Work Text:
One
Natasha is always there. When dreams of perfume turn to smoke, seeping into her lungs and filling her cold throat with a name that she can’t pinpoint, when her subconscious rips it out of her chest and into the dark room, Natasha holds Wanda in her arms as loud cries are turned into muffled whimpers. Wanda doesn’t have as many bad dreams when Natasha is near her, and when the occasional nightmare slips through the thoughts of scarlet lips and fiery hair, it’s dull and muted. It does not stir either of them until Wanda's wispy eyelashes are fluttering open and the memories of the night before are filling her eyes. Her head is resting against a strong shoulder, and crimson hair tickles her nose as she buries her face further into Natasha’s warmth. A lean arm is curled around her waist, and Wanda reminds the cold, empty feeling in her gut to dissolve.
Two
On the days when her brain is on repeat, pushing the memory of Pietro’s bullet-ridden body and her parents’ lifeless eyes into a spotlight, Natasha holds her. The better days consist of Natasha tracing the dips and curves of her body with her thin fingers or playing absentmindedly with her hair. The worse days, Wanda is on lockdown. She does not speak unless the words are in the form of echoing, grinding wails or the sound of glass breaking against the beige walls. Natasha presses and muffles the cries against her chest, and takes most of the blows from Wanda’s powers willingly. She always hides the way the suppressed memories hurt when they are ripped from the deepest parts of her brain with red fingers.
Three
Natasha is delicate. Not in the physical way, she is much too deadly for that, but her capacity for carrying the weight of memories dwindles every once in awhile. She will see a movie on television or someone will say something, then she stays in the dark, reliving the memories. Wanda settles next to Natasha as the tears fall. She reminds Nat that she loves her, that the team cares about her, as her breathing becomes labored and rough. Wanda understands, she gets it more than anyone, and only sends soothing memories from a distance when the pain becomes too much. They never talk about it, just like they never speak about Wanda’s meltdowns.
Four
There is something insanely captivating about Natasha. The way she walks on silent feet, the way her lips curl around rich laughs, and how graceful she looks no matter what she is doing.
Nat’s red lips are a statement, Wanda thinks, a dare to cross her and she’ll see just if your spilled blood matches the color across her lips. She loves the way that Natasha allows herself an indulgence when it rains, the way she rushes outside, whirls and spins as her hair billows out around the crown of her head. The colors always seem to cascade towards her, with her opalescent eyes tipped towards the slate sky and arms spread wide; welcoming the steady stream of drops onto her skin. When Natasha returns inside, her hair is peppered with water and her eyes are shining along with the beads of dew collecting in her eyelashes and in the hollows of her cheeks.
When she sleeps, her red locks are fanned out around her head. A few strands of glossy hair are plastered to her pillowy lips with sweat and saliva, and her nimble fingers are wrapped in the sheets with the ghosts of groans and shrieks. Legs are wrapped around pillows and toes are curled into fabric and fingers are knotted in hair.
The swing of her hips and the toss of her head, the arch of her eyebrows and the curled edge of ruby lips, the green of her piercing eyes and the red of her hair; it’s all so captivating to Wanda. Everything about Natasha makes her head spin and her heartbeat quicken.
Five
Natasha’s lips. The first time they kiss, it’s pouring outside, and Wanda is giggling like the life had been put back in her by the cloudy sky. Natasha is trying to convince her to come back inside, because the storm is picking up and she doesn’t want Wanda to catch a cold. Wanda grins at her for all of one second and then drags Nat - clad in cotton pajama pants and a tank top - into the rain by her hands. Wanda’s bare feet slide on the wet grass as she spins and spins around, pulling Natasha with her, and she’s laughing and shrieking with joy. They stop, Natasha places a hand on Wanda’s neck, and she has an expression of pure excitement and terror on her face, like she wants to do this more than anything else, but is scared of what will happen afterwards. But their faces end up pulled close and Natasha’s painted lips touch Wanda’s bare ones.
Their mouths press against one other’s softly, tenderly. When Wanda pulls back for air, her pupils are dilated and her chest is heaving. Wanda has pulled Natasha back in by the back of her neck. This time, the kiss is faster and needier than the last, because both of them have craved this for as long as they can remember.
It ends with a huff and Wanda marveling at how soft Natasha's lips are. Their eyes are shut and foreheads touching and grins are plastered across their faces. The first to open their eyes is Natasha, and when she does, giggles at the red smudged across Wanda’s mouth.
Somewhere in Stark Tower, the team is watching with bated breath and dazzling smiles. “Finally,” Someone whispers.
They all agree.
(They both totally get the flu.)