summary: when natasha returns from a mission wounded and with a target on her back, the last thing she wants is a bodyguard
word count: 4.2k
warnings: gun violence, injury, blood, heavy emotions, angst, hurt/comfort, natasha being mean to reader
an: this is a very old draft, but still there’s something about nat having to rely on someone else 🤭
☀️ Summer with A masterlist ☀️
The compound is quiet when you arrive. Quieter than you expected for a place housing a recovering Avenger and two of the world´s most opinionated men.
You´re shown into the conference room without ceremony. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and burnt coffee. The lighting is too sharp. She´s already there.
Natasha Romanoff.
Leaning against the edge of the table, one arm crossed tight across her ribs, the other gripping the edge like it might anchor her to the ground. A thick bandage is wrapped beneath her loose black tank top, peeking out from under the strap. She´s pale, but not fragile. You wouldn´t dare think that. Not out loud.
Her eyes cut to you like blades, then immediately dismiss you. Cold, unreadable. You´ve seen those eyes on screens before, dissecting threats, calculating exits. But never aimed directly at you.
She doesn’t say hello.
Tony clears his throat awkwardly beside her, "so, uh, you´re the shadow we hired."
You nod, "agent (Y/L/N)."
Steve gives you a nod of approval, "highly recommended. Top tier. Quiet. Efficient."
Tony nods, not sure if he´s supposed to say something more.
"Is this a joke?" Natasha’s voice slices through the room like a whip. "I don’t need a babysitter."
"No one said babysitter," Steve says gently. "But you're still recovering. They’re just here in case-"
"In case I forgot how to shoot a gun?" She´s not happy you´re there.
You don’t move. You don’t flinch. You’ve been trained to take hostility like a wall takes weather, absorbing, never reacting.
Tony sighs, "look, we’re not saying you’re helpless. But the people you pissed off in Lublin didn’t take that personally. They took it... organizationally."
"They’re still watching," Steve adds. "We’ve intercepted chatter. You’re a target, Natasha."
"So let me deal with it."
"You’re hurt," Tony says flatly.
The silence that follows is sharp and ugly. You can feel it stretch between the three of them like a wire ready to snap.
Natasha turns, eyes boring into yours again, "I don’t want them here."
"Doesn’t matter," Steve says, "It’s not your call."
Her jaw clenches. She storms past you without another word, brushing your shoulder hard as she moves. You catch the faintest wince in her movement, she’s still hurting, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.
Tony mutters under his breath, "welcome to the world’s worst job."
You don’t respond. You just turn and follow her out, one step behind. Silent. Present.
Unwanted. But necessary.
You trail her through the compound like a ghost, present but silent, visible only when she chooses to acknowledge you, which is never.
She walks fast. Too fast. You can tell it’s costing her.
You notice it in the way she favors one side, the ever-so-slight hitch in her step when she thinks no one’s looking. The way her hand occasionally presses to her side under her jacket like she's trying to keep herself from tearing open. Whatever happened out there, it wasn’t a clean wound.
But she acts like you’re the enemy.
She leaves rooms the moment you step inside. She closes doors in your face. She makes phone calls just loud enough for you to hear phrases like "completely unnecessary" and "I don’t need a leash."
The worst part?
No one corrects her. Maybe they are afraid to confront her or maybe they silently think the same... at the end you´re not one of them.
By the end of the day, you’ve followed her through three hallways, two locked training rooms and an empty gym. She hasn’t eaten. She hasn’t stopped. And by the way she’s gripping her ribs beneath that jacket, you’re certain she hasn’t taken her meds either.
When you finally catch up, she’s in the west wing stairwell. Not the elevator. Of course not.
You see her halfway up the stairs, hand white-knuckling the rail. She pauses, weight shifted to the wall. One breath. Two. Her head bows for just a second and she flinches. Barely. But it’s there. Pain, sharp and unwelcome.
Your instincts fire before you think better of them.
You move to her side, steady, calm, "you shouldn’t be walking stairs."
Her head snaps toward you, venom in her eyes, "back off."
"I’m just-"
"I said back the hell off!"
The words hit like a slap. Her voice cracks at the edges, too raw to be rage alone. Her body trembles from the effort of staying upright. But still she stands taller. Still she glares.
You stay still.
"I didn’t ask for this," she spits. "I don’t want you watching me limp around like a broken thing. So save the concerned-agent routine and just stay out of my way."
There’s silence. You breathe in slowly. You don’t look away, even when she does.
"I’m not here to babysit you," you say, voice steady. "I’m here to protect you. You don’t have to like it. But you don’t have to bleed out on a stairwell to prove something either."
Her fingers twitch at her side. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Maybe she’s too tired. Maybe the pain is finally loud enough that it cuts through the fury.
"Let me help you," you say softly. "Just this once."
She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t push you away when you step closer. Doesn’t stop you when you guide her hand to your shoulder, steadying her weight.
You feel her hesitate, just for a second, like she’s trying to decide whether she’s more ashamed of the pain or of needing help.
The next few steps are slow. Her body’s warm, but full of tention against yours. Her breathing shallow. You don’t ask what happened. She wouldn’t tell you. But whatever it was... it broke something. Something she’s not ready to admit. And though you're trained to be calm, steady, impassive, it still stings.
Not the silence. Not the anger.
But the look in her eyes that tells you she'd rather be alone in agony than lean on anyone, even for a second. And you wonder, quietly, how long she's been like that. How long she’s been fighting without letting anyone see her bleed.
Natasha wanted to have a few minutes so she can change her clothes. After some minutes, you knock at her door.
No answer. You open the door anyway.
She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, back to the door, still in the same damn clothes she’s been wearing since morning. There’s a dark stain on her side. Blood. Old or new, you can’t tell from here.
"I said I didn’t want company," she mutters, voice low and frayed.
You hold up the painkillers in one hand, a bottle of water in the other, "not company... orders."
She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t even look at you. "You can leave them on the table," she says, "I’ll get to them when I feel like it."
"No," you say simply. "You’ll get to them now."
There’s a pause. A beat. Then she turns her head, slow, deliberate.
Her expression is ice, "do you have a death wish?" she says, voice sharp like a blade.
"No," you reply. "But I have my orders. And I’m sorry, but I don’t really care what you’re going to say. You’re in pain. You’re bleeding through your shirt. And you’re not helping yourself."
She stands suddenly, sharp and unsteady. You take a step forward instinctively, and she hates that, you can see it in her jaw, the twitch in her hands.
"You think I need help?" she spits. "In the most secure building on the planet? Surrounded by gods and supersoldiers?"
"Maybe not always," you say evenly. "But right now? Yes."
She laughs bitterly, "what are you gonna do, huh? If someone does come? Pull your little gun? Throw yourself in front of me like it’s some heroic fantasy?"
You look at her, quiet for a moment. Then, "yes."
She freezes.
You step closer, your voice calm but unshaking, "yes, I would. That’s my job. That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to like it, but I´m not leaving. Not until you’re healed. Not until the threat´s gone. And not until I know you´re not going to bleed out in your sleep because your pride won´t let you take two pills."
Her eyes burn into you. Fury. Shame. Something raw. You set the pills down on the table beside her, then the water. She doesn’t touch them.
"You can hate me all you want," you add, voice steady. "You can throw every word you’ve got at me. But don’t underestimate me. I’m not some kid with a badge. I’ve been through hell to get here. And I will take a bullet for you, Romanoff. Whether you believe that or not."
The room goes still. You don’t move. You don’t look away. Her shoulders rise and fall with shallow breath. She doesn’t speak. And when you turn to go, you hear the faintest click of the pill bottle opening behind you.
It’s just few days later after seven when you notice she’s gone.
You check the security feeds. No alarms. No signs of forced exits. Just Natasha Romanoff doing what Natasha Romanoff does best, moving through shadows like they were built for her.
But she’s injured. Still not at full strength. And that alone makes your chest tighten.
You find her twenty minutes later. She’s already outside, hood up, slipping toward the exit like a ghost. Like someone who still thinks she’s alone in this.
You don’t stop her. You just wait.
By the time she reaches the compound gates, you’re already leaning against the car, arms crossed, watching her like you’ve been there all along. She slows when she sees you, lips tightening like she’s chewing on a curse she won’t say.
You push off the car casually, "where are we going?"
Natasha doesn't answer at first. Just yanks the passenger door open, slides in without meeting your eyes, and slams it shut harder than necessary. She mutters an address, low enough that anyone else would’ve missed it.
You slide into the driver’s seat, start the engine, and glance sideways at her, "I would never have guessed The Natasha Romanoff would try to sneak out like a schoolgirl breaking curfew."
She turns her head slowly, one eyebrow arched in your direction, "you know I could’ve disabled this car in three seconds if I wanted to."
"Sure," you nod, smirking slightly as you pull out of the lot. "But you didn’t."
She doesn’t reply, just turns her gaze out the window. She’s quiet the whole ride, but not in the hostile, frozen way she was before. No longer pushing. Just... holding something tight inside her chest, like a secret she’s not ready to let go of.
You glance at her again. Her posture’s tense, hand resting over her ribs again. Protective. Reflexive.
"You’re still in pain," you say gently, not as an accusation, just truth.
She doesn’t deny it. Just exhales softly, "it´s manageable."
"You should’ve told someone you were leaving the compound."
"I didn’t want to be followed."
"Then you definitely should’ve told someone."
A beat. Then, so quiet you almost don’t catch it, "I knew you’d follow me anyway."
You don’t say anything for a moment. That’s the closest thing to trust she’s given you so far.
When the silence stretches too long, you ease it with something lighter. "Well, you’re not making my job easy."
"I wasn’t trying to." She doesn’t say anything else after that. Just stares out the window again, arms folded tight across her chest.
You take the hint and let the silence settle between you. It’s not hostile, not anymore. Just... uncertain.
When you pull up to the address she gave, you’re surprised. It’s not a safe house. Not a hidden bar. Not a back alley contact or a black-market doctor.
It’s a bookstore.
Tucked between a faded coffee shop and what looks like an old tailor’s shop. No neon sign. Just a crooked little 'open' placard and a scratched bell above the door. You wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn´t led you here.
She doesn´t look at you as she gets out. Doesn´t speak. But again... she doesn’t tell you to stay in the car, either.
So you follow.
The bell chimes as you step inside, soft and tired. The shop smells like old paper and warm wood, with hints of something herbal, maybe tea, maybe dust. You blink as your eyes adjust to the cozy dim light. Shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, crooked and full.
It’s quiet here. Not the kind of quiet that demands silence, but the kind that invites it.
Natasha moves like she’s been here before. You can tell by the way she slips through the aisles, fingers brushing the shelves like they’re familiar friends. She doesn´t ask for help. Doesn´t check for cameras or exits. This is a place she trusts.
You linger near the front at first, eyes trailing over a small display of local authors. You don´t want to hover. Don´t want to make her feel watched. But you still keep her in your peripheral vision, always.
She disappears into the back for a while.
You find yourself wandering, thumbing through titles with faded covers, running your fingers over embossed letters. It’s the kind of place that slows your heartbeat just by existing.
And then you see her.
She’s standing in one of the back corners, spine slightly hunched, eyes scanning the page of a thin paperback she must´ve pulled from a bottom shelf. The angle of her body hides the title, but there’s something about her expression, focused, still, a little too soft for someone who usually wears control like armor.
You take a step closer. Not to crowd, just to be near, in case she needs you.
She notices, "you’re not going to pretend you´re just browsing?" she murmurs without looking up.
You smile faintly, "didn’t seem worth the effort."
She huffs and tucks the book under her arm and moves past you, heading back toward the counter.
You catch a glimpse of the cover this time. It’s poetry. Russian. Something clenches in your chest.
At the register, the shopkeeper greets her like an old friend. No questions. No hesitation. Just a soft smile and a quiet, "it’s good to see you again, milá."
You stand behind her, close but not touching. She doesn’t push you away. As she pays in cash, your eyes scan the shelves behind the counter. There’s a tiny ceramic wolf tucked between two books. Its glaze is cracked. You wonder if she’s ever noticed it.
When you both step back out into the night, she’s silent again. But her grip on the paper bag holding the book is tight, like something fragile might escape if she lets go.
You unlock the car and hold the door for her. She hesitates. Not long. But enough. Then she gets in and you drive back.
You’re sitting outside her door again. It’s past midnight, but you’re awake, half-reading, half-listening, always alert. You hear movement inside. Not just pacing, stumbling.
Then, after a long pause… the door creaks open. You look up.
Natasha stands there, her face is pale, her hoodie’s clinging oddly to one side of her body, like it’s soaked through.
"I…" she starts, voice rough, she swallows. "I think I reopened the stitches."
You’re on your feet instantly, "let me take a look."
She hesitates, like she instatnly regrets asking for help, but then steps aside. The room smells like blood. Faint. Metallic. You catch it before you even see the crimson seeping through her clothes, that are everywhere.
She sits on the edge of her bed slowly, like every movement costs her something. You kneel in front of her with the med kit already open, hands steady despite the sick twist in your stomach.
You’ve seen wounds before. Worse, even. But not on her.
And not like this, "I’m sorry," she mutters, not meeting your eyes. "I didn’t want to ask."
"I’m glad you did," you say quietly.
The gash along her ribs is angry and red, definitely reopened, maybe deeper. Her breathing’s shallow, probably from the pain. You clean it carefully, patching it with practiced hands.
She doesn’t flinch this time. But she watches you. Closely. You finish dressing the wound, and for a moment, she just sits there, quiet. Too quiet.
Then her voice cracks through the silence, "why did you take this assignment?"
You pause. Look up at her, "I didn’t really choose it," you admit. "But I didn’t say no, either."
"Most people would’ve."
You shake your head, "I’ve never been most people."
She huffs, quiet, almost amused. Then her eyes meet yours. "Have you ever… had a bad mission?"
You blink, caught off guard by the question. You sit back slightly, cross-legged on the floor now. "Yeah," you answer after a beat. "Twice. First time was stupid... chasing intel I should’ve walked away from. Second time... I don’t really remember. I just remember thinking I was tired, really tired and well... the rest is a mystery, but that almost caused me life."
Natasha doesn’t speak. But something shifts in her expression. She reaches over to the nightstand, pulls a small cloth-bound book from the drawer, and presses it into your hands.
A journal. Worn. Edges frayed. You don’t open it. You just look at her.
"I write down bad missions," she says. "People I couldn’t save. People I had to kill. Situations that were almost deadly, anything..." Her voice is quieter than a whisper now.
"Sometimes I forget them. That scares me more than remembering."
You don’t know what to say. Not right away. So you reach up gently, setting the book on the bed beside her.
"Natasha whatever happened back there... you also have to remember you´re also a person, you also have a name and you can´t just put yourself down. It´s okay to rest or ask for help."
She doesn’t look at you. But she hears you.
After your yestredays conversation with Natasha the walls feel suprisingly even colder today, you don´t really know why. Like the air itself knows something’s changed, but not to a good side.
You sit near the end of the table. Natasha beside you. Not close, but not distant either. Steve stands at the front, arms folded, eyes scanning the room with that heavy, level stare he gets when something’s wrong.
"Early this morning," he begins, "we confirmed a group of armed operatives from the Lublian faction out of Poland. Hydra remnants, repurposed cells. We’ve tracked them for a while, but this is the closest they’ve gotten."
He clicks the remote. A map lights up behind him. A rural region in the U.S., forests, old airstrips, winding roads.
"We found them setting up shop at a homemade airfield in the countryside. Weapons, surveillance gear, blueprints of our compound."
Your blood runs colder.
"They weren’t subtle," Steve continues. "That tells us two things: one, they’re probably just a scouting team. And two, there’s more coming. Maybe already here."
A murmur ripples through the room. "They were gathering intelligence. They had maps. Schedules. A few photos of personnel, including Natasha."
All eyes flick toward her, but she doesn’t flinch. You feel your jaw tighten.
"Which means the threat is real,” Steve finishes. "And this isn’t just about her anymore. It’s about all of us. We’re putting the compound on restricted access until we know more."
He looks directly at you then, "you stay with her. No exceptions."
