warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady! wanda (32), lap dance, yearning, praising, smut, cunnilingus, dirty talk, mommy kink, fluff, humping. minors DNI.
words: 3.3k
a/n: happy weekend to everyone! I had so much fun with this chapter :). enjoy <3 if you haven’t already, read the first three chapters linked above - xo saph.
slow erotic music continued to play from the speaker, and with a side-to-side shake of your hips, your ass bounces, pulling a groan from wanda as she watches you move in front of her. in the mirror you face, you see her watch you like a hawk; her eyes trained on you, hypnotised and enchanted by the swell of your ass, and the smooth movement of your hips.
you knew you were good at what you do, despite brushing off agatha’s compliments of “this one… she’s the best of the best.” but the way wanda’s eyes burn into you was something you’d never seen before. the woman was enamoured by your talent of dancing, and like you were the only person to exist right now.
she was respectful in all the right ways, yet still eye-fucked you regardless. you relished it; you really enjoyed the attention coming from the redhead.
It made you feel good.
you turn around to face the older woman, “so, miss maximoff,” you husk out, and as she looks up at you, she smiles a surprisingly sheepish grin at the name. the effect makes a smirk twitch at the corner of your lips, and you lean downwards slightly, your bra-clad breasts sitting close to her face. “what will i be drinking with my meal?”
wanda’s silent for a moment, her eyes focused on your cleavage. you linger for a moment, letting her appreciate the sight before moving your torso higher until your stomach faces her, and you let your body roll fluidly to the music.
“wine.” wanda replies lowly as she continues to stare.
“hmhm,” you hum agreeingly. “what kind?” it was certainly entertaining to see her mind struggle to focus.
“white, and there is lemonade to top it up with… if you’d like.”
“an attentive mommy, i see,” you purr in response, your left hand resting on her shoulder.
you felt a tingling sensation beneath the confines of your underwear when wanda moaned softly, and her hands that still rested on the edge of the seat gripped harshly, the faux leather stretching at her fingertips.
“such a good girl,” the redhead husks out, her hot breath hitting the skin of your stomach as you continue to move. “so talented.”
a spike of heat rises to your already flushed cheeks, and before you could utter a reply, the timer on your phone sounds in the booth, cutting your music off. you immediately raise your head, your motions coming to a stop as you reach to turn off the timer.
once you did, you paused the music that tried to continue after its interruption and leaned down to face wanda, “worth the extra time?” you asked, though from wandas heaving chest and parted lips, you knew your answer already.
“absolutely, i can’t believe that was only ten minutes.” the redhead uttered.
the words made you smile proudly. “time certainly flies when you are having fun.” you quipped.
you took a step back, your heels digging into the carpet below as you created space between you, even as you resented the loss of her warm body close to you. you bent at the hips and lowered your head until your lips were against the shell of wanda’s left ear, “i’ll see you shortly,” you whispered before leaving a soft, brief kiss on her cheek.
wanda’s eyelids faltered, closing momentarily at the action. she looked captivated by you, and when hooded eyes gazed up at you, the yearning for the woman to take you to her home again amplified.
“see you shortly, darling.” the older woman responded, her grip on the seat loosening as she shifted in the seat and rose from it, her hands now moving to smooth out the lengthy skirt that she looked oh so gorgeous in.
with a grin, you head out of the booth, through to the main floor, and into the changing room to get dressed and cash out. your mind was filled with nothing but wanda, and for once in your time working here, you didn’t focus on how much you had earned.
ᗢ
the sound of chardonnay glugged as wanda poured single portions into two large wine glasses. “this,” she spoke, now clipping a silver bottle stopper on the neck of the bottle. “will pair very nicely with dinner.”
god you really were being wined and dined by the woman, and as you sat in your seat at a prepared table in her open living room, you watched her intently, your hands slightly clammy at the desire for her that settled deep in your stomach.
“where did you learn all of this?” you asked with a breathy laugh. from the smell radiating from her kitchen to the knowledge she spewed about cooking, you were certainly impressed. “if you don’t mind me asking.”
wanda smiled at you and then, with the bottle in hand, she strode over to her seat, residing there. “my mother,” she spoke, her gaze focusing on the bottle as she placed it on the table. “despite my father running the business, i can say she taught me everything i know.”
it didn’t take a scientist to read from wanda’s low tone that this was a sore subject for her. but you wouldn’t prod, so instead you shifted in your seat, crossing your jean-clad legs before responding. “mothers and their teachings… though mine didn’t show me how to dance.”
wanda’s neural face raised to look at yours, her lips widening in a smile as she laughed. “i should hope not,” she snorted softly, and the sound made you grin and your stomach to leap. “that’s just all you, darling. born to be a dancer.”
“flattery will get you everywhere,” you blushed, along with a spike of nervousness that you weren’t used to feeling. “so,” you started, holding her gaze, “does the miss maximoff have moves of her own?”
wanda raised her eyebrows and thought for a moment, “i’m not the smooth dancer you are, but i would have a few tricks up my sleeve if i were in your industry.”
your curiosity piqued at that, and not only did the thought of wanda wearing lingerie make your head spin, but the thought of her doing anything like swaying her hips, bending over, or grinding on your lap made your clit throb against the tightness of your pants.
you hummed in delight, “i bet you would,” you mused. “you’re the type to excel at anything.”
“oh?” wanda shoots you a surprised look, “you seem very certain about that.”
you were absolutely certain. the redhead oozed power and ability, and with it, you imagine she commands attention wherever she goes.
the thought almost made you shiver. her demeanour was overwhelmingly sexy, and god if it wasn’t for the smell of the delicious food she had spent time making for you, you’d be on your knees and ridding her of the skirt she wore.
“i am.” you replied simply, your mind straying as you held eye contact with the woman opposite you. “now about this meal,” you say, trying to will your filthy thoughts away and focus on the matter at hand. “should i do anything to help?”
wanda grinned at the question and rose from her seat. “no,” she replied with a shake of her head, thick ginger hair swaying as she did. “you just stay there and look pretty.”
ᗢ
after you had both finished eating, you and wanda spoke over the rest of the chardonnay, and with the time that passed, you felt the wine spread a gentle flush of heat throughout your body as you grew tipsy.
“i’m curious,” wanda voices after a brief moment of silence. “lady harkness, as she calls herself, is she your… how do i put this?”
“if the word you’re trying not to say is pimp,” you reply with a laugh before taking another sip from your glass. “then no, agatha is not. she’s more like… the mother of the house.”
wanda quirks an eyebrow at that. “so there’s nothing,” she gestures with a hand, “sexual?”
“oh god no,” you say as you place your glass on the table, “agatha has many rules in the club. two being, dancers don’t fraternise with the guests, and she doesn’t fraternise with the dancers.”
the redhead hummed, her gaze faltering to her lap briefly, and when you regained eye contact with her, you knew what she was thinking.
“what would she say if she found out you were here right now?” wanda asked, her voice unexpectedly timid. a tone you hadn’t heard since the first day you met her. nervous, restricted, and doubtful to ask for a dance.
you thought for a moment. considering the longevity of your relationship with agatha, you weren’t entirely certain. “i guess one of two things: i won’t be able to work there anymore, or she’ll just scold me, say this is asinine, and...”
“and?” wanda murmured, her eyebrows furrowed.
“forbid it.”
“mother of the house, indeed,” wanda retorted as she stood from her chair, and to your surprise, walked over to you, her heels clicking against the floor as she took those few steps.
you eye the woman as she stands before you, and then, with a bend of her hips, she sits sideways on your lap, her arms resting loosely on your shoulders. before you knew it, your right hand instinctively snaked around her back to land on her hip, and your other hand rested on her outer thigh.
wow. is all you can think of. she was a sight to see, regardless, but having her in your lap like this made your hands flex against the expensive material of her skirt. she looked divine, and you needed to voice it. “you are heartachingly beautiful, you know?”
the pale skin of wanda’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink, and she bashfully turned away, hiding what you knew was a beaming smile. when she turned to face you again, wanda remained poised, even if her blushing complexion gave it away. “you’re such a sweet girl, y/n.”
you raised the hand that rested on her outer thigh and placed it against the warmth of her cheek, and your head moved forward slightly.
her breath ghosted your lips; the smell of citrus hit your senses, and with that, you couldn’t hold it back anymore.
wanda hummed when you kissed her, and your hand moved from her hip to the small of her back. you felt her hands shift on your shoulders to thread through your hair, and your heart rate spiked as she deepened the kiss.
you moaned into her mouth when her tongue swirled against yours. the sensation was something that had been on your mind since you’d both parted to work, and as you hungrily kissed each other, your mind reeled; the club’s policy and agatha’s potential fury at this situation washing away, and all that remained was the woman on your lap.
when wanda pulled away, you panted for needed breath. and watching as she did the same, you focused on her swollen, kissed lips that shone with your saliva. “come with me,” she breathed out, her thighs flexing against yours as she stood up.
one of your hands fell to rest by your side, and your other was grasped by one of wanda’s. you instantly rose from your seat and let yourself be led by her as she walked you both to her bedroom.
upon entering the dark space, wanda closed her door after you. the click of it made you face her, and as she turned to you again, you almost staggered slightly as she surged forward and reconnected your lips, her arms linking around your head and back to your hair. this time, she grasped softly at your strands, and you moaned at the desperation as she pressed herself flush against your body and deepened the kiss again. wanda was hungry for you, and it made your stomach do backflips.
“the bed,” she panted out between kisses.
you slowly shuffled backwards, not wanting her lips to leave yours, and blindly aimed for her bed. your hands moved to wanda’s hips, and at the sense of her shape, you grasped at her curvature, then snaked your hands to the swell of her ass.
another grasp made wanda moan, and as the blissful sound filled your ears, you felt wanda’s bed hit the back of your knees.
wanda pulled away, “lie down, baby,” she reached for the bedside lamp close to her, and after flicking it on, the dim light radiated as far as it could in the room, and you were greeted with wanda gazing at you, a smile on her face as she breathed heavily.
standing upright, wanda began to unbutton her cinched blazer, and it didn’t take long before she revealed a black bra. she draped the piece of clothing to her right, letting it gently rest on the floor, and when you moved to lie down, your elbows propping you up, wanda’s hands moved to her skirt.
the zipper of it sounded in the room, and when she pulled it over her hips, she let it fall into a pool around her heels, and full, pale thighs were now on display.
you bit your lip softly at the sight before you, “mommy…” you purred, and the word pulled her attention from the item around her.
“fuck,” wanda uttered with a groan, and as she stepped out of the ring of her skirt, she moved towards you, her knees dipping into the mattress as she shifted to straddle your waist.
“keep the heels on, please.” you beg, remembering how she liked manners. “you look so hot like that.”
wanda smiled and hands threaded through her hair and away from her face as she began a slow grind on your lap. your mouth fell open at the feeling, and your hands moved to her hips again, gripping the soft flesh in your palms. you guided her against your jeans, and although you wished you were rid of them, wanda panted at the friction. “that feels good, y/n.”
you continued to listen and watch in awe as wanda humped and grinded against you, and you felt an ache between your thighs and wetness coating your underwear. “you’re so sexy, mommy. shit…” you gasp, her pace increasing as well as her volume in moans.
you let your head hit the mattress as you raised your hands to her breasts, your hands palming them once through her bra before unclasping it and letting it fall from her shoulders and arms and into your hands.
tossing it to your left, your hands returned to her now bare chest. you hummed at the feeling, and when wanda’s hard nipples pressed against your palm, you bit your lip and let your index fingers and thumbs pinch them. the redhead moaned and continued to hump and chase the friction that was teetering her closer and closer, “fuck, y/n..” her eyes bore into you, and as you pinched and twisted her nipples more, her knees tightened around your hips. “i’m gonna-”
your jaw slackened as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, watching in awe as wanda began to twitch above you. “cum for me mommy,” you coaxed, and with another hard pinch to her nipples, wanda began to rut against you, mouth agape with her hands flying down to your shoulders, pressing you into the mattress.
you gazed at the sight of her cumming, feeling nothing but desire and a strong sensation of pride at the way in which she did. on your lap. desperately grinding against you. hungry for your touch.
“wow,” wanda gasped out, her chest heaving against your hands as her eyes briefly fluttered closed. “that was…”
“the hottest thing i have witnessed in a long time,” you finish her sentence for her, completely enamoured by the sight before you. your thumbs graze softly over her hard nipples before moving to rest your hands on her thighs.
“i’ll say,” wanda huffed out, and with an attempt to shift her weight, you feel her thighs vibrate and twitch. “but i think the view between your legs will be even better.”
“oh please, mommy,” you whine, your eyebrows furrowing as you bite your bottom lip. the thought of it was too exciting, and you felt overwhelmingly turned on. you ached, throbbed and lay trapped in the mess you had made in your underwear. “i want your tongue on me.”
without speaking further, wanda shuffled down your body, ignoring the wet patch she had left on your jeans, and moved to unbutton them and rid you of the confines. from the edge of the bed, her eyes raked over your legs as you re-situated yourself, them now bent at the knees.
“you look so good spread out for me, baby,” wanda husked out, positioning herself on propped elbows between your legs, “so good.”
one of her hands raised the hem of your shirt, and her mouth immediately went to the skin of your stomach. she left open-mouthed kisses on the space she created, her tongue swirling in a way that caused your eyes to roll backwards. you relished in the sensation as she worked her way down your stomach until she reached your underwear.
two fingers suddenly touched your aching cunt over the fabric of your underwear, and you gasped, your back arching slightly. “mommy…”
you almost spoke and begged her not to tease you, but wanda fortunatley beat you to the punch, because then you felt those two fingers push your underwear to the side, and her hot breath hit your bare pussy.
“you are so wet, y/n,” wanda mused, staring in amazement whilst she slid two fingers between your folds, feeling the wetness coat her fingertips, “such a good girl for me.”
wanda replaced her two slender fingers with her warm tongue, and you gasped at the sensation. the redhead hummed at the taste of you, and her hands moved to grip your waist, her tongue swirling up and down from your pulsing hole to your clit that throbbed just as hard. “you are so good at that mommy.” you praise.
wanda moans into you, the sound of it vibrating against your clit, and déjà vu flashes in your mind as your hands grip her silk sheets.
your hips tried to grind against her mouth as you felt that familiar knot forming low in your stomach, but the older woman held you in place and continued to lap and suck at your clit.
“just like that.” you gasp out, your right hand moving from the sheets to ginger locks, and your nails scratch lightly against her scalp. “just like that.”
wanda listened to your chant, and her tongue’s pace against your swollen clit stayed the same, eager to make you cum as hard as she did.
the build-up of tension from the lap dance to now had you closer than you could have anticipated, and as she continued her talented work, you felt your walls contract around nothing, and your toes curled.
“I’m-” your eyebrows furrowed, and your mouth hung open as you choked out a moan, “mommy!” your body tensed as your orgasm crashed into you, and the inside of your thighs began to squeeze wanda’s shoulders. she held you down as you convulsed, her tongue still busy on your clit, focusing on your pants and moans.
when your body came down from the high, and all that remained was a buzz of pure bliss, your body relaxed in her hold, and the redhead’s tongue grew lazy against you, then ceasing before you became overstimulated.
“you are-” you gasp out, a hand falling to your forehead, the back of it greeted with sweat that coated your hairline. “that mouth of yours…” you prop yourself up on shaky elbows and gaze down at wanda, and with ginger ruffled hair and your cum glazing her lips, you groan at the sight. “so, so good.”
wanda giggled, placing wet kisses on the inside of your thighs, “that was amazing, y/n,” she hums against the skin. “will you be staying over again?”
gazing back at green eyes, you smile widely, feeling your stomach flutter at the question. “without a doubt.”
warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady! wanda (32), dirty talk, yearning, lap dance, mommy kink, slight smut. minors, DNI
words: 1.7k
a/n: hellloooo and welcome to a much needed update to one of my favourites! It’s been a long while since I’ve written on here, but enjoy, there will be more to come :). - xo saph.
“oh my..” you gasped out, your hands gripping the silk material of wanda’s sheets that lay a mess on her bed.
“so… how long have you worked here for?” a customer asks in front of you, one you had forgotten the name of, and as the night before plays in your mind in broken pieces, you force yourself to pay attention.
“a while.” you stare down at the glass in your hand and take a sip of the rum and coke. “it’s always smart to stay at a place that looks after you, you know?”
“i couldn’t agree more,” the customer replied with a smile. “i’ve been with my firm for ten years.”
your hands thread through thick auburn hair, your gaze stuck to the woman as her tongue, which she had flattened out, lapped at your clit, and as she shifted to leave open-mouth kisses against the bundle of nerves that throbbed against her touch, you moan and continue to watch the way wanda’s mouth shines from your wetness.
your left leg begins to bounce gently, and you close your eyes briefly. you needed something stronger than conversation to cloud over the distracting memory. “care to tell me about it in a dance?” you ask with a smile, and when the man’s eyes dropped down to your chest, which was clad in your usual red attire, you knew you had him hooked.
“lead the way.” he replies with a grin.
ᗢ
as you sighed in a chair you now resided in, you leaned back in it, looking up at the dimly lit chandelier hanging above you.
It was now the quiet period before another busy one came, and although you wouldn’t be around to witness it, you relished in the peaceful atmosphere anyway. a majority of the customers had begun to filter out of ‘house of harkness’, and as you lowered your head, you pulled your phone out from the clutch upon your lap, and looked down at it.
it illuminated the time eight-fifty pm, and when you unlocked it, you decided to scroll absentmindedly on twitter whilst you finished off the drink that had been bought for you.
