you’re ovulating and during your shower with wanda (she was innocently helping you wash in there) she notices the collection of stringy discharge at your opening when she was washing your body.
when you get out, she says nothing as she towels you off. but once you’re in bed, ready to snuggle with wanda and her wife, you’re slightly disoriented when wanda begins to strip you of the pajamas she just dressed you in. you address her in confusion but she shushes you and tells you to lie back on the bed.
you listen of course and that’s when you see natasha reappear in front of you at the end of the bed. she’s wearing a strap with an 8 inch dildo.
you swallow, calling out to natasha now as she crawls over your body on the bed.
“shhh, baby. daddy’s just giving your pretty cunt what it needs.”
with that, she spreads your legs. wanda lies next to you and strokes along your naked body. she coos and praises you as natasha works the strap slowly inside of you. they both talk you through it—inch by inch.
your gasps and whimpers are muffled as wanda presses her hand over your mouth.
when natasha bottoms out, she stays completely still. her hand that wasn’t holding your legs open draws the softest circles around your clit. it wasn’t enough—but that was on purpose.
your whines get louder against wanda’s hand. you want natasha to move so badly. your cunt clenches around her cock.
wanda kisses your cheek and then your forehead, assuring you that you’re okay.
that’s when natasha pulls out barely an inch. she reaches down and squeezes the base of her faux strap. it’s cum filled.
she squeezes it, effectively filling you up nice and deep. you register the cum spilling inside your womb and it makes your thighs twitch.
natasha eyes burn into yours as you whine and squirm on her strap.
“ohhh, baby—you’re okay.” she soothes, her palm cupping the side of your face.
she stays there for a couple more minutes. when she pulls out, wanda makes quick work of putting your panties back on.
“can’t have you dripping onto the sheets.” she had said. but really it was because they wanted you to be squirming in your wet panties.
you can hardly think about going to sleep at that point. you whined, pleaded and begged for either of them to touch you—please you. you even took turns humping their thighs at two separate times, completely uncaring how pathetic it was.
they didn’t give in. this was simply about filling you up, just like your body wanted.
unfortunately yeah i am the type to say “fuck baby take this big fucking load” or “fuck you feel so fucking good” whilst i am actively fucking you with a strap.
older!neighbor!wanda who slowly corrupts housewife!reader …
-telling you how pathetic your husband is, how you could do so much better than a man who simply brushes you off.
-and desperate for her approval, you beg wanda to help your marriage, and wanda desperate for more obliges. wanda teaches you how to be a good wife, a good woman. teaching you to cook, clean, but most importantly…how to please.
-and little you….you want to please him..so you tell yourself, but it’s not his affection you crave—it’s hers.
-and wanda knows all about your little feelings towards her, so much to where she initiated the arrangement! One where she teaches you how to please a man.
-what’s a better way to learn than hands on?
-“let me be your test doll…for practicing of course” she’d say in that sickeningly sweet tone of hers. underlying cunningness that flies right over your head as she inches closer, her hand coming to your jaw forcing it straight, making your nervous wandering eyes look at her. Only her.
-“this is what good neighbors do babydoll….what kind of neighbor would I be if I let you prance around all clueless hm?” how could you not believe her when she talks so sweetly?
-Wanda has slowly become what you consider your close friends. you love gushing about her to your friends, telling your family back home is what wonderful neighbor you have…how she helps you navigate married life, sorta like a mentor—you phrased it.
-but mentors don’t have their hands in your hair pushing your face closer to her cunt, instructing you to stick your tongue out further, and moaning out in between heavy breaths “fuck keep going baby…doing so good for mommy…such a fast learner..”
-and a fast learner you are, one of wanda’s favorites? teaching you how to ride, by having you up and down her thick strap. saying “just like that babydoll….exactly like that” while she watches herself disappear into you over and over. It gives her a rush to see your pretty thighs—marked from her own love bites—tremble all tired from how long she’s had you bouncing.
-maybe next she’ll even introduce you to her lovely friend natasha….her mind is running with the amount of corrup—teaching she can do to you.
sobbing out “thank you daddy’”’s as natasha fucks you into the mattress. your head in wanda’s lap as she wipes stray hairs matted to your forehead. “that’s it, baby. take daddy’s cock.” she encourages in between natasha’s grunting.
Darkish Wanda x Reader, Non con, Ejaculating Strap
- Dark Mommy Wanda breaking into your apartment at midnight to give you your birthday gift. Well, does it really count as breaking in if you left your bedroom window cracked open?
- She sees you asleep in bed wearing absolutely nothing. Goodness, is it your birthday or hers? Wanda amuses in the sight of your hard nipples and the goosebumps running along your body.
- Mommy Wanda wastes no time in getting her hand inside those surprisingly wet panties. Seems you were looking forward to this just as much as her. “That’s it, you little slut,” as she circles your clit with her fingers. “Stay nice and quiet for Mommy”.
- Mommy Wanda couldn’t leave you empty for long, she rips off your panties without hesitation, entering into you with a strap she bought to mark this special day. She spent her time carefully searching and selecting the perfect strap for you. The perfect size.
- Mommy Wanda delights at the cute whines leaving your mouth. She enters you quickly, bottoming out completely and leaving you no time to adjust before she begins to move inside you. A shiver runs through her at the sight of her strap disappearing into your hole.
- Your tight pussy clenching onto her, she begins to rut into you at an animalistic pace. “Fuck, so tight. Take it. You take what I give you,” she purrs softly into your ears as she pushes into you deeper and deeper. “Mommy has a present for you.”
- She brings you closer to the edge, grunting and moaning as she pounds into you roughly. Placing her hand around your neck, she squeezes slightly with a hungry look in her eyes.