You nod once, sharp and certain.
Natasha says nothing. But when the meeting ends and the room starts to clear, she stands beside you for a breath longer than necessary. And when she finally walks away, you follow.
Like always. But this time? She lets you... the next few days turns into two weeks.
It’s supposed to be routine. A quiet walk down to the lobby to check in with Hill about the latest scans. You and Natasha walk side by side, still distant, but she lets you walk just a little closer these days.
She even jokes now. Dry. Barely audible. But it was a start.
The glass windows of the compound shine in the morning light as you step into the main reception corridor. A couple agents are scattered near the front, one new face near the desk, clipboard in hand, standing too still. Your instincts scream.
You spot it before the trigger´s even pulled. The subtle raise of the elbow. The shine of metal under the clipboard.
You don’t think.
You move.
A gunshot cracks through the air like lightning.
You slam into Natasha’s side, pushing her back. Her balance goes out beneath her, but she lands behind cover. You don’t see where the bullet hits you. You just feel it, like fire lancing through your chest.
And then you hit the ground.
Hard.
Everything spins.
Her voice, panicked and furious, reaches you through the haze.
Then darkness swallows everything.
You wake to the soft beep of machines and the strange comfort of sheets too clean to be home. Your chest aches like hell.
But you're alive. You think.
And the first thing you see when your eyes blink open- is her.
Natasha Romanoff.
Slouched in the chair next to your bed, arms crossed. One foot tapping restlessly on the floor.
As if sensing you stir, she glances up and relief floods her face before she masks it with a dry smile. "Well," she says. "About time. I was getting bored without you behind my ass."
You manage a groggy smirk.
She leans forward, reaching for the water on your bedside table. Her hand brushes yours on purpose. Just barely.
"Don’t ever do that again," she murmurs.
You look at her, really look at her. Her eyes are bloodshot. Like she hasn’t slept much. But there’s something different in her now. Something gentler. No armor. No edge.
You try to sit up and wince. Immediately, her hand’s on your shoulder, keeping you still. "Easy. You were out for a week. The shot collapsed your lung. They had to operate."
"A week?" you breathe.
"Seven days," she nods. "You missed some awful coffee. And a lot of people asking how the hell you managed to take a bullet in the compound."
You huff a laugh, weak, "glad you’re okay."
That gets her. Just for a moment. Her expression softens, something caught between gratitude and guilt. Then she straightens.
"I’m watching over you now," she says, "we’re switching roles."
You raise a brow, "didn’t know you were cleared for protective detail."
"I wasn’t," she smirks. "But when has that stopped me?"
There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It's full of everything that wasn’t said before. Everything that doesn't need to be explained now.
Then a knock at the door.
Steve steps in, tablet in hand, "good timing," he says with a small nod toward you, "glad you’re awake."
Natasha doesn’t move from her seat. Doesn’t stop watching you.
Steve glances between you both and continues, "we found them. The Lublian faction, what’s left of them."
Your breath catches.
"About a day after the attack," Steve says. "We tracked chatter to a warehouse across state lines. Hydra tech, fake passports, heavy weaponry. They were planning more, but you stopped them from getting what they came for."
He looks at Natasha.
"You’re clear. No more direct threat. You can rest."
She nods slowly. Then looks back to you, "I’ll rest when they patch you up properly."
Steve gives a knowing look but doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a reassuring smile and steps back out. When the door clicks shut again, it’s just the two of you. The silence hangs there for a beat.
You glance at her, "good timing."
She blinks, "hm?"
You give her a tired little smile, "Steve. Saying the threat’s over. You’re in the clear. I guess that means my job’s done… right when I’m not in any shape to do it."
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "yeah. Real convenient."
You chuckle weakly. You feel so much more at ease with her, maybe it´s the meds in your body, but you don´t really mind it.
She leans back in the chair, arms folding, expression softening just enough, "good, now I get to be the pain in your ass."
You raise a brow, voice hoarse, "I was never a pain in yours."
"Mm," she hums, eyes twinkling now. "You flinched just now. That’s guilt."
"Muscle spasm," you lie, smirking.
Natasha leans forward, brushing a hand gently over your forehead, pushing a strand of hair out of your face like it’s the most natural thing in the world, "shut up now. Rest. No more talking."
You grin, sleep already pulling at you, "bossy."
"Damn right," she murmurs, more to herself than to you.
She hopes you won’t really remember the way she looked at you. She hopes you won’t remember how scared she was when you actually kept your word and threw yourself into the line of fire for her. She’s not used to being the one protected. Not used to caring if someone else gets hurt in her place. And maybe that’s what unsettles her most. Because whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming, she hopes it’s not just another weakness. Not another scar waiting to form. But most of all, she hopes you don’t disappear when you heal. That you’ll stay. Even when she no longer needs you to.
When Tony hires you on at Stark Industries, you meet Natasha. She isn’t sure about you at first, but once she offers to teach you self defense things begin to change
Note: I came up with this idea while I was trying to sleep lol. Enjoy!
Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist
The last few weeks since you moved into the Avenger’s compound have been the most interesting of your life.
You met several of the super powered humans, including Wanda and Steve, and Tony gave you a rundown of what your life would be like here.
He hired you as a consultant for Stark Industries, but as a fresh college graduate you didn’t have anywhere to live, so he offered for you to stay at the compound.
You were in the kitchen waiting for more instruction when Natasha, The Black Widow as you only informally knew her as then, came into the room.
“Who are you?” Natasha asked, her defenses up as she looked you over. You didn’t look like a threat but she couldn’t be sure.
“I’m y/n,” you told her. That didn’t clear anything up for her.
Natasha got closer to you and pushed you into the counter with your hands pinned behind your back.
“Who do you work for?” She asked, pressing you firmly. She could tell you were unarmed from the position.
“Tony hired me,” you squeaked through the pain of her holding you like that. “I’m a new consultant.”
Stark entered the kitchen about that time.
“Woah, Romanoff! Ease up on the new girl,” Tony said in his typical tone.
Natasha let go of you but kept close as Tony explained your role here. She didn’t love the idea of a non-Avenger staying at the compound. But she let it go for now.
It wasn’t until two weeks later that you saw Natasha again. This time it was at a party that Stark was throwing. He called it a casual hangout but there must’ve been one hundred people there.
You settled at the bar and had a conversation with Wanda, who you found was also new to the team. She was nice.
But it didn’t take long for your conversation to be interrupted by Natasha.
“So, you’re still around?” The redhead asked you. She looked you over and her eyes did like what she saw. You’d never know it though since she was on spy mode.
“I’m still around,” you answered. “I haven’t seen you around though.”
“Mission,” is all she said. A certain quiet loomed over the conversation before Nat spoke again. “Do you have any intention of becoming an Avenger?”
The question caught you off guard. You were there for business purposes but the idea of running around to help save the world sounded kind of fun too. Still, you were realistic.
“I don’t think so. I’m a businesswoman,” you answered.
“That’s all? No combat training?”
“They don’t teach that in college,” you joked. But Natasha looked despondent.
“Look, y/n, you need some training if you’re going to live here,” she said.
“Why?”
Natasha sighed. “Because you live here with a lot of highly targeted individuals and intel. If someone broke in, you need to be able to defend yourself.”
She made a good point. You wondered why she even cared if you could defend yourself.
But that’s how you find yourself now two days later standing in the training room. Wanda is on one side of the floor and you’re on the other. Natasha is teaching Wanda hand to hand combat and you how to defend yourself.
“Alright, Wanda you’re going to go for y/n. Absolutely no magic. Fight the urge to use it, okay?” Natasha says.
“I’ll try my best,” Wanda replies.
“Are you ready, y/n?” Natasha asks, turning to you. You nod. “Remember what I taught you.”
The fight goes well at first. Wanda doesn’t come at you hard, and you’re able to dodge most of her blows. But eventually she gets more confidence, and you are taking hits from her.
“Block, y/n. Block,” Natasha reminds you.
You block a few punches well. And even land a couple on Wanda. She starts to get frustrated, but you don’t notice.
When you strike her ribcage, her reaction is to send you flying with her magic. You land on the floor with a hard thud.
“I’m so sorry!” You hear Wanda shouting as the ringing in your ears subsides. “I’m so sorry.”
She’s crying. Natasha assures her it was an honest mistake.
“Hey, come on, y/n,” you hear Nat’s voice next. She turns your body over to lay on your back.
The only thing you see is her perfect green eyes with a cape of red hair around them.
“Hi Nat,” you say with a loopy grin. That pretty much confirms you have a concussion.
“Hey y/n,” she replies. She mirrors your smile. “Wanda, she’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” You hear the girl say. You sit up the best you can and look to her.
“I’m perfect, Wanda,” you tell her.
Wanda frowns and looks down at her hands. She’s upset with herself.
“Hey,” you get her attention again. “You’re still learning. It’s okay.”
Your kind words to Wanda make Natasha’s heart melt in a way she didn’t know was possible. She helps you off the ground and it’s then she notices a slight cut on your forehead.
“Let’s go take care of that,” Natasha says, gesturing to your head. She turns back to Wanda one last time before she guides you out. “Wanda, I promise it’s okay. You’ll get better at controlling it. I believe in you.”
The girl nods but retreats her room quickly. You truly hold no anger towards her.
Natasha takes you to the nearest bathroom where she tells you to sit on the counter. You sit as she gets a rag damp.
When she presses it against your cut, you wince in pain.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. She doesn’t stop what she’s doing, but she does touch you more delicately now.
She cleans the wound and puts on some cream to protect from infection before she puts a bandage on.
“Thank you, Natasha,” you say.
“Oh, I thought I was Nat now?” She replies.
You chuckle, mostly because you don’t even remember calling her that just minutes ago.
“I think I have a concussion,” you wonder aloud.
“Yeah, I think so,” Natasha laughs out. “I’ll take you to the medbay. Come on.”
“Wait!” You shout.
“What?” Nat asks.
“You didn’t kiss it,” you say simply.
Natasha raises her brow in question. You point to your cut.
“You want me to kiss your head?” She asks.
“Please, that’s the only way it’ll heal,” you say. She almost laughs, but you seem dead serious.
“Alright,” Nat says.
She takes your face in her hands and kisses your forehead softly. It’s not even where the wound is exactly but somehow it’s perfect.
“I’m telling everyone the Black Widow is soft,” you say when she’s pulled away.
“You won’t even remember any of this tomorrow, y/n,” Nat says, but she secretly hopes you will.
She walks you out of the bathroom and to the medbay where they confirm you have a concussion.
For the next few weeks, Natasha takes care of you. No one, not even you, asked her to. But it just feels right.
The day you’re officially cleared, Natasha kisses you on the lips for the first time. It is everything and more.
When Wanda keeps apologizing to you about the fight, you just smile because you know it was the moment Natasha realized she liked you.
Summary: You finally fall victim to your stepmother's charms.
Warnings: nipple play, nipple sucking, fingering, clit play, dumbification, humiliation, praise, pet names, mention of somophilia, mention of cnc, multiple mentions of a strap, forced submission (?) edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, manipulation, aftercare,
Word count. 3.6k
You tried to pay no attention to your new stepmother, Wanda. It was an impossible task to do considering how sweet the woman was to you. She’d always ask about your day, wanting to hear the tiny details of it, even if they seemed to be boring. Her green eyes made you feel safe and warm inside, sending shivers down your spine every time she took a closer look at you. You tried to brush your thoughts away, clinging to your morality and desire of building a healthy relationship with the woman. There were so many other girls you could’ve tried to lay your eyes on, but somehow none of them made you feel the way Wanda did.
You sat by your desk, with your eyes glued to your computer, trying to finish homework for University. It was way past midnight, and you pushed yourself through the sleepiness trying to complete the reading before morning. You heard a short knock at the door, followed by Wanda slowly entering the room. She wore a long silky nightgown that clung to her body tight, highlighting her figure well. Her hair was long and messy, it was obvious she was either getting ready to sleep or just taking a nap. You immediately swallowed your spit, looking back at the screen, purposely shifting away your focus.
“Yes?” you asked, trying to sound bothered, but your voice came out cracking instead.
“I don’t like when you stay up so late, you need to rest,” she said, walking closer to you. Her voice sounded so soft, it made you want to follow her advice. Wanda made her way across the room, ending up standing behind your chair, her stomach pushing into the back of it. You felt guilty for feeling tingles in your stomach every time she commanded you to do something.
“Well… I can make my own decisions, and I’m going to stay up late,” you said, battling through your emotions, so desperately trying to bury how you felt about her.
“I’m just looking out for you,” she said, her hands landing on your shoulders. You felt electrified under her touch, closing your eyes as you felt her rub her wrists in circles, relieving the tension in your back muscles.
“Are you stressed honey? What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone light and caring. The way she touched you was gentle and careful. It wasn’t often you got a back massage from anyone and you wondered if that’s why it felt so good, or perhaps because it came from her.
“I’m… fine” you whispered, barely being able to control the sound of your voice. It sounded so weak, trembling under her touch. Wanda took her hands away, and you sighed, longing after her contact.
A moment of silence struck the air but it didn’t feel awkward, rather had a lot of tension settling in the room. You felt her hand touch you once again, this time traveling to your chest. She gently slit her fingers from your stomach up to your hard nipples, innocently brushing against them as she moved back to your shoulders. It was so smooth that it could be easily perceived as a mistake but you knew it wasn’t.
“Wanda” you whispered, not being able to say anything else but her name. You didn’t even want to protest, or question her, just ease yourself to her will.
The woman didn’t say anything, she pulled up a chair closer to your desk, settling herself next to you. You thought about what she would say to you and if you’d end up having a casual night of small talk but instead, you noticed her hand traveling to your legs. She pressed the palm of her hand against your thigh, her gaze shifting from her choice of placement to your face. You started into her eyes, your look raising a million questions.
“Let me make you feel better” she whispered, her voice suddenly becoming low and raspy. You wanted to say so much but nothing came out of your mouth, you were so enthralled by her and entirely unprepared for the moment happening.
“I-” you mouthed, looking at her face. She was so beautiful, it was impossible not to fall for her. You couldn’t think of anything at the moment but solely focus on what was in front of you and the way her hand felt pressed against your skin.
“What do you mean?“ you managed to whisper, frowning your eyebrows.
She smiled wickedly, not believing you were so oblivious, “I’ve seen the way you look at me bunny, don’t act all shy now” she whispered, moving her hands through your thigh. She slid them between your legs, pressing against your core.
You closed your legs shut, moaning at the sensation and further trapping her hand between your thighs. This couldn't be wrong when it felt so right. Her words tingled your brain and her touch felt better than anyone who’s ever touched you.
“Wanda... we shouldn’t, we can’t” you answered simply, even though your body grew hot under her touch. Deep down you knew her and you would never work but a part of your brain held onto your delusion, creating imaginary scenarios with her in your head.
“What if someone will see?” you managed to add, falling into a state where your brain was barely able to think rationally.
“No one will see, just let mommy touch you okay? '' she whispered, and you followed her command, feeling your thoughts slip away. It was rare that she called herself that but at the moment, it sounded totally different, like a title she used to remind you of who was in charge.
Her fingers moved up and down your panties, teasing you through them and making the tension between your legs unbearable. Her finger circled your clit as she watched your facial expressions change. She enjoyed seeing you hardly keep your eyes open, letting out short sighs as her wrist circled your body. Her other hand pinched your nipple, griping your boobs possessively while staring at your body.
“You’re such a pretty girl, mommy's been thinking about you for a while” she whispered, the combination of her touching you left you no room to breathe. You felt yourself become more overstimulated by every second, realizing she hadn’t even done anything proper yet, and you were already wrapped around her finger.
Wanda cautiously tilted your panties to the side, slipping a finger in. You whimpered, unprepared for the feeling but relieved when she finally entered you.
“Oh-” you moaned softly, realizing how good it felt to have her finger inside of you.
“You’re so wet” Wanda whispered proudly, slowly slipping inside your folds.
“Did mommy make you feel like this?” she said mocking you, and you only felt yourself grow more excited, the emptiness in your brain expanding. Your mind was so full of her, becoming dizzy at her every word.