“i had an amazing time with you, y/n.”
the words echoed in your mind, and you smiled like an idiot. wanda’s voice; so sickly sweet and husky. god, you were impatient, and you wish you could hear it now, have her in front of you, her laughing at one of your jokes, or you admiring her suit-clad body.
as you continued to look down, your phone blurred in your hand as you ruminated on your afternoon.
“i had an amazing time, too,” you replied, the seat beginning to vibrate under you from the rumbling of the car's exhaust as wanda started it up. “and thank you for taking me home.”
“oh, nonsense, pretty girl. i will happily do this again for you.”
“yeah?” you asked with an excited smirk you couldn’t quite hide. she wanted to see you again. god, the exhilaration was almost too much to bear. “i would really like that. but only because of that house of yours.”
“naturally,” wanda laughs, her eyes focused on the road that now looks different to you, compared to the previous night drive to her huge abode. the sunny day now illuminated the stunning greenery on either side of the road. “i come with more perks, though. i can be quite the cook sometimes.” she adds.
“talented in bed, talented in the kitchen… what else are you good at?”
the redhead shoots a glance at you. “how about i tell you more tonight? over dinner.”
“that sounds lovely,” you respond, your stomach doing a flip at the thought of being wined and dined by wanda. “although i’ll be working at the club first…”
“that’s okay, darling. if you can play pretend, i’d like another dance, i’m afraid yesterday's was too short for my liking.”
you felt your cheeks blush at the prospect of it. this wasn’t something that crossed your mind, one that had been filled with nothing but wanda’s skin and lips, and every inch of her body. you can’t believe you hadn’t thought about it sooner - you had been awake for a couple of hours and at no point did you think how a situation like this would progress.
“well then,” you cooed, deciding you liked the idea wanda had presented to you. “let’s say nine pm? i’ll show you my dancing skills again, and you can showcase your cooking skills.”
and as you waited in anticipation as the minutes inched closer and closer to your scheduled time with wanda, you continued to scroll past boring tweets until one caught your eye. more specifically, a certain someone.
wanda maximoff pictured last week with her brother pietro maximoff at a conference.
the image attached made you gape in awe. you paid no mind to the woman’s brother and instead your eyes burned into wanda, and how gorgeous beyond belief she looked. she donned a grey tweed dior suit, with a matching jacket and black boots, and as luscious locks of ginger curls hung over her shoulders, you felt a knot form in your stomach.
with your body temperature rising all too quickly, you locked your phone and returned it to your clutch.
“scarlet. it’s nice to see you again.”
your head whipped up from your lap to the familiar voice in front of you. “wanda.” you smiled brightly, the embarrassing thought briefly passing in your mind that you had no idea how long she had been standing there for, and if she saw the contents on your phone. but with no indication written on her face, you ignore the mortifying thought and instead observe the classy raiment she wore.
wanda shot you a sultry look as you took in the cinched black blazer and the ankle-grazing skirt to match. you gulped dryly. wanda not wearing pants, was new to you, and your eyes raked up and down her body, appreciating the sight.
you outstretched a heel-clad foot to slightly push back the seat opposite you, which wanda happily sat down on, a leg crossing over the other as she rested her hands on the arms of the chair.
“you look incredible.” the sight of her made your head spin. “i mean… really, really, incredible.”
“thank you, darling.” wanda replied with a smile. her eyes bore into you, and you felt like she was drinking you in. “i like the silk robe you have on tonight.”
the compliment made you shift in your seat, and you grabbed your glass and raised it to gulp down the rest of the alcohol before placing it back on the small table between you. “thank you,” you purred, feeling your cheeks grow hot, “so, did you miss me?”
wanda nodded, a smirk spread on her plump lips, “you were quite a distraction for me in meetings today.”
“i was?” the knot in your stomach tightened from the exciting confession, “well then, you should know you’ve also been quite disruptive to my attention tonight.”
you didn’t miss the way wanda’s eyes fell to your thighs, and the red garter belts that hugged them. “a good night, though, i hope?” she asked.
“yes, but it’s about to get even better.”
ᗢ
after wanda had paid for another dance at the till, this one longer than the last, you led her by the hand through the corridor, purple fairy lights that hung overhead illuminating the way. and then, when you reached your desired booth, you felt your body buzz with great thrill.
after stepping into the purple-lit booth, the colour of your attire changed in the light to a shade that almost matched wanda’s. and as the redhead shifted to take her place on the seat, you glanced at the mirror beside you, one of many that littered the small room, and took in the two of you together. and god what a sight it was. you couldn’t believe your luck of being in close quarters with such a woman.
as you mused on the thought, you plugged your phone into the speaker behind the redhead and pressed play on your go-to playlist, and as the slow beat kicked in, you gazed down at wanda. intense eyes enraptured you as she softly bit down on her plump lower lip.
“mommy, you look so fucking good.” every fibre of your being urged you to kiss her. it took everything in you not to as you began to move your body to the music, your hips swaying gently.
“baby…” wanda gasped out at your words, her hands that rested on either side of her hips shifted to grip the edge of the seat. “i thought of you calling me that again, you sound so perfect when you do.”
though you couldn’t press your lips against the redheads, you needed to be closer to her, so you instead of standing, you straddled wanda, leaving a small gap between your thong and the material of her skirt, which you know would feel soft and expensive to the touch.
you began to move your hips, grinding in the space above her lap as you let your hands rest on her shoulders.
“and those legs of yours,” the redhead continued, her hips instinctively jutting upwards slightly, and inadvertently bumping against your clit. your breath caught in your throat at the sensation, and your hands on wanda’s shoulders tensed, your fingers pressing into her blazer. “so smooth and grabbable.”
“shit.” you panted, and although your mind whirled with wanda and the pleasure you were already feeling, you continued to dance and move your hips, following the sensual beat of the song. “i can’t wait for later, it’s been on my mind since i left you.”
“likewise, darling,” wanda beamed, “same plan I assume?”
with a grin, you nodded. eager and anticipating her to whisk you away again. but for now, you were going to enjoy being in the thick bubble of hot tension that surrounded you both, and enjoy the way wanda’s eyes practically devoured you.
warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady!wanda (32), smut, fingering, dirty talk, degradation, mommy kink, fluff, basically porn with little to no plot. minors DNI.
words: 5k
wanda’s foot tapped on the floor of her car as she waited with bated breath and anticipation bubbling at the surface. she had left the house of harkness mere moments before and was sitting patiently waiting for your exit.
you didn’t even need to explain to wanda that customers and dancers fraternising was against the rules, it was something she had mulled over in her head multiple times during the last few days.
so, as you both giggled with hushed tones when leaving the booth; wanda whispered hotly in your ear that she’d park down the street and would wait for you.
you smiled at her with a nod of understanding and waltzed over to the bar, through the staff door and into the office where she knew agatha would be.
even with the cars heating switched on, wanda could see the faint breath of cold air leave her lips as she stared out of her slightly fogged up window, and finally, after a few short minutes, she saw your figure fade closer into view as you walked towards her.
wanda turned and faced the road ahead of her as the familiar feeling of butterflies swarmed in her stomach upon seeing the reflection of your face in her side-view mirror. it was a sensation she couldn’t dwell on though, as the passenger door soon opened and you quickly rushed yourself into the car to sit down.
“i’m sorry if i took so long,” you huffed out as you situated your bag in between your feet on the car floor. “i made some lie up about not feeling well and agatha insisted she should take me to the hospital so i had to talk her down and insist that i just needed to rest”
wanda chuckled at that, the sound making your heart beat spike slightly. “how cunning of you”
“such a bad girl, i know” you laughed with a scoff, turning your head to face the older woman beside you. “although, i blame you. my reputation precedes me and one night with you has that going down the drain”
wanda faux gasps at that as she turns the keys in her ignition, the sound of her car engine coming to life with a raw. “that’s slander to the maximoff name, y/n”
your eyebrows knit together in confusion as wanda’s foot steps down on the gas and the car begins to roll forward. the name conscious in your mind as familiarity teeters on the edge of your tongue.
“maximo- wait as in maximoff industries?”
wanda glances at you with a smile and then back to the road as she drives, humming a yes to you in response.
“please don’t tell me i’m in a car with the ceo of a multi-billion dollar company” you say with a sigh, embarrassment seeping in as you sink in your seat.
“not yet,” wanda replies with a wink. “my brother doesn’t want to take over the company so when my dad eventually steps down, i’ll go from chief operating officer to the big boss. i’m quite excited, if i’m being honest”
wanda glances over to your small demeanour and then back to the road. she can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips. “what’s wrong? is that a problem?”
“no, no it’s- not at all, it’s just.. are you sure you want to be seen with someone like me?”
wanda whips her head to you, her eyebrows knitting together. “what do you mean someone like you?”
“have you forgotten how we met?” you retort before signalling the redhead to focus her attention back on the road. “if anyone finds out-“
“no one will find out, y/n. plus, what does it matter?”
you subconsciously roll your eyes at the question even though you know she’s speaking the truth to some degree. “i guess you’re right, i just.. i don’t know, my job isn’t exactly the most accepted out there”
you watch as wanda moves a hand from the hand break and over to one of your jean clad thighs. you try not to focus too much on this being the first time wanda’s touched you, instead you let yourself relax under her touch.
“those people are just jealous you make more money than them, i wouldn’t let your pretty head worry too much about it”
you snigger at that, a grin creeping on your lips as your gaze stays focused on the redhead. “not as much as you apparently”
wanda turns, shooting you a playful look before squeezing gently on your thigh. “oh shush, i’m quite a humble woman”
your head faces forward as you look out onto the road that eventually fades to stone as the car bumps over every cobble. you glance around and realise you hadn’t really paid attention to the journey as trees and darkness surround the car, the only light source illuminating from the headlights and confusion quickly settles in.
“wanda.. where are we?” you ask, scepticism heavy in your voice as you speak.
wanda chuckles softly from beside you and gently removes her delicate hand from the warmth of your thigh. she settles it onto the steering wheel and continues to drive. “this is not what it looks like, i promise. my house is not far from here.. see there it is”
you squint your eyes as you focus on a building in the distance and when you inevitably drive closer, your eyes widen.
“holy shit, you live here?!”
wanda laughs as she moves closer until eventually she lifts the hand break and the car comes to a hault.
you stare in amazement at the large home in front of you. the building is modern, with large panes of glass that wrap around it and a white staircase to match the house that leads up to the front door.
“humble my ass.. i feel like i live in a shed compared to this”
wanda rolls her eyes, “behave, i’m sure you have a lovely home, y/n. now, let’s go inside, it’s a lot more warmer there”
before you can reply, wanda opens her door and steps out before swiftly rounding the front of the car and swinging open the passenger door. she reaches her hand out and you look at her for a brief moment before resting your palm on top of hers, your mind instantly swirling with the feel of soft skin against yours.
you step out with a thank you, your voice small as you duck your head.
wanda gives your hand a gentle squeeze before stepping to the side slightly. “i’ll get your bag, darling”
ᗢ
stepping inside wanda’s home has you star struck. your eyes glance around the main room that holds several sofas, a large tv and a fish tank that you joke is bigger than your apartment.
the main room connects to the kitchen where wanda is currently stood behind the marble island. you watch as she pulls out two wine glasses from the cupboard before placing them down and walking over to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of white wine.
“do you want to watch a movie?.. or a tv show maybe? i have snacks in the pantry if you’re hungry” wanda’s voice comes out more timid than intended as she pours the wine into both glasses, but when your eyes bore into her, wanda’s mind reals from the intensity and she can’t help the falter in her demeanour.
you step closer to the island until you’re facing opposite the redhead before you situate yourself on one of the bar stools. “a movie sounds good, what do you have in mind?”
wanda picks both of the glasses up and walks around the island. she places your filled glass in front of you and you watch as she takes a sip before doing the same with her own glass. your gaze never falters from wanda though as you watch her lick the aftertaste from her lips.
the older woman hums in thought, stepping slightly more into your personal bubble until her hips come into contact with the inside of your knees. “i’m partial to horror but you’re my guest so the choice is yours”
calming silence fills the room as you hold eye contact with wanda, she waits with baited breath as you contemplate for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh. “i want..”
your eyes flicker down to plump lips before returning upwards to emerald green eyes that soon fade into darkness as her pupils slowly dilate. you raise your hand slightly, your fingertips grazing over the hem of wanda’s suit jacket. “i want this off”
the redhead cocks an eyebrow at that, her eyes piercing into you like a silent challenge. wanda tilts her head slightly and steps an inch closer, letting one hand rest on the side of your waist.
“did you forget your manners when you stepped into my home?”
you roll your eyes at her question and your fingertips move to grip the hem to tug her impossibly closer to you. “no, i just-“
“you just, what?” wanda asks, the corner of her lips upturning into a cruel smirk as she watches you sink just the smallest bit into submission. “if you want something y/n, ask politely for it.. or is that too hard for you to do?”
you sink slightly into your chair as your once confident self gets chipped away little by little the more wanda’s gaze pierces your very soul and her sickly sweet voice invades your ears like a serenade. “no, no i- i’m sorry. can you please take off your jacket?”
wanda steps back slightly as a proud smile itches it’s way onto deliciously plump lips, you watch as she unhooks the two buttons that hold her suit closed and you can’t help the way your thighs clench subconsciously around her waist upon seeing the smooth white t-shirt that lays underneath.
it’s simple and basic, you know that. but, there’s something about the way the shirt is tucked into her pants suit and tightly hugs itself around her chest that makes your mind reel at the small detail.
you watch as wanda lets the jacket fall from her shoulders and down her arms before she slips out of it and places it gently over the island counter. “see? that wasn’t so difficult”
it’s embarrassingly condescending but you can’t help but love the way it makes you feel; the way it makes your insides churn with need and desperation.
you shake your head in response and raise a hand up to rest your palm against the flat of her stomach, wanda’s muscle flex at the sudden touch and you force yourself to bite back a groan.
you feel wanda’s hand trail up from your waist, her fingers grazing slightly over the side of your bra until her movements come to a halt on the cusp of your jawline. she runs her thumb delicately over the soft skin before quickly shifting her hand to grip your chin between her fingertips. “now tell me what else you want”
you gulp dryly, your hand moving to grasp her shirt tightly in your hands. a pathetic attempt to keep yourself grounded as you feel yourself throb harder between your legs at wanda’s dominance. “i want..”
“hmhm, go on..” wanda leans in until you feel her hot breath hitting your mouth and her lips ghost ever so gently against yours. “tell mommy what you want”
the sudden use of wanda’s self-titled name has you surging forward and crashing your lips together in a rough kiss. wanda groans against your mouth as she stumbles backwards slightly from the impact, her free hand falls to your thigh in a harsh grasp while her other remains on your waist.
wanda’s hands remain firm in their placement as she kisses you back, her posture straightening as she regains composure from the immediacy in your exertion. “i just- i..” your words leave your lips in a breathy whisper as you lean further into the kiss. “i want you”
wanda’s tongue licks delicately across your bottom lip and you immediately give her the entrance she so desperately desires insides of your mouth.
the kiss soon turns messy and rushed, only breaking away for a split second for the oxygen you both parlously need before delving back in to once again taste the longing flavour of wine on both of your swollen-kissed lips. hunger radiates from both of you, sweet desperation and a raging fire evident in your chests as you heave with panting breaths.
wanda pulls away first, causing a needy whine to escape you; your body subconsciously follows wanda, your mind begging you to chase after her to satiate the loss you feel when her lips leave you, even if for a moment.
the redheads’ hand moves from your thigh and up to your chest, her palm flat against your sternum that rises and falls as you try to catch your breath. “breathe, baby, breathe”
your eyes flutter open at wanda’s soft purr when she speaks, her words hot against your mouth as they leave her lips in a short beat. you stare in great awe as wanda stands there, equally short-winded and her cheeks flushed bright pink with a hint of your saliva coating her deliciously plump lips.
you utter an apology at your eagerness before breathing in deeply through your nose and exhaling as wanda holds her hand above your beating heart. the hand that was once on your hip now travels upwards to cup one of your cheeks that burns under her touch, “shall we take this somewhere more comfortable?”
wanda’s voice is raspy and low pitched as she speaks; the sound of it drives you wild and instantly makes you bob your head yes at her question.
the redhead chuckles in response before removing her hands from your body and letting one hang delicately in the air for you to take. you quickly do and before you know it wanda’s leading you down a dimly lit hallway, her shoes hitting against the hardwood floor with determination as she turns a corner, until eventually she stops briefly in front of a closed door. she swings it open and motions for you to walk ahead, you quickly obey and step over the threshold and into what you assume to be wanda’s bedroom.
when a light flickers on, your assumption lies true as your eyes land on a neatly made bed that holds two small tables by either side of it before eventually venturing around the rest of the room. you see a walk in closet, a few dressers that hold a couple of frames with people you of course don’t know before finally you eyes fall to a generously sized tv in the corner of the room.
it dawns on you quite quickly that although wanda’s home is beautifully created and constructed, what seems to lack is personality and the general feeling of a home. it makes your heart ache at the realisation, an emotion you’ve quivered to all too well when dealing with the fact of your lonely lifestyle. of course you’ve had a couple of people that cared for you; one in particular mainly being agatha, and although her kindness and compassion towards you will always resonate deeply in your heart, you still were left with a hole in your life. a sensation of nothingness that you couldn’t quite place as you grew more and more into the person you were now.
you continue to dwell on the awareness as your eyes remain on the newly discovered room of wanda’s home. but, all those emotions and thoughts are quickly snatched away when her voice rings next to your ear.