- “Happy birthday baby,” she groans out finally as she cums, the thick substance shooting into your pussy, coating your inner walls. Filled to the brim with her, her cum begins to leak down your thighs. You are entirely soaked and ruined.
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Let Mommy Think for You | Elizabeth Olsen x Reader
Smut: talking through it, cunnilingus, fingering, mommy kink, praise-degradation kink
Elizabeth hovers above you on the soft bed, her brunette hair cascading like a gentle curtain around your faces as she leans in. Her lips meet yours in a deep, lingering kiss, warm and unhurried, her tongue slipping past your parted lips to explore your mouth with tender insistence.
One hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, while the other roams your body, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up to cup your breast through your shirt, squeezing softly as she presses her body against yours.
You melt into the kiss, your hands clutching at her shoulders, pulling her closer. She breaks away just enough to murmur against your lips, "That's it, my sweet little girl, open up for me like the slut you are."
Her words wrap around you like velvet, praising your eagerness even as they tease your desperation, sending a shiver down your spine.
Her hand drifts lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt to caress the bare skin of your stomach, then higher to push the fabric up and expose your chest. She palms your breast directly now, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under her touch.
The kiss deepens again, her breath mingling with yours in soft, intimate sighs. "You're doing so well, letting Mommy feel every inch of you," she whispers, her voice a soothing guide through the building heat.
Soon, her exploring hand ventures further south, tugging at the waistband of your pants. With gentle tugs, she works them down your hips, along with your underwear, stripping you bare from the waist down while her mouth never strays far from yours. The cool air of the room kisses your exposed skin, but her warmth quickly follows as her fingers trail along your inner thigh, inching toward your core.
Elizabeth's fingertips brush against your pussy, and she hums approvingly into the kiss, feeling the slick wetness gathered there. She pulls back slightly, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a mix of adoration and hunger.
"God, you're soaking for me already, aren't you? Such a perfect, desperate mess just for Mommy." She strokes you lightly at first, parting your folds to feel how drenched you are, her touch feather-soft yet deliberate, circling your entrance without rushing.
You gasp, arching up toward her hand. "Mommy," you breathe out, the word slipping from your lips like a plea.
She smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before capturing your lips again briefly. "Shh, I've got you, baby. Just relax and let me take care of my greedy little girl."
Her fingers continue to tease, spreading your wetness around your clit with slow, intimate circles that make your hips buck eagerly. She's patient, talking you through every sensation, her voice low and reassuring. "Feel that? That's how much you want this, how your body's begging for me. You're so good for me, being this wet, this ready—my darling angel."
With a soft nod from you, she slides one finger inside, then two, curling them just right as she begins to fuck you slowly. Her thumb rests against your clit, rubbing in tandem with the gentle thrusts of her fingers. The rhythm is unhurried, each push and pull drawing out your pleasure in waves, her body still draped over yours protectively.
he kisses along your jaw, your neck, whispering praises laced with that edge of degradation that makes your pulse race. "That's my sweet slut, taking my fingers so deep. You're incredible, darling, clenching around me like you can't get enough—such a needy whore for Mommy's touch.'
You whimper, your hands gripping the sheets as she builds the pace just enough to keep it intimate, her free hand stroking your hair, grounding you in the tenderness of it all.
"Breathe with me, love. Let it build nice and slow. You're safe here, doing so well for mommy." Her fingers plunge deeper, scissoring slightly to stretch you, hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, all while her words weave a spell of affirmation and desire.
Elizabeth's fingers move with a steady, loving rhythm inside you, curling and thrusting in a way that sends ripples of pleasure through your core. Her thumb presses firmer against your clit, circling with just the right pressure to heighten every sensation.
She watches your face intently, her brunette locks falling forward as she leans in close, her breath warm on your skin. "Look at you, my precious girl, taking it all so beautifully. You're such a perfect slut for me, aren't you? Clenching like that."
You nod, your voice a soft whine. "Yes, Mommy... please..."
She coos softly, her free hand trailing up to wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. 'That's right, let go. I've got you, my sweet, filthy thing. Feel how your pussy grips my fingers, hm? That's how much you need this, baby, how you're mine to unravel."
Her pace quickens just a touch, fingers plunging deeper, scissoring to stretch you wider, all while her words guide you higher. The intimacy of her gaze, the way her body shields yours, makes the build-up feel like a shared secret, tender and consuming.
Your hips rise to meet her hand, breaths coming in short gasps as the tension coils tighter. "Mommy, I'm... I'm close," you murmur, fingers digging into her arms.
"Good girl, my baby. Cum for me now—show Mommy how desperately you fall apart her." Her voice is a gentle command, laced with that intoxicating mix of adoration and edge, and it tips you over.
Your body tenses, then shudders as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat pulsing around her fingers. She doesn't stop, working you through it with slow, soothing strokes, drawing out every tremor until you're limp and panting beneath her.
Elizabeth withdraws her fingers gently, bringing them to her lips to taste you with a satisfied hum. "Mmm, that's my beautiful girl." She kisses you deeply, letting you share the flavor on her tongue, her hands roaming your sides in reassuring caresses.
Without breaking contact, she begins to trail kisses downward, soft and deliberate, starting from your lips, then your chin, your throat. Her mouth lingers on your collarbone, sucking lightly to leave faint marks of affection.
"Relax, baby. Mommy's going to make you feel even better," she whispers against your skin, her hands pushing your shirt up and over your head, fully stripping you now. Her lips follow the path her hands take, kissing across your chest, taking one nipple into her mouth to swirl her tongue around it, then the other, nipping just enough to make you arch.
She moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your ribs, your stomach, her tongue dipping into your navel briefly. Your skin tingles under her attention, every touch reverent yet hungry.