“Were you having icky thoughts about mommy before? Tell me…” she demanded, putting more strength into her moves. She wanted to know everything, your every thought, desire, your deepest fantasy, anything that included her.
You simply nodded, your attempts at words breaking into soft sighs as you whimpered under her touch.
“Poor baby… I’m finally here” she whispered, finally crashing your lips with hers. You kissed her back so desperately, moaning into her mouth as she fucked into you. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, the scent of the air fresheners she picked for the house. Her lips were plump and tasted of lipstick she must’ve worn earlier in the day and a hint of mouthwash.
Wanda quickly took her fingers out of you, pulling your panties down to get a good look at you. Her eyes admired every inch of your body, undressing you with her every stare. She placed her hand back on your clit, circling it as she moved her gaze to look at your face.
“Mommy's been thinking about you so much… torturing herself by not touching you every day” she murmured, her fingers teasing your clit so perfectly, hitting all the right nerves.
“Do you know how crazy you make mommy feel?” she asked, her fingers moving back into you again. Wanda knew what she was doing when she asked you a question and then shocked you with her sudden movement. She enjoyed catching you off guard, breaking you, and seeing you become a mess under her will.
You couldn’t possibly answer, being so hypnotized and far into sub-space but you wanted to, so bad. Her fingers slid into you so easily, so perfectly hitting every right spot.
“Mommy touched herself so many times thinking about you” she whispered in your face, the words creating even a bigger mish-mash of your brain.
“Right here when you were asleep” she admitted, her eyes shifting towards your bed as her fingers moved relentlessly out of you. “I just couldn’t help it, baby, you looked so pretty laying there, mommy got all wet watching you” she whispered, her tone making it seem like it was something so normal of her to do, even though you knew it sounded filthy, but you couldn’t help but like it. Your cheeks flushed red and you felt your clit twitch, feeling ashamed of how good the thought of that made you feel.
“Oh, does my little girl like hearing that?“ she asked scornfully, her eyes noticing every change in your face. It was so difficult to hide anything from her, she could read your body language without any effort. “Wanna hear how mommy fucked herself while laying down next to you? whispering your name softly and hoping you wouldn’t wake up?” she said, her hand sounding louder clapping against your skin. You couldn’t say anything but nod, clenching harder around her fingers.
“I wanted to touch you so bad,” she said, torturing you with her pace. “Perhaps I should do that next time, kiss you through your panties or shove the tip of my cock into you? I know you’d like that” she murmured, teasing you. You needed to answer, your brain filled with so many thoughts but none of them could come together to leave your mouth. “Yes…yes” you mumbled, letting your breath graze her face.
The tension in your stomach intensified, and you could barely control what your body did. Your hips moved close to her hand, chasing her touch.
“Mommy” you whispered, realizing this the first time you used the title towards her. Her face instantly lit up, her eyes sparking with desire, it was almost like she could get off to you calling her that.
“I need to..” you managed to say, not being able to speak full sentences. You grabbed onto her arm, burying your face in her neck and letting soft moans escape your mouth. You wanted to tell her you feel so good, and that you were close but all you felt was blood floating into your brain, preventing you from speaking more.
“I know, I know,” she said, moving some of your hair away from your face. She did so gently and carefully, caring for you like her most precious possession. Her other hand still toyed with you slowly, her fingers curling deep inside of you.
“But you look so pretty like this bunny, mommy likes seeing you so dumb and needy,” she said, watching your face. You swallowed your spit, nodding, being so close yet so far to the edge. You wanted to be good for her so badly, but your body could barely take it anymore, your orgasm begged to be released. “Please, please” you started whispering but your voice turned to a shout mid-sentence, you felt so hot and out of control with the way she made your body feel.
Wanda put her hand over your mouth, putting pressure against your lips as she pressed onto them. “Shh baby, I don’t want anyone to hear my little girl, only mommy gets to have that”
she said, the pace of her movement increasing and torturing you even more.
“Just a little more, be a good girl for mama” she whispered, by your face. She took her hand off your cheeks and started kissing them delicately. Your clit tingled at her words again, your hand grabbing her arms so desperately and pulling her close. “Mommy… please ” you whined, your voice breaking, at the edge of crying.
“That’s it, let go for mommy” she whispered, proud of you for lasting so long.
You finally came, wrapping your arms around her neck as you moaned, feeling your thighs shake. She made you feel so brainless but in a good way, you enjoyed feeling like your body and mind were completely hers.
She looked so satisfied, a gentle smile appearing on her face. You saw a spark of joy form in her eyes, You stared at her for a while, not being able to process how beautiful and perfect she was.
Wanda enjoyed the moment of silence that consisted of her staring back at you and you trying to catch your breath. She then slid her fingers back into you, catching you by surprise.
“Oh,” you whispered, barely recovering from your first orgasm. Your hips involuntarily shifted closer to her hand. She grabbed your wrist and put your fingers against your swollen clit, looking up into your eyes. She couldn’t help but find you adorable, all spread out and obedient for her.
“You’re gonna listen to what mommy says okay?” she asked softly, pressing your own hand onto your clit.
You looked at her hypnotized, not knowing what to do. You wanted to make her feel proud again so listened to her directions carefully. You touched yourself before, but somehow when she was there your brain couldn’t think of how to do it, you weren’t sure what to do.
“Rub it in circles like this, while mommy touches you okay?” she asked, guiding your hand and slipping her finger into your pussy.
You nodded, moving your hand in circles as Wanda's finger moved in and out of you. You clenched your jaw tight, trying not to let your whimpers escape your mouth. The combination of her touch and yours together made your brain melt, forgetting about everything. You didn’t worry about someone catching you, or if it was wrong or right, all that mattered was the moment and how ridiculously good you felt.
“That’s a good girl, I knew you were gonna be good for mommy,” Wanda said, wrapping her arm around you and sticking her thumb into your mouth. “You’re such a big girl… look at you… listening to mommy so well” Wanda teased, watching you toying with your clit as she relentlessly fucked into you.
It didn’t take long before your brain felt hot again, getting high off the adrenaline and waves of pleasure hitting your body. You came so ridiculously fast, secretively wishing you could have held on for longer.
“Did mommy tell you to stop bunny?” she asked softly, seeing that your wrist stopped moving. Her fingers still pounded in and out of you, continuing to make you feel hot and flustered. You nodded your head from side to side, feeling like you have just broken a rule, even though none were set yet. You thought about saying no but you couldn’t, seeing the satisfied look on her face. “Come on, you could do one more for mommy can’t you?”’ she asked, looking down to point out how wet you were. You whimpered, resuming your movement. “See? my big girl,”
she said leaning forward to kiss your lips.
“Mommy?” you whispered, stopping once again and staring into her eyes.
“What’s wrong baby?” she whispered, stopping her movement and looking at you with a concerned face. “Can you… do it for me?” you asked, feeling shy. You couldn’t cum without her help, especially after being stimulated so much, you simply wanted to ask her to make you feel better.
“Oh baby, you’re so cute,” she said, changing her position to let her other hand play with your clit. She had complete control over you, making you trust her with how cautiously she took care of you.
“Gosh you're so tight bunny, how are you gonna take mommy's cock one day?” she asked, her both hands touching you at the same time. You whined loudly, instantly wanting to protest.
“I can, I can take it,” you said fastly and heard her shushing you. Her cheeks lifted, seeing how eager you were to answer, her smile so malicious, glad she manipulated you into being her obedient doll. “Not so loud silly,” she said, fucking into you. You thought you wouldn’t be able to cum for the third time but you felt the tension in your stomach building up again.
“Oh baby, look at the mess you’ve made” she mocked you, looking at your soaked thighs and her hand, shining in the room's light. “I think mommy's gonna have to clean you up later,” she said, looking at your face. She really was delighted to see you in a state like this.
“Yes, please…” you whined, feeling your tummy get all hot and tense again. Nothing felt as good as her. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head and came with her fingers in you. You instantly grabbed onto her wrist, pulling it out of you and not being able to handle anything more.
“You did so well, my baby” Wanda whispered, kissing your face all over. She gave you a moment to catch your breath and hold your face close to her neck. “Mommy’s just gonna taste you okay? Nothing more, unless you want to.” She said and you nodded, blindly believing every word that came out of her mouth.
Wanda lowered herself down to her knees, sinking her mouth onto your swollen nub. You were glad your chair was comfortable, allowing you to lean back in it with your legs exposed. Your thighs were shaking, no matter in what position you would put them. Her mouth found your clit and you flinched, feeling her warm lips wrap around it, her saliva only making it more wet and sticky.
“Mommy! mommy” you whined, moving your hips away, not being able to do or say anything else. You grabbed onto the armrests, gripping them tightly as Wanda violated you with her tongue.
You wanted to protest but she felt so good, once again you let her do whatever she wanted with you. Her tongue rolled around your spot, hitting all of the right nerves, occasionally making you jerk up at her touch. She sucked it so perfectly, making you clean your jaw tight, from both wanting to stay quiet and being so overwhelmed by what your body felt.
“Mommy!” you whined, feeling your thighs shake with her mouth still latched onto you. You knew you were going to cum with you still in her mouth. She wouldn’t stop her pace, her arms held tighter to your thighs, trying to keep you in place. You felt your muscles tense up, feeling so hot and ready to release all that tension. An orgasm ravaged your body, sensing sensations both through your lower stomach and clit.
You arched your back and moaned loudly, putting one of your hands against your mouth, hoping it would muffle the sound. Your body felt so tingly and sensitive, completely fragile in her arms.
“Come here, baby,” Wanda said, letting go of your thighs. She got up from her knees and helped you make your way to the bed.
Wanda laid you down in the bed, caressing your face and kissing your cheeks as she placed herself underneath you.
“You did so well, my perfect girl. Come lay on top of mommy,” she said, laying down on her back and pulling you on top of her. You laid down on her chest, curling into her lap so comfortably. You wanted to worry about so many things but couldn’t when being in her presence felt so liberating. You let all your thoughts drift away, slowly easing into her touch. She made you feel safe, and loved, her little words of praise made you feel warm in your chest.
Wanda let one of her hands stroke your hair as you saw her other one pull down on her gown, releasing one of her breasts. You moaned involuntarily, your mouth immediately watering at the thought of sucking it. Her boobs looked so pretty and perky, your mind always thought about touching them whenever Wanda didn’t wear a bra or happened to wear tight clothes.
“You can suck on it, I know you want to,” she said softly, her voice becoming low and sleepy. You didn’t even say anything, just immediately latched onto her breast, sucking it in so desperately. You put your hand on it for support, tilting it to your side as you sucked on her nipple. “That’s a good girl,” she murmured, her hand stroking your back. She held you in her arms so perfectly, you were sure there was no better place to be. You sucked on her nipple for a while, before occasionally moving to the other one. Your hands moved so carefully, slowly pulling on her gown before putting her other nipple in your mouth.
After some time your eyelids began to feel heavy, and you became groggy, ready to fall asleep, with your lips sucking on Wanda's breasts for comfort. She pulled a blanket over your body, making sure you weren’t cold, her mouth letting out soft hums that instantly put you to sleep.
A/N: Based on a lovely request from @splatasha-jumpanoff. The reader is based a little bit on Angelina Jolie (but also not really).
There is an ache to growing up. No-one expects it to hurt so much.
In some ways, your future felt pre-destined. The outside world held knowing expectations. Occasionally, your Mom would be stopped on the street.
Some older hippy stranger would clasp her hand and get teary eyed about that movie from decades ago. You would stay quiet, rolling your eyes at your brother behind your Mom’s back.
As you got older, suffering the teenage feeling of not fitting your own body, the strangers would nod over to you with a knowing glitter in their eyes.
‘Another star.’ They’d murmur to your Mom.
Your brother would elbow the scowl from your face. Your Mom would touch your shoulder when you finally left the awkward encounter.
‘Be whoever you want to be.’ She’d murmur against your hair.
It was not that easy. Things never are.
When your Mom died, you were too young to know what to do. For a long time you felt unmoored.
You did your first film for her. Then another and another. You let your hair grow longer and chased her soft whispers.
Success slunk into your new life. It made you feel more lost. Noone clasped your hand in the street. They stalked you with long lenses. Your brother stopped calling, caught up in his own attempt at adulthood.
You made mistakes like they were going out of style. Without consequences, the bad ideas started snowballing.
For all the freedom you found in your new career. The world around you felt tight.
You were sat in a booth at the usual nightclub, pressed in by loud laughs and drunken drama. You made friends on every new set but they never carried through. You watched their hazy smiles and knew that it would be temporary like everything else. You drank more until you forgot.
Scarlett was on the dance floor. She was too young to be here. You could tell by the nerves in her bright smile.
She looked at you and her eyes widened. Her shyness across the busy room felt like a jolt of truth.
The haze slipped and you smiled back. Your fingers curled in a small wave. You went to the bathroom and forgot all about her.
—---
Scarlett was not someone you could forget about, you just didn’t know it yet.
Her career rose as your life settled.
You acted in another movie, directed by an old friend of your Mom’s. She invited you to a party at her house. You spent the evening together sitting by an old fire-pit; you cried for the first time.
You called your brother. You had Thanksgiving together. You only ordered takeout, but you could feel your Mom in the air.
You started growing up again.
You learned what you loved. You shadowed your Mom’s friend on her next project, studying the directing process intently. The world was still staring at you, but now you had something to look at too.
Scarlett’s career buzzed away in your peripheral awareness.
Awards and tabloid fodder. She was a brighter star than you, that was obvious. You didn’t envy her the talent.
You went to an award’s show. Neither of you won, but you noticed her dress. At the afterparty, you found her again.
She was talking to the man she came with. She gave a start when you approached. You smiled gently, trying to ease her nerves.
You complimented her dress and hated the blush that formed on her cheeks. She stammered her thank you. You felt strange and alien in her eyes, you wanted to escape it.
You asked about a co-star that you’d had in common. Scarlett rolled her eyes and suddenly you felt human again. She began a wild story, unprompted. You found yourself taking her hands and leading her to a sofa.
Her eyes danced as she layered dry jokes into her long tale. Her hands stayed pressed into yours. Your ribs ached with laughter. It was the first time in years.
You put your number in her phone before you left.
—--
You bought a home, away from LA. It was close to where your Mom had grown up. You couldn’t stop chasing her memory, but you didn’t know what you were chasing anymore.
You started writing about her too. Words fell into place on a typewriter you’d found in her closet after she’d died.
Meanwhile, the world still hunted for you. The star child of a former child star who’d died too young. You aimed for peace of this new chapter in your life. Slowly, your real friends showed their colours.
WIth less paparazzi pictures, you found yourself less the topic of headlines.
You kept your focus on new interests. You agreed to direct a music video for your friend’s dad; a legendary singer/songwriter.
The honour was professional but it was also personal.
His music was baked into your fabric.
Every morning, your Mom would sing along to his CD as she made you breakfast.
On the first day of filming, you told the singer that his music made you think about badly cooked omelettes from your childhood. He laughed loudly but you knew he could see the silhouette you’d omitted from your story.
A month later, he sent you an unreleased track about losing a parent. You directed the music video once again and wondered if you were leaving the maze of grief or choosing to stay in it.
You dated a woman for a few months. She was a 21st century try-too-hard hippy. You knew you were trying to heal old wounds badly, but you took your time to grow out of it.
When you did at last, she left in a screaming match that felt farcical.
The world had stopped feeling real a long time ago.
You kept writing to fill the silence.
Scarlett called you just before you finished the first draft of your first script.
Her voice was shaky on the phone. It took you a moment to realise that she was scared because she was calling you.
She wanted to ask you something, but you could tell she didn’t know how. You offered to meet her on the weekend. You were going to be in LA anyway.
—---
You met at noon in the bar of the hotel that you were staying at. Scarlett’s pale blonde hair was tied back in a chic ponytail. Her sunglasses were wide. She wore a sundress and an engagement ring.
‘Hi.’ She greeted you nervously, slipping off her sunglasses.
You smiled at her sweet face, wondering why she was the only bright thing left.
She ordered a drink and you cut to the chase.