“go sit in the middle of the bed with your back facing me”
the command confuses you and wanda sees it evident in your face as you turn to face her. with a tilt of her head and a muttered, “do it”, you don’t dare to question the intentions of her orders to you; nor do you want to. which is precisely why you keep your lips sealed shut as your legs move on auto-pilot to your destination.
you clamber onto her bed, keeping your head held high and facing towards a bare white wall as you situate yourself in the middle, you shift your body until your legs rest under you in a criss cross position before placing your hands on top of your bent kneecaps.
your ears prick up to the sound of shuffling behind you and it takes everything in you to ignore your natural instinct to turn around and find out what wanda is up to. so as told, you continue to face the wall, your eyes boring into white nihility until it quickly becomes redundant and you turn your attention to your lap to mindlessly count every thread on the hem of your jeans that runs through the inside of your leg.
“you can turn around now,” wanda echoes from behind you, a sultry tone to her voice that has you whipping your head around in such a manner that it caused a giggle to escape the redheads lips. “i thought i’d slip into something more comfortable”
your lips part slightly as you stare hungrily at the older woman just a few feet away from where you sit. she had now ridden her body of the tight suit pants and her white crew top that you absolutely relished and was now adorned in a red satin nightdress and a drop shoulder belted robe to match.
“oh god..” the words left your lips in a breathy mumble as your eyes rake over wanda’s body. taking in the way her breasts sit perfectly behind the nightdress and how soft the skin of her full thighs look. “you look- i mean, it’s just.. there are no words, wanda”
a delighted smirk itches at wanda’s lips as she steps closer towards you, pride beaming from her chest at your star-struck reaction. she saunters over to you, her steps slow as she moves closer and closer until her thighs hit the side of the mattress.
the redhead begins to climb onto the bed, shifting herself until she situates herself in front of you. wanda then raises a hand, letting her thumb gently trail over your bottom lip before speaking. “let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?”
you nod eagerly, your hands instantly going to the button of your jeans; pulling the hem over and unbuttoning them before turning your attention to the zip. wanda smiles, reluctantly moving her hand away from where it happily resided to help you undress.
the cool air alit goosebumps over your thighs when wanda eventually pulls your pants over your ankles, freeing you from the tight confinement it held you in. the redheads hand smooth up the soft skin of your thighs, relishing in the way your skin feels under her touch for the first time.
she had fantasised of this moment multiple times after your first encounter. how you would react to her touch, how you would feel against her fingertips, how you would sound when her fingers inched their way into you slowly; savouring the way you contracted around her, sucking her into your warm cunt as you whimpered for more.
it made wanda’s head spin and her clit to throb just thinking about it. she cupped your warm cheek and leaned in to give you a chaste kiss before letting her hands reside higher up your body, wanting to remove the last item that stopped her from seeing all of you.
“is this okay?” wanda asked, her voice husky and barley above a whisper as she gently grabs ahold of the hem of your sweater with both hands. “we can stop whenever you want”
your eyes meet hers, a small smile on your face at the softness of her words. “i’m okay, but.. please don’t stop, i need you”
a hand moves to wrap around the wrist of one of wanda’s arms, pulling it away swiftly and moving it downwards to the heat that radiates from your cunt. wanda’s lips part, a low moan rumbling from her throat when the pads of her fingertips come in to contact with the damp spot on your underwear.
“touch me, please”
wanda’s fingers flex subconsciously after you speak and it takes everything in her to not rip away the lacey barrier and bury herself deep inside of you until you cum around her.
“i will, darling. but, first.. this needs to come off” wanda tugs at your sweater and before the redhead could even blink, you let go of her hand and pull the item of clothing over your head in a swift motion, eager to have her touch every part of your skin freely.
wanda tells you to lie down, in which you quickly obey; shuffling yourself backwards until your head hits the soft pillows behind you.
wanda stalks forward like predator following its prey, your heart beats wildly in your chest as you watch her draw closer to you until her body ghosts over yours and your eyes interlock once more. “such a beautiful little girl”
a hint of pink flushes itself onto your cheeks upon hearing the compliment, your brain automatically wanting to cover yourself up under her intense gaze. but, you refrain every instinct and use your left hand to cup the back of wanda’s neck, pulling her in for a hungry kiss that leaves you both breathless.
wanda rolls her hips against yours, her mind screaming at her for some sort of friction to appease her. the action causes you to whimper against wanda’s mouth, the sound quickly dying off as wanda continues to kiss you.
after a few moments, wanda ventures down to the apex of your neck, her tongue swirling against the smooth skin as she presses open mouth kisses there before gently nibbling over the wet patches she leaves.
your back arches itself into her as you weigh your head further into the pillow, giving her more access to freely work on while your hand tangles in thick auburn hair, grasping onto it like a vice.
your voice is shaky as you whimper out how good it feels, causing a smirk to tug at wanda’s lips as she continues her assault against your neck. she eventually ventures down further, her lips working over the skin of your collarbones, the mounds of your breasts before she grows impatient and unhooks your bra before tossing it somewhere where the rest of your clothes reside.
your nipples harden under the cool air, quickly turning to pebbles that wanda instantly wraps her lips around, desperate to have you in her mouth.
a throaty moan escapes you, the grasp in wanda’s hair growing increasingly harder as her tongue flicks over the hardened nub of one of your nipples. the older woman moves her right hand to squeeze the mound of your unattended breast, giving it as much attention as she can before switching to wrap her lips around it.
“momm- wanda.. please, i need you”
wanda pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop, a cocky smile evident on her lips as she laugh breathlessly. “fuck, you were so close to saying it.. you know you want to, y/n. do it and i’ll give you what you want”
your hips buck upwards at the taunt, your mind swirling with slight humiliation at her words. “god, just- please, mommy. i need you inside”
“say it again” wanda utters, shifting to move up the length of your body until her lips ghost over yours again. “i like hearing you beg.. it’s cute”
a groan leaves your lips; frustration and impatience clearly evident in your demeanour.
wanda trails her hand down from your right breast, over the valley of your stomach, and then the mound above your cunt, until eventually her fingers rest over your underwear. she taps her fingers gently against your covered folds, an easy attempt to get what she wants.
wanda lets a short chuckle when your hips buck at the contact, and just like she expected, you begged once more.
“please fuck me, mommy. please, i’m so wet for you”
wanda raises herself slightly on the arm that isn’t teasing you mercifully and rests her weight on it. your eyes flicker upwards to see a proud smirk displaying on plump lips as she hovers over you. “it’s quite amusing to see you beg, y/n.. considering how sure of yourself you were back at that club. look at you now, desperately trying to hump my hand like a little slut”
you trap your bottom lip in between pearly white teeth, not letting out the moan that’s threatening to escape upon hearing the older woman insult you like you were nothing to her. it made your stomach swirl with arousal and anticipation as you lay underneath her, waiting for her to give you what you need.
“oh my, you weren’t kidding, huh?” wanda asks with a low hum as two of her fingers pull your underwear to the side, her digits instantly coming into contact with the slick wetness that had spread across your lips. “such a messy girl”
you whimper out, your hips raising again when her fingertips glide through your sopping folds, running them up and down your slit; careful to ignore the bundle of nerves that throbbed deliciously at the first touch of her hand.
your back arches slightly when wanda halts her torturous touches and finally dips her fingers into your hole. you instantly suck her in, your warmth tightening around her as you welcome in the intrusion.
“you feel so good, darling” wanda whispers, her hot breath hitting your face as she continues to enter you inch by inch until finally, her palm flattens against your clit. “i must admit, i touched myself to the thought of this the first time we met. how you would feel around my fingers, so warm and inviting. i bet you’d take my cock just as easy”
a strangled moan rips from the back of your throat when wanda experimentally pulls out faintly, only for her to roughly thrust herself back inside, the tips of her fingers pressing against the sweet spot that lay deep inside of you. “fuck, do that again”
wanda smiles at that, repeating the action that draws out another moan from you. “hm, i knew you’d like it rough. if you’re good tonight, i might just make you my own personal little fleshlight. would you like that, slut?”
wanda’s pace picks up, her hard thrusts becoming relentless as her palm continues to press against your clit. you pant heavily against her lips, gasping out a “yes” before using the hand that stayed tangled in red hair to pull her down for a kiss, one that quickly turned hungry in nature and one that wanda happily reciprocated.
your stomach twisted and contracted the more wanda continued to fuck her fingers into you and you knew you’d be close to the edge soon; something wanda quickly picked up on when your walls pulsed and tightened around her digits.
ignoring the pride that buzzed in wanda’s chest, she doubled down on her efforts, her pace growing increasingly faster but still thrusting roughly against your g-spot.
“fuck-“ you gasped out, your eyes squeezing shut at wanda’s change in pace. delicious wet slapping sounds invaded your ears, along with your wanton moans that bounced off of every wall in the room before inevitably making its way back to you. “mommy, you’re gonna make me cum”
wanda relished in the sounds you made, the sweet noises only spurring her on even more as they burned themselves deep in the crevices of her brain. “that’s it pretty girl,” she hummed. “make a sticky mess on mommy’s hand”
your walls constricted wanda’s movements as they tightened around her fingers like a death grip. “so close, so close. i’m-“
your words died in your throat as your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave against rocks. you panted and quivered under wanda’s form, your body tensing as you came hard around her fingers.
the older woman watched in dumbfound amazement from above; adoring the way your eyebrows furrowed, the way your mouth hung open and the way her fingers struggled to keep their tempo as you entrapped yourself around them like a vice.
wanda continued her efforts of moving inside of you as she helped you through your orgasm, uttering words of encouragement and praises while your body shook and vibrated under her.
after a few moments passed, your body settled and relaxed into the mattress as you came down from your high. wanda then stilled her movements but made no indication to pull out, her mind savouring the way your walls continued to pulsate and convulse around her in avid aftershocks.
“fuck..” was all you could rasp out as your chest heaved in short and winded breaths.
“are you okay?” wanda asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke against your lips; not wanting to break the barrier of peaceful silence that settled around the both of you as you continued to catch your breath. “was that..”
a soft laugh leaves your lips as you raise a hand to rest against your sweat covered hairline. “wanda i swear to god, are you seriously going to ask if that was good after i almost broke your fingers?”
wanda chortled above you, her laugh echoing in the room at your reply. “no, no. you’re right. now.. i want you to stay there while i get us some water and then when i get back, i want to make you cum with my mouth”
“wait.. but, what about you?”
wanda smiles before pecking you on the cheek, “eager little thing, aren’t you? don’t worry, darling. we have all night”
ᗢ
part three
____
tag list: @smromanoff @karsonromanoff @illfuckingvibes
summary: after coming back to work after a vacation, you meet a woman who wanted nothing more than simply, just your company. that was until she visits you once again.
warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady!wanda (32), lap dancing, oh the tension, horny thoughts are being thunk, power play, eventual smut, wanda being a nervous wreck around beautiful women. minors DNI.
words: 5k
an: i’ve been meaning to post this for a while. happy (extremely late) belated anniversary everyone :) xo saph.
edit: i’ve made a few changes to the warnings since this one shot will be split into two parts as i feel it’s too long for one post! enjoy :)
the cold air was something you had grown accustomed to for a few months now, and as much as you longed for summer to come; there was something refreshing about feeling the chill breeze against your face as you walked towards a secluded but well-built building.
the name always made you smile as you stared up at the glowing neon lights, ‘house of harkness’ reflected in purple onto the mundane streets behind you. you knew of the face beyond the name, you had for years.
miss harkness, or as you personally call her; agatha, was a close friend of your late mother’s. she had taken you in as a friend and mother figure after the unfortunate death of your own. something you would never be able to repay her for, but, agatha was different compared to the people who had come and gone in your lifetime. she simply cared for you, nothing more and nothing less.
“how are you, miss?” your attention was pulled from your blank gaze at the sign, and your eyes followed the voice to the man who stood in front of the entrance of the club. “i’ve not seen you for a while”
you smiled at his kindness, stepping forward just slightly. “i was on vacation, henry. you’ll never believe the sights i’ve seen in england, it was magnificent, much different to what we know here”
the man’s eyes widened just a little at your reply, “a vacation? wow, i'm glad you had fun, y/n. i’ve visited england before, the dialect takes a second to get used to but it’s a beautiful country nonetheless”
you nodded in response, your smile never faltering towards the familiar man.
henry was someone you had known for as long as agatha. he was a loyal server to the owner, working the doors of clubs she had owned in the past and following where ever she settled next.
he was a kind man, someone who knew your mother well, held her memory in his heart and quickly upon meeting him, you had grown accustomed to his sincerity.
“are you ready to get back to work? we seem to have some big spenders in tonight” he asked, stepping to the side to make room for your entrance through the heavy silver door.
“ready as i’ll ever be” is all you could respond as you move forward. henry pulled open the door, watching as you stepped in before smiling once more and closing it behind you.
you make your way through the hallway, purple lights guiding your way as you reached the reception. the staff member who was perched behind the register nodded at you and you shot them a small smile back before continuing your walk into the depths of the club.
“y/n! you’re back!” agatha’s voice boomed over the music that echoed throughout the club, you glanced at your surroundings, noticing the many customers that were situated with other woman you hadn’t worked with before. you brushed it off, turning your attention to agatha who stood close to the bar.
“hi, agatha” you replied, smiling as you stepped closer. the older woman pulled you in for a hug and you instantly sighed in her embrace, you squeezed your arms around her before pulling away. “henry tells me there are big spenders in tonight”
“well not so much right now, those guys have a table booked a couple of hours from now. the other ‘not so generous’ customers are occupied at the moment but.. there is someone here who hasn’t had a dance yet”
you shoot her a puzzled look and agatha chuckles amusingly at the confusion written on your face.
“i think she’s a first timer”
the confusion only grows more. “she?.. i don’t think we’ve ever had a female customer”
“well,” agatha tuts, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “there’s a first time for everything, kid.. would you?”
you shuffle your weight on your feet, turning your head to look up at the older woman. “fine, but i better make some good money from her”
agatha laughs once more, “don’t worry doll. when you see her, you’ll know she means business”
you choose not to reply at that, instead, you slip out of agatha’s hold and head towards the changing room. once you pull open the door, you throw your bag on one of the counters and begin the process of getting ready.
ᗢ
fifteen minutes had passed since your brief conversation with agatha.
you had already done your makeup prior so all you had to do was adorn yourself in red lingerie, and garter belts to match along with your red-bottomed stilettos. it was a popular outfit of yours, a signature look that was sure to get you thousands as it had done in the past.
you gave yourself one last look in the large mirror in front of you, checking your ruby lipstick was pristine and your curls fell perfectly against your shoulders.
“let’s do this” you whisper to yourself before grabbing your clutch that lay next to the large bag you carried inside with you. “it’s show time”
you swiftly turn around before exiting through the changing room door and back into the busy club where coloured lights flash and the booming music echoed around you.
you nod over at agatha who stays perched near the bar. she smiles back at you, her eyes never faltering away from yours. “looking good, kid. you ready to paint the town scarlet?”
you roll your eyes dramatically at the use of your allies.
“just a heads up, some of the girls have already tried to get some money out of her but.. she’s a tough nut to crack so good luck”
a smirk twitches at the corner of your lips, “she hasn’t met me yet”
agatha shoots you a playful wink, her hands reaching up to rest on your shoulders. “that’s the spirit, my little money maker”
you let out a sigh, shifting your weight as you prepare yourself. after a fleeting moment passes, you smile at the older woman before turning around in her hold; making agatha’s arms fall to her hips. you purse your lips and while holding your head high, you take a few steps forward.
your eyes scan the room, in search of the hard to crack-mystery woman. you land on a table of men that are gathered around with champagne, smirks on their faces and a dancer hooked onto each arm like leaches.
you want to roll your eyes at the desperation that oozes from most of them, the way they cling onto one customer that won’t so much as cough up a hundred bucks. it was painful to see, but you tear your attention away from them. reminding yourself that you were once new too, new and naive. they’ll learn.
you continue to keep your eye on the prize, walking past the table that boomed loudly with belly laughs and hollers.
just as you were about to give up and complain to agatha that the woman was no longer in sight, you spot red hair that broadly made itself known behind a pillar and as you turn the corner; you’re greeted by a woman, a gorgeous woman at that, in a black suit, situated with one leg over the other as she nurses a whiskey glass.
you push the thought of how disgustingly good looking this stranger is and instead focused your mind back to why you were here. money.
“hi there, you look like you’re in need of some good company” it was a pathetic starter conversation really, you knew that. “what brings you into the house of harkness?”
the redhead raises her gaze from her glass and up to you. you watch as she gulps dryly, her eyes subtly scanning your body before eventually flickering back up to your face.
“oh you know, just a bit of shopping..” you snigger at that, stepping the tiniest bit closer towards the obviously tense woman. she shakes her head at her own words before moving her crossed leg to rest back on the plush chair she sits on. “that was a terrible joke, i’m sorry. i- i don’t know why i’m here, i was recommended by a friend of a friend and well..”
you smile, “and now you’re here” your eyes drop to the empty chair at the table, “you know it’s- may i?” your hand gestures out, stepping closer to the seat.
the older woman eyes you for a split second before nodding her head. you pull out the chair from under the table, moving slightly before situating yourself down on it; throwing a leg over the other as you maintain eye contact.
“its not everyday we have beautiful women like yourself in here, i think this calls for a celebration..” you nod your head at the older woman.
“oh i- thank you.. and wanda. my name’s wanda”
“wanda” you repeat, liking how the name sounds and how easily it rolls off of your tongue. “how ethereal.. i think this calls for a celebration, wanda. shall we get a drink?”
the redhead looks down at the empty glass she had been nursing for god knows how long. she lingers on the thought briefly, her mind and body battling the decision to stay or leave.