"You're perfect like this, laid out for me—my gorgeous girl, all flushed and ready for mommy." Her words vibrate against your hip as she nuzzles there, hands spreading your thighs wider, exposing you completely.
Elizabeth settles between your legs, her breath ghosting over your still-sensitive pussy. She looks up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Tell Mommy you want her mouth on you."
"Oh, please, Mommy... I need it," you breathe, your hands fisting the sheets in anticipation.
She smiles, rewarding you with a slow lick from your entrance to your clit, savoring your taste. "Such a good, needy girl. My sweet girl deserves this."
Her tongue delves in, flat and broad at first, lapping up the remnants of your release before focusing on your clit with precise flicks. One hand holds your thigh steady, the other slips two fingers back inside you, curling to hit that spot again as her mouth works relentlessly.
The dual sensation builds quickly, your body still humming from before. She hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. "Does this feel good for you, my darling love? Your pussy's weeping for me already. You're doing amazing, taking my tongue like the perfect little fucktoy you are for mommy." Her praise stings sweetly, urging you on as she sucks your clit gently, then harder, fingers thrusting in time.
You cry out, hips grinding against her face. "Mommy! Oh god..."
"Yes, just like that. Cum on my tongue, my girl—let me taste you again." The orgasm hits fast and fierce, your walls fluttering around her fingers as pleasure explodes, leaving you shaking. She laps it all up, not letting up, easing you through the aftershocks before ramping up again.
Elizabeth shifts, her tongue plunging deeper now, fucking into you with wet, intimate strokes while her thumb rubs your clit. "One more for mommy, baby. You can take it—my filthy girl, cumming again so soon, hm?" Her free hand reaches up to pinch your nipple, adding another layer of sensation. The build is relentless, her mouth tireless, and soon you're teetering on the edge once more.
"Mommy, I can't... it's too much," you gasp, but your body betrays you, chasing the high.
"You can, and you will. Be my good girl, my perfect girl—cum hard for Mommy." Her words push you over, the third climax of the night ripping through you, stronger than the first, your thighs clamping around her head as you sob her name. She rides it out, tongue soothing until you're spent, then gentles her touches to a soft kissing of your inner thighs.
As the waves finally subside, Elizabeth lifts her head, her lips glistening as she crawls back up your body with a tender smile. She brushes damp strands of hair from your face, her touch feather-light now, grounding you. "Hey, my love... there you are. Come back to me, sweet girl. You're safe, you're here with me." Her voice is soft, a soothing murmur as she cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently.
"Breathe with me— in and out, just like that. You've been so brave, so incredible. Mommy's so proud of her little one." She presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, then your eyelids, coaxing you down from the haze with words like a lifeline. "Feel my arms around you? I'm here, baby. You're held, you're cherished—my perfect, precious girl."
Once your breaths even out and your eyes focus on hers, she shifts to gather you close, pulling a soft blanket over both of you. Elizabeth tucks you against her chest, her heartbeat a steady rhythm under your ear as she runs her fingers through your hair in slow, comforting strokes.
"You did so well, baby. How are you feeling? Tell Mommy everything." She listens intently if you speak, or simply holds you if words don't come, her other hand tracing lazy circles on your back.
She reaches for a nearby glass of water, helping you sip it slowly, then wipes your face with a cool cloth from the nightstand, cleaning away the sweat and tears of release with utmost care. "There we go, all fresh. You're glowing, you know? Like my own little star." Kisses pepper your temple, your shoulder, light and affectionate, as she adjusts the pillows behind you both for maximum comfort.
Elizabeth hums a quiet tune, something familiar and calming, while she massages your shoulders, working out any lingering tension. "Rest now, darling. We've got all the time in the world. You're mine to care for, always." Her embrace is warm, enveloping, a promise of safety as she whispers endearments, letting the quiet intimacy wrap around you like a cocoon, easing you into a peaceful afterglow.
alt au | in which. . . rockstar!wanda tries to mend her broken relationship while trying to keep her professional career.
pairing. rockstar!wanda x f!reader
cw. (mdni) nsfw content: each content will have its own warnings, g!p wanda, drug abuse, toxic!wanda, angst.
note. this is entirely rewritten cuz i don’t remember anything from the og series and my writing is super bad (cuz 3 years is crazy!!) but my mcu obsession is so back
“Baby you look so good underneath me.” She says, rubbing your back in small circles.
Her strap is turned on the highest vibration setting and bottomed out inside your pussy. Being bent over like this, your ass on full display to her, was her favourite position.
She could perfectly see how the strap goes in and out of you and your back tattoo really just rounds it all up for her.
“My pretty baby, can Mommy move now? You said it was all too much and I think after 20 minutes of staying all still you should be fine, no?” Her tone is cruel, she knows that your brain shut off approximately 10 minutes ago, leaving you as a blabbering, dumbed down mess instead of the usually so composed girl.
Whimpers escape your mouth as you try to speak up, but nothing comes out. That is the cue for your mommy to move, the strap hitting your cervix over and over again at a brutal pace as she admires the pretty back tattoo you have with scratches all around it.
“Baby you look so good underneath me.” She says, rubbing your back in small circles.
Her strap is turned on the highest vibration setting and bottomed out inside your pussy. Being bent over like this, your ass on full display to her, was her favourite position.
She could perfectly see how the strap goes in and out of you and your back tattoo really just rounds it all up for her.
“My pretty baby, can Mommy move now? You said it was all too much and I think after 20 minutes of staying all still you should be fine, no?” Her tone is cruel, she knows that your brain shut off approximately 10 minutes ago, leaving you as a blabbering, dumbed down mess instead of the usually so composed girl.