‘Ask me.’ You coaxed her suddenly, giving her a knowing look.
Scarlett flushed, her hands playing with the straps of her purse.
‘Okay.’ She agreed. ‘I want to sing.’
—--
Her words jarred you. Of all the professional favours, this was the one you’d never expected.
She explained that she wanted to work with the legendary singer you’d been directing for. He was notoriously elusive. She didn’t know how to contact him. She didn’t know how to start.
It was an easy promise to make the call. Still, you tried to tell her that it might not do any good. The singer was unpredictable, a genius but frequently anti-social.
You stopped your patronising warning when you saw the subtle look of annoyance cross Scarlett’s face. She flushed again when she realised that you’d noticed it.
‘But of course, you’d know that.’ You realised dryly. ‘Because you told me that you’re a big fan.’
Scarlett nodded, her smile sheepish. Tension released from her shoulders when she saw the way you held back a laugh.
Her eyes sparkled with a silent mirth. You shared it readily.
‘I loved your new film.’ You told her after a moment, letting the conversation turn into something simpler.
Scarlett hugged you before she left. Everyone hugged in LA, but this felt genuine. She left a whispered thank you against your hair.
You called the singer that afternoon from your hotel room. He sounded intrigued and you couldn’t help the careful coaxing in your tone. You gave him her agent’s number.
You hung up the phone and felt sure that your attempt had worked. You savoured the new feeling in your chest.
—--
Scarlett called and asked to meet you again the next day. She invited you to her house for drinks with friends.
It was exactly what you’d started saying no to, but this felt different.
Scarlett opened her front-door as you pulled into her drive. She waited on the doorstep as you stepped out of your car.
‘He called.’ She beamed in greeting, arms stretching around you in a tight hug.
You hugged her back.
Scarlett introduced you to her friends. You wondered if she considered you one too. Her fiance stood in the corner, giving you a dry smile and a silent toast with his beer.
Scarlett left immediately to get you a drink. A hush fell in her wake, a shift in the room as people centred nervously around you.
Someone told you shyly that they were a fan of your last movie.
You felt impressive and you felt old. You smiled politely and decided to leave as soon as you could.
An hour later, you escaped a stilted conversation with a stranger as smoothly as you could. You found Scarlett at the kitchen table, chatting easily with a friend. You touched her shoulder and said quietly that you had to leave.
You watched her face drop in concern, Scarlett got to her feet with a strange worry in her eyes. For the first time in a long time, you felt wrongfooted.
‘You’re not having a good time.’ Scarlett murmured, in a tone that made her feel older than you. Her hand touched your arm now, filled with silent comfort.
‘No.’ You stumbled, losing the coherency of your excuse. ‘No, I-’
‘I’m sorry.’ Scarlett interrupted, her gaze direct. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d mind.. They were all so excited to meet you.’
Her sentiment made you feel lonely. You pulled yourself together at last.
‘It was really nice to meet them.’ You lied gently, forcing a smile. ‘I just have to go.’
Scarlett’s eyes swam with obvious disbelief. She chewed her lower lip in deliberation. Her friend watched silently from the kitchen table, wide eyed.
‘Let me walk you out.’ Scarlett decided at last.
Her hand slipped into yours, leading you forward. Her palm was warm and soft against your skin.
In the hall sat a bouquet of flowers. They looked professionally arranged, a summer mix of purple and pink chrysanthemums. Scarlett reached for them.
‘These were to say thank you again.’ She said as she handed them to you. Her words lingered in the air. Her breath caught on some unspoken thought.
You looked down at the flowers. The delicate petals spread out for sunshine, blissfully unaware of their cut stalks.
‘Can I hear you sing?’ You wondered aloud.
Scarlett paused.
‘Okay.’ She agreed, nerves brimming subtly.
She took your hand again, leading you out to the front of her house. You lingered together at her doorstep.
Scarlett looked down at the ground when she started singing. At first her voice was small. It got stronger as she found the tune.
When she met your eyes, her voice wavered at the sight of your silent tears. You gave her a rueful smile.
It was the song you had heard every morning growing up. It was the bad omelette song. Your mind filled with the lost sense of home. Your eyes closed briefly too.
You didn’t know how to explain the feeling inside you. When Scarlett finished singing, you squeezed her hand and murmured your own thank you.
You got into your car and pulled out of her drive. You didn’t let yourself look back at her standing on the doorstep.
—----
Your life changed that weekend.
If you tread water long enough, you might as well swim.
Your brother had forwarded you an email, from a charity that your Mom had advocated for. They were having a memorial for her, would you like to attend?
Your brother’s comments sat at the top of the email with a private melancholy to them. You recognised that this was the precipice of his own grief.
That was why you attended.
It was not why you stayed.
One conversation with a charity worker shook you to your core. Another, and another.
You didn’t just learn more about your Mom. You started to learn about yourself.
A year later, you adopted a son from the same charity. The Earth began to spin in a different direction.
Your world became smaller than ever, but now there was no tightness. Days flickered past like you were thumbing through a diary.
Scarlett sent you a CD in the mail of her first album with your old friend, the singer. You played it every morning in the kitchen, singing along as you cut up fruit for your son.
—--
You had adopted another boy before you next saw Scarlett.
She’d been just as busy. Married, divorced and engaged again.
You saw her at a dinner, hosted by a prominent magazine. You were there for an advocacy award. It was an opportunity that, for once, you wanted to take.
Your speech was careful, planned out more than most of the roles you’d taken. There were things you wanted to say. Legislative changes that you wished for.
Applause followed your speech and you took it with an unsure nod of your head. People had heard you when you’d needed them to.
You caught sight of Scarlett clapping enthusiastically at a table near the front. You remembered to smile.
As the next speaker cleared her throat at the podium, you redirected yourself easily across the floor to Scarlett’s table.
She hugged you and invited you to take the empty seat next to her. For a moment, all she did was look at you. Excitement and nostalgia swam between your gaze.
‘Hi.’ She said at last, her smile stretching familiarly wide. You pretended not to notice the curious stares of strangers around you. Instead, you covered her hand with your own.
‘I listen to your music every morning.’ You told her softly. ‘I can’t even tell you.’
Scarlett’s eyebrows lifted in pleased surprise.
She launched easily into a story about your old friend, the musician whom you’d both recorded for. You laughed until your ribs ached. You couldn’t remember the last time that had happened with anyone but family.
You ended up staying at her table for most of the evening. You caught up like old friends, swapping life updates like a tennis rally.
Scarlett told you about her new role in the Marvel franchise. You read between the lines of her news. This was the movie role that would send her into the stratosphere. Scarlett brimmed with a new kind of nervous anticipation.
You noticed suddenly all the changes in Scarlett since you’d last seen her. You kept your shock muted as you studied her face. Time had been flying for you but you didn’t realise that it had been flying for everyone else too.
Scarlett looked older in every sense. You wondered if it was the divorce or the superstardom. You suspected it was a bit of both. Her hair was sleek and golden. The corners of her eyes creased now when she smiled. There was a tattoo on her arm, painted in bright colours. Her diamond earrings dangled with an earned confidence.
For a moment, pride and happiness simmered inside you. Scarlett had become herself. You wondered if she realised. She was beautiful with it.
‘What?’ Scarlett teased curiously, noticing your absent expression.
You let your loose hold of her hand tighten again. Scarlett returned your grip instinctively.
‘You look well.’ You told her simply. Scarlett laughed in surprise, a blush finding itself to her cheeks at last. You laughed too, letting the infectious happiness bounce between you.
The next day, you made some calls. A bouquet of purple and pink chrysanthemums found their way to Scarlett’s trailer on the Avenger’s set.
—---
Somehow, between the kids, the charity work and the film projects you took on, you still found time to finish that script.
If time had moved fast before, it only hurried quicker now.
You found yourself on a set. Your own set. You heard your dialogue spoken in front of the camera.
You felt everything collide in a perfect messy balance. Childcare and passion, family and love. You were stopped in the street. Your younger son looked up at you, rolling his eyes at the stranger’s enthusiasm for your acting work.
—--
Over a year had passed from your last meeting, when Scarlett sent you a text. You were in the middle of nowhere, on location for the final scenes of the movie.
She sent you a blurry picture of an ultrasound. It was midnight in your timezone, but you called her anyway.
‘It’s a dream.’ She admitted on the phone, voice warm with brimming hope.
‘I’m so happy for you.’ You told her truthfully, lying back on your pillow and staring up at the invisible ceiling. ‘You’re going to be an amazing Mom.’
You didn’t wonder why she’d texted you about this out of the blue, she didn’t ask why you’d called straight away. There was an unspoken familiarity between you. Something like family.
When she texted you seven months later, with the name of her daughter, you sent a bouquet of roses to a Parisian address.
—--
You gave everything to your film.
It gave you just as much back. You received critical acclaim, recognition that you hadn’t expected. Doors were opened for opportunities that interested you.
Your life continued to tread slowly up a good path. Your children went to school, your next project had a wider released. Your name was not just known, it was also respected.
That’s why everyone was surprised when you agreed to the role.
‘Back On The Silver Screen.’ The headlines proclaimed. Most people speculated that you’d done it for your kids.
Why else would you join the Marvel franchise.
—----
You met Scarlett again at a Comic Con event. The screaming crowds made you feel older than ever. For the first time in a long time, you felt unmoored.
After the official announcements of your upcoming projects, you found yourselves in a back room. It was purposefully secluded, an attempt to shield you and the other cast members from the enthusiastic crowds.
There was only one person you saw in the room. Scarlett greeted you with a wide smile and open arms. You hugged her tight. You wondered how she was always the brightest part of the room.
‘I missed you.’ You admitted freely. ‘How have you been? How’s your daughter’
Scarlett launched into a story about her daughter’s first day at pre-school. You watched her talk with a feeling of settled nostalgia. Without meaning to be, Scarlett had become a steady part of your life.
You took her hand and squeezed it gently. Scarlett’s story faltered as she gave you an assessing look. Somehow, her smile grew softer. You recognised the nostalgia in her own expression.
Scarlett took your hand, leading you through to an adjacent empty room.
‘Do you remember when we first saw each other?’ She asked you gently, squeezing your hand back.
‘Of course.’ You smiled readily. ‘You were too young for that club.’
Scarlett gave you that look. The singular look that made you feel younger than her.
‘No.’ She corrected, her hand moving to rest familiarly above your elbow. ‘I first saw you on the street in New York.’
Your eyebrows lifted in confusion. You tried to recall a memory that had been lost to time.
Scarlett’s cheeks reddened.
‘I was a big fan of your Mom’s films.’ She admitted readily. ‘I stopped her once on the sidewalk.’
Your heart forgot how to beat.
Scarlett’s gaze began to glitter with something special.
‘You rolled your eyes at your brother.’ She recalled perfectly. ‘You weren’t subtle.’
You stared at Scarlett dumbstruck. A burning feeling rose in your chest as the last lost pieces of you clicked into place.
You realised that Scarlett had seen every iteration of you.
Attraction burned through you. Her soft smile made your heart ache.
—----
When you kissed Scarlett in the backroom of a Comic-Con, you remembered your Mom’s words always murmured against your hair.
Be whoever you want to be.
Finally, you knew who that was.
—---
Diary pages only flickered faster after that.
Pink and purple chrysanthemums, music playing in the mornings.
The sweet joy of family and the simple love of someone who has known you for a lifetime.
A/N - Natasha deals with kids. The reader starts as a close friend, then things develop.
Natasha didn’t want to get up.
You’d checked your phone to find several missed calls and a litany of text messages. You’d barely checked the contact name before you were driving to the Avengers Facility. The texts were from more than one Avenger, but they all said the same thing. Natasha didn’t want to get up and she wouldn’t tell anyone why.
Steve had tried to coax her out first. He’d rested his head against Natasha’s door and knocked twice softly when she didn’t show up in the gym that morning.
‘Leave me alone.’ The voice had called out calmly from within. Steve had taken the command readily, looking a little lost until Tony had found him an hour later.
summary: in which your new sex mentor, wanda, just can’t keep her hands off you.
warnings: top!wanda, dark!wanda, oral, fingering, cumstrap, marking, corruption, manipulation, cheating, i wish i had this sex ed class
this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.
masterlist.
The hot sun felt nice soaking into your exposed skin. You twirled the little paper umbrella in your lemonade, casually glancing around the place through your sunglasses. Dottie was throwing her annual summer pool party, and it seemed the entire population of Westview had come. Her large pool was filled with all the kids cannonballing and pushing each other in, screams and giggles filling the air. Like you, all the women were lounging in the laid-back chairs under umbrellas, sipping their drinks and gossiping with one another. Some husbands were sitting with their wives, some were standing around talking to one another, and some were in the pool lifting their kids on their shoulders before dunking them into the water.
You felt a little exposed in your tankini. The pink floral top was cut right at your belly button, allowing for a little strip of your stomach to be exposed between the fabric of the top and the fabric of the hot pink high-waisted bottoms. Some of the other women were showing even more skin, so you decided to relax in the newfound liberty of the 1960’s.
Trying to find your husband, your eyes finally settled on him in the pool. He and Vision were playing with the kids, splashing water and lifting them in the air. The kids in the neighborhood loved your husband, since he was basically a child and just as playful as one.
“Do you want any?” asked a voice next to you, and you gasped and jumped, seeing Wanda suddenly sitting in the chair next to you. Her red hair was in looser curls, sitting at her shoulders which you noticed looked very smooth and tan, exposed by the bright red one-piece she was wearing. She crossed her legs over one another, and your eyes couldn’t help but notice their shape.
“What?” you breathed when you realized she had asked you something, taking your sunglasses off to look at her green eyes staring at you rather impishly.
“Kids,” Wanda reiterated as she nodded to the pool where Vision and your husband were playing with the children. “Do you want to have any?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you breathed, feeling your heart start to race. You hadn’t seen Wanda since the…training session. After you had went home the next morning, a heavy guilt swung in your chest when your husband came home and greeted you with a kiss. You remembered Wanda’s kiss, and her touch, and you had avoided being intimate with your husband ever since.
“I would like to have a couple,” Wanda said cheerily. “I always imagined myself having boys.”
Swallowing hard, you set your drink down and adjusted your tankini which felt like it had shrunk under Wanda’s eyes. “I mean, I always wanted kids, but…” That conversation with your husband hadn’t gone over well. Like any other man at the pool party, he wanted kids, but he always seemed reluctant when you brought it up. In fact, he seemed reluctant to talk to you at all these days. You two had gotten married so fast…
Wanda hummed, somehow knowing what you were going to say before you even said it. “Well, you certainly have plenty of time.” She gave you a small smile which you awkwardly returned. Although she was acting normal and polite, there was a tension in the air suffocating you. As you looked away to mindlessly fiddle with the umbrella in your drink, you felt her eyes burning through your skin. The sun seemed to heat up by a million degrees.
“You know, I was wanting to talk to you about something, y/n,” Wanda said quieter, leaning back in her chair and looking around discreetly.
“What is it?” you choked, already knowing what it was going to be about. Wanda had told you before you left that she was very excited to teach you again, implying that there would be another session.
Wanda pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, I was thinking the other day about our arrangement,” she began, speaking in a whisper, “And I thought that it would be best if you don’t have sex with him until I’ve taught you everything you need to know.”
You nearly choked on your own tongue from how casually she had spoken while there were fifty people all around who could easily listen in. “W-what?”
Wanda placed a gentle hand on your knee, and you felt warmth radiate through your skin there. “I just think it would make more sense if I mentor you completely before you…show your new skills to him.” You barely noticed a quiver in her lips, seemingly a grimace. You could hardly even understand what she was saying because her hand was gripping your knee, and it started to slowly slide down your bare thigh, alighting nerve endings you didn’t even know you had.
“Wanda,” you breathed, feeling hot all over as you looked around to make sure no one was watching Wanda touch you.
“They won’t notice,” Wanda quickly assured you as she slid her hand inward to your inner thigh, grabbing the soft skin there. In reality, anyone could look over at just the wrong time and see her touching your thigh very inappropriately. But you didn’t know that Wanda was in control of everything—including them.