“what’s your name?” wanda asks, mentally kicking herself for how timid the question sounds coming out of her mouth. “it’s not something like diamond is it?”
a laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head. “you’re definitely a newbie, aren’t you? no, nothing cliche at that, my name is scarlet. as you can tell from my whole ensemble, i’m partial to the colour red”
wanda’s gaze drops to your red lipstick and then the lacy bra that pushes up your chest oh so perfectly that it makes wanda subconsciously lick her lips at the mere thought of being so close to them.
“hmh, i can see that. reds my favourite colour, too” wanda hums, her eyes flickering back up to your piercing gaze. “i think i will take you up on that drink offer. what would you like? it’s on me”
bingo.
your smile stretches from ear to ear at that. knowing damn well this is how it starts, it’s an easy trick of yours. coax nervous customers into a conversation, offer to have a drink with them and before you know it they’re racking up thousands in purchases on their bank cards.
“such a gentlewoman, thank you. i’ll take a rum and coke, please”
ᗢ
you don’t even realise until you check your phone that an hour had passed, wanda was currently back at the bar and paying for another round of drinks for the two of you. you had both slipped into an easy conversation that seemed to make time pass you by in a blink of an eye.
you sit up straighter when wanda approaches your table with a drink in each hand. you proudly noticed how over the hour, the older woman’s tension seemed to decrease massively as she reaches her empty seat.
“i have to leave soon,” wanda mentions as she situates herself back in her seat. she places your drink in front of you and then takes a lengthy sip of her own before placing it down on a napkin. “i have work in the morning, but.. i enjoyed talking to you, scarlet”
you pick up your drink, watching the liquid bubble with fizz in the glass as you mull over your next move. now’s the time, just do it.
you shift to the edge of your seat, a delicate hand reaching over to rest on the top of wanda’s thigh and you immediately love the feeling of the expensive material of her pants suit under your finger tips. “i enjoyed talking to you too, wanda. you know.. we could always finish these drinks in one of the booths?”
wanda’s eyes shoot down to your hand, then to the left of you to glance at the ‘private booths’ sign that shone brightly in purple neon, until eventually she turned back to capture your gaze.
you pull your hand away from the warmth of her thigh, watching as the gears turn in wanda’s mind, the mental battle of should or shouldn’t. it made you itch with eagerness and something you can’t quite put your finger on. never in your career has anyone doubted the thought of getting you alone in a dark booth that was only covered by a black curtain. men always jumped at the chance but, wanda… wanda was different. shy, kind, respectful. it was intriguing nonetheless.
“i- i think..” wanda reaches a hand inside one of her pant pockets, you watch with baited breath as she digs around before eventually pulling out a wallet. “i’m not sure how much-“
she flicks through the thick stack of neatly placed bills before settling on several notes and placing them on the table next to your drink.
your eyes fall to them instantly and before you can muster up a reply, wanda beats you to the punch.
“is three-hundred enough? i’m not sure how this works but..” wanda sighs as she rises to her feet, she picks up her drink and takes a few more sips before settling it back down. “i really should go, thank you for your company, scarlet”
your lips part as your eyes rake up her suit clad body, confusion is evident in your face as you land on emerald-green eyes. “wanda..”
“maybe i’ll see you again?” the older woman offers as she folds her wallet up before slipping it back into its resided pocket. “thank you, really. i had fun”
your eyes flicker down to the money that lay in front of you and then back up to the redhead. conflict swarms through your mind at the thought of the woman leaving. you had done what you came to do, make money. but.. this was so different to other customers, they never simply just paid for your time. they came here to see one thing only; you, naked.
you decided to plaster a smile on your face, ignoring the ache in your chest to convince her to stay, before standing up to bid her a goodbye. “yeah, i- until next time, wanda”
wanda nods at you in response, her eyes holding your gaze for a brief moment before she turns on her heels and walks away from the table. you stay there, confused at the interaction as you watch her heels click one by one before eventually fading away and leaving out of the building.
oh, you were definitely intrigued now.
your turn to face the now empty table, your eyes land on the money and you can’t help a smile creeping on your face at the entire situation. for a quick hour of conversation with a beautiful woman, you managed to make more money than you would have done with the other customers who were currently eyeing you up like meat on a platter.
you shake your head with an exasperated sigh as you reach down to collect the bills. it’s not long before you make your way back over to the bar to where agatha’s perched near the edge, watching your every move.
“i guess you were right, doll..” agatha beams, noticing the notes in your hand. you extend your hand and give her the money with a grin. “how did you manage to crack her?”
you purse your lips, sucking your tongue against the back of your teeth before shrugging. “i didn’t do anything, we just spoke and then she said she had to leave”
“so,” agatha tilts her head. “she just.. gave you this? god, you really are the best of the best”
you laugh at that with a rolls of your eyes. “yeah, yeah. you’re just saying that because i make you more money in a day than these other girls do in a week”
agatha tuts, “although that is true, you really do have a talent kid. those new girls couldn’t get a cent out of her before you came out”
pride swirls in your chest at her words. the thought that out of everyone here, wanda chose to tip you. excitement brewed in the pit of your stomach at the off chance of her actually visiting again, it was something you had never felt towards any other customer who had visited before.
“did she say anything before she left?”
agatha’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and snaps you back into reality, your eyes flicker up to hers as your mind quickly registers her question.
“just that she had to leave and that maybe she’ll see me again?.. i can’t see that happening to be honest but hey, stranger things have happened here”
ᗢ
a few days had passed since your last interaction with wanda. everyday that you worked since, your eyes briefly scanned the hallways every so often, watching as customer after customer piled into the club. but, you never saw thick locks of stunning red hair in the sea of people.
your work days were thankfully busy, which meant you spent hardly any time pondering over whether or not, a stranger; that had quickly invaded your thoughts, would ever come back.
“hey.. sorry to interrupt”
your turned away from your current conversation with agatha and your eyes quickly landed on a timid looking girl, staring at you. you could feel the nervousness radiate from her as she shifted on her feet, waiting with baited breath for you to speak. you eyed her cautiously, your mind registering that you had never spoken to her before.
you smiled as best as you could though, given your somber state over once again, no sign of a certain redhead, in hopes that it would help ease her anxiety. “hey, it’s all good. you okay?”
the younger girl smile brightly at your politeness, her shoulders falling as the tension left her ever so slightly. “yeah, thank you. i just.. sorry, i haven’t had a chance to meet everyone properly yet. are you scarlet by any chance?”
“that she is, melody” agatha spoke, causing both of you to turn towards her as her voice reached your ears. “the one and only, the best of the best”
your gaze flickers back over to the younger girl and you smile once again, rolling your eyes. “pfft, don’t listen to her, she’s crazy”. a grin spreads on your plump lips upon hearing agatha gasp dramatically, but you continue your focus on the girl in front of you. “i’m not the best but i am scarlet though, what can i do you for?”
the younger girl, who you now know as melody, shifts on her feet once more, her eyes scanning over to a certain part of the club before looking back over to you. “someone’s requested you specifically, she didn’t give a name but-“
“she?…” you ask, your heart beginning to beat slightly faster. you pick up your clutch from the bar and sling it over your shoulder, shooting agatha a knowing look. “what did she look like?”
“absolutely gorgeous” melody hums, taking a step back to allow you some room to move. “red hair, black suit. she’s sitting over near the lounge”
you teeth bite down on your bottom lip, chewing nervously as the younger girl speaks. you thank her before briefly bidding a goodbye to both agatha and the dancer.
your legs quickly move in front of you, your mind racing with determination as you walk towards the lounge. after walking past a few busy tables, your turn and instantly your eyes fall on wanda who’s perched in a chair that’s situated with a small table in the corner of the room. you bite back a grin as you step closer towards her, ignoring the way excitement bubbles in your chest.
green eyes trail upwards from the phone in her hands, until eventually she’s staring back at you, watching as you approach.
“hey, you um- you asked for me?”
wanda smiles, her hand gesturing to the empty chair opposite her. you instantly obey to the silent command and perch yourself on the chair.
“yeah.. i wanted to see you and thank you again for the other day. i think you could have smelled how new i am to this environment and.. well, you were really kind so, thank you”
your eyes trailer over wanda’s body as she speaks. it makes you almost audibly grown at how good she looks, the beauty and power that radiates from her as she sits in a black suit and heels to match.
ignoring the dull ache you feel building between your thighs, you shift slightly in your chair and lean forward.
you certainly don’t miss the way wanda’s eyes fall quickly to your cleavage and back up to your face.
“that’s nice of you to say, wanda. did you come all the way here just to say that?”
the redhead chews delicately on her bottom lip before taking a deep breath. “no i- i want to.. i’m not sure of the prices but, i want a dance.. from you”
“oh?..” is all you could say as you gulp dryly at wanda’s confession. you study the way she fiddles with her fingers, the way one leg bounces gently and how her brow line creases into a frown. “are you sure? you seem nervous”
it was a shameful thing to point out about someone, you knew that. but, you couldn’t help the concern you felt towards the older woman. sure, if this was any other customer; you’d happily take their money without so much as blinking. but, wanda was kind, deferential. you wanted her to be sure of her decision.
“it’s because i am,” wanda scoffs with a chuckle and repositions herself on her chair. “but yeah i- i do want this, i’m just..”
your shoot her a lopsided smile. “it’s okay, you don’t have to explain, as long as you’re certain”
wanda nods, feeling nothing but relief at your words. how could she possibly begin to explain why she’s nervous? she has no reason to be. she’s a grown woman, someone much older than you, who has plenty of life experience and wisdom and yet when it comes to this? she’s a ball of anxiety that’s ready to roll out of the door and never return.
maybe a drink will help, she thinks.
“do you want a rum and coke? i’m just going to head to the bar before we start”
you smile at the redhead as you rise to your feet, “i’d love one, c’mon, let’s go together”
ᗢ
the air is thick with tension as you both step into the dark booth that’s only light comes from the illumination of bright purple fairy lights that hang overhead.
you motion for wanda to sit down as you plug a cable into your phone that connects you to the speaker. once you do, you pull up a playlist and press shuffle. music slowly builds into an easy rhythm and you gently sway your hips on every beat.
you can feel wanda’s eyes burning a hole into the back of you and a smirk twitches at the corner of your lips as you continue to dance.
you shift backwards, your ass only a few inches away from wanda’s face and that’s when you begin your routine. you reach down, your fingertips touching the tips of your heels and you can’t help but hum at the delicious stretch you feel in the back of your thighs.
you move your hands from your heels, smoothing them up your calf’s and over the back of your legs until you reach your ass. you grab a fistful of flesh and teasingly spread your cheeks apart.
you hear wanda groan from behind you and you can’t help but feel pride beam proudly in your chest once again. the same pride you felt on the first day that you met her, when you realised that out of every dancer in the club; wanda chose you. she chose to speak to you, to tip you. and to now be the one who gives her, her first lap dance.
“you doing good back there?” you ask, a hint of sarcasm laced in your voice as you trail your arms up to your hips, pulling at both ends of the hem of your thong. you let them go with a brief snap against your skin before turning around to face wanda. “sounds like you’re enjoying the view to me”
you hook a finger under wanda’s chin, tilting her head upwards to face you and even in the dimly lit darkness of the booth, you can see the way wanda’s pupils fade from emerald green to black as they dilate. the way her chest rises in uneven breaths and the way her hands grip the edge of her seat harshly.
wanda parts her lips, the words she so badly wants to whisper just dancing on the tip of her tongue. i want you. instead she settles for a breathy “yes”, leaning forward as she does in a desperate attempt to be closer to you.
she fights every instinct in her body to not reach out and touch you, to feel the softness of your skin under her fingertips.
“good,” you mutter, your hot breath hitting her lips as you speak, and it takes everything in you to not close the gap between you. “you really are something else, you know, wanda. you’re so unbelievably gorgeous, it hurts”
you pull away, releasing the hold on her chin and continue to dance, swaying your hips as your hands roam over your body until they reach the curve of your breasts. you give them a generous squeeze and wanda’s eyes never falter as she watches in awe.
wanda holds your gaze, even when you step closer and closer until you swing a leg over her hips, your other one following soon after. she gulps dryly when you fully straddle her, your hands moving to rest on her shoulders.
your hips stay just a few inches above her lap and wanda’s teeth clamp down on her bottom lip when they begin to grind gradually in the air.
“me?..” wanda gasps, the grip on her seat getting tighter and tighter by the second until her fingers turn white. “have you seen you? you’re a fucking masterpiece, scarlet. the things i-“
you tilt your head downwards at that, your face a few inches away from wanda who sits there with flushed cheeks and her lips clamped shut.
“the things you what?..”
a shaky sigh hits your skin before wanda drops her head in embarrassment. “nothing, i- forget i said that”
you hum in thought, your movements coming slowly to a halt as you let the lower half of your body rest on wanda’s thighs. your already peaked heart rate spikes dramatically at the feel of once again, expensive cotton and all your mind can think of is grinding against one of her tense thighs until you leave a mess on her pants suit.
“you can call me y/n, by the way” your words come out in a broken whisper and you don’t even care, your mind is swirling with nothing but wanda. how her skin would feel against your touch, the softness of her lips against yours, what makes her tick and how she would sound when she reaches that blissful peak of an orgasm. “scarlet is just an allies”
“y/n” wanda repeats, lifting her head up once more until your eyes interlock. “that’s a pretty name, it suits you”
you smile down at her, liking the way your names sounds when it comes from her. it makes you itch more with want and you can feel yourself becoming unbearably needy as she holds your gaze. “do you- are you busy after this?”
your eyes widen as the words leave your lips and you instantly begin to climb off wanda’s lap, stepping backwards until the coldness of a large mirror behind you hits your back.
you quickly reprimand yourself as mortification creeps in at such a question. something you have never asked a customer before, let alone thought of. how could you be so stupid?
“fuck, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to say that. i don’t think before i speak“
you could see a hint of faint surprise written on wanda’s face but, as she rises from her seat; something you can’t quite place glistens in her eyes as she parts her lips to speak. “you didn’t mean it? that’s quite a shame”
she steps closer towards you, inching closer until you can once again feel her hot breath hitting your skin. “are you sure you didn’t mean it because..” wanda sighs, her eyes hungrily raking down the smooth skin of your body. “my diary’s completely free and if i’m being honest, for the past few nights all i’ve thought about is you”
her confession makes you gulp hard, the confidence and boldness you had before is slowly vanishing as a new side of wanda shows herself and cracks through the surface of her once timid and unsure demeanour.
you clear your throat and stand up straighter, your eyes never breaking contact as you try to regain some sense of tenacity. “oh do tell,” you mutter, moving closer just an inch until you feel the curve of wanda’s breasts pressing against your own. “i’d love to hear about how you’ve been thinking of me”
wanda’s gaze flicker to your lips for a split second before taking a small intake of breath. “well, well, you’re a brave little girl, aren’t you? my thoughts envision you as someone who takes it lying down but.. i guess i was wrong”
a slight grin itches at your lips at the back and forth dynamic you both hold but you bite it back, not wanting to show any significant detail of feeling on your face. “oh i do like to take it lying down but.. you’re right, wanda. i’ll never step down from a challenge”
wanda smiles and unlike before, when it was soft, gentle and the dimples in her cheeks formed; this one held something much more sinister behind it. “we’ll see how long it takes before i break you, darling”
before you could reply, the sound of your timer plays loudly in the booth causing both of your heads to turn towards the noise and the illumination of your phone screen.
“looks like my time is up” wanda voiced with a hum as she steps back a few feet. the loss of her warmth against you makes you want to reach out and pull her back towards you until your bodies deliciously press together again. “so, tell me y/n, what happens next?
5 times you almost said the three big words to Natasha and the 1 time you finally did.
Warning : mention of violence, smut at some point...
Happy Pride Month!! <3
Still working on a long fic that's kicking my ass but had to write a little something that would not leave my mind otherwise, so... Enjoy :)
⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑
The room felt too big without her in it.
It was not really something you noticed right away, it was more gradual. The kind of thing that creeped in around the edges until suddenly you were hyper-aware of every empty space around you, every untouched surface, every silence that should not feel this loud.
You were lying on her bed, staring at her ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head and resting on her pillow.
You told yourself you would not do this.
You would not get used to the way it felt to be surrounded by her and her things - one of her leather jackets slung over the chair, a pair of her boots by the door, the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging stubbornly to the pillows around you.
And yet... here you were anyway.
Pathetically laying in her bed... Curled up beneath her blankets, your head buried in her pillow, surrounded by traces of her that made the absence somehow worse.
Missing her.
The thing was, you had spent years learning how to be alone. It had never bothered you before. You liked your own company. Liked the quiet, liked having your own space.
Then Natasha had happened.
And somewhere between late-night takeout, stolen hours between missions, and waking up tangled together more often than not, your definition of normal had shifted without asking permission.
"You’re such a traitor." You murmured quietly as Liho, her black cat, shifted slightly against the side of your head and let out the biggest sigh known to catkind.
Her tail flicked in response, unimpressed, before settling more comfortably against you, warm and solid and very clearly thinking the same as you.
You sighed as well, letting your head tilt to the side as you glanced down at her.
"You're supposed to make this less pathetic, you know?"
Liho blinked at you slowly, greenish eyes looking at you as if she were waiting for something.
You reached down absently, gently scratching behind her ears. She leaned into it immediately, purring, and you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips even if you tried. She always seemed to have that power over you. And her owner too.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," you mumbled, pursing your lips. "You miss her."
Because that was the thing, it was not just you. Perhaps the situation would be easier if it had been the case.
The whole room felt like it was waiting. Like it was holding its breath until Natasha walked back through the door and everything clicked back into place.