Whimpers escape your mouth as you try to speak up, but nothing comes out. That is the cue for your mommy to move, the strap hitting your cervix over and over again at a brutal pace as she admires the pretty back tattoo you have with scratches all around it.
wanda punishing her cute little sub (you) in front of her voyeuristic wife, natasha. this is done consensually of course and oh, how they both relish in your squirming.
you’d been wanda’s submissive for close to a year now. you were officially hers, but you respected and listened to natasha just as much as you did wanda. however, natasha had never been included in a scene.
that is, until now.
it was mere weeks ago you finally admitted to wanda how you’d grown more and more curious about what it’d be like to include her wife. wanda was inexplicably excited to hear this revelation, though she kept most of her reaction to herself.
now the moment was here, your arms bound from your wrists to your elbows above your head, a spreader bar keeping your legs apart as wanda held a vibrator firmly against your weeping pussy. natasha was sitting at the end of the bed, her eyes dancing with fire as she smirked at the scene before her.
wanda was edging you, making you count each ruined orgasm as she gave them to you. when your whines became too loud, she would slip two fingers inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue effectively gagging you.
occasionally she would coo at you.
“what a good girl.”
“you sound so pretty when mommy is edging you like this.”
“you like ‘tasha watching you like this? hmm?”
“she looks awful cute with tears running down her face like that.”
you were completely flushed—whining and writhing. with both sets of eyes on you, you felt like a masterpiece and wanda was painting you beautifully—ruining you so perfectly right in front of her wife. you couldn’t help but glance at natasha every couple minutes or so, each time rewarded with the most beautiful, hungry eyes. she looked like she wanted to absolutely devour you and that drove you insane.
in the back of your mind, you hoped someday she would. to be ruined by both women would be a genuine pleasure.
As the resort’s front desk manager, you’re supposed to set the standard for professionalism. That's difficult when the valet, Natasha Romanoff, keeps pulling you into elevators, closets, and empty back offices to make you gasp and moan her name time and time again.
summary: multiple smut moments (top!natasha & bottom!reader), beach resort hospitality au, sneaky link relationship to dating, oral/fingering/strap in v (r!receiving), alcohol intake (r & n), tipsy mirror sex in a bar bathroom
Key West, Flordia.
The lobby of the resort is designed to look effortless.
White tile floors polished to a shine. Wide glass doors that stay open most of the day, letting the ocean air drift through. Slow ceiling fans turning above wicker chairs and palm plants that probably cost more than they should.
From behind the front desk, you see everything.
Guests arriving sunburned from the beach. Honeymoon couples checking in early. Families dragging sandy suitcases across the floor.
As the front desk manager, you job is to oversee all of these guests... All the reservations, complaints, late checkouts, VIP arrivals, and more. Making sure the lobby stays calm even when the line starts forming and guests get impatient in the heat.
Professionalism at all times. That’s the rule. As the front desk manager, it’s one you’re supposed to follow better than anyone else, set the standard, keep the lobby running smoothly, greet every guest with the same practiced smile. Which means you should definitely abide by it. Not bend them, or break them.
Like staring at someone. You should especially not do that.
Especially not through the tall glass doors toward the valet stand outside. Especially not at one of the resort’s valets as she lifts a guest’s suitcase onto a rolling cart like it weighs nothing, the muscles in her arms tightening briefly with the effort. Natasha barely seems to notice the heat that has everyone else wilting. She just adjusts the handle of the cart and pushes it toward the entrance like it’s another routine part of her shift.
You tell yourself you’re only looking because it’s part of the job. Keeping an eye on the front drive. Making sure guests are taken care of.
But the way your gaze lingers says otherwise.
The glass doors slide open a moment later, letting a wave of humid air spill into the lobby. Natasha pushes the luggage cart inside, the wheels rattling softly across the tile as she guides it toward the guest waiting at your desk.
The keys carabinered to her waistband jostle softly as she moves.Up close, the heat clings to her, strands of auburn hair damp near her temple, the collar of her shirt darker from sweat. She hands the luggage over like it’s nothing.
And her eyes flick up, straight to you.
Your thoughts stall for a moment when they really shouldn’t. You’re supposed to be monitoring the new hire beside you as she checks in a couple at the desk, making sure she follows the process correctly and doesn’t miss anything important. Instead, your attention drifts the second Natasha Romanoff steps inside from the heat.
She leans one forearm against the edge of the desk, close enough that you can still feel the warmth clinging to her from outside. The Florida sun seems to follow her in—faint sweat at the collar of her shirt, the subtle rise of her shoulders as she settles beside the counter. The keys clipped to her waistband jingle softly when she shifts her weight, the small metallic sound oddly distracting in the quiet hum of the lobby.
The new hire doesn’t notice any of it. She finishes the check-in with a polite smile, handing the guests their key cards while explaining that the valet will bring their luggage up to the room shortly. Natasha gives them a small nod, flashing that easy, guest-ready smile of hers and tossing in a quick, witty comment that earns a soft laugh from the couple.
The guests wander off toward the elevators with relaxed smiles, already settling into the start of their vacation. The new hire exhales once they’re gone and glances toward the back office.
“I’m going to grab a sip of water,” she says.
You nod distractedly, still clicking through the reservation system. The moment she disappears down the hallway, Natasha shifts beside you. Instead of stepping away like she should, she leans a little further around the side of the counter, almost slipping into the space behind the desk where employees are supposed to be the only ones standing.
“How many check-ins left?” she asks casually.
You keep your eyes on the computer screen as you answer. “Fifty-three,” you say, your tone dry as you close another reservation window.
“Nice weather we’re havin’—” she starts, the beginning of the same stupid icebreaker she uses almost every day when she wanders over to the desk like this.
You don’t even let her finish it.
“I think you should bring up the luggage,” you say, nodding subtly toward the cart still waiting near the doors.