“Tell me you won’t have sex with him,” Wanda asked a little firmly, before swooping in with an explanation. “I don’t want our lessons to be interrupted. It could affect my teaching.” She gave you a soft smile.
Your eyes went between her hand and her face. “Well, we haven’t even… I mean we don’t really…”
“Good,” Wanda said, and you thought maybe she would take her hand away since you told her what she wanted to hear, but it stayed right where it was.
“Wanda, I’m having doubts about all of this,” you breathed out all at once, her hand seeming to push you to honesty. “I feel like what we are doing isn’t normal.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Wanda laughed a little loudly, and you worried that someone would hear it and glance over in innate curiosity, but no one did. It seemed like you two were invisible. Wanda continued, “I assure you this is a perfectly normal thing between girls! Agatha did the same for me when I first moved here as a newlywed!”
Your eyebrows sewed together in confusion. “She did?” You wondered if that meant that she did the same thing that Wanda was doing to you, to Wanda. A flare of something hot and ugly whipped in your stomach—jealousy?
Wanda was a very intuitive woman, for she tapped your inner thigh with her fingers gently and tilted her head. “It was a long time ago, sweetie,” she whispered in an assuring tone, having to hold back a smile at the fact that you were actually jealous. Seeing that you were still doubtful about the situation, she offered, “Why don’t we run to my house real quick?” It seemed like such a normal request from the tone of her voice, but something dark in her eyes made your stomach turn in a different direction.
“What?” you breathed. “We’re in front of everyone.”
“I’ll tell them I forgot to bring the appetizers I made, and you’ll go with me to help me carry them over,” she answered quickly, as if she had already formulated the plan. “It’s been a week since your first lesson, y/n. I don’t want you to forget everything I’m teaching you.” Her fingertips dug into your skin, her thumb rubbing your flesh in circles. Your breath caught in your throat at the feeling, and before you could even give her a response, she stood up and removed her hand from your thigh, leaving your skin cold. You watched in borderline horror as she walked up to the pool’s edge and shouted at Vision and your husband, telling them the lie she told you. They believed her with ease, and your husband waved you off with a smile as Wanda took your wrist and led you towards her house.
By the time you were back in Wanda’s house, and she closed the door behind you, her eyes had turned predatorial. She wasted no time in placing her hands on your waist and coming close, invading your nose with her scent as she placed her lips against yours. You stiffened under the kiss at first until you felt her hand glide up your neck and gently cup your jaw, and you eased. Her kiss was soft but hungry, gentle but desperate. You found yourself naturally wrapping your arms around her warm shoulders as she pressed herself against you.
Wanda’s tongue glided against your lower lip, asking permission for entrance. Somehow, you found yourself falling completely under her will as you parted your lips for her. Her grip on your face tightened as she slid her tongue into your mouth, instantly moaning at the taste of your tongue as hers slid against it. Her thumb pressed into your jaw to part your mouth wider for her so she could slide her tongue deeper, and you gave a soft moan into her mouth, which elicited a guttural growl from the woman whose skin was getting hotter and hotter under your touch.
Wanda could have invited you over another day when she had more time with you and didn’t have to go back to the pool party, but Wanda decided to revel in her control. She reveled in her desire for you that had grown unbearable each day parted from you. She needed you desperately.
She took you to her bedroom and sat you down on the bed, kneeling in front of you with her hands on your knees. “Last time, I taught you how to please,” she began, leaning down to press a soft kiss on your thigh. “Now I want to teach you how to be pleased.”
Wanda slowly stood up, her darkened eyes trained on you the entire way as she crawled onto the bed over you. She wrapped an arm around you and slid you up the mattress until your head rested on the pillows, getting to work on undoing your top.
You were already breathless as you stared up at Wanda who was focused on untying the strings on your tankini. She finally did, pulling it off your body before slowly pulling your bottoms down.
“How are you going to teach me to be pleased?” you asked once you were fully naked for her, feeling the urge to hide yourself. Wanda’s eyes smoldered at you as she gave you a soft kiss on the lips, planting another on your neck.
“I’m going to help you know what you like and don’t like,” she whispered between kisses on your neck, moving her mouth down to your collarbone. “Is there anything you do know you like?”
A gasp left your throat when Wanda’s lips met your nipple, kissing it softly. You tried to keep her question in your mind as her warm tongue swirled around the hardening peak, her hand taking your other breast and squeezing it.
“I… I like…” She had moved her lips to your stomach, kissing a line straight downwards that sent off alarms in your head as you realized where she was going. “I like what we did the other day. When I… rode you.”
You felt Wanda’s lips smirk against your tummy. “Yes, but that was for my pleasure.” Wanda froze before adding, “Your husband’s pleasure. What do you like that pleasures you?” You shivered when she dragged her lips right over your mound, skipping the place where desire was boiling and kissing your inner thighs instead.
“I don’t know,” you said with a tone of embarrassment. As you looked down, you saw Wanda looking up at you between your legs with a smile as she spread and bent them, dragging her hands down your outer thighs to hold them steady.
“It’s okay, detka. We’ll figure it out together, hm?” She kept her eyes locked into yours as she kissed your inner thighs, moving her head further down between your legs. Your eyes widened when she lowered her face downwards.
“Wanda, what are you—” Her tongue met your slit, dragging a firm line up it. Your mouth opened at the instantly pleasurable sensation—you had never been given oral.
Wanda leaned up for a moment to lick her lips and hum at the taste of you, closing her eyes to revel in your flavor in a way that made your face go hot. She opened her eyes again with a smirk as she said, “Tell me what feels good and what doesn’t, okay honey?”
You could only halfway nod as she lowered her face again, attaching her lips to your clit and sucking on it. Your body jumped at the feeling, Wanda tightening her hold on your hips to keep you still. You closed your eyes as she used her tongue to swirl softly around your nub for a few moments before gliding her tongue down your slit, poking your entrance softly.
“Wanda,” you breathed, grabbing at the sheets as she started to lap at your clit with a harder pressure that made your back arch. “Oh,” you moaned, too shy to curse even as your entire body tingled with pleasure.
“You like that?” she paused to speak, watching you feverishly nod before she did it again, keeping that same pace and pressure on your clit. You were already getting so wet for her, and Wanda wanted to let you relish in the simple action, but she was dying to get inside you.
Bringing a hand between your legs, Wanda slowly pushed her middle finger in your entrance, and although there was plenty of lubrication, there was still some resistance.
Your mouth fell open as you felt her finger slide inside you, doubled with her tongue still lapping your clit as the room started to spin. She dragged her finger out before pushing it in again, and you were making wrinkles on the sheets with how hard you were grabbing at them. Your hips bucked towards her face, and although the pleasure was already too much for you to handle, you wanted more.
“More,” you moaned, looking down at her desperately. You felt so dirty to see the sight of a woman’s head between your legs, her lips slick with your juices, her finger pumping inside you. Wanda looked at you darkly, easing up on your clit to catch her breath as she slowly added another finger. This time, the sensation was absolutely perfect as her two fingers buried deep inside you and curled, hitting a spot that made fireworks explode behind your eyes and blind you.
“Wanda!” you moaned, your thighs squeezing around her. She gently opened them again as she jutted her fingers inside you, curling them and making you moan louder for her. She placed her tongue back on your clit, lapping harder as she pumped her fingers faster.
You were sweating now, suffocating, melting on the bed as Wanda worked between your legs, pleasuring you to absolute torture. Your back arched off the bed and so did your hips, your legs starting to tremble as she continued her actions even harder. You were so wet now that your juices dripped down her hand, and your pussy made the most unholy of squelching sounds as Wanda buried her long fingers as deep as they could go inside it, fucking you hard and fast until you were wordless, letting out little moans and incoherent squeals as you came, your hips shaking and hands mindlessly grabbing at Wanda’s hair.
“That’s it, baby,” Wanda huskily encouraged you as you orgasmed, continuing to thrust her fingers right against that sweet spot inside you to prolong your climax, watching in absolute wonder and admiration the way your face looked so blissful as you came down from your high, falling limp against the bed and panting.
Humming, Wanda removed her fingers from you, crawling her way up your body and resting her hips between your legs. “You’re doing so good,” she praised you, bringing her fingers to your lips and coating them with your own wetness. “Open up.” Utterly mindless, you opened your mouth and felt her dip her wet fingers inside. “Now suck.” You suctioned your mouth and swirled your tongue around her fingers, remembering how she had taught you to use your mouth. Wanda moaned as you licked your own juices off her fingers, wishing she could feel your mouth around her cock, sucking and licking like that. The thought made her squirm her hips between your legs. God, she needed you. She wanted it to be about you, but Wanda so selfish and so needy for you that she just had to be inside you, to feel your walls pulsing around her again.
While your eyes were closed, distracted by suckling her fingers like a good girl, she snapped her other fingers. Straps appeared around her hips, equipped with just what she needed to feel you. You were unaware that she had learned a new trick since the last time, and that was going to make what she was going to do you so much sweeter.
Once you had sucked and swallowed all your juices off her fingers, Wanda removed them from your mouth. “Such a good girl,” she breathed, using your own tits to wipe your saliva off her fingers. When Wanda instinctually rubbed herself against you, causing you to feel her cock push against your mound, your eyes widened.
“When did you—” She cut off your question with a feverish kiss, causing you to swallow your words as you tasted more of yourself on her mouth. She hungrily kissed you, moving her lips down your chin and to your throat, sucking on your neck. “Wanda,” you breathed as she sucked and bit at your neck to a painful degree, and you realized she was going to leave marks. “Wanda, don’t!” You didn’t want to know what would happen if your husband saw hickeys on your neck.
“Doesn’t it feel good, detka?” she whispered hotly against your ear between bites, giving another sloppy kiss to your neck before adding, “This is about what makes you feel good.”
As her mouth sucked on your sensitive skin, although it was painful, it was bliss. Your hands grabbed weakly at her back as she started to grind herself against you, the length of her strap gliding against your clit. You gasped at how sensitive you were now, every little touch and ounce of friction heightened.
“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of you since that night,” Wanda whispered against your neck as she reached down between you, taking her strap in her hand. “I don’t know how your husband doesn’t fuck you every second of the day.” She guided the tip of her cock to your entrance and kept it there. “If I had this tight, wet little pussy all to myself, I would have to be inside you every chance I got.”
The crudeness of her words made you gasp, your entire face going bright red as she whispered such dirty things in your ear. You weren’t sure if or how this was part of your training, but you loved every second of it, and you didn’t want her to stop. You wished you could be under her all the time, hearing her whisper lude things in your ear, kissing your neck, buried between your legs. You hooked your legs around her, bucking your hips in need of her to be inside you.
Wanda graciously gave you exactly what you wanted, holding your hips still as she thrust herself inside you, feeling your tight walls suck her in all the way.
“Oh, Wanda,” you gasped, and Wanda melted. She loved hearing the way you moaned and gasped her name, feeling the way you grabbed helplessly at her back as she lodged her cock deep within you, moaning into your neck at how wet and tight you were around her.
“Fuck, y/n,” she breathed, pulling out before thrusting back in, bringing another gasp from you. The pool party was far away now as Wanda lost herself inside you, giving you no time to adjust before she was fucking you with wild abandon, gripping your hips with bruising pressure.
You were completely under her hold as she grunted into your ear, pressing her body as close to you as possible and pushing her cock as deep inside you as possible. Needing to be even deeper, Wanda leaned up to grab your legs and place them over her shoulders, folding you up under her as she continued her merciless pace. Your walls stretched painfully around her size, and she was going so fast, you felt like you were about to pass out.
“Wanda, slow down,” you begged, barely managing to form the words as she completely ruined you.
“You can take it, baby,” she argued, giving you a sloppy, wet kiss as she fucked you even harder. “Take my cock, all of it.” Her voice was husky and deep against your mouth before she kissed you again so hard you felt your lip sting. “Oh, fuck,” Wanda breathed, pulling away from you and squeezing her eyes shut, chasing her own orgasm now.
Even though this session was supposed to be about you, and although she did put so much attention on you before and gave you so much pleasure, this was what you loved so fucking much. You loved the way she fucked you hard, touched you roughly, used you to get her own pleasure. You loved the way she fucked you like being inside you was her only relief. You loved the way she always looked at you like you were a piece of meat. You loved when she whispered dirty things in your ear. As she had been obsessed with you ever since you first moved there, you were becoming obsessed with her.
“You’re my good little slut, aren’t you?” Wanda said between heavy breaths, cupping your face and wiping her thumb across your lower lip as she continued to wreck you. “Taking all of my cock so well. You’re so good, so good… so fucking good…” Wanda rambled as her eyes closed again, her face lowering into your neck as her thrusts grew wild.
“I’m yours, Wanda,” you breathed, your voice edged as you felt a deep pressure coil within you. “I’m your slut.”
When Wanda felt your walls tightening around her, she completely lost herself, biting your neck harder than realizing as she came, stuffing herself deeply and sloppily inside you, causing your eyes to cross as she fucked you through your mutual orgasms. She was somehow deeper than she had ever been now, her hips flat against the back of your thighs and her cock entirely disappearing inside you. There was pain in your neck and between your legs, and you suddenly felt an odd, wet sensation deep in your lower tummy, but in your dumbed down state you chocked it up to it just being the bet orgasm you ever had. Wanda knew your body better than your own husband now—better than even yourself.
“Fuck, fuck,” Wanda cursed as she came down, pressing her entire weight against you and panting breathlessly into your ear. Your legs were a trembling mess now, shaking uncontrollably as Wanda’s hand reached under you and rubbed your ass gently.
After a few moments of catching your breaths, Wanda leaned up to look down at you for a few moments, her pupils swarmed with lust. She had to bite her tongue back from whispering You’re all mine. Even though many commitments had been moaned thoughtlessly to one another during your wrestle, the heat of the moment was gone, and you were surrounded by the harsh steam of reality now.
Wanda reluctantly pulled out of you and took her strap off, grabbing your bathing suit bottoms and quickly putting them back on you before handing your top to you for you to put on. You sat up in her bed, feeling groggy and shaky as you put your top back on and tied it in the back. Wanda helped you stand up from the bed, smirking at how you could hardly stand on your shaky legs.
“Oh, no,” she suddenly said when her eyes flickered to your neck. She moved your hair and looked at what she had made of you—deep hickeys and bruises lining the side of your neck, along with the obvious imprints of her own teeth from when she had bitten down as she came. There were even two specks of blood which she gently wiped away.
“What?!” you exclaimed, touching your neck and instantly hissing at the tender pain you felt. Wanda took a handheld mirror from her bedside table and held it up so you could see, and you gasped at the sight of the marks. Wanda watched you with a crawling smirk—she could easily get rid of the marks with her magic, but honestly, she wanted to keep them there.
“Just cover them with your hair,” she said, bringing your hair back over your shoulder to conceal your neck. “And don’t get in the pool.”
You noticed that she was smirking and playfully hit her shoulder with the mirror before setting it back down on the table. “I think you’re evil.”
“I think you’re the sweetest little thing I ever did see,” Wanda quickly countered, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing you.
After Wanda came up with the excuse that the appetizers she had made were left in the oven too long and were now too burnt to be edible, the two of you hesitantly went back to the pool party. You tried to walk normal, but your legs felt like a newborn baby deer, and your insides were already sore. As you went back to Dottie’s pool party, no one seemed suspicious that you two had been gone for a while and came back empty-handed and a little tussled. Kids were still playing in the pool, and wives were still lounging in the sun and gossiping.
Wanda left you to go talk to Dottie, leaving you by yourself. Your husband hadn’t even noticed you come back, since he was playing Marco Polo with Vision and the kids now. Rolling your eyes at how dumb your husband was, you walked over to the table of snacks to get something to eat since you were feeling lightheaded now. As you approached the table, you suddenly felt something odd.
Freezing in your steps, you felt something wet between your legs—besides your own wetness. It was something oozing, like something leaking out of you. Quickly, you ran into Dottie’s home and to her guest bathroom, closing the door and sitting down on the toilet, pulling your bottoms down in fear that you had started your period at a very strange time. To your utter shock and horror, you saw white liquid on your bottoms, glancing between your legs and watching as Wanda’s cum slowly leaked out of you.