You let your gaze drift towards the nightstand - everything exactly where she left it, like she will be back any second.
Except she will not.
Not tonight.
Not for a few days, at least.
Solo missions would do that.
Liho shifted again, stretching this time, one of her paws pressing lightly against your ear.
You exhaled slowly, staring back up at the ceiling.
This was stupid.
You were being stupid. And you knew it, but apparently reason had no play in your feelings.
She was fine, after all. She was always fine.
You did not need to...
But your hand moved before you fully decided to, reaching for your phone where it rested on the mattress beside you. You stared at the screen for a second, the background picture greeting you not helping to talk yourself out of doing what you wanted to. Still, you paused for a second, teeth grazing your lower lip as you forced yourself to think rationally about this.
She was on a mission, after all. She did not need distractions.
She definitely did not need you calling in the middle of the night because you... Well, because you what? Missed her? Wanted to see her? Heard her voice? Make sure she was okay?
That felt... dangerously close to something neither of you were ready to unpack right now. Liho let out a small, impatient sound, nudging your hand with her head.
You glanced down at her, eyebrows raised.
"...You’re not helping." You grunted, closing your eyes before letting out yet another sigh.
God, you were so pathetic.
Liho was still staring at you when you opened back your eyes, you rolled them before hitting the call button.
It rang once... Twice... You almost talked yourself out of it and hung up but by the third ring, the line clicked.
"Yeah?" Natasha's voice answered, slightly hoarse, a little quieter than usual.
Relief hit you so fast it almost made you dizzy and angry at yourself. One word, one raspy, sleep-roughened word, and suddenly the knot that had been sitting beneath your ribs for days loosened.
Were you this desperate and gone for this woman? You hated that, hated how immediate it was - as if some part of you had been waiting for proof that she was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.
The realization hit a second later and made you want to throw your phone across the room. Because, God, you really were gone for this woman. You needed to get a grip on yourself, and that as soon as possible. And preferably before she found out as well.
"Hey, you..." You replied, smiling at the ceiling, scrunching your nose as Liho's snout nudged your chin.
There was a faint rustle on the other end - movement, maybe. Fabric shifting. The soft, distant hum of a foreign location you could not quite place.
"You okay?" Natasha asked immediately, worry lacing into her voice.
Of course she did.
You huffed a small breath, glancing down at Liho as she curled tighter against your shoulder, ears shifting at the voice coming out of your phone.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."
There was a beat of silence where you could practically hear Natasha thinking.
"Then why are you calling?" Straight to the point, not hitting around the bush with her - you always liked that. Usually.
You hesitated, because you did not actually really have a good answer.
"Can't I just call m-" You stopped yourself just in time, clearing your throat. Logically you knew she was your girlfriend. You had been on too many dates together if that was not the case. But you never said the actual word. There was actually more than one word you had not said yet. "Can't I just call you? It's been almost a week, I wanted to hear your voice."
Natasha let out a faint exhale on the other end, almost a huff.
"Of course you can call me, I just thought something was wrong at first," she grumbled, stopping as she heard you shift. "You're in my room."
It was not a question, it made you blink, caught off guard by her words.
"Wha-how did you even know?"
"Background noise," she replied, a smile in her voice. "And... you just confirmed it."
You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher as you rolled your eyes at her smug tone.
"Well, for the record, I’m here for a very important reason."
There was a soft, amused sound from Natasha on the other end.
"Huh uh, sure."
"It's true. You said Liho needed supervision and she doesn't wanna leave your room, so... here I am." You replied, chuckling when the cat let out a soft chirp, shifting closer to the voice.
"Alright, turn the camera on." Natasha asked, waiting.
You smiled, turning on your side and putting the phone on the other pillow to make sure she had a good view of Liho too.
Natasha's face appeared on the screen seconds later, her hair pulled back in a neat braid.
"There are my girls," she smirked, the corner of her mouth softening as she took in Liho's curled up position next to you. Her gaze flicked briefly to the side - like she was taking in the angle, the background, the way you were positioned. "You're on my side." She hummed, one eyebrow raising knowingly.
You narrowed your eyes, biting down the inside of your cheek.
"What?"
Natasha's smirk deepened, slow and knowing.
"The bed... you're on my side." She repeated, voice dropping just slightly as she raised both eyebrows this time.
You froze, because... you were. Without even thinking about it.
"It's... more comfortable." You said quickly.
Natasha did not respond right away, just looked at you like she knew that was not the real reason. Or to the very least, not the only one.
Your pulse picked up slightly at the look on her face so you quickly cleared your throat, looking down at the cat.
"Liho chose it first." You added, gesturing vaguely to the cat as backup. But of course, the traitor that she was, barely even reacted, simply staring at the screen while licking her paw absently.
Natasha chuckled, low and warm.
"Of course she did." She looked at the cat with playful suspicion before her eyes slid back to you.
You huffed out a quiet laugh, nodding.
"Yeah, she’s been complaining. A lot. I think she misses you."
Natasha pressed her lips together, taking in the sight in front of her.
"How is the roommate's situation going?"
"...She knocked over a glass earlier." You glanced down at the cat again, making a face.
Natasha sighed, glaring at Liho through the screen.
"I chose her name so well." She shook her head, but there was unmistakable affection in it.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
And she saw it.
Of course she did.
Her gaze lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
"Why did you call?" And there it was, the question you knew was coming again at some point.
You hesitated, because the real answer was sitting right there, obvious and inconvenient and a little too honest for comfort.
Because you wanted to see her.
Because you missed her.
Because her room felt too empty and wrong without her in it.
Because ever since you met her, she was always in a corner of your mind and these last couple of days you went back to that place more times than you would have liked - and actually needed to hear from the real her before turning completely crazy.
You shifted slightly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.
"Just checking in, you know..."
Natasha’s expression did not change but you could tell she did not buy it.
"Okay, and now the truth?"
"Hey, that's mean. I am checking in too." You grumbled, frowning at her.
She leaned closer to the camera, her face taking up more of the screen. The way she called your name always got you, and this time was no exception.
"You would check in if you knew I could actually talk about the mission. Which I can't. Which you already know. So...?"
"Wow. Okay. Read me like a book, why don’t you..." You huffed a small breath, rolling your eyes.
Natasha gave a small, smug shrug.
"I am."
You glanced back up at her. And unfortunately, she was still watching you like that. Too focused, too attentive, like she was waiting patiently for you to find the words.
Your chest tightened.
"...Couldn’t sleep." You admitted instead, softer this time.
It was not the whole truth but it was not a lie either.
Natasha's face softened.
"Yeah? Even if you're in my bed, surrounded by all my things... And wearing my shirt?" She sounded almost amused.
You glared at her, frowning.
"Stop being mean, I'll hang up."
"Okay, okay." Natasha held up one hand in mock surrender.
She looked genuinely amused for a minute though. But then silence settled again, not the same as before. It felt heavier now. Charged with something you could not quite name, only feel.
You watched her for a second. The way her eyes scanned the area behind the camera. The way her shoulders stayed just a little too tense, even when she was standing still.
She was working.
Even now.
Always.
"But I will anyway, you should get back to it..." You added quietly, offering her a gentle smile.
Natasha exhaled, and for a moment you thought she might actually protest.
"Yeah, probably." But she did not move, did not end the call, neither did you.
Your heart was beating a little too fast. There was something sitting in your chest again - that familiar pressure, that weight that had been building for weeks now, threading itself through every moment like this.
You swallowed.
"I-" You started, breaths burning your lungs.
Natasha stilled, eyebrows raising as you suddenly stopped talking.
"Yeah?" She prompted.
Your fingers tightened around the phone as you brought it closer. God.
This was stupid.
It was just words.
Just three words.
You could say them.
Right now.
She was right there. Looking at you like that. Like... like she was waiting. Like she could see the battle happening behind your eyes, like she was standing at the edge of the same cliff.
"I... I l-" The words caught, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you drew in a breath before panic slammed into you. You saw it then, so clearly, the possibility of silence. Of surprise. Of not hearing it back... And suddenly every survival instinct you possessed grabbed the wheel. "I mean I... You know,Liho is being very well taken care of. And I'll keep on doing that," you finished abruptly, the words coming out too fast. "Just so you know. Don't have to worry. About anything." You added with a smile.
Natasha blinked, then her face did something complicated, and suddenly she looked like she was the one whose air had been punched out of her chest even though you were the one actually out of breath.
"Yeah... I can see that."
"Good," you murmured, nodding a few times, hesitating again before clearing your throat. "Stay safe, okay?"
Natasha nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing.
"...I will," she said finally, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than it should. As if she were suspicious. "I’ll call you when I’m done."
You smiled, even though the motion felt rushed and out of place.
"Yeah. Okay."
Neither of you hung up immediately.
You just sit there for a second, looking at each other through the screen, waiting for more. Like there was something else to say.
Something just out of reach.
But then the screen went dark.
And the room felt just a little too big again, leaving you with words too big to deal with.
⧗
The plan had been simple on paper.
It always was.
In reality, however, it had dissolved into noise, smoke, and the kind of chaos that made your ears ring and all your carefully constructed thoughts scatter like startled birds.
Somewhere above you, something heavy collapsed with a metallic shriek, sending vibrations through the whole floor. The lights flickered twice before settling into a dim, unreliable pulse that painted everything in uneven shadows as dust fell from the ceiling like dirty snowflakes.
You pressed your back against the cold concrete pillar behind you, forcing yourself to breathe through the adrenaline clawing up your throat after taking down five other men. Your comm crackled with overlapping voices - Sam swearing, Tony complaining about power surges, someone yelling coordinates that immediately got drowned out by static.
Your earpiece buzzed again after another slow breath, and this time Natasha's voice came through clearly: "Status?"
Her voice was calm and grounded. Far too calm for the situation.
You exhaled sharply, something in your chest loosening just from hearing her - the sound of her voice hit you with embarrassing force. The building was still trying its absolute best to collapse on top of you. Your ears were ringing and your shoulder hurt and there were armed men somewhere in the vicinity actively trying to kill you. And yet the moment Natasha spoke, something inside your chest loosened.
You actually hated that she could do that, like some part of your brain had quietly filed her under safe, under trust, under the person you wanted beside you when everything else went to hell.
"Took down most of them but pinned on the lower level, door won't fucking open," you muttered, glancing around the corner before quickly ducking back as a burst of gunfire shredded the wall where your head had been a second ago. "Shit, three hostiles, maybe more. You?" There was a brief pause when you could practically hear her calculating.
"On my way." Natasha replied, voice steady despite the gunfire echoing faintly in the background of her comm.
You huffed a breath that was half relief, half exasperation, dragging the hand that was not holding your gun through your damp hair as dust still rained down from above. You perked by the wall, shooting one of the three guards.
"Nat, you’re not exactly in a position to be detouri-"
"I said I'm on my way." She cut in sharply before you could get another word out.
That tone meant she was not taking anything for an answer besides what she had already decided.
You rolled your eyes - even though she could not see you - before dodging another bullet as you ducked into another corner, firing two more back and hearing a groan as one bullet touched a shoulder.
"Yeah, okay, Romanoff. Because this mission hasn’t gone off the rails enough already, let’s just add 'reckless heroics' to the list."
"Shut up and hold your fire," Natasha scoffed, appearing on the other end of the hallways and taking down the two men before quickly jogging back to your side. "Well, you're welcome." She breathed out, bruised lips forming a small smile.
Before you could fire back, another explosion rocked the building, way too close this time. The wall at your back shuddered violently, cracks splintering up its side. You stumbled as the floor shook, catching yourself just in time, heart slamming hard enough to make your vision blur as the ceiling above the three guards lying on the floor suddenly collapsed on them.
"Fuck-" You gasped, pushing off and moving quickly to a slightly less terrible piece of cover with the redhead following. "Okay, that was... not ideal. Like at all." You added, one arm extended in front of Natasha - even though no one was coming your way as she stopped at your side.
"No shit." She grunted, scanning the area before tugging on your wrist to urge you to follow her.
"Took the long detour to come to me, huh." You joked as you carefully climbed back the stairs to find yet another issue.
"Traffic." She replied dryly, already peeking around the corner, assessing, calculating. Always working.
And God, even now, even like this, even with alarms screaming overhead and dust coating the back of your throat, even while your heart was trying to punch its way through your ribs - your eyes kept finding her.
The steady set of her shoulders. The quick, efficient movements of her hands. The way she assessed every angle, every exit, every threat in a matter of seconds.
Natasha always looked like she belonged in chaos, like she had made peace with it years ago and simply learned how to move through the storm, or perhaps had made a pact with it and already knew nothing would happen to her.
It should have been terrifying, instead it made something warm and painful unfurl beneath your ribs. Because every impossible situation somehow became more manageable when she was standing beside you. Because she had come for you.
The mission had gone sideways and the building was falling apart. And somehow Natasha had still heard you were trapped and immediately changed course. No hesitation, no discussion.
Your chest tightened - not from fear this time, but something sharper, heavier. Something that had been building for weeks, months, quietly threading itself through moments each more inadequate than the last.
You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the situation at hand.
"Hey, Nat," you said slowly, glancing up at the ceiling that was definitely not supposed to be doing that. "Tell me you have a backup plan."
Natasha glanced at you, lips pressed together.
"I do..." She grumbled, forcing a door open with her shoulder before quickly climbing up the next stack of emergency stairs. "Not sure you’ll like it, though."
"Natasha, I already don't like that we're going up right now..." You grunted, running to catch up with her.
She did not answer, just kept moving. The stairs were narrow and creaky underfoot.
"Sam or Tony’s gonna catch us on the rooftop." She replied, frowning at the door that refused to open. She kicked the combination lock, hissing as she grabbed a bunch of wires, ignoring the look you gave her.
Another tremor rippled through the building, stronger this time. A section of the ceiling caved in somewhere nearby with a deafening crash, the sound echoing through the corridors like a warning bell.
Your pulse spiked.
This was bad.
This was really bad.
Not because of the collapsing building, not because Tony's voice had disappeared from the comms three minutes ago, not because every instinct you possessed was screaming that the situation was deteriorating faster than anyone could fix. But because, for one horrible second, you genuinely thought this might be it.
And suddenly, all the things that normally seemed important vanished.
And suddenly, all you could focus on was Natasha. Natasha, crouched beside a broken security panel. Natasha, covered in sweat, soot and bruises.
And suddenly, the words were there.
Right there.
Sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and insistent and impossible to ignore anymore - because the thought of leaving this world without telling her hit you harder than any fear you might have felt all night.
You took in another shaky breath, your eyes tracking the smudge of soot along her jaw, the way a strand of red hair had come loose and was sticking to her cheek, the dried blood on her chin, the sharp focus in her eyes even as the world quite literally fell apart around you.
God.
If there was ever a moment... If the building came down right now, if this was the last conversation you ever had, you might actually not bear the idea of her never knowing.
"Nat," you started, your voice coming out tighter than you intended, almost swallowed by the distant sound of collapsing concrete. "If we, you know, don’t make it-"
"We will." She cut you off, the response immediate, like she had not even needed to think about it.
You blinked, lips parted as you observed her work on the colorful wires carefully.
"I... well, yeah, but like, if we don’t-"
"But we will," Natasha repeated, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. There was something in her eyes now - something stubborn, unyielding and fierce. "I won’t accept otherwise."
You stared at her for a second, incredulous, adrenaline and frustration tangling together in your chest.
"Oh my god, I know," you shot back, gesturing vaguely at the crumbling building around you. "I’m just trying to tell y-"
"Dekta," she cut in, her voice dropping just slightly, softer but no less firm. "It’s me. I won’t let anything bad happen to us... If you let me work on those fucking wires."
And there it was.
That certainty.
That absolute, unwavering belief that she could hold the entire world together through sheer willpower alone if it meant keeping you safe.
Your chest ached.
Because you knew her.
You knew where that came from.
And you knew how dangerous it was.
You let out a breath that turned into a frustrated half-laugh, dragging a hand down your face.
"Fuck, you’re so stubborn," you muttered, shaking your head at this impossible woman. "Whatever."
But the words did not go away.
They just settled deeper, heavier, waiting.
And the building gave another violent shudder, as if reminding you that time was running out.
⧗
It started as nothing.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
Just another debrief after another mission successfully wrapped. So, naturally, another cluster of agents and Avengers lingering a little too long in the common area with glasses in hands and loud music all around.
You noticed her by accident.
At least, that was what you told yourself later.
The truth was that your eyes had developed a bad habit over the past several months.
No matter how crowded the room was or who you were talking to, no matter how hard you tried to focus on literally anything else - they always found Natasha eventually.
Like a compass needle snapping north.
You could be in the middle of a conversation, could be laughing at something Tony said, could be halfway through a story - and somehow your gaze would drift across the room searching for red hair and green eyes before you even realized what you were doing.
Tonight was no different.
One second you were pretending to listen to Sam rant about government paperwork, leaning back against the counter with a drink you had half-drowned already, the next your eyes had wandered.
And there she was...
Beautiful.
Effortlessly, unfairly beautiful.
Standing a few feet away and talking to... someone.
You would not have thought twice about it, except... Well, she was smiling.
Not the polite, diplomatic curve of her lips she used when she was playing a role. Not the sharp, amused smirk she gave when she was teasing.
A real smile. Soft and easy and unrestricted.
Your stomach flipped, and not the pleasant kind of movements it usually did when it involved her.
You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to focus past the noise in the room to get a better look at who she was talking to. Some agent, you recognized the face vaguely, newer, maybe. You did not really know. What you could decipher however was the confident stance, way too relaxed to be speaking with Natasha, and leaning just a little too close.
And you realized with anger seeping into your veins that your girlfriend was not stepping away.