For a moment it looks like she might actually listen. Instead, Natasha shifts a little closer to the side of the counter, leaning in just enough that her voice drops low enough for only you to hear.
“I think,” she murmurs, “you should join me.”
Your fingers pause over the keyboard. The reservation system blinks quietly on the screen, waiting for the next click while the lobby hums around you. The distant luggage wheels, the slow turning of the ceiling fans, the muffled voices of guests drifting in from the poolside bar.
Natasha’s expression is far too calm, a smile tugging faintly at the corner of her lips like she already knows the kind of answer she’s going to get. Before you can respond, the new hire wanders back from the hallway, offering a quick apology as she slips behind the desk again, twisting the cap back onto her water bottle.
“Sorry!” she says, a little breathless.
You nod, forcing your attention back to the computer screen as she settles beside you again. Natasha straightens slightly at the counter, the easy, guest-ready version of her slipping back into place so naturally it almost feels rehearsed.
The keys clipped to her waistband move about when she shifts her weight. For a moment, it seems like she might actually step away and head back toward the valet stand like she’s supposed to. Instead, she lingers.
Her fingers tap lightly against the counter once, casual enough that no one would think anything of it. When you glance up again, Natasha’s gaze drifts past you toward the elevators across the lobby. It’s subtle, the kind of look that could mean nothing at all to anyone else, but you know better.
The elevators sit just past the sitting area, polished doors reflecting the warm light spilling through the lobby windows. Guests use them constantly, but the service elevator down the side hall is usually quieter this time of day. Natasha’s eyes flick back to yours before she's walking away again.
A keened gasp escapes you as your back meets the cool metal wall almost immediately, Natasha’s hands already at your waist as she pulls you in. The elevator barely has time to start moving before her lips are on yours again, warm and insistent, like she’s been waiting all shift to do exactly this.
Your fingers clutch at the front of her shirt without thinking, the faint scent of sun and salt clinging to her from outside. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know how reckless this is, how easily someone could step onto the elevator at the next floor, but Natasha kisses you like the risk is part of the appeal, one hand braced beside your head while the other keeps you pinned close against the wall.
The elevator hums softly around you, the lights reflecting off the metal walls as Natasha’s lips press insistently against yours. Her fingers trail along the side of your neck, sliding into the hair at your nape while the other hand slips under your blazer and blouse to grip your breasr. You try to remind yourself of the lobby, the cameras, the guests just a few floors above, but every rational thought collapses the second her tongue teases the corner of your mouth. Her hand guiding your thigh to wrap around her waist, so she can roll her hips against yours.
"I-ah..!"
“You’re too easy,” she murmurs, voice low, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Her hands roam expertly, undoing the small barriers you try to put up, pressing closer as if she can sense every weak spot in your resolve.
You want to tell her to stop. You should tell her to stop. But every instinct in your body says otherwise, and your hands find their way to her shoulders and her lips crashing back against yours without hesitation.
"Natasha... mm!"
The elevator hums on, indifferent to your chaos, and for a few fleeting moments, the only thing that exists is the heat between you, the slick press of her body against yours, the dangerous thrill of being caught.
The doors start to open a floor early, and Natasha slides one last fleeting kiss across your jaw before stepping back, adjusting the strap of her shirt, her expression perfectly composed again.
You stumble out, trying to straighten your shirt, forcing your hands to stop shaking, your pulse hammering in your ears. The hallway feels unbearably bright, too quiet, too normal compared to what just happened. And as you lean against the wall, trying to steady yourself, you hate how fucking easy you are.
You’re bent over the scheduling spreadsheet on your laptop, trying to get a few shifts sorted, when the new hire comes rushing in. Her hands shake slightly, and she’s clearly trying to keep her voice down.
“Someone—uh, a guest—wants to speak to a manager,” she stammers, eyes wide. “They’re upset."
You glance up, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and trying to mask your own frazzled nerves. “It’s fine,” you say with a small, reassuring smile. “What're they upset about?"
She exhales, explaining the details, visibly relaxing a bit before slipping back toward the lobby. You follow behind, and it doesn’t take long to spot the unhappy guests. The stone expressions and flushed faces are a dead giveaway.
You put on a calm, practiced smile, letting it settle over your features like armor. “Good afternoon,” you begin smoothly. “I understand there’s been an issue. What seems to have happened?”
The woman crosses her arms, lips pressed tight, glaring at you as if the fault rests entirely on your shoulders. “She ruined the room. We booked a king suite, and we got to our room and there are two queens…?”
You nod, keeping your voice measured and even. “I understand. I’m very sorry about the mix-up. Let me pull up your reservation and see what went wrong.” You gesture for her to follow you toward the desk, tapping on the screen as your fingers fly over the keys. “Sometimes room types get shifted during high occupancy periods, but we’ll fix this for you right away. Would you like me to move you to a king suite now, or offer another option that’s available?”
The couple’s complaint started small, but after you explained the room mix-up, they’ve escalated into full-on haggling. They want an upgrade far beyond what’s available, free breakfast for the entire week, and some vague “compensation” that clearly doesn’t exist. You take a deep breath, forcing your fingers to keep tapping across the computer keys without shaking, counting every calm word before speaking.
“I’m very sorry,” you repeat, voice even but firm, “I can offer a complimentary king suite tonight with a late checkout tomorrow, or a $100 resort credit toward your stay. Those are the options available.”
They glare. They argue. They gesture wildly, practically stepping into your space as if proximity alone will make you cave. You exhale, shoulders heavy, and after a long moment of deliberation, you give in to one of their demands.
They smile, fucking almost triumphantly as they walk toward the elevators. You let yourself think it’s over. Then they stop. They turn. They march right back to the desk, the woman pointing a finger so close to your face it practically taps your chest. “This shouldn’t have happened at all,” she snaps. “She should be fired. How are you even running this place?”