Five of Cups. Art by Jeremy Ennis, from the X-Men Tarot Deck.
The Five of this cups traditionally portrays the mess that is left after an emotional upheaval, such as a tantrum or fit of rage. Consequences run the gamut from a hangover and lost wages, to abuse and ruined relationships.
This card is also sometimes called Inheritance, suggesting the cross-generational legacy of such tragedies. Violent family patterns magnified to a much larger scale can become war.
summary : natasha is a big player in the world of illegal art trade. you’re the detective they sent undercover to take her down. no one expected you to fall in love, abandon your mission, and run away with her.
disclaimer : 18+, strong language, semi-public sex, strap-on use, dirty talk (praise + degradation + pet names), implied criminal activity (by the summary, not so much in the fic), mentions of lingerie.
author’s note : gif source. here’s a drabble ig, i struggled over this for months because i couldn't write a decent plot then i decided i don't have to force myself to make everything i write into 4k word fics. this piece of work is not to be copied or translated anywhere. thank you for reading!!! comments and reblogs appreciated.
“God, this view - amazing isn’t it?”
Maybe if you didn’t know Natasha as well as you do, the words would feel less filthy as they leave her swollen lips. But there’s no other word to describe the feeling of her too-eager hands or the sound of the moan that unhitches from your tired throat.
From where you stand on the balcony, skin adorned with the imprint of the metal railing, entire buildings kneel obediently at your feet and the remnants of the evening sun begin to dissipate behind them. Hightown is beautiful at this time of day - or any time, really. But she’s not talking about the city, you know her better than that.
“Oh, Hightown could never compare to you, my love.” She breathes against your ear, as if you needed any confirmation from her.
The innocent, young detective you used to be washes away with the arousal that floods down your thighs. You don't bother to mourn that version of yourself, she never would have been able to stomach the sort of luxury you know now - the kind that brings you over the edge of your penthouse balcony, half-naked, and filled to the brim with your girlfriend's thick silicone cock.
The music that floats up from downstairs is faint and only stands as an irritating reminder of the auction she was meant to be hosting nearly fifteen minutes ago. There's a collection of suits she keeps docked at the bottom of the stairs who, you're sure, are awaiting her belated return with displeasure.
She doesn't care. The smile is already etched into her face as she slithers a calloused palm up the length of your naked back and buries it in the roots of your hair, pulling delightedly and watching as you unfold underneath her. "Just like that, baby." She coos, pulling tighter at the hair she has clutched in her fist.
Your voice crumples when you call her name into the dusk air, the arm you've flung behind you to scratch wantonly at her clothed abdomen does little but spur her on. Her hips pick up their pace until you're almost sure she'll split you in half.
"What is it, honey?" She starts, "Having trouble keeping up? Do you need me to slow down, angel?" She's mocking you, you realize. She wouldn't dare slow down when the brutal pace she's set makes you writhe and whimper the way you do. Your legs strain against the dress she only bothered to pull halfway down your thighs.
"You're getting close, I can feel it. You gonna make a big mess for me, baby? Walk around my party with your own cum leaking down your thighs?" You're nodding before you have the chance to stop yourself - to which question, you're not sure, but the enthusiasm is there, nonetheless.
A part of you wishes she'd stop talking, if only to prolong the orgasm that begins to sneak up on you quickly. The other part of you is too eager to cum for her to care about how quick you are to do so. The feeling you've been fighting rolls in and nestles deep in your stomach, tightening there.
"Please, Tasha."
She doesn't - or, rather, can't - fight the satisfied groan that rises in her chest. She's always admired the way you submit to her; feeding off the desperation that glints in your eyes and the way she never has to prompt you to beg. You just do it, for her, because you want to.
Her hand finally falls from your hair, only to wrap around your throat where she uses the grip she establishes there as leverage to hold your back against her chest. "Show me how pretty you look when you cum, angel."
Your scream is just barely drowned out by the drum of generic pop music and traffic. Your nails sink into her skin and she grunts at the pain, mouthing sloppily at your shoulder. The tears that roll down your cheeks communicate to her the staticky pleasure that washes over you.
"So good, baby." She encourages, helping you down with the same calculated rhythm she's come to know all too well, "So fucking good." Gentle kisses liter up the nape of your neck until she seals the entire affair with a kiss.
Your strength comes back just enough to stagger away from her on shaky legs and follow as she bounds into the unlit apartment. If the risk of punishment wasn't so severe, you'd tell her to wipe that stupid fucking smirk off her face but you'd rather avoid being bent over her lap and sent into her party with welts across your ass.
Barely recovered, you manage to shimmy the dress back over your shoulders and attempt to straighten it out. Your eyes flicker up just in time for Natasha to emerge from the bathroom, tucking the freshly-cleaned strap into her dress slacks with a cocky smile.
Before you know it, she's leaning in to plant a kiss to your tear-stained cheek. "You're so pretty when you cry." Heat creeps up the skin of your neck as you thank her in an embarrassed squeak. "You'll clean up and meet me downstairs?" It comes out as more of an order than a question.
"Or..." You muse, strategically ducking into the bathroom where she won't be able to see the smirk that sparks across your lips, "I could stay here and wait for you. I have something very red and very lacy for you to unwrap when you get back."
She stops to think about it, you can tell by the silence that suddenly engulfs the room. Like the business woman she's always been, she weighs her options carefully.
She loathes the idea of showing up without her favorite piece of arm candy at her side, that much she knows for sure. But the reward of finding you at the end of the night - splayed across the bed in that ruby-red garter belt she has yet to see you in - could be satisfactory enough to make up for it.
Really, it comes down to how much she thinks it's worth to have the instant gratification of watching her business partners drool over the sight of you in the dress she’d just had hanging from your thighs.
"Ten minutes." It's worth a lot, apparently. "Don't make me come back here and get you."
The bedroom door clicks as it shuts, and again when she reopens it, "I'll make it worth your while, baby." You can hear the smile in her voice and laugh as the door closes one final time and she doesn't bother circling back to check that you've agreed.
summary: in which you are nervous about meeting her family for the first time.
warnings: cuteness, just a lil blurb for the holiday <3
The smell of food lingered in the air, and so did Lizzie’s playlist of her favorite old holiday music. While Lizzie was basting the turkey, you were frantically pacing around the house, trying to clean and perfect every inch of the home. You were sweating in places you had never sweat before, and the makeup that you spent hours trying to perfect was starting to melt already. Of course, the first time you were meeting Lizzie’s entire family was also the first year she decided to host Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone was coming to your house this year, your first year meeting the entire Olsen family.
You zoomed past Lizzie to set out your nicer hand towels around the kitchen and toss the other ones out of view, and she looked up from the turkey to see your sewed eyebrows and pursed lips, a telltale sign you were nervous. “Babe,” she said, trying to conceal her laughter as she watched you grab the sponge from the sink and scrub a spot of dirt on the floor of the kitchen.
Scrub in hand, crouched on the floor like an unflattering goblin, you glanced up at her and only then realized you had been holding your breath for god knows how long. “What?” you breathed, wiping the dampness from your hairline.
Setting the baster down, Lizzie crouched down on the floor with you like you were a child she was trying to get eye-level with, and you blushed. Her hands took your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “I think you need to relax before your stress sweat gets all over the turkey,” she whispered dramatically, a soft smile breaking out on her face as she meticulously eyed you with slight worry. “What’s the matter?”
You let your bum hit the floor, sprawling your legs out helplessly. “I’m just nervous,” you said, looking back to the spot of dirt and sadly wiping it away.
“Why, baby?” Lizzie asked, her fingers settling under your chin and softly turning your face back to her. The soft smile on her face widened as she noticed how beautiful you looked with your makeup done and your hair pulled halfway up. She brushed a strand of your hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear, letting her fingers slide down and touch the dangly earrings you were wearing—it was the emerald ones she had gotten you for your birthday.
“I haven’t met your entire family before,” you whispered. You had only met her mom in the last few months, and even that had sent you into a spiral. “I’m just…” you sighed, trying to find the right word before landing on the same one. “Nervous.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, my love,” Lizzie said softly as she stroked your chin with her thumb, careful to not mess up your makeup. “They are nice people, actually. They will love you no matter what.”
You batted your eyelashes and tilted your head as more spiraling thoughts pushed inside your brain. “But what if they don’t like me? And they just pretend to be nice but then when they leave, they talk about me? What if I’m too quiet or too loud, or what if they think I’m weird?”
“Well, you are pretty weird,” Lizzie playfully said, to which you only rolled your eyes. Seeing that you were truly freaking out, she sighed and took your hands, standing up and tugging at your arms. “C’mon, get off the floor, Cinderella.”
You let her tug you to your feet, and she pulled you against her, wrapping her arms around your waist. “Don’t worry about a single thing, okay?” she whispered, letting her nose brush against yours, which always made you feel a little giddy. “I love you, all of you. They will too. You’re so naturally kind, and beautiful, and interesting, and honestly I don’t see how a single person on this planet could not like you.” Lizzie paused to give you a soft, fleeting kiss on the lips. “And even if they didn’t like you for whatever insane reason, I wouldn’t give a damn.”
Your eyes were glittering as you stared up at her. She had dressed up, as well, and her red lipstick smile was enough to calm your nerves. “Really?” you asked coyly, shyly picking at the strings of her olive green jumpsuit which tied at the back of her neck. You felt her shiver from the feeling of your fingers grazing the back of her neck.
“Really really,” Lizzie confirmed, giving you another kiss that was delicate on purpose and also so that she wouldn’t ruin both of your lipsticks. “Now you had better help me chop these brussel sprouts or I will tell them you beat me.”
Giggling at the joke, you squeezed her, letting her pull you into a warm hug for a few moments. You swayed softly in the kitchen, measuring and controlling your breathing as Lizzie’s hand rubbed your back, her rings catching on the fabric of your shirt. Finally, the beeping of the oven pulled you both apart. Pulling on comically large mittens, Lizzie took the pan of turkey while you opened the oven door, putting it on the rack before you stood side-by-side to clean and cut the brussel sprouts together, occasionally bumping hips and giggling.
+
“Have a safe drive home!” Lizzie yelled out as the last of her family members lingered out of the front door, waving them goodbye before she closed the door for the night. Instantly, you dramatically fell against the couch as if you had been hanging on a string for the last ten hours and it finally snapped, sending you falling limply onto the cushions.
“Ugh!” you yelled out in both stress and relief, pulling one of the throw pillows on top of your face as if you were going to smother yourself.
Sighing, Lizzie leaned over the back of the couch and looked down at you. “Relieved?”
Removing the pillow from your face, you stared blankly at her. “They hate me.”
“What?! No, they don’t!” she exclaimed, coming around the couch to sit down beside your waist, placing a hand on the other side of you so she was leaning over you. “Y/n, they literally loved you.”
In reality, the Thanksgiving dinner had gone swimmingly well. You only embarrassed yourself once when you spilled your drink, and then a couple times when you stuttered painfully while talking to her sisters. All of her family members were incredibly kind and charming, but you were still spiraling about every single moment of the dinner.
“You know what my mom told me?” Lizzie said after giving you a few moments to breathe. She placed her hand on your tummy and leaned down closer to you. “She said you were out of my league.” That made you laugh hysterically while Lizzie gasped offendedly, gently slapping your abdomen. “Well, if there’s anything you and my mom have in common, it’s making fun of me!” Lizzie exclaimed as if she was mad, but she was giggling between every word.
“I think we especially bonded when she showed me that baby picture of you,” you said, and Lizzie instantly put her hand over her face in embarrassment, causing you to giggle even more.
“Please never talk about that again,” she groaned, her shoulders trembling in small bursts of laughter she was trying to contain.
“Oh no, I think I’ll bring it up at every family dinner from now on,” you laughed, grabbing her hand on your stomach and holding it as your mutual laughter died down. There was an entire table of plates and leftover food to clean up, and a mountain of dishes the size of Everest to clean up, but you were both enjoying the leisurely moments on the couch as you winded down from the social event.
Eventually, Lizzie swung her legs onto the couch, laying on top of you and sliding her arms under you, staring down at you as tendrils of her hair tickled your chest. “Since it’s Thanksgiving, I thought you should know,” she began, pausing for dramatic effect which instantly made you nervous again. Then she continued, her red lips breaking into a great pearly grin, “You’re what I’m most thankful for this year.”
You couldn’t help but giggle, taking some of her hair and twirling it affectionately. “That was almost as cheesy as your mac and cheese.”
“Shut up,” she laughed before pressing a kiss to your smiling lips, squeezing you as close as she could against her.
summary ➞ with a new house to chase away the loneliness of her recent divorce, wanda wasn’t prepared for her (married) boss/neighbor to have such interesting sex habits. word count : 4.8k
disclaimer ➞ 18+, strong language, wine consumption, smut, non-con voyeurism, strap-on use, threesome, heavy dirty talk (degradation + praise + pet names), oral sex (r + wanda receiving), all legal age gap (r + natasha are slightly older than wanda)
a/n ➞ not my best work but i was sick of looking at this in my drafts. this piece of work is not to be copied or translated anywhere. thank you for reading!!! gif source natasha , wanda
“…and the sex is amazing.”
Wanda knew she shouldn’t have been standing outside your office door; not with the millions of things she could have been doing around the building and the million other things to be done at her own desk.
Whether she had been technically eavesdropping on your weekly phone call with Carol was still up for debate. No matter the ethics of the situation, she had heard the words leave your lips; crystal clear and followed immediately by how lucky you were to have found the love of your life.
The entire situation was exactly the reason Wanda found herself here, now, entering her house with shaking hands that only worsened as she open the untouched bottle of red wine that had been sitting in her refrigerator for god knows how long.
It had all happened so fast - Wanda swimming so deep in her own thoughts that she missed you ending your call as well as the echo of your footsteps towards the office door. It was only the sound of the knob turning that caught her attention, right before the door swung open to reveal her standing at the other side without so much as a decent alibi.
By the time she knew what was happening, you were pulling her into your office and taunting her about listening in - spying - on you. “Do you like hearing about my sex life Wanda? Does that excite you?”
Of course it did.
Just as it excited her to watch you and your wife pull into the driveway and step out of that shiny, new, black, sports car every day. Or when she saw the two of you leaving for work, dripping with that been-married-for-years-and-still-in-the-honeymoon-phase glow.
There was just something about it that always seemed to catch Wanda’s attention. Maybe she found a comfort in catching a glimpse of a normal marriage - one unlike what she had just gotten herself out of.
By the time you had finished torturing her and sent her home for the day, her face had been glowing a fire-engine red color and burned with something that the word ‘embarrassment’ did little to embody.
Which brought her to her kitchen; mumbling a string of curses and attempting to drown her embarrassment in wine that tasted as cheap as it had cost.
When she had finally gotten enough to staring at the white tile backdrop, Wanda decided the livingroom would be a more comfortable place to wallow in her own self-pity and drink the night away until the hangover tomorrow was damn near incurable.
She killed the kitchen lights and began to trudge into the living space. It felt heavy with the same lonely feeling the kitchen had; solemn and shrouded in darkness.
Sighing into the room, she abandoned the bottle onto the coffee table and turned on her heel towards the light-switch before her attention was caught by movement out of the corner of her eye. Absentmindedly, she swiveled to close the open-curtains before a gasp echoed into the room.
From her position, Wanda could see directly through the window adorning your wife’s home office. More specifically, she could see Natasha - she thinks she remembers your wife to be named - fucking you against her new-wood mahogany work desk.
Your body strained against the barren surface - the materials that usually adorned it had already been scattered across the floor - as shaky hands held yourself up-right the best that you could.
Natasha’s mouth moved next to your ear, grunting words through gritted teeth as her hips snapped a cherry-red strap deeper and harder inside of you; much to your content, it seemed.
Wanda was helpless in stopping her attention from falling to your face; contorted into pleasure and blubbering with inaudible profanities and sounds Wanda could only imagine to sound just as attractive as your voice always had.
She knew she needed to move, to distract herself with something - anything. But she’d be lying to say she wanted to look away as her eyes zeroed in on the way your bodies molded together despite the hand that extended behind you and pressed firmly against Natasha’s abdomen.