In fact, she tilted her head slightly, listening carefully before saying something back. And God, the agent had the fucking audacity to laugh.
Your grip tightened around the glass in your hand.
It was nothing.
Right?
It had to be nothing. Natasha knew plenty of people. People you did not know yourself. It was part of her job, after all. And it was not fair, she was not doing anything wrong. It was fine, not a big deal. But your slightly inebriated brain was set on convincing yourself it was a very big deal.
You forced your shoulders to relax, dragging your gaze away.
She was allowed to talk to people, a completely normal activity that human beings engaged in every day.
She was allowed to smile, too. Hell, you loved her smile.
This was normal.
This was-
You glanced back before you could stop yourself, and they were still talking. God, how long was this discussion going to be?
Your eyes kept on tracking every movement for the following minutes while the rest of your face was still pretending to listen to Sam’s story.
Every smile, every second she remained standing there. The worst part was that you trusted Natasha completely. This was not about trust, it was somehow more embarrassing than that, it was wanting.
Wanting her attention.
Wanting that smile.
Wanting to be the person she looked at like that.
And watching someone else get it felt like tiny little paper cuts somewhere beneath your ribs.
Death by a thousand stupid insecurities.
You took another drink.
An excellent decision, clearly.
Natasha said something else, her expression shifted - something amused flickering in her eyes - and the agent reached out briefly, brushing her dirty, unworthy fingers against her arm as she responded.
Something in your chest twisted.
Okay.
No.
Nope.
That was not happening.
You pushed off the counter before you could think better of it, crossing the room with the purpose you intended. You told yourself it was casual. That you were just... joining the conversation. Gathering information before actually stepping in.
Not interrupting.
Definitely not interrupting.
Natasha noticed you coming the moment your footstep hit a particularly creaky floorboard two steps to her right. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours - sharp, assessing and aware like she always knew exactly where you were in a room.
The... woman - whoever she was or thought she was - beside her was still speaking, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere.
"Hey," you said, a little too quickly, stopping beside the redhead and leaning into her side more heavily than you intended, blinking a few times to stop the world from moving too much - perhaps you should have stopped at two drinks like Sam suggested earlier.
The agent turned to you and offered an easy smile, probably delighted to have two Avengers speaking to her.
You nodded stiffly, barely acknowledging her before your attention snapped back to the person who actually mattered to you.
"Didn’t know you were still in debrief mode."
Natasha's lips twitched at the contact, subtle but there, her hand spreading on the small of your back to steady you.
"We’re not." She replied, her voice calm and even as always.
"Right," you said, glancing between them. "Just... chatting then."
"Yes." Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly.
There was a beat.
An awkward one, if you could say so yourself.
You did not like it.
"So," you added, forcing something casual into your tone that did not quite land the way you wanted it to. "What’d I miss?"
The unknown woman chuckled nervously.
"Not much. Just telling Miss Romanoff about my upgrade ideas for her bites."
"Her bites?" You replied, eyebrows raised, ignoring the way Natasha's hand tightened on your back in warning.
"Yeah, you know... widow bites. They're impressive already but Mister Stark wanted my help to upgrade them and Miss Romanoff had some very good suggestions," she continued, praising your girlfriend like you were not standing right the fuck there. "Didn’t expect that kind of knowledge, actually. You know a lot about... well, a lot." The young woman giggled.
Something about the way she said it, like it was new, like she was just discovering something you had known for so long... it grated.
"Yeah," you said again, tighter this time. "She does tend to know a lot about a lot." You let out a snort, giving the young woman a look.
Natasha’s gaze flicked to you again, sharper now. Assessing.
The woman glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on something. Finally. Tony had not picked the brightest one, it seemed.
"Well," she said, clearing her throat slightly. "I should, uh, let you t-"
"Yep," you cut in quickly. "Perhaps you should."
Natasha shot you a look at that, but the woman just nodded awkwardly and stepped away, muttering something about other projects.
You did not even watch her go, your focus was entirely on Natasha now.
The second she was out of earshot, the silence shifted.
Your redhead turned to you fully, arms crossing as she let go of you.
"Okay," she said, eyebrows raised. "What the hell was that?"
Your jaw clenched as you leaned against the wall for support, making a face of confusion.
"What was what?"
Natasha exhaled through her nose.
"That," she repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction the agent disappeared. "Just now."
You let out a short breath, shaking your head.
"Nothing, just... talked to your new friend, that's all."
Natasha's expression flattened, her eyes flashing with something that was both arousing and thrilling. God, whatever was in your drink really fucked you up.
"What is your problem?"
"My problem?" You echoed, incredulous. "I don’t have a problem."
Natasha stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Really," she said flatly, unimpressed. "Because you just interrupted a conversation for no reason and then acted li-"
"For no reason?" You cut in, the words coming out sharper than you intended. "Seriously?"
Natasha's jaw tightened, irritation flashing across her face.
"Yes. Seriously." She hissed back, keeping her voice low but making sure to send her point across.
You stared at her, incredulous.
"Wow," you muttered, running a hand through your hair. "Okay. Good to know then."
"Good to know what?" Natasha frowned.
"That you’re just... completely fucking oblivious." You grumbled.
"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows raised higher.
You hesitated. Because saying it out loud felt... actually ridiculous.
And petty.
And yet...
"You guys were flirting." You said finally.
The words hung in the air for a moment, then Natasha let out a sigh, leaned back against the wall, and turned to face you.
"I really wasn't."
You let out a disbelieving huff.
"Na-"
"I wasn't," Natasha repeated, firmer now, her gaze steady. "And if she thought I was, she's sorely mistaken."
You shrugged, the alcohol not helping you think clearly.
"Well, you were smiling."
"I smile," she replied, voice cooling as something you could not quite understand shifted in her expression, her shoulders dropping. "Sometimes."
"I don't know, not like that..." You grumbled lamely.
Natasha stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose as her eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, like what?"
"Like-" You stopped, frustrated, gesturing vaguely because you did not even have the right words for it. "Like you meant it or something."
"And that's a problem?" Natasha huffed out a laugh.
You opened your mouth before closing it again.
Because no. It should not be.
She was allowed to smile. Allowed to talk to people. Allowed to-
"Let’s just forget it..." You muttered, shaking your head.
Natasha reached out, gripping your chin gently and forcing you to look at her.
"Nuh uh," she said immediately, lips twitching. "Don’t do that. You started this, now finish it. Even if you're drunk."
You let out a sharp breath, throwing her a dirty look at her last words.
"Well, it’s just..." You cut yourself off again, jaw tightening. "It’s nothing, can we drop it?"
"It clearly isn't nothing."
"It is," you insisted, even though your chest felt tight, your thoughts a mess. "I just didn’t expect you to be so... friendly."
Natasha studied you, letting go of your chin to rest her palm on your sternum, thumb brushing the collar of your shirt.
"I'm friendly when I choose to be." She hummed.
"Yeah, I noticed." You chuckled, the words coming out more bitter than you intended this time. You reached for her hand with one of yours, keeping it on you - the touch grounding in a tilting world.
Natasha laced her fingers through yours, squeezing slightly.
"So what? I can't talk to someone now?"
"That’s not what I said."
"It’s what you’re implying."
"I’m not implying anything-"
Natasha sighed, cutting you off.
"You walked over there and shut down a conversation because you didn’t like it," she replied, voice sharpening. "So tell me, what exactly is the issue here?"
You stared at her.
Because the issue was obvious.
At least, it was to you.
But saying it out loud? That was different.
"That woman was clearly into you." You said instead.
Natasha blinked at you before snorting.
"Yeah, and?"
"And?" You stopped, frustrated, running a hand through your hair again. "And nothing. It’s just, like, obvious."
Her gaze locked onto yours, amusement flickering there.
"Yeah? Should I have?"
"I don’t know," you snapped, frowning at her, not understanding the funny aspect of this discussion like she seemed to. "Maybe... Probably."
Natasha leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath.
"Why?"
The question landed heavier than it should, the hair at the back of your neck standing up in alarm.
You hesitated.
Because the answer was sitting right there, at the front of your mind, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore.
Because you did not like seeing someone else look at her like that.
Because you did not like the idea of her wanting that from someone else.
Because you-
"Because I-" The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice cracking. "I just don’t like it, okay?"
Natasha hummed, lips curling into a satisfied smile, thumb brushing your hand.
You swallowed hard.
Your heart was pounding, she could probably feel it.
"I-I don't like seeing you like that. Imagining you with someone else." You grumbled, the words rough, pulled straight out of your chest.
Natasha pursed her lips, eyes on your frowning face.
"You think I’m 'with' someone else?" She asked, amused.
"No," you said quickly. "No, that’s not what I-just-" you shook your head, frustrated with yourself now. "Forget it. You can't understand."
Natsha hummed, looking at you with that familiar mixture of amusement and fondness, as if you were the most entertaining thing she had encountered all evening.
"Then explain it to me," she challenged, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you got jealous over a conversation."
"I didn’t," you stopped yourself again, exhaling sharply. "You're enjoying this too much," you grunted, giving her a look. "Okay, maybe I did. A little."
Natasha smirked, really smirked, the kind that made your stomach flip.
"Good of you to keep up, I've been enjoying it for five minutes," she chuckled, tilting her head to give you a knowing look. "A little?" She repeated.
"Fine. More than a little." You grumbled.
Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer, almost fond. Her eyes flicked downward, kissing you before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole than you were already, lips smiling against yours as she tasted the remeanant of the alcohol there.
You closed your eyes, trying to keep your mouth shut too. Because the truth was right there.
Because you loved her.
It sat at the back of your throat, heavy, burning, ready. Pulsing in time with the organ in your chest.
This would be so easy, too easy, to whisper it against her lips and blame it on the liquid courage coursing through you. To gasp it into her mouth, letting her swallow the words and sealing them with your insistent lips on hers.
You were already here, already halfway there, already saying things you probably should not be saying.
What were three more words?
Your pulse pounded as she stepped away, deep green eyes opening to stare at you.
"Wait..." Your voice faltered, breath catching as everything crashed together at once. "You're, like... very... important," you frowned, confused about where you were going with that, the words coming out of your mouth not necessarily the ones you expected. "I mean, like... I love... that you're interested in me. Only me." You finished, weaker than what you almost said.
Safer.
Natasha's eyes searched your face, like she was trying to find something you were not saying.
She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around your neck.
"Well, I thought that was pretty clear already, but I'm very much only interested in you, silly." She breathed out against your lips.
The words were steady and certain, making the hair at your nape raise again. But they did not quite settle the storm in your chest, even as your hands settled on her waist, heavy eyelids blinking to look at her.
Natasha kissed you again, softer this time, lingering.
Her hands came up to cup your face, thumbs slowly brushing over the apples of your cheeks like she was memorizing them.
"Next time," she whispered, smiling softly. "Maybe try using words a little better before jumping to conclusions."
You huffed a small, humorless laugh.
"Yeah. I’ll work on that, kinda hard after those insane drinks Clint wanted me to try, though..." You grumbled, staring into her green pools that lulled you closer, limbs melting into her.
And somehow you still wanted more.
Greedy and pathetic and hopelessly in love. The realization hit so hard it nearly stole your breath - well, that and her tongue tracing over your lips.
If only she knew the truth, though...
If only you could actually do that.
Said the words, the right ones, the real ones.
But instead, they stayed where they had been for weeks now, caught in your throat.
Unsaid.
⧗
Natasha woke you with a sound that did not belong in her bedroom.
Not a scream - Natasha Romanoff did not scream - but something very close to it. It sounded like a strangled inhale, like she surfaced too fast from underwater and forgot how lungs worked.
Your eyes snapped open instantly.
The room was dark except for the thin blue glow of the digital clock on the nightstand showing 3:13 AM.
Beside you, Natasha was rigid. Not sitting up, not moving, not one arm above her head like you caught her doing before. Just frozen flat on her back, chest heaving in shallow and uncontrolled breaths that were trying very hard not to become panicked.
"Nat?"
You pushed yourself up on one elbow when no response came from her, sleep dissolving immediately from your brain. The sheets were tangled around her legs, a sheen of sweat glinted across the exposed skin of her throat. Her hands were fisted at her sides so tight you could see the tendons straining.
"Natasha." You murmured, a little softer this time as you shifted closer, still careful, because you had learned to be careful with her.
Her eyelids finally fluttered open at the movemnt, eyes cutting toward you, green and glassy in the dark - but they did not really see you yet. They were still trapped somewhere else entirely, something years away from this room. The Red Room. A mission gone wrong. Or some memory she will never tell you about. There were ghosts living behind Natasha’s eyes sometimes. You knew that much.
And tonight they followed her into bed.
Your chest ached immediately - not because she looked broken, Natasha never looked broken, she looked exhausted like she had spent the last several hours fighting ghosts no one else could see.
"Oh, honey." The endearment slipped out before you could stop it and something in her expression cracked.
Not dramatically, because Natasha never broke dramatically either. But you saw it, that tiny flicker of exhaustion beneath the mask she was trying to pull back into place - tonight she was not fast enough. Tonight you caught the crack before the mask could close.
"’m fine..." She murmured automatically, her voice rough.
You almost scoffed at the lie, except there was nothing funny about the way her breathing still stuttered every few seconds.
"Yeah," you murmured instead, giving her a look. "Clearly."
Normally she would smirk at that. Throw something sarcastic back. Deflect. Tonight she just closed her eyes briefly like she was too worn out to actually pretend and let out a low sigh.
You hesitated for only half a second before reaching for her. That hesitation did not exist before. In the beginning, you touched Natasha carefully because you did not know if she wanted it. Now you hesitated because sometimes nightmares left her halfway feral with adrenaline and instinct. Once, months ago, she woke up swinging.
She cried afterward.
Not visibly, but her hands shook while she checked your jaw for bruising, and she refused to look at you for the rest of the night and following day so you would not be able to see her glassy eyes.
You remembered holding her face and saying, "Nat, hey, it’s okay, it was an accident." You remembered her whispering, horrified, "I could’ve hurt you." As if she had not spent every day since trying to make up for it with hands gentler than ever before.
Tonight, though, the second your fingers brushed her wrist, she grabbed you. Hard.
Never enough to hurt, just enough to reveal how desperately she needed the contact.
Your breath caught.
Natasha turned into you so quickly, almost hopelessly, and pressed into you like she could not get close enough fast enough. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other hooked under your shoulder, and then she was burying her face against your neck with a shuddering exhale.
Natasha never clinged before.
Your heart practically fractured on the spot.
"Okay," you whispered immediately, wrapping both arms around her. "Okay, I’ve got you."
She said nothing, not that you expected her to talk right now, but her grip tightened.
You could feel the aftermath of the nightmare in the tension running through her body. Every muscle pulled taut. Every breath measured too carefully.
You started rubbing slow circles against her back, carefully laying back against the mattress, thumbs pressing gently into her sides. It took a while before she melted even a little.
"You wanna talk about it?" You asked quietly, lips brushing her hairline.
You only received a tiny shake of her head against your throat in answer.
"Okay. That’s okay too."
Another few minutes passed in silence. Outside the compound windows, rain tapped very softly against the glass - a reminder that the world kept on moving in small, ordinary ways while you held one of the deadliest women on the planet together with your bare hands.
The thought would almost be funny if it did not feel so devastatingly tender.
Natasha shifted closer even though you did not think that was physically possible. One of her legs slid between yours, anchoring herself there. Her fingers curled into the back of your sleep shirt like she was afraid you would disappear if she let go.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly, lips pursing. Most people only knew the polished version of Natasha Romanoff. The smirks. The sharp edges. The glares. The dry humor. The controlled, untouchable elegance.
The Avenger.
The spy.
The weapon.
But you knew this version too.
The one who woke up shaking. The one who hoarded affection like she did not know when it would be taken away again. The one who pretended she was not tired right up until she fell asleep on your shoulder. The one who quietly moved closer whenever a room became too crowded. The one who checked that you got home safely even when she was halfway across the world. The one currently curled against your chest as if your heartbeat was the only thing keeping the nightmares away.
The one who pretended she did not need anyone while silently gravitating toward you over and over and over.
You planted a kiss onto her head, nose resting there as your lips stayed pressed on her temple. Immediately, impossibly, she softened further like that single gesture undid another knot inside her.
Your chest hurt so badly with it that you almost said it right then.
The three words rose so fast it scared you.
You stopped yourself so abruptly your breath almost caught audibly.
Natasha did not notice. Or if she did, she did not question it.
She was still tucked against you, eyes closed now, breathing gradually evening out while your heart absolutely lost its mind inside your ribcage.
Because holy shit.
Holy shit. You nearly blurred it out.
Again.
Panic bloomed instantly.
Not because it was not true.
God, that was part of the problem. It was too true. Because loving Natasha was not a choice you made anymore - it had never been your choice. It had become instinct. As natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. You loved all of her. The legend. The weapon. The woman.
Especially the woman.
You stared at the ceiling, fingers still moving gently through her hair while your thoughts spiraled violently out of control.
This was not the moment.
Actually, this would be the worst possible moment, if you thought about it.
She just had a nightmare. She was vulnerable and exhausted and clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world right now. Saying it now would be... unfair.
The realization landed heavy in your stomach - it would be unfair to put that on her now.
Natasha had spent her whole life with people taking advantage of vulnerability. Twisting soft moments into leverage. Making affection transactional.
You knew that.
You knew her.
The last thing you ever wanted was for her to think your comfort came with strings attached. Like she owed you something because she let herself need you tonight.
Your eyes stung suddenly.
God. And what if she panicked?
Not because she did not care about you - you knew she did by now, even if neither of you said it out loud - but because love was different.