You force your face into a calm expression, but it contorts inwardly with annoyance, every muscle in your jaw tight as you answer each complaint with practiced politeness, your tone clipped but professional. “I understand your frustration. I’ve resolved the issue as best I can. Your room has been upgraded, and your luggage will be delivered shortly.”
They don’t seem satisfied. They give you a final look, muttering indignantly, before turning on their heels and walking away. The tension in your shoulders slowly releases.
Before you can even take a proper breath, a shadow falls across the desk. And she's there. Her gaze flicks to your still-flushed face, and she lets out a low whistle. “What an ass,” she murmurs, shaking her head in amusement.
You want to roll your eyes. "I know... people are miserable."
“Yeah.” Natasha leans a little closer, the heat from her body brushing the edge of your space. “That was hot,” she murmurs, and it nearly makes you choke on your own air.
“Natasha,” you say firmly, scolding her tone, and she just shrugs, leaning back against the counter like she’s done nothing wrong.
“How many check-ins now?” she asks, tilting her head, smirk tugging at her lips.
“I haven’t checked… but it’s later in the day, so probably closer to eleven,” you reply.
Her gaze shifts just slightly, casual but teasing. “Are you going to the bar after work tomorrow?” she asks, nodding toward the small employee notice posted at the front desk. Someone’s organizing drinks for staff later, and she’s clearly taking note.
“I don’t know…” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral, but it comes out a little hesitant.
Natasha arches an eyebrow, leaning slightly on the counter again, that smirk still playing on her lips. “Come on,” she teases softly, “it’ll be fun. Just a few drinks with the staff.”
You shift your weight, glancing down at the screen for an excuse, anything to buy yourself a second, but the subtle way she’s watching you makes it impossible to focus. “Maybe,” you say instead, unwilling to fully commit, yet unwilling to refuse outright. A small smile etching on your face.
She hums approvingly, letting the corner of her mouth twitch. “Good enough,” she murmurs, stepping back outside, greeting someone as they step out their car.
You feel a knot in your stomach the moment you step onto the rooftop bar the next evening. The warm Key West air brushes your skin, carrying the faint scent of salt. The outfit you chose feels a little too much, and suddenly every movement feels amplified under the rooftop lights.
Guests lounge on the low couches, drinks already set on the tables in front of them. You offer a small, tentative smile as you pass, acknowledging them politely. A couple of glasses emptied on the table already, and a few people raise their eyebrows in greeting. You nod, feeling the awkward weight of being here, among coworkers, dressed up for something that’s supposed to be casual, but somehow isn’t for you.
Your fingers brush against the edge of your bag as you make your way toward the group that’s been saved a few spots for you. The drinks glimmer in the soft light, warm colors in this modern bar. You take a seat on the outside couch, letting your smile settle, and take a look over the drink menu.
Natasha reappears from the bar a few minutes later, carrying a tray of drinks. She slides one across to someone else in the group with a practiced ease, then casually lowers herself into the seat beside you. "Nice to see you."
You shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “You too,” you reply, tilting your head slightly toward the group, letting your eyes sweep across the friends and coworkers gathered here. “It’s nice to see people outside of work."
You start with a mixed drink, then a seltzer and vodka, then shots, and now you’re giggling, face warm, tipsy. Your vision cuts about as you glance around the room, the warm lights and spinning laughter making it hard to focus.
You excuse yourself to the restroom, wobbling slightly on the way. Inside, the mirror catches your reflection. Your fushed cheeks, glossy eyes, tipsy but smiling, and for a moment, you just stare at yourself in this lighting.
Inside the small, solo bathroom, the world tilts and blurs around you. The warmth of the drinks still lingers in your chest, your cheeks flushed, lips curved in a tipsy, unsteady smile. Your fingers brush the sink as you stare at yourself in the mirror, trying to steady your breath, trying to focus, but everything feels fuzzy and bright at once.
Finally, you decide to leave. Your fingers brush the cool metal of the door handle, and as you push it open, you freeze. There she is, standing in the hallway, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected to see you here, unaware you too left for the restrooms.
Your gaze locks, glossy and unfocused from the alcohol, the same tipsy smile still lingering on your lips. For a heartbeat, everything tilts. The walls seem closer, the air warmer, the small bathroom impossibly tight.
Her eyes meet yours, taking in the flushed curve of your cheeks, the glossiness of your gaze, the unsteady way you shift your weight. You can feel your pulse hammering, your breath catching, your thoughts muddled by the haze of tipsiness and the sudden, sharp awareness of her presence.
The door swings shut behind you both with a soft click. The small space presses in around you, every detail of the bathroom—tile, faucet, mirror—blurring at the edges.
She steps closer, her hands find your waist, guiding you gently but firmly, until the front of your hips meet the cool edge of the sink counter. The tilt of your body against it feels both precarious and electric, every inch of your chest arching forward as she presses closer.
Her warmth presses into your back, grounding you, constraining you, heightening every sense. You can feel her weight, subtle but insistent, the slight curve of her body pressing perfectly against yours, and the small, charged space of the bathroom shrinks around you. Your breath catches in your throat as she leans in, and the haze from the drinks mixes with the pull of her presence, dizzying and overwhelming.
Your head tilts slightly to the side, drawn toward her in a way you can’t control, every nerve alert, every heartbeat loud in the tight, charged space. She doesn’t give you time to react before her lips find yours, and the tilt, the press of bodies, the heat of the small room become the only world you know.
Her lips mold against yours, muffling each moan and whine from you. Your hips grind back against her, squirming.
Your hands grip the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white as Natasha's lips move against yours, hungry and insistent. Your breath hitches, caught in your throat, as her tongue teasingly traces the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You part them on a soft moan, granting her access, and she delves in, exploring every inch of your mouth with a fervor that sets your blood ablaze.