One particularly loud moan, a shuttering and drawn-out “Yes, Nat, fuck!”, echoed from your house to Wanda’s. The muffled words alone made Wanda press her thighs together as she tried desperately to tear herself away from the window. Close the blinds - she told herself but there wasn’t a muscle in her body that made any effort to move.
Then, in one quick motion and without missing a beat, Natasha flipped you around and pinned your ass against the edge of the furniture. Her hands slid up the sides of your torso as she relayed something to you that Wanda could not make out.
But Natasha began to fuck into you harder as your eyes widened at whatever she had. Her hand curled delicately around your chin and forced your head into the exact direction of where Wanda was staring from her window; a wicked smirk playing on your wife’s lips and shock evident over your face.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Wanda leapt forward quickly, scrambling for the blinds and nearly pulling them off their mount as she fumbled to close them.
Her nervously sweating hands found the the thighs of her dress slacks, heart beginning to pound harder against her chest. “I’m so fucking fired! God fucking damnit!” She screeched into the darkness, body vibrating with a terrifying cocktail of fear and adrenaline as she sorted through what to do next.
As if the ordeal hadn’t been enough to make her nearly shit her pants, the doorbell echoing throughout her house sent her soaring into the air and clutching at her chest.
“Shit, fuck.” She cussed again, shakily stumbling towards the hallway with the growing lump in her throat. Her heartbeat echoed louder as she approached the door, dread bubbling in her chest.
Her hand curled around the doorknob, twisted, then came to a pause. If she was smart she would just not open the door, move cities and change her name to start a new life where she could pretend that none of this had ever happened.
She jumped when the doorbell rang again, “I know you’re in there, Maximoff.” Oh - so this was it. This was Wanda’s last moment of aliveness before your wife would undoubtedly slit her throat the moment Wanda revealed herself to be on the other side of the door.
She could climb out the window. Or break down in guilt-ridden tears and babble on and on about her messy divorce until the red-head took pity on her and left her there to drown in a pool of her own pathetic tears.
Without much help from her frazzled brain, Wanda pulled the knob and drew the door open. She was met with Natasha’s striking green gaze, accented with a single cocked eyebrow.
It was now that Wanda realized she had never been up-close with your wife - and that she was a thousand times more terrifying at this distance.
“I-uh-I…” Her mouth was working without her brain as she tried to find the words at the tip of her tongue. She was far more than embarrassed; cheeks hot and beet red the same way they had been leaving your office earlier in the day.
As she fumbled for words to say, the woman in front of her had the nerve to laugh - genuinely, and loudly, laugh at the flustered state of her neighbor who she’d just caught watching as she fucked you. Wanda couldn’t possibly understand what was funny about the situation.
“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” She was toying with Wanda, that much was clear as her voice dropped to a smooth whisper and her lips widened into a smirk.
“I’m sorry.” It was a pathetic apology but it was also the only tangible thing Wanda was going to get out. She figured the red-head knew that as she pressed her shoulder against the doorframe casually to watch the younger woman twitch nervously.
They stood there in silence for a moment; Wanda blinking back the tears of embarrassment that burned at her eyes and Natasha watching her with an eerily calm demeanor.
Wanda expected her to yell, scream, maybe throw a few swings. But she didn’t, she just eyes the woman curiously.
“Come with me, kid.” She finally demanded, pushing off the doorframe and turning on her heels before sauntering back towards her own house without giving Wanda much time to decide.
Wanda fumbled for a moment before figuring it was best to follow Natasha’s instructions. She pulled the front door closed behind her and skidded after the woman in her own twisted ‘walk of shame’.
“Mrs. Romanoff.” Natasha laughed once again, “Nat is fine.” She corrected, glancing over her shoulder as she pushed her front door open. Wanda could hardly understand how this was a time for formalities.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped through the threshold of the house, suddenly feeling entirely too small against the tall ceilings and warm air that surrounded her.
Your house looked exactly as she had imagined it to. It resembled one of those high-end, industrial, New York apartments Wanda had fallen in love with. The windows covered most of the walls and what little they didn’t was accented with pieces of fine artwork. Wanda couldn’t even begin to imagine how much they had cost.
“Nat, look, I’m really sorry but-”
“Oh, quit your blubbering and come on. Don’t want to keep her waiting do you?”
Wanda’s chest went ice cold at the implication that you were waiting for her. You had probably already called the police on her for stalking and now your wife was corralling her into your home so that she had no chance to run.
Hell, you probably had the barrel of a shotgun aimed straight down the hall as you waited for Wanda to open whatever door you were perched behind.
Okay, maybe that was a bit excessive.
Natasha came to a stop in front of the door at the end of the hallway and pushed it open before the other woman even had time to catch up to her.
Between the growing lump in Wanda’s throat and the shake that had settled into her hands once again, it wouldn’t have surprised her is she simply passed out right then and there.
Another attempt at an apology twitched at the end of Wanda’s tongue, only to die out the moment the door swung open and revealed you kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed, wearing no more clothing than you had been when she was watching Natasha fuck you just moments ago.
Wanda’s eyes darted down your naked body, sitting surprisingly docile and on complete display to her, and immediately flickered over to Natasha who looked more-than-amused at the flustered twitching that caused the younger woman to stumble back a few paces.
Natasha pressed a firm hand against the small of Wanda’s back and her thumb came forward to force Wanda’s chin back in a position to face you, encouraging her to look.
If her throat hadn’t have been so dry, Wanda might have started to drool as you met her eyes with an expression that read come on, Wanda, I don’t bite.
Natasha’s presence weighed heavy behind her but she’d be damned if she tore her attention away from you now, especially as the red-head pushed her further into the room.
“Don’t be shy - now - Maximoff.” Natasha teased with yet another laugh as Wanda’s eyes began to glaze over excitedly, “Am I dreaming?” She certainly was a few moments away from pinching herself.
It was your turn to giggle, as if there was some running joke in the air that Wanda was missing out on. “You hear that, baby? She thinks you’re a dream.” Natasha spoke with amusement and pressed closer, followed the sound of the door clicking shut.
“Have you ever done it?” Natasha asked suddenly, breaking the concentration Wanda had put into staring as you as her eyebrows knit in confusion. “Done…?” She asked without taking her eyes off yours.
Natasha cleared her throat to draw Wanda’s attention back. When Wanda turned reluctantly, the same toy Natasha had been using earlier was dangling from her fingers. The gulp that sounded from deep within Wanda’s throat was answer enough, no, she had never used one.
Natasha’s eyes fell curiously over the younger woman, wondering how she’d been so…innocent and still managed to take an interest in you of all people. The same woman Natasha had witnessed overwhelm even her most confident of friends. And here Wanda was, all doe-eyed and drooling; being served you on a silver platter and still too clouded with nerves to know what to do with you.
As Natasha began to peel away her clothes, it became wickedly clear to her that she’d have to teach Wanda what to do with you. Lucky for Wanda, Natasha was an expert at that by now.
“I’ll show you, in due time.” There was no reason to rush things. Despite the obvious nerves, the look in Wanda’s eyes indicated that she was at least somewhat enjoying herself. And, with the adoring way you had talked about Wanda in the last few weeks, Natasha figured it wouldn’t be the last time she would be invited into your bedroom.
But, in classic Natasha fashion, she was going to have to break the innocence that clouded Wanda’s conscience - there was no room for that here.
“She can be a real slut if you use it right.” Just as Natasha had figured it would, the language made Wanda’s eyes widen as she nearly choked on the air in her lungs.
“Oh, don’t be so prissy, Maximoff. She likes when you talk about her like that. Isn’t that right, dove?” It was now only the second time Natasha had regarded you since the two of them had entered the room.
Wanda’s attention shifted back to you in time to catch the fervent nod of your head as you watched Natasha pull the toy back on with eager eyes. “Look at her, she’s practically begging you to touch her.”
You looked up at Wanda then, eyes full of a submission she had never experienced before in regards to you. It was very much unlike the confidence you displayed at work; the one that seemed to natural and always ensured you were payed the full-extent of the respect you deserved.
Now was different, you looked small and fragile at Wanda’s feet and she couldn’t help but wonder how Natasha fought the urge to reach down and scoop you into her arms every time you flashed those eyes at her.
The power Wanda felt over you was completely unfamiliar to her but she pushed closer nonetheless.“Go ahead.” Natasha encouraged the sudden boldness.
Wanda visibly hesitated before moving to press her thumb against your bottom lip. As if trained to do so - which, of course, you had been - you took the digit between your lips and began sucking at it without letting your eyes fall from Wanda’s.
“Look. At. You.” Natasha cooed, accentuating each word all on its own as she stepped behind you and gathered your hair at the back of your head. Her hands slid down to hold the curve of your jaw between her palms and successfully hold your attention on Wanda.
“Good girl.” It surprised even Wanda herself as she said it, fully preparing to pull away in embarrassment if it hadn’t have been for the moan that vibrated against the pad of her thumb.
The surprise in Wanda’s expression must have given her away as Natasha piped in with a, “She loves the praise, practically lives for it. I bet you’ve already made her pretty cunt all messy.” Wanda’s heart sped up at the thought - or maybe just the words themselves - heat building desperately between her own legs as she imagined what was to come next.
“Go find out, Maximoff.” It was all the approval she needed for her to sink onto her knees in an attempt to reach between your parted thighs. But she was interrupted by Natasha, “Hey, no. Get up.” She complied at the tone in Natasha’s voice, confusion disregarded as she focused on not upsetting the older woman.
“You make her come to you. If she wants us to use her like the greedy little fucktoy she is, she’ll have to work for it.”
The condescending tone in your wife’s voice, speaking as if you weren’t even in the room, forced a whimper from your chest. The sound made Wanda release a sharp breath as a smug smile spread further across Natasha’s face.
Wanda cleared her throat, fishing inside herself for the confidence she knew she was going to have to have if she didn’t want to blow her shot at fucking you. “On the bed.” Short and sweet was the demand, earning her a chuckle of approval from the older woman beside her and an eager comply from you.
A hand clamped down on her shoulder, “Impressive, Maximoff. There you go.” Natasha purred in a voice that made Wanda want to let out a whimper of her own. But she refrained and instead sent a curt nod as she tried to steady her wobbly legs.
Your back sunk further into the soft mattress as Wanda took a step towards you. Her hand came down and brushed against the bruises already forming on your knees before sliding up towards the soft skin of your thigh, examining the way your legs parted in invitation for either of the women above you.
Unlike the whimper she had managed to swallow moments ago, Wanda did let out a groan at the sight of you and wasted absolutely no time in running a timid finger through your slick folds. Natasha had been right, you were wet all the way down your thighs.
You gasped at the suddenly intrusion of Wanda’s finger probing at your entrance and clenched around nothing as Natasha spoke again, “See, Maximoff. What did I tell you? She can’t help but make a mess.” Wanda was unsure of what to do next as she watched your hips buck towards her finger.
“Can I-…” Wanda didn’t even have to finish her question before Natasha was mumbling something about ‘do whatever you want, she’ll take it’ which was lost on your ears as you focused on the desperation growing in your cunt.
Wanda ducked towards you and her tongue darted out to lash at your swollen clit. The moan she was rewarded with encouraged her to keep going, circling her lips around the sensitive bud.
Needy sounds tumbled from your lips, Wanda’s own moans began vibrating against your clit as she pushed her tongue deeper - she was tasting you as if she had never eaten a decent meal in her life and never would again. Your hands flew into her hair and further rewarded her with approving tugs and yanks.
Your squirming did not go unnoticed by your wife, “Hold her down. You’re in charge.” Wanda complied without hesitation, bracing both hands on either side of your hips and anchoring them against the bed as your attempts at thrashing against her face did not falter.
The sounds of Wanda practically devouring you echoed in the space around you, the quietness of the house long intruded, especially as your wife encouraged the newest addition to your bedroom, “Come on, Maximoff. Look at her, she’s being so good for you. Why don’t you make her cum, sweetheart?” Wanda had never wanted to do anything more and the nickname in itself brought her to begin rubbing sharp circles against your clit.
Natasha was impressed. Admittedly, she had thought she was going to have to coach Wanda on more than just taking charge. But she was fucking you with her tongue like she had been practicing all her life and deserved a certificate.
It was apparent that you thought the same. “Fuck, Wanda. Please, please, let me cum!” And Wanda would have, without a doubt, if Natasha hadn’t tangled a hand in her hair and yanked her away without so much as a warning to either of you.
Your wife’s laugh boomed as a choked sob escaped your heaving lungs, hips craning desperately to follow the retreat of Wanda’s face. Even a whimper fell from the other woman’s lips but she didn’t dare disobey the red-head standing above her.
“Oh, come on, dove. You didn’t really think it’d be that easy, huh?” You had, actually - and the whine you let out alerted Natasha of this.
Natasha cooed a mix of ‘poor baby’ and ‘little slut’ from behind Wanda but it was swallowed by the blood rushing in her ears; pure excitement over the hand that tightened further at the roots of her hair.
It was very clear to her now; no matter what kind of power she ever managed to build over you, Natasha would always be in control. Always. And that intrigued her entirely.
Still, she hadn’t wanted to stop. Not with the sweet moans and the fiery confidence building in her chest that she had been rewarded with.
Natasha motioned to the top of the bed where your head was frustratedly thrown back against the mattress as you tried to catch your breath. “Over there.”
Wanda began to move around you, and prepared herself to crawl at the top of the bed until Natasha grabbed at the waistband of her dress pants and let it snap back against her skin.
“I meant on her face, sweetheart.” Natasha corrected.
The courage Wanda had grown immediately began to deplete as she glanced down at the button of her pants. “Oh, okay.” She let out a shaky breath as her fingers fumbled with the fastens. She wanted to - god, did she want to - but she was entirely nervous to expose herself now.
“Let me.” Your voice was soft as you spoke, for the first time, in a sentence that hadn’t been clouded by desperate whines or obeying hums. Wanda glanced at you, then at Natasha who only gave her an assuring nod as she sensed the nerves radiating off of Wanda once again.
Wanda returned her attention to you, hands falling to her sides as yours came up to undo her pants. You were, unsurprisingly, good at unbuckling them from your sideways position before helping Wanda pull them down along with the thin cotton material of her underwear.
Natasha moved forward and pressed a gentle kiss at the base of Wanda’s neck, the first non-verbal affection she had shown to either of you and her only attempt of the night to calm the younger woman’s nerves. And it worked, especially as her lips trailed gently up towards the younger woman’s ear and her fingers began to work open the buttons of her shirt.
“This okay, Maximoff?” The question was odly comforting coming from Natasha with the soft breath that brushed against her earlobe and Wanda let out a soft ‘yes’ as the last of her clothes were peeled away. “See, not so bad.” She hummed and Wanda let out a breathy laugh.
“Open wide, dove.” Natasha nearly sung as she helped Wanda climb over your face and throw her outer thigh to the opposite side of your head.
Two moans rung out as Wanda sunk herself down onto your flattened tongue; Wanda’s as her eyes squeezed shut with a shuddered breath and yours and the taste of her coated your tongue. If she hadn’t have been so turned on, Wanda would have been embarrassed at the sloppy rhythm in which her hips began to stutter against your face.
“Guess my little dove isn’t the only slut around here, huh?” Natasha’s question went unanswered as Wanda’s fist found your hair and gripped as if she was afraid you’d disappear from between her thighs. Natasha didn’t pay much mind to the lack of an answer, she was going to cut the poor girl some slack for now.
You were lost in Wanda, so captivated by the way her cunt clenched around your tongue and the moans that unhitched from her throat when you lashed your tongue in a way she liked that you didn’t notice Natasha had moved downwards until the head of her toy probed at your own entrance.
“Keep making her feel good, baby, ‘wanna reward you with my cock.”
You let out an involuntary plead, muffled by Wanda’s echoing wetness and her chanting of “Yes, yes, yes! Good girl, yes, good girl!” just as Natasha pushed the toy inside you, all the way to the hilt, and left no time for you to adjust to it’s girth before she was pounding away at your hips.