Love was permanence.
Love was trust.
Love was something Natasha approached like a wounded animal approached an open hand: cautiously, suspiciously, waiting for the trap.
You could still hear her voice from months ago, quiet and strangely raw after a mission in God knew where left both of you bleeding in a safehouse bathroom.
"I’m not good at this."
You had looked up from where she was bandaging your ribs, eyebrows pulling together.
"Stichting me up? Could have told me before I let you put your hands on me, huh."
"No, just... this," she had muttered with a roll of her eyes, making a gesture with her free hand between the two of you. "All of it."
Relationships, she had meant.
Feelings.
You remembered smiling softly.
"Well, good thing you don’t have to be good at it, then."
Natasha had stared at you for a long moment like that answer genuinely confused her.
Sometimes you thought she was waiting for you to realize she was impossible to love.
The horrifying thing was that loving her was the easiest thing you had ever done.
You looked down at her now, at the red hair spilling across your shoulder. At the tiny crease still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Her plump lips partially parted, puffing air on your shirt.
At the way she unconsciously seeked your warmth even while asleep, fingers twitching against your back every few seconds just to make sure you were still there.
Your entire body ached with affection.
You wanted to say it so badly.
You wanted to whisper it into her hair and hold her until she believed it.
You wanted to tell her she was loved so fiercely and gently and without condition that it even terrified you sometimes.
But fear curled sharp beneath the longing.
Because what if she was not ready?
What if hearing it made her... retreat?
What if it changed this - whatever beautiful fragile thing the two of you had built together for months - into something frightened and uncertain?
Natasha did not do love.
Or at least she thought she did not, or to the very least act like she could not.
You had seen evidence of that belief everywhere: in the way she - most of the time - deflected sincerity with humor, in the way she usually went still when someone cared too openly, in the way she looked almost startled every time you chose her again.
As if she was still waiting for the moment you would not.
You could survive not saying it. You would rather swallow these feelings for another year than risk making her think she owed you an answer tonight, an answer given at three in the morning with tears still trapped behind her eyes would not really be an answer at all. However, you were not sure you could survive watching her pull away from you. Not over something like that. Not over timing. Not over words. So you swallowed the words down hard enough it hurt. And instead tightened your arms around her slightly and pressed another kiss into her red hair. Natasha made a small sound low in her throat. Contentment? Trust?
"You’re okay..." You whispered carefully.
Not I love you.
Even though every inch of you meant it.
"You’re safe. I’ve got you."
Her breathing evened out completely after a few minutes.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged at your own eyes again, but sleep came slowly. You mostly just laid there holding her, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.
You stayed. That was all. Stayed through the nightmares. Stayed through the sharp edges. Stayed through the parts of her she thought were too damaged to be loved.
You buried your face briefly in her hair, eyes burning.
"I’m here." You whispered.
Always, you almost added. But that was dangerously close to the other thing.
So instead you held her tighter and let the words live silently inside your chest a little longer.
⧗
You smiled against her insistent lips, blindly reaching for the handle of the door that was digging into your back, your other arm lazily draped around her shoulders.
Natasha chuckled into the kiss, breaking away just enough to push the door open with her hip.
She stepped inside first, pulling you along by your shirt collar before reconnecting your lips together the second the door of her quarters was closed behind you.
"Someone's eager." You mumbled between kisses, both arms wrapping fully around her neck now, back arching as you felt her warm hands on your hips.
Natasha bit your lower lip gently, hands sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press her burning palms against the shivering and bare skin of your back.
"Almost like it's been weeks or something." She breathed out, giving you a heated, amused look.
You shook your head, fingertips brushing along the loose curls of her braid. You tilted your face enough to look down at her cat who circled your ankles, purring at the contact. Liho meowed loudly at the lack of acknowledgement from both your parts, rubbing against Natasha's legs next.
The redhead ignored her, too busy nipping at your jaw instead, one of her hands tugging on the loop of your pants to bring you closer to her.
"She might be hungry..." You hummed, tilting your face back to give her more room, eyelids fluttering as you let your feet follow her wherever she was taking you.
Natasha grunted against your skin at your words, ignoring Liho entirely.
"She's always hungry," she muttered before pulling you in another heated kiss, hands gripping your hips as she walked backwards toward the door of her bedroom. "Plus, she already ate. Now's my turn." She smirked as she pulled you inside the room instead, closing the door before the black cat could enter.
"You’re so rude," you chuckled, leaning against the door, your hands feeling up her arms that quickly wrapped around you, refusing to let you go too far. "Slamming the door right into her face like that..."
Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes as she resumed her kisses along your jaw.
"Trust me you're not gonna want an audience," she said, lips hot on the hollow of your throat. "Know what else's rude?" Natasha asked, teeth grazing your skin, her eyes sparkling as goosebumps followed.
"Mhm, what?" You panted, already feeling yourself worked up, thighs pressed together for a semblance of relief, hands finding purchase at her toned shoulders.
Natasha smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your collarbone before biting down lightly, then soothing it with her tongue.
"You," she whispered against your skin, hands sliding lower. "You got no idea what you've been doing to me all day, huh? I couldn't stop thinking about you. During that meeting too," she grunted, nose nudging the collar of your shirt as far as possible. "Imagine that? Me? Distracted?"
"Well, I didn't do anything." You grinned, fingers slipping into her braid, purposely messing it up as you brought her lips back to yours.
Natasha groaned as you ruined her carefully braided hair - she hated when you did that. But she kissed you back anyway, hands fumbling and pushing fabric off your shoulders in a hurry.
"Liar," she accused between breaths. "You wore those clothes on purpose."
"My clothes? What about them?" You breathed out, helping her out of her own top.
Natasha kicked her shirt to the side, pressing flush against you, skin on skin now.
"That shirt," she said, voice rough as her fingers traced the waistband of your pants. "That clings like that? Your chest looked heavenly. Called my name." Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose before claiming your mouth again with a low whine of frustration as she tried to push your pants as far as she could.
You could not help but let out a shaky moan, kicking your shoes and jeans off to finish the job, fingers curling in her hair.
"I think you're losing your mind if you hear my tits talking to you." You chuckled against her lips, walking her to her bed, mouths still sharing the same oxygen.
Natasha fell onto the bed with you, laughing into your kiss - actually laughing, something rare and light that made your inside flutter so violently your lips parted against hers.
"Oh, your tits definitely talk," she teased back against your mouth before letting her mouth trail lower once you were fully straddling her lap. "They say 'touch me, Natasha' all day. Can hear them through all these walls and layers."
One of her hands slid up to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra, her other one pressing down your lower back to make you arch it.
"You're such a dork." You grunted, hips rolling on her lap, your hand not in her hair working on her bra, letting it pool between you like a final motion. Natasha let out a small laugh, but the sound turned into a breathy moan she tried to immediately swallow as your hips rolled against her lap again.
Her hands immediately reached behind you to take off the last piece of fabric hiding your silky skin from her gaze, eyes sparkling as the sight of your bare chest finally greeting her.
"Well hello, ladies. Missed you too." Natasha smirked, ignoring both the amused and bewildered look you sent her as she leaned down to press a light kiss on your sternum, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until your back arched against her on its own this time.
You let out a chuckle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you gripped her toned arm, your fingers still tangled in her head guiding her face lower. Natasha did not need guiding, she was already moving down - her lips trailing fire over your sternum, nipping gently at the soft skin of your chest before her teeth grazed the swell of your breast. Her hands trailed lower, feeling your soft sides and committing it all back to memories.
"Sorry, I might be delirious," she murmured, voice muffled against your skin as she pressed warm kisses over your chest. "Like I said, s'been weeks."
"Yeah..." You breathed out, eyelids heavy as you stared down at her. "...acting like you’ve been through withdrawal or something." You teased, though your chuckle died in your throat as her teeth grazed your sensitive skin in clear retaliation, piercing green irises looking up at you.
Natasha smirked against your skin before finally taking one of your nipples into her mouth, tongue swirling around it, slowly at first, teasingly. She could feel the way you tensed beneath her, how your breath hitched and fingers curled tighter in her hair. She hummed approvingly around the peak before sucking gently. Your hips jerked into her lap involuntarily as a reaction to her ministrations. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, breaths turning heavy as you tried to contain yourself even though her actions along with the faint friction happening between your thighs was making you dizzy with want for more.
Natasha immediately noticed the way you moved against her - subtle, involuntary, but so telling. She quickly switched to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while one of her hands slid down your stomach and over your hipbone, tugging down the last fabric clinging to your body.
You let her roll you over and watched as she dragged your panties off your legs, her burning fingertips grazing your skin. You shifted on your elbows, giving her a heated look as you stopped her from laying back with a firm foot on her toned stomach.
The redhead frowned, confusion clouding her gaze for a second.
"Nuh uh, you're wearing far too many clothes." You smirked, licking your suddenly dry lips.
Natasha arched a brow, but the smirk on her lips grew as she understood your demand. Without hesitation, she took a step back. Her buttons popped open in record time as she kicked off the remnants of her clothes. She grabbed your extended leg with one hand, squeezing your calf as she drew closer.
"Better now?" She drawled in a hoarse tone that groped at your belly with a small smile on her face, her lips trailing over the inside of your leg, eyes never leaving your face.
You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving her mouth as you tried your hardest not to melt too visibly under her ministrations. But it was harder said than done when your whole being filled with anticipation, your breath coming in faster before you could take the reins over it.
Natasha took her sweet time - kissing up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth of her mouth linger on your skin. She kept going until her nose bumped the apex of your thigh before finally reaching her destination, the first contact making every touch she did before small compared to the way her tongue eagerly seeked you out. Her eyelids fluttered for a second, a small sound escaping her parted lips as your grip in her hair resumed before tightening.
"Fuck-" You gasped, thighs already starting to tremble on either side of her head. "I almost forgot..." You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as her eyes snapped back to yours, her lips wrapping around your clit as she shot you a quick wink. "...how good you were at that." You finished in another gasp, letting the back of your head hit the mattress as you tried to keep the sounds in.
Natasha smirked - actually smirked, you could feel it against your folds - before diving back in with renewed focus. She alternated between slow, teasing licks and firm suction, like she had all the time in the world to relearn you - her tongue swirling expertly while one hand gripped your hip to keep you from bucking too much. The other slid up your stomach to pinch a nipple - multitasking like the terrifyingly efficient woman that she was.
"Inside-" You panted, back slightly arching off the bed while the hand not in her hair gripped the one that she rested on your chest for dear life, eyebrows furrowing as you focused on the pleasure she was making you feel. "Need you inside, Nat."
The redhead, your redhead, did not hesitate or drawled it longer than you thought she would - perhaps she did miss you as much as she claimed to - and slipped two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right on the first try like she knew your body better than her own. You rewarded her with a shaky gasp, unforgiving warmth spreading through you like wildfire.
Her tongue kept working your clit in perfect rhythm with her thrusting fingers, adding pressure exactly where it mattered. The wet sounds were loud in the quiet room, mixing with your gasps and Natasha's soft hums of approval against you as she stared at your body that chased the feeling she was giving you. And suddenly it was too much. Too many feelings. Natasha was all around you, everywhere - outside and inside. Her insistent hands, her heavy gaze fixed on you that you could not see but felt all the same, the scent surrounding the two of you. It was too much and you were right there, with the words ready to claw themselves out your chest and throat to finally slip past your parted lips.
You let go of her hair immediately as a semblance of dangerous clarity reached you, your hand pressing flat against your parted mouth. And what if you stopped yourself from breathing that way? At least the words were going down with you, and you would not blur them out of the blue, in the middle of sex, mind you.
You let out a trembling moan, thighs starting to shake as you bit down the inside of your fingers.
Natasha felt the exact moment you tensed, the way your body coiled like a spring ready to snap. She doubled down with eyebrows furrowed in focus, keeping the pace of her fingers and curling them while her tongue pressed hard against your clit. Your muffled moan only spurred her on, she always loved making you fall apart beneath her. Loved being the reason for that desperate grip on yourself, for those half bitten-off sounds she could practically taste in the air between you two. And then here you were, your thigh jerking up by reflex as your walls spasmed around her fingers, sucking them in.
She pulled back and took a deep, ragged breath, eyes traveling languidly over the faint sheen of sweat over your curves.
You opened your eyes again, face tilted to the side as you lazily reached for her with your hand, pushing the babyhair off her forehead with a faint, delirious smile on your face.
Natasha leaned into your touch, her damp lips curling as she kissed the palm of your hand. Her fingers, still glistening, brushed over your stomach as she crawled up to hover above you, arms caging either side of your head. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth first, then finally claimed it properly - slow and deep and so tender compared to what had just happened moments ago.
It made your toes curl.
"I love-" You stopped yourself just in time, gulping down, teeth grazing your lips as you tried to find something else to say. Something else than what you really wanted. Something that you might actually not regret saying. "I love, love when you do that." You finished in a lower tone, heavy eyes searching her face.
Natasha studied you, those green eyes always seeing too much, like she could read the hesitation in your chest, the words that did not make it out.
But she just kissed you again, slower this time, letting you taste the proof of your arousal clinging to her. Her hand came up to cradle your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheekbone gently, affectionate and warm.
"Yeah, I gathered as much." She grinned smugly against your lips.
You chuckled, pushing her away with one firm hand on her sternum before suddenly flipping both of you over, your body pinning her down on the mattress. You tried not to react too visibly as her hands immediately grabbed your hips by pure reflex.
"You know I don't like when you look too smug." You grunted, playfully rolling your pelvis into her lap, one eyebrow raised pointedly.
Natasha blinked up at you, almost surprised for once, her usually controlled expression flickering with something unreadable as your weight settled over her. A slow smirk curled on her lips, her hands traveling lower until she was cupping your buttcheeks.
"Well hello," she breathed out, tilting her chin to press a kiss to your jaw. "Missed those too." She smirked, her hands squeezing the flesh, a small chuckle escaping her as the involuntary movement it caused you to make.
"Oh, shut up." You laughed, your hands cupping her face to pull her into a firm kiss.
Because if there was one thing you were good at, it was distracting you from telling too much. And what could be a better distraction than those plump lips, stealing all possible breath from you until you could not speak anymore.
⧗
It was quiet in the compound.
Not the half-expected, tense, waiting kind of quiet that came after a mission or before one, but something softer, lived-in... And an atmosphere that could only prevail in the late hours of the day, one that only night owls could understand.
Most of the lights were off, the common areas were empty. And you were sitting on one of the couches, half-curled into the corner, a blanket draped over your legs more out of habit than actual need. There was a book open in your lap, but you had not turned the page in... well, a while now.
You were not reading. You had not been for the past twenty minutes. Or maybe even longer. Your gaze kept drifting.
To the doorway. To the window. To the hallway.
You did not know exactly when she got back.
You just knew she did.
You heard the faint echo of a quinjet followed by footsteps earlier. The soft click of a door. The almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere that always seemed to follow her presence - like something settled into place because she was back in your orbit.
You did not go to her. Not immediately. You had an unspoken agreement whenever one of you would return from solo missions, you would not go looking for the one who had just come back. It was up to her to come find the other if felt the need. Otherwise, you had to give the other time and space - enough to take a shower and put herself together while wiping away all the blood that stained the skin - before either of you could face the world again as an acceptable person.
So, you told yourself you would give her time, like always. Let her decompress. Shower, change, whatever she needed.
Totally normal.
Totally reasonable.
And it definitely did not end up with you pacing your own thoughts into the ground for what had to be the past half hour.
You exhaled slowly, dragging your eyes back down to the book you grabbed again.
You froze in the middle of a mess of words you surely must have tried to read before as soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. They were quiet - of course they were - but you recognize them anyway. Measured and controlled in the way that let you know she was letting you hear her approach.
Your heart picked up instantly.
Which was very stupid. It was just her.
Just Natasha.
The footsteps stopped right behind you.
You did not turn around right away, but you did not even know why. Maybe because if you did, this became real - that aching missing feeling whenever she was not near you. The words that had been sitting in your chest for weeks now, building and building and building until it felt like they were going to spill out whether you wanted it to or not.
"Your book’s upside down."
You blinked, looking down with a frown.
It was.
"...I knew that." You mutter, flipping it to the side quickly.
There was a soft sound behind you, something between a breath and the ghost of a laugh. You finally turned. And there she was. Clean now, changed too, her hair still slightly damp, falling loose around her shoulders. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, like she had already shed the mission and stepped back into something more... normal.
Her eyes were on you before they flicked to the empty mugs sprawled on the small table in front of you, eyebrows raising faintly.
"You’ve been sitting here for a while." She noted.
You shrugged, aiming for casualness to buy yourself more time on your emotions.
"Yeah. It’s a couch. That’s kind of what they’re for."
"Mhm." Natasha did not move closer, did not sit down next to you despite the empty place, she simply stood there, watching you. Like she was trying to figure something out.
You shifted slightly under the weight of it.
"What?"
"You’re weird again." Natasha tilted her head just a fraction.
Your eyebrows shot up.
"What!? Me? I’m not weird. What do you mean?"
"Yeah, you are," she replied simply with a scoff, like it was painfully obvious. "You keep almost saying something for weeks now."
Your stomach dropped, colors draining from your face.
Oh.
Oh, God, no.
You let out a short, awkward laugh, shaking your head.
"I don’t... what are you talking about?"
Natasha did not seem to buy it, not even a little, as she arched an unimpressed eyebrow in your direction.
"I’ve seen you do it," she continued, stepping a little closer now, her voice quieter but more certain. "You can’t lie to me, you know?"
You looked away, suddenly very interested in a nonexistent wrinkle in the blanket.
"I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things."
"I’m not."
