your neck, furthering the sensation of too hot and too cold that's quickly spreading across your body and down the very center of your bones. If bone marrow could evaporate from internal heat, you're entirely sure that inside of your body would be dryer than a dessert right now. You lean back into her, finally becoming lax in her grip rather than tense from shock and adrenaline. One hand stays around your middle, while the other runs down your body until it reaches the bare skin of your thigh. Her fingers are warm, and the faint pulse of electricity beneath her skin is noticeable as she drags her fingers upward, now snaking beneath the fabric of her hoodie and scoping out your pantie situation without shame. Wanda is always warm, no thanks to the magic that she harbors in her soul, but it's become a comfort even on hot summer days when she can't get her hands off of you for longer than a few minutes.