Your body arches into hers, seeking more contact, more heat, more of everything she's offering. Her hands roam your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, before one finds its way between your legs. You gasp into her mouth, the sudden contact sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and she swallows the sound, her tongue dancing with yours.
She grinds the heel of her palm against you, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck forward, seeking more friction. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, as she continues her assault on your senses, her lips moving from your mouth to your neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
"Look at yourself," she murmurs against your ear, her voice husky with desire. Your gaze flickers to the mirror, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, your dilated pupils, your lips swollen from her kisses. The image is intoxicating, and you can't help but whimper, your grip on the sink tightening.
She takes the opportunity to slip her hand into your pants, her fingers finding your center with unerring accuracy. You cry out, your head falling back against her shoulder, as she begins to move, her fingers stroking you in a rhythm that's both familiar and new, designed to drive you wild.
Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your whimpers and moans filling the small bathroom. You can feel the pressure building, your body tensing as you climb closer to the edge. Natasha's lips find your neck again, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh, marking you, as her fingers continue their relentless pace.
"Natasha!"
You gasp, your body trembling, your vision starting to swim. She responds by increasing the pressure, her thumb circling your clit in time with her fingers' thrusts. The world around you fades away, leaving only the feel of her body against yours, her hands on you, her lips on your skin.
You come with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Natasha's fingers slow, drawing out your orgasm. Her voice is a husk, a plead as she speaks against your neck, "come home with me."
You've made out in elevators, had her hand in between your thighs in the back offices. Even felt her tongue eat you out in dark storage closets, your hands trying to find purchase on the shelving behind your head. You've never been to her place, never done anything there.
But you nod.
The dim glow of the streetlights outside casts long shadows across Natasha's apartment, the room filled with the soft hum of the city below. You're lying on her bed, the sheets cool against your skin, as she hovers over you, her eyes locked onto yours. The air between you is thick with anticipation, your bodies still warm from the dance floor, your lips swollen from the kisses you've shared since leaving the club.
She leans down, capturing your mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, her tongue tracing the curve of your lower lip before delving in. Your hands find her hips, pulling her closer, as you lose yourself in the taste of her, the feel of her body against yours.
She breaks the kiss, her lips trailing down your jaw, your neck, her hands pushing your shirt up, baring your skin to her touch. You arch into her, a soft moan escaping your lips as she finds a sensitive spot, her teeth grazing the tender flesh.
She moves lower, her hands pushing your shirt up further, her lips finding your breasts, her tongue swirling around your nipples until they're hard peaks. You gasp, your fingers tangling in her hair, as she continues her descent, her lips and tongue exploring every inch of your skin.
When she reaches your hips, she looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," she murmurs, her voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. You nod, your breath catching in your throat as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down, leaving you bare to her gaze.
She settles between your thighs, her hands pushing your legs apart, her eyes never leaving yours. She leans in, her tongue flicking out to taste you, and you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. She takes her time, exploring every inch of you, her tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you wild.
Your hips buck against her, seeking more friction, more pressure, as she brings you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building, your body tightening, your breath coming in short gasps. She looks up at you, her eyes locked onto yours, as she slips two fingers inside you, her tongue circling your clit.
"Come for me," she whispers, her voice a sensual command that sends you tumbling over the edge. Your body convulses, your cry echoing through the room, as she continues to stroke you, drawing out your orgasm.
"Fuck... a-ah... Nat-!"
Before you can come down from your high, she's moving, reaching into her nightstand and pulling out a strap toy. She grins at you as she buckles it around her hips.
"Hands and knees," she mutters.
You comply, your body still trembling from your orgasm, as she positions herself behind you. She runs her hands over your back, your ass, her touch soft, intimate, before she guides herself to your entrance. You gasp as she pushes inside, your body stretching to accommodate her.
She begins to move, her thrusts slow and steady, allowing you to feel every inch of her. Your moans fill the room, your body pushing back against hers, seeking more. She obliges, her pace increasing, her hands gripping your hips, pulling you back onto her.
"You look so good," she murmurs, her voice a low growl. "I love watching you take me, watching you stretch around me. God..."
She continues to move, her thrusts becoming more urgent, her breath coming in short gasps. You can feel the tension building in her, her body tensing as she gets closer to her own release. She reaches around, her fingers finding your clit and you fucking fall apart. Body convulsing, your cry echoing hers, as she finds her own release, her body shuddering behind you.
But she's not done with you yet. She pulls out, flipping you onto your back, and settles on the bed, her legs on either side of your hips. She grins at you, a wicked gleam in her eyes, as she guides your hips onto hers, her hands gripping your waist.
"Ride me," she says, breath hot against your skin as she places kisses about your neck. You comply, your body moving on instinct, as you begin to grind against her, your hands braced on her thighs. She meets your thrusts, her hips rolling in time with yours, her eyes locked onto yours.
Her hands find your breasts, her fingers pinching your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your moans fill the room, your body moving faster, seeking more friction, more pressure.
She continues to meet your thrusts, her body moving in sync with yours, her eyes never leaving yours. You collapse onto her, your bodies slick with sweat, your breath coming in short gasps. She wraps her arms around you, holding you close, as you come down from your high, her lips finding yours in a soft, intimate kiss. Your hands drift along her sides, holding on lightly as exhaustion rolls over you in waves.
“You okay?” she murmurs softly against your hair, her voice steady and warm.
You nod against her shoulder, letting the closeness, the weight of her body beneath yours, and the gentle press of her lips soothe the spinning edges of your mind.
"Yeah, I'm good..." you press at your forehead with your fingers, feeling a slight headache.
She shifts slightly beneath you, resting her cheek gently against your head, the weight of her body grounding you even more.
