Your girlfriends were so smart, it was almost infuriating. Yes, the legal jargon they exchanged back and forth with their needlessly convoluted barbs swung way over your head (literally, seeing as how you were nestled quite comfortably in either of their laps whenever they decided to have a go of it), wasn't exactly a turn-off.

What did piss you off, though, was how apparently, miraculously, when it was your turn to focus; they seemingly had nothing better to do than bother you incessantly. They, meaning Nat. Wanda is a sweet, sweet angel—as always. (Except when she's not).

"Babe, c'mon. You're gonna get square eyes if you keep starin' at that screen." Natasha grumbles into your shoulder, peering at your laptop with supreme disinterest as her nails dragged, lazily along your cheek. Natasha Romanoff, begging for attention? Impossible. Natasha Romanoff, nagging for your attention, however—

"Hon, leave her alone." Wanda's voice is gracious, soothing and a godsend. Your girlfriend's hand curls into your other girlfriend's hair, and Natasha makes a sound between a grunt and an exhale, obviously trying to restrain a whine at the feeling. Her rep is hanging in the balance— or whatever. Neither Wanda or you have the heart to tell her her rep lost any weight between the two of you, the first time —drowsily whining for someone to come back and keep 'snuggling' will do that.

"Wanna bounce her on my c𖧋ck, though." Natasha mumbles into your neck, deceptively innocent. Both you and Wanda freeze in place. You can feel Natasha's lips twitch into a smug smirk, and you're about to shove her off, incredulous, before Wanda hums—tone shifting to a drop-off that couldn't get any more obvious. "Well, in that case.."

Oh, they can't be serious.