"You might be."
"I’m not." She repeated, a little firmer this time.
You huffed a breath, rubbing the back of your book that laid on your side, upside down.
"Okay, even if I were, hypothetically, almost saying something... it’s probably not even important."
Natasha stepped closer, close enough now that you could feel the shift in the air between you as she leaned into your space.
"It is, though." She said, lips twitching.
You shook your head, letting out a chuckle.
"Nat-"
"Come on, just say it." The words landed softly, like a request. But solid with no room to dodge, no room to deflect anymore.
You swallowed hard, your pulse picking up again.
"This is a bad idea." You muttered, mostly to yourself, looking up at her with almost pleading eyes.
"Why?" She frowned.
Because you might ruin everything.
Because she might not say it back.
Because what you have right now is good and safe and enough-
"Because..." You started, before stopping. You held your breath, expecting... something. But Natasha did not move. She did not push. She just waited. And somehow, that was worse.
"You’re not gonna let this go, are you?" You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair in a nervous movement.
"No."
Of course not.
You glanced up at her, she was closer than you realized. Her expression was not guarded, not like it usually would be with... anyone else. Anyone else but you. There was something open there, she let you see it, decipher it like it was yours to. She was curious. Maybe even a little cautious. Like she knew this mattered.
Your chest tightened.
God.
This was it then. This was the moment you had been avoiding for weeks.
You were sure you could still back out. Say something else, make a joke, deflect, kiss her until you were both too distracted to remember the discussion at hand. You had done it before. You could do it again.
But you looked at her now.
At the way she was standing there, waiting. At the way she was clearly not letting it go this time. At the way she came to you without any mask on.
The faint dampness still lingering in her hair, the patience in her eyes, the way she had not pushed you once - just waited, as if she trusted you to get there eventually.
And God.
Maybe that was what finally did it, because something in your chest just settled.
You exhaled slowly. Because the truth was the truth. The truth was painful to hold in. The truth was choking you alive. Perhaps it was killing you more to keep it in than scream it at her. Because the truth was the truth and it was inevitable - even though you tried to run away from it. It would always come back to here and now, it would always come back to her.
"I love you." The words left your mouth in an exhale before you could stop them, like they almost did too many times to count before.
You froze immediately as your brain caught up, your heart slamming hard against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to take it back, to say something else. Anything.
But Natasha just... looked at you.
And for a split second, panic spiked, until a faint breath escaped her.
"Oh."
You blinked, your entire body went tense. The sound was not disappointed, it did not sound uncertain either. If anything, it sounded fond. Almost helpless.
And you were fucking lost.
"Oh?" You echoed, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were right now despite the blanket covering your clothes. "That’s-well, okay. Cool. Good. Great response. I-I actually really love that for me," you started to ramble, because of course you were - already half-turning away like maybe you could just physically remove yourself from the situation. "I mean, not that you have to say anything back, because you don’t. I just, well, clearly picked a great time to-"
"No, no, I just... was expecting something else," Natasha replied, lips twitching. "I mean, I already knew that."
You stopped before fully turning back now, elbows planted on the back of the couch as you caught up with her words.
"...What?"
Natasha smirked, something softer in her eyes now.
"I know." She repeated, like she knew you needed to hear the words again.
"You know, what? You knew? Since when?"
"A while." She shrugged slightly, pinching her lips together to hold the laugh in.
"A while?" You repeated, incredulous. "Natasha, I’ve been internally losing my fucking mind over this for weeks, actual weeks-"
"Yeah, I noticed." She scoffed, reaching for one of your hands.
"-and you just knew!?"
"Well, yes. I knew you loved me."
You stared at her.
Because that was... That was so unbelievably her.
"Oh my God, you are actually unbelievable." You muttered, dragging your free hand down your face.
There was a faint flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she stepped closer, fingers brushing hair away from your eyes so she could look into them.
"I love you too, by the way," she shrugged, lips twitching into a smirk. "In case you didn’t know."
You stared up at her, breath half caught in your throat. She loved you.
Of course she did.
The evidence had been everywhere.
You had just been too terrified to trust it.
"...You do?" You asked, because apparently your brain had fully stopped functioning as needed to hear things more than one time.
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"I just said that, didn’t I?"
"Yeah, I know, I just-" You let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "You could’ve, I don’t know, mentioned that before I spent months spiraling over it."
She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes.
"Well, you could’ve said it sooner.”
You stared at her, lips parted.
"...You’re really turning this around on me right now?"
"Mhm hm."
You huffed out another laugh, softer this time, something in your chest finally loosening after weeks of tension as she leaned in enough to press her smile against yours.
Pairing: Bodyguard G!P Natasha Romanoff x Popstar fem!reader
Word count: 10.6K
Warnings: (Lots of ) porn with plot, oral (both receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, daddy kink, praise kink, somewhat public sex, fingering, choking, degrading language, few lines of a breeding kink, little bit of aftercare
Summary: Y/N is a famous popstar with lots of stalking threats. Natasha is a top rated bodyguard, having spent a lot of her past as an assassin and spy. A late night out brings them closer than they ever expected to be.
A/N: Thought I'd try something completely new ¯_(ツ)_/¯
Another day, another group of screaming, adoring fans.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my fans. But I’ve been on tour for two years. I need a fucking break.
Tonight, I got it. After somehow sneaking out of my hotel room without alerting my bodyguard, Natasha, I’ve made it to a club in downtown Miami. The music is blaring, the lights are flashing, and it’s so late and everyone is so drunk that the only people who recognize me are the bartenders. And with the promise of a picture with all of them before I get too fucked up, as well as a very large tip in advance, they’re happy to keep my secret.
So I order a drink. Then another. And another. They keep filling my glass heavily with alcohol. I down a few more than I should before I take to the dancefloor, leaving my heels with the bartender so I don’t break my ankles. I let a guy grind on me, even though I’d never let him take me home, and make a few more guys excited by making out with a girl in the middle of the dance floor.
After a few hours of drinking and dancing, I back up a little too much and bump into someone.
“I’m sorry,” I laugh, turning around to dance with whoever I’ve bumped into. As I look into the face of the person I’ve unintentionally assaulted, I instantly sober up.
Natasha Romanoff, my very good, very expensive, bodyguard is standing there, arms crossed over her chest. I gulp, struggling to do so around the large lump in my throat.
Natasha only joined my team recently. After a run-in with an overly aggressive stalker, my team fired my last bodyguard and hired Natasha. I was instantly smitten. Not only do I find women of authority attractive, but Natasha is actually attractive. Not conventionally attractive, but, like, an actual smokeshow. She’s got long hair that was clearly dyed blonde at one point, but her red roots are growing out. Her dark green eyes stare into your soul as if she only needs to look for a few seconds to know everything she needs to about you. She walks with the confidence of a hundred men. Not to mention she could take down a hundred men by herself without breaking a sweat.
She’s the hottest woman I’ve ever known.
“N-Natasha,” I say, my nerves flushing the alcohol from my system. “H-How’d ya find me?”
“Your manager had a chip implanted in you. I only followed the information it gave me.” Natasha speaks with a straight face, making it hard to determine for anyone that hasn’t spent a good amount of time with her to tell that she’s being sarcastic. “I’m an assassin-turned-bodyguard. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to find you?”
“I was actually hoping you’d just let me be for a few hours.” I admit.
“I did.” She tilts her head, as if I should’ve known that she’d been on me from the beginning. “I’ve been on you since you left the hotel. Now that you’ve had a few hours of fun, it’s time to get you back.”
“Awe, come on, Natasha,” I take her hands and try to pull her further onto the dance floor. She doesn’t budge. “If you’ve been watching me this whole time, it means you’ve been working. Why don’t you have a little bit of fun with me, huh?”
“I wasn’t working. And then you decided to ‘sneak out’, which put me back on the clock.”
“Then get off the clock and have a drink with me, Nat.” I put my palms together in front of me and mimic a praying stance. “Come on, please! Look, I’ll buy. Just one drink.” Natasha stares at me, and for the first time I feel like I can see what’s going on in her head. She’s thinking about whether or not to accept.
“Fine,” she says after a minute. “One drink. And then it’s time to get back.”
“Yes!” I pump my fist into the air and then grab her hand again. This time she lets me pull her to the bar. “Bartender! Another Vodka Red Bull for me, and a…” I look over at Natasha, trying to piece together what she might drink. “An Old Fashioned for my friend here.”
“Old Fashioned?” Natasha asks as the bartender walks away to grab out drinks. “What makes you think I’d like that?”
“You just seem like someone who appreciates a classy drink.” I shrug. “If you want, get something else when he comes back over. I won’t be offended.”
“No, no, an Old Fashioned is good.” Natasha shakes her head. “I’m just surprised, that's all.”
“Why?” I ask her. “You think I don’t care? That I’m too air headed to pay attention and be observant?” I look at Nat, waiting for an answer. She doesn’t give one verbally, but the look on her face says I’ve hit the nail straight on the head. I scoff and turn away from her. “Whatever. People like you always think that. It doesn’t matter.” Natasha doesn’t speak, but I can feel her gaze on me while I look down the bar for the bartender. He’s making Natasha’s drink, my Vodka Red Bull sitting next to him. I watch as he finishes the drink and brings them over.
“Thank you. Would you please bring me my bill and card, with these drinks added?” I ask him. He nods, and leaves to get what I asked. I twirl my drink in my hand, suddenly uninterested in drinking anymore. I watch Natasha out of the corner of my eye, drinking her Old Fashioned, her eyes set on me. The bartender brings back my card and receipt. I thank him, sign the receipt, place it behind the bar, and shove a couple hundred more dollars into the tip jar.
Natasha and I sit in an uncomfortable silence, a strange feat for such a loud club. Neither of us try to make conversation, and I tap my finger on the side of my glass to dispel some of the extra energy I’m feeling.
After about half an hour, I look over at Natasha to see her finishing her drink.
“You done?” I say, standing up. I take my shoes back from the bartender and turn away. “Let’s go.” I walk away from the bar, leaving an untouched Vodka Red Bull at my seat.
I step outside the club into the cool, night air. A few cars drive by, and small crowds of people walk the streets, but the city is pretty much dead. I start walking down the road back to the hotel. A few steps down, and I hear Natasha’s light footsteps behind me.
“We should get a taxi.” She states.
“I want to walk.” I reply. “It’s a beautiful night. Good for my lungs.”
Natasha doesn’t say anything. We walk in silence for a few minutes, with her always two steps behind me. Even when waiting for the crosswalk, she stays behind me. A few blocks away from the club, Natasha clears her throat.
“For someone who wanted so badly to drink with me, you didn’t touch yours.” She says.
“Wasn’t thirsty.” I shrug.
“Not likely, the way you were chugging down drinks before I made myself known.” Her voice flows from behind me like honey. But beneath that is the muddied waters of a complicated past, and even more complicated feelings. And even honey can’t cover the taste of mud. “Why the change in attitude?” She asks. “You’re usually so… bubbly.” She chews the last word, as if she doesn’t know how she feels about the descriptor.
“Maybe something changed in my night to change my demeanor." I say. “Something added, something… subtracted. Doesn’t matter.”
“I didn’t say anything about your intelligence.” Damn this spy is good. “You said something, and I stayed silent.”
“You’re not as good at keeping your face steady as you think, spy.” I spit at her over my shoulder. “I saw the look. The look that tells me yes, I’m just a fucking airhead to you. That I’m nothing but a stupid hick who had the tiniest lick of talent and the biggest amount of luck, without which I’d be working at some sketchy, back alley tanning salon with leathery skin and bee hive hair.” I stop in my tracks and whirl on her, my finger in her face. “For your information, I graduated high school at sixteen. Not because I got my GED in order to make music, but because I’m smart. My mom wouldn’t let me leave school to pursue this, so I worked my ass off.”
“I know that.” Natasha nods. Of course she does. It’s common knowledge.
“What you don’t know is that I made sure that I have an insurance policy.” I growl, taking a step towards her. “I know that anything could happen. My vocal chords could get fried, my popularity could plummet. Hell, I could get cancelled for eating a hamburger. So in all this craziness,” I wave my arms around, gesturing not to the city, but my entire life. “I went to college. I got a degree in computer science. I graduated at the top of my class and celebrated with no one. I learned three languages. Three! All so I can move to a small town in some European country if all this goes south.” I get up in Natasha’s face, my face red with frustration. “I am not an airhead. I care about people. I pay attention. I’m observant. And I’m insulted that you’ve spent all this time with me, yet still have such little regard for me. Ridiculous.”
I turn on my heels to walk away, but I trip over an uneven patch in the pavement. I fall to the ground with a serious pain in my ankle, scraping my knees up in the process.
“Oh, shit,” I inhale through my teeth. Natasha is right there, one hand on my back as I sit on the pavement, my hands flying to my ankle.
“Your ankle?” She says, reaching for it.
“No shit, Sherlock.” I snap at her, jerking away from her hand.
“I don’t think you should be putting any pressure on it. I’ll get a cab.” Natasha turns toward the road to see if she can hail one, but I growl at her and stand on my own, struggling to put weight on my foot.
“I’m fine.” I say, hobbling a few steps down the street, wincing in pain every time I bring my foot down.
“You’re clearly not fine, Y/N,” Natasha says, coming up behind me, one arm on my back and the other on my arm. “Come on, let’s get you to the curb. I’ll get a cab, even if I have to call one.”
“No!” I rip away from her and take a few more pained steps down the street. “I want to walk.” I continue to hobble down the street, Natasha’s hand falling from my back. As I reach the end of the street, I hear Natasha’s footsteps behind me, quicker than before and determined. Once she’s behind me, she takes my shoes from me, places a hand on my back, and slides an arm across my knees, scooping me into her arms. “Hey!” I yell as I kick my feet. “Put me down!”
“If you insist on walking, I insist on carrying you so that you don’t hurt your ankle anymore.” Her tone is as cold as stone, her grip tight on my body.
“Natasha, if you don’t put me down this instant, I’m going to scream ‘kidnap’.” I snap, pushing on her shoulder.
“And if you don’t stop fighting me, I’ll tell Gretchen where you’ve been all night and how you got the sprain.” Her words make me pause. Gretchen is my manager, she takes care of pretty much everything for me. And when I act out, she makes sure that there is an appropriate punishment waiting for me.
“Fine.” I huff, settling into her embrace. I wrap my arms around her neck for extra stability.
She walks a few blocks holding me, her arms never twitching from exhaustion. We don’t talk at first, just look at the city ahead of us. When she breaks the silence, it’s sudden.
“I don’t think you’re an airhead.” Her voice is quiet, softer than she’s ever spoken to anyone, let alone me. “I see the books you read, and the fact that you’d rather watch a documentary about the reproductive habits of salmon than the latest romance hit, and how you usually like to spend your days off going on walks through the cities we’re in, visiting parks and museums. To me, this club is just you blowing off some steam, which everyone needs to do. But I don’t think you’re just a dumb popstar in the slightest, Y/N. On the contrary.” She looks down at me, her eyes glistening with recognition and… something more that I can’t name. “I think you’re the smartest person I know.”
“Big praise coming from you,” I murmur, looking away from her eyes. Those gorgeous, beautiful eyes. We walk a little further in the quiet before Natasha speaks up again.
“What languages did you learn?” She asks. I’m a little taken aback by the sudden interest in my life. I clear my throat before answering.
“Uh, Spanish, Polish, and Greek. I’m working on French right now, and then the plan is Sokovian.” I hear Natasha chuckle slightly, so I look up at her. “What? Is that funny?”
“No, it’s impressive.” She says quickly. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out your reasoning behind the languages you’ve chosen.”
“Well, since I already know English, the two most popular languages are Spanish and Chinese," I explain. “Spanish was easier. Then Polish, because I wanted an option in Eastern Europe. And Greek, because the Mediterranean is beautiful. No other good reasons, really.”
“Those reasons are good enough.” Natasha says quietly. I stay quiet as I feel her arms flex underneath me, her muscles pressing into my back. I shift in her grasp, my arms tightening around her neck. “You’re safe, Y/N, it’s okay.” Natasha says, feeling my unease.
“I know.” I tell her. “You know, I think I can walk now,” I say, trying to unhook my leg from her arm.
“I don’t think so.” Natasha lets out a loud laugh. “Stay put. We’re almost back.”
She’s right. Natasha only carries me another block before we’re at our hotel. She enters the building and goes straight to the elevator. Natasha doesn’t even put me down in the elevator, just grips tighter to me as I try to wiggle out of her grasp. Only when she reaches my door does she put me down, gently and with great care. From behind me, she holds out her hand.
“Key.” She says. I sigh and reach into my bra, taking my room key from its hiding spot and placing it in her palm. She presses up against me to unlock the door, and I stop breathing as I feel her member press against my leg through her slacks. It’s hard, and clearly very large. My eyes flick over to her arm as she swipes the key, the muscles in her forearm flexing slightly. When the door unlocks she opens in, swinging it open wide. Then she picks me up again and carries me inside.
It’s a large suite, with a living room as well as a bedroom. She takes me over to one of the chairs in the living room and sits me down in it.
“Stay.” She commands, pointing a finger at me. I lean back in the chair and cross my arms over her chest. A small smirk appears on her lips before she walks away. I hear her fidgeting with some things, then the door opening and closing. A minute later, the door opens again, closing behind Natasha’s soft footsteps. She comes back over to me and kneels down, taking my injured ankle gingerly in one hand before she puts a bag of ice on it.
“We’re going to sit here for twenty minutes and ice this.” She says, no wiggle room in her voice.
“Come on, Nat, I can do that.” I insist, reaching down. “Now that I’m back safe, you can knock off. Get some sleep, you