“You’re so good for us, dove.” Natasha encouraged, her movements never faltering as she worked the toy inside you; deeper and at the same pace that your tongue worked at Wanda’s fluttering clit.
Natasha reached forward after a moment, circling her hand around Wanda’s throat and guiding her head to lean backwards. “Come on sweetheart, don’t you wanna cum?” Wanda nodded eagerly as her eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling of pleasure.
“No no no, Maximoff, I wanna watch that innocence melt away.”
Natasha sped up her hips against yours as Wanda let out a strangled cry and her eyes fell open to lock onto Natasha. “Is this what you thought about, sweetheart? When you watched me bend that pretty little whore of mine over my desk? Did you think about getting fucked just as good? Hmm?”
To accompany your wife’s words, your hand anchored between Wanda’s thighs, sinking into her cunt without so much as a lick of resistance as if making her cum had been your only goal for the entirety of your life.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna-…” The words were lost on Wanda’s drying lips as she clamped down around your fingers; hips bucking sporadically as she chased the ever-growing need to release.
“Go ahead, sweetheart.”
Natasha’s further encouragement was all Wanda needed before her head began reeling with the dizziness she had been chasing and her orgasm spasmed through the muscles in her body; each one of them screaming something along the lines of fuck yes as her death grip on your hair tightened impossibly.
Knowing your plead for your own release would go unheard over her own screaming, Wanda’s hand came down to rub desperately at your clit at the same time that Natasha drilled the toy into you with purpose.
“Cum for us. Come on, I want to see you cum.” Wanda pleaded between gasping breaths. Natasha smirked as she leaned forward to plant sloppy kisses against Wanda’s heaving lips and her hips worked harder even through the clenching you were doing. “Taking my cock so well, dove. Make a mess all over it.”
The sounds of your release were swallowed by Wanda’s thighs, still clenched tightly at either side of your head as you came. Wanda made a point of lifting away from your face so that your screams were free to bounce off the bedroom walls, a small bit of pride filling her chest as your clit pulsed against her fingertips.
Natasha watched intently as her hips slowed to a stop, squelching sounds following the calculated withdrawal of her hips in time with your orgasm subsiding. “There’s my good girl. My sweet girls.” Her thumb brushed adoringly against the bone of Wanda’s jaw.
Wanda’s emerald-colored eyes were black even under the yellow light of the night-table lamp which lewdly cast the shadow of the three of you against the far wall.
Natasha helped to guide Wanda off of you and settled her onto the bed beside you. When your hand found hers and entwined your fingers, she flickered a soft glance in your direction.
Her chest still retched with shallow breaths as she spoke, “What happens now?” She almost sounded sad - as if she was trying to etch it into her brain because it was going to dissipate from her fingertips and she’d never experience this sort of euphoria before.
Natasha laughed softly, without the sarcasm that had swam in her previous laughter that night. She emerged from the bathroom where she had been discarding the toy and fetching a few damp washcloths, “Now you rest. You think we were gonna kick you out?”
“I was hoping not.”
You laughed then, still breathy and exhausted, “Oh, you’ll be lucky if we can keep our hands off you now.”
Summary: While you're spending a nice moment with your professor inside her office, the Dean decides to pay her a visit. (or, you pleasure Mrs. Maximoff under her desk.)
Relationship: Professor!Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Dean!Natasha Romanoff x Reader x Professor!Wanda Maximoff (Implied)
"You weren't paying attention to class today." You hear her say as soon as you sneak into her office, not looking up from the papers on her desk because she knows you're the only one who would walk in at this hour unannounced.
Her voice sounds disappointed. You know she is chastising you for your behavior. You can't help the smug expression that overtakes your face as you lean back against her door, pushing it closed with a loud click. "I was thinking about you, does that make it better?"
Mrs. Maximoff raises her head to look at you for the first time, one eyebrow arched. She doesn't look impressed, leaning back on her chair with a tired sigh. "Is that so, Ms. Y/l/n?" You love it when she calls you by your last name, sounding so formal even when she's ruining you.
Mrs. Maximoff knows that too.
"I was remembering yesterday." You say, walking closer to her desk. Mrs. Maximoff watches your every step with rapt attention, her eyes never leaving yours. "I kept thinking about how good you fucked me, and how you made me beg for your cock." Your words get a reaction out of her, her lips curling in a tiny grin.
Mrs. Maximoff shifts on her chair, absentmindedly twirling her pen between her fingers. "That's very naughty of you, Ms. Y/l/n." She smirks, looking up at you with so much lust in her eyes that you almost ignore how dangerous it is to provoke her in such a public place. "I think I'll need to punish you for it." Mrs. Maximoff's eyes twinkle mischievously as she rolls her chair back, standing up.
She reaches down to the belt around her pants, undoing the clasp before taking it off in one swift pull. "Come here, now."
You walk toward her almost blindly, watching as she played around with the leather belt to get it ready for you, feeling yourself soaking at the thought of your professor spanking you with it in her office where you could be caught any moment.
Mrs. Maximoff smiles, eyes gazing you up and down appreciatively, her hand grasps the back of your neck as soon as you're close enough to be touched, pulling you closer for a kiss in the same characteristically demanding way she always did.
However, mere seconds before your lips touch hers, Mrs. Maximoff's expression changes to one of alert, and you yelp as she pushes you down to your knees, blinking confusedly at the woman. "Get under the desk." She says urgently, glancing at the door. "Now!"
You do as you're told, hearing the door open right as you pull yourself under her wooden desk.
"Mrs. Maximoff, there you are." Your eyes widen at the sound of Dean Romanoff's voice, hearing a hitch in Mrs. Maximoff's voice as she tries to sound normal.
"Dean Romanoff, how may I help you?"
"I wanted to talk to you about the new rules." Dean Romanoff says. You hear Mrs. Maximoff sigh in relief, their footsteps approaching the desk as she urges the Dean inside.
Your favorite professor sits down, adjusting the chair closer to her desk. You watch her spreading her legs, tapping her feet around to locate you under her desk, and smile comfortingly - even though she can't see you - as you touch her ankle.
You pay attention to the first few snippets of their conversation, but soon it grows boring to stay in the tiny space hearing all that academic talk between the two older women, so you move your attention elsewhere.
Smiling mischievously, you reach forward until your fingers find the zipper of Mrs. Maximoff's pants. You see her jump in surprise when she feels your touch, her hand finding yours over the front of her pants, holding you still.
You roll your eyes, turning your hand to give her a comforting squeeze, rubbing her knuckles. You're not stupid - you think to yourself. You're only trying to have a little bit of fun while the two older women talk your ear off about boring things.
Surely, Mrs. Maximoff won't mind it, right?
It takes a long minute before you hear her sigh in defeat, lightly slapping your hand away. You're almost disappointed by it before Mrs. Maximoff's own hand undoes the button of her pants, pulling down the zipper.
She taps the side of her leg, and you immediately understand her sign as she gently raises her ass from the chair, allowing you to pull her pants down until it stops at her ankles.
You grin at the sight of her lower half almost exposed to your lustful gaze, gazing at the expanse of fair skin and the light patch of wetness you can see on her red lingerie as she spreads her legs open for you, silently inviting you to touch her.
Dean Romanoff's voice becomes a background sound as you lean in, lovingly kissing your professor's thighs. Mrs. Maximoff tenses under your touch, clearing her throat as she continues her conversation. "It would be better if we could find a way to make this work more quickly." She speaks up, a warning aimed at you.
You roll your eyes pettily, only doing it because Mrs. Maximoff can't see you, and bring your hands up to push her underwear to the side as you lean in to lick a long stripe up her slip.
Her breath hitches, hips shifting closer to the edge of the chair. You grip her thighs, digging your nails into her flesh. Your lips part to take her clit into her mouth, sucking it just to hear the sharp intake of breath coming from the woman.
"Are you alright, Mrs. Maximoff?" Dean Romanoff asks worriedly.
"Yes, Dean Romanoff. I just have a bit of a headache, please continue."
You grin, hearing a suspicious hum from Dean Romanoff before the woman continues their conversation. Your tongue laps at her folds, and you have to hold yourself back from moaning at the taste of Mrs. Maximoff as you greedily suck at her entrance, feeling her wetness smearing your lower lip and chin.
You breathe in her scent as if it were a drug, bringing your fingers toward her center as you shift to give attention to her clit. Your digits find their way toward the professor's entrance, two prodding at the sensitive hole as you start to gently slip them inside.
You sigh at the warmth around you, feeling your professor's walls squeeze your fingers as you start to move them in and out. You never did get many opportunities to fuck her like this, due to how often you found yourself handcuffed to her headboard and having her mouth, fingers, and cock on you until you nearly passed out from pleasure.
Mrs. Maximoff was a demanding lover and giver. She only allowed you to fuck her on her terms, so you felt the need to appreciate the opportunity to have this much freedom over her body, even if it was only her lower half.
You hummed against her as you lapped at her folds, hoping Dean Romanoff couldn't hear the lewd sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of Mrs. Maximoff's core. "Mrs. Maximoff, are you sure you're alright?" You hear the Dean's impatient question as Mrs. Maximoff starts showing signs of her orgasm approaching her, her walls clenching around you.
You slow down your movements, aware that as much fun as this was you could be in big trouble if Dean Romanoff caught you doing this. Right as you slow down, however, Mrs. Maximoff's hand grasps yours under the desk, her hips moving in a silent request for you to continue your previous rhythm.
Your eyes widen, but you follow the professor's request. "Come here." You hear her say in a raspy voice, furrowing your eyebrows at the command as you glance between the gap of her desk and body up at her face to figure out if she was crazy to ask something like this from you.
Dean Romanoff's face appears far too close to your professor's, and you feel yourself freeze when the redhead's lips meet Mrs. Maximoff's in a heated kiss.
While one of Mrs. Maximoff's hands threads the Dean's hair, the other digs into your scalp to pull you closer. Her leg hops on your shoulder, the heel of her feet digging into your back as she rolls her hips against your face, humping your tongue for her own pleasure.
"God, Wanda." Dean Romanoff's voice admonishes her as soon as they part, your professor's breathing wavering as she moans for the first time. "In your office, really?" The Dean looks down, dark green eyes meeting yours, and she gently shakes her head as she finds you getting used to your professor's pleasure.
You blush, somehow knowing that you're not in trouble. Wanda - it's what the Dean called Mrs. Maximoff, they must know each other well if they were calling each other by the first name and kissing like this.
Somehow, unlike the many times, students flirted shamelessly with Mrs. Maximoff, you find yourself not jealous of her relationship with the Dean.
Instead, you stare back at Dean Romanoff as you stick your tongue out, fucking your professor harder as you let her hump your tongue until the woman is moaning her breathless release, feeding you with the sweet taste of her juices.
"I thought you were better than this, Wanda." The Dean says, watching your professor regain her breathing.
"And here I thought you wanted to meet my star student, Nat." Mrs. Maximoff smirks, rolling the chair back before urging you to crawl out of the tiny space.
When you do stand up, your professor makes you turn to stare at Dean Romanoff before pulling you down to sit on her lap, circling your waist with her arms and using her legs to kick yours open.
Dean Romanoff's eyes follow the path of skin showing under your skirt, and you know she can see your ruined underwear because of how spread your legs are.
She hums, looking unimpressed by Mrs. Maximoff's actions. "And she was a bad girl too, I was about to punish her for it." Mrs. Maximoff adds quickly, nodding her head to the forgotten leather belt on the corner of her office, almost like she's offering it to the redhead.
Dean Romanoff's eyes darken, eyes finding yours. "Is that so, Ms. Y/l/n? You've been giving your professor a lot of trouble?"
You flush, no sounds leaving your lips. "Answer her, sweetheart." Mrs. Maximoff whispers in your ear, the sweet name falling from her lips for the first time during the day and making you swoon. You loved it even more when she was sweet to you. "Dean Romanoff owns me, so she owns you too. You need to be polite if you want to stay on her good side, baby."
You hold Mrs. Maximoff's hand over your stomach, intertwining your fingers together as you look up at the Dean. "Yes, Dean Romanoff."
If Mrs. Maximoff trusts her to own you, then so do you.
Hello I saw you were still doing those sentence stories. Is it alright if I request a fluff one for Wanda?
“I didn’t know you liked to garden.”
Pairing: Wanda X Reader. Warnings: Gardening, mention of past suicide attempt.
“I didn’t know you liked to garden.”
Her words came out slightly curled, like the way her lips were as she looked at you. She looks pale under the orange evening sun, and without a hat in this light, she was almost blinding to look at.
“Hey,” you greet back with a smile which then falters as you look to your surroundings. “You really shouldn’t be out here, Wands. Nat’s going to kill me.”
Hastily, you take the shears and stab them into the soil, plucking your gloves from both hands and throwing them down to the floor. You make your way over to Wanda with big steps.
“It’s just a garden,” she shrugs and backs away slightly at your fast approaching form, “Your garden.”
A lie grows in your throat. “No, it’s not mine, it’s Pepper’s.” A soft forbearing smile grows against your lips. Your eyes sparkled at her statements.
“I’m just the warm body that actually takes care of it.” You huff a little, but you’re careful not to overdo it because you don’t want to come across as not wanting her company. Because you do. Just not here. “And it’s a rooftop garden. Nat says you’re not allowed on rooftops.”
By now, you were close enough to grab her gently by the elbow, ushering her away from the greens and into the stairwell that would lead down to the apartments. “You shouldn’t be here, it’s dangerous.”
She stops in her tracks as you’re walking and you bump into her frozen body.
“I know how to take care of myself,” she tells you, “I’m old enough.”
“I know that.”
“Then why can’t we stay?”
You purse your lips at the thought of her. It had happened more than a year ago at Lagos, after she had hurt those many people. Once she got back to the tower, she had come up this very same rooftop and threw herself off the ledge just to the right where the both of you were currently standing.
She had healed. Miraculously fast, in fact. But she had also lost her memories of that day and an entire year before. In her mind, she had created a reality where the Avengers had saved her from the clutches of HYDRA. And that her brother had perished during their escape.
The rest of you weren’t about to unravel painful webs of her past when her brain had made its choice to keep only certain memories. You learned that it a traumatic response of the brain– a memory so painful that the only thing the brain could do the protect its owner is to delete it and place a new one in wake of it. Thought this coping method had it’s downsides too.
“We’re just looking out for you, okay?”
She pauses and looks at you.
“I saw a leaf from my balcony, I wanted to come see.”
“You did?” You smiled hopefully at her, eyes glistening. You began to lead her towards the door again, “I’ll get Tony to make one of the meeting rooms into a greenhouse. How’s that sound, hm?”
You were at the door now, your sun hat casting a long shadow onto her face as the evening sun set. She looked longingly at the garden behind you and then turned back to look at you.
“Okay,” she whispered and then turned to push the door. You watched as she retreated beyond the door.
You had already turned around to get back to the garden when you heard her precious voice call out to you again.
“Y/N?”
“Hm?”
You barely have time to turn back around when her body crashes into yours.
“Heyyyy,” you laugh both in shock and pleasant surprise.
“Thank you,” she says softly into your ear. You know she’s looking at the garden again. “Sometimes I have nightmares of being in pain. The only thing I can hear is your voice. I always focus on it.”
There’s silence.
A comfortable one.
“Can you teach me how to garden one day?” she asks in a meek voice.
You bite your lip to try to hide your trembling chin as you recall the time when this didn’t use to be Pepper’s garden, but hers. Wanda’s garden. That she had spent that one year cultivating this and had now completely forgotten about it. You suppose that the brain isn’t so smart after all.
“I will,” you assured and hugged her tightly into your chest.
You weren’t going to lose her ever again.
You watch a panting Natasha run up the stairs and give her a thumbs up behind Wanda. She smiles in gratefulness.
“I love you,” Wanda nuzzles her face into your shoulder. The roughness of your corduroy jacket feels comforting against her cheeks and nose.
“I love you too,” you kiss her on the side of her neck.
Fin.
A Sentence Story Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Post A/N: My attempt at fluff! Except I am in no way a fluff writer... I hope this was okay! Ps. love your dp.
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