“Do you need some medicine for your headache?” she asks softly, voice low and soothing, her hand brushing lightly over your arm as if to steady you.
You nod, letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah…” you murmur, settling a little deeper against her.
The realization presses in, dizzying in its own way, as you sink back slightly, letting the haze of drinks and closeness settle around you. She returns, carrying a glass of water and a few headache tablets, and pauses mid-step, eyes flicking to you. “You alright?” she asks softly, concern threading her voice.
Her body is bare, as it often is when you’re together, but this time it hits differently. Your clothes are scattered across the room, hers too, and the bedsheets lie tangled and rumpled from where you two had fucked. The scent of her, lingers in every corner, saturating the air.
It presses against you, dizzying, intimate, a subtle shift in the rhythm between you, like stepping across an invisible threshold. The small apartment, the quiet night, the warm press of her body, all of it feels heavier.
"Yeah," you mumble, taking the items from her. "Im alright..."
The next day, you walk into work with your chest tight, heart hammering in your ribs, replaying every moment from last night. The memory of being at her apartment lingers in your mind, a haze of warmth and touch that makes it hard to focus.
You move mechanically through your morning routine, scanning the lobby, answering calls, answering questions from the staff, all while feeling the pull of her presence even when she isn’t there.
You avoid her whenever possible, knowing you can’t face the conversation yet, the deeper implications of what happened between you both. Every time she passes, your stomach knots, a silent acknowledgment that something unspoken hangs heavy in the air.
Mid-afternoon you have retreat to the back office to handle scheduling, trying to bury yourself in the familiar tasks of spreadsheets and calendars. The quiet hum of the computers is comforting, almost enough to drown out your thoughts, until the door opens and she steps in.
Her eyes find yours instantly, the same sharp intensity that makes your chest seize. “God, we just need to talk,” she says, voice low but urgent, and you raise a hand, shushing her as if sound alone could stop the rush of your pulse.
She doesn’t relent. One hand hooks under your elbow, guiding you forward as if she knows exactly how to dismantle your defenses. You stumble slightly over your heels, the office blurring around you as she drags you down the hall.
Your stomach twists in equal parts anticipation and panic, knowing this conversation isn’t going to be about schedules or procedures. It’s about the two of you. You know it, she knows it, and the tension thrums in every step.
She corners you in a small work closet, the fluorescent lights harsh overhead but fading in comparison to the heat between you. Her voice is low, urgent, speaking words you don’t want to hear, the weight of the topic pressing into your chest, the idea of a deeper relationship frightening and intoxicating all at once.
Your breath catches, and before the conversation can fully form, instinct takes over. You lean into her, pressing your lips against hers, tasting and claiming, and she responds immediately, closing the space between you.
Her body backs you against the wall, the press of her chest and shoulders solid and commanding, and you feel the taut muscles in her arms under your fingertips, every line of her strength pressed into your skin.
For a moment, nothing exists beyond the press of bodies, the dizzying proximity, the wild, stolen intimacy. And then the door swings open with a sharp, echoing click, flooding the closet with light, and you both jerk back instinctively, eyes wide, hearts hammering. She curses into the space, "fuck, hi."
She made the sacrifice for you. You heard it from management in hushed tones later, the way they always spoke when exceptions were made. Natasha had chosen to transfer to another resort, leaving behind the familiar rhythm of her work, the easy camaraderie of the staff, so you could keep your position as front desk manager.
It wasn’t something they would normally allow, they said, and they made it very clear: this was a one-time exception. If this had been anyone else, a guest or a staff member without your history, the outcome could have been far worse. You were reminded, almost sharply, not to let it happen again. Essentially, you were on probation.
And in the quiet moments between checking in guests, arranging schedules, and maintaining the façade of professionalism, you realized how much you missed her. You missed sneaking around, missed the thrill of stolen glances, missed the weight of her body against yours and the ease of her teasing, witty quips that made the long shifts lighter. You missed her.
A message from her one evening broke through the monotony, also informing you that she missed you as well. A simple text, light and teasing, suggesting a meeting at that rooftop bar.
When you arrived, the city lights spread out below you, warm and glittering, and there she was, leaning casually against the railing, all calm composure and that same magnetic presence.
The knot in your chest that had been there since the night at her apartment—the fear of crossing the line, of losing your job, of having everything fall apart—was gone.
Management’s one-time exception had cleared the obstacle that had made every stolen glance, every touch, every whispered word feel so fragile. Now there was nothing holding you back, nothing between you and her except the choices you were about to make.
And the thought of letting her go, of returning to the hum of work without her near, sent a chill through your chest that was sharper than any worry about consequences. You didn’t want to let her go.
“When can I take you out?” she asks, a teasing glint in her eye.
“Next week,” you reply, letting a small smirk play across your lips.
She rolls her eyes, nudging your hand with hers. “I know you’re free before that. Don’t give me a hard time.”
You laugh softly. “Alright… Thursday, then.”
Her smile softens, warm and deliberate, as she squeezes your hand. “Good. I like that.”
Then, leaning closer, voice low and playful, she murmurs, “Want to come back to my place? Again?”
Your chest tightens at the sound of her words. The city lights flicker below, the night air warm and alive, and the quiet thrill of what comes next coils through you as you follow her, every step carrying the weight of anticipation and desire.
The warmth in her voice made your heart lurch, and the city lights, the night air, and the quiet thrill of what was to come wrapped around you as you followed her.
note: to be very honest this is a very self-indulgent fic as someone in the resort hospitality business. there's NOTHING in this field, which I understand, but I wrote this to have something out there. You have sports, coffee shops, ceos, pirates, everything but the industry im in... so this was for me, for those who wish to read, and others in the hospitality business who might've been wanting a fic in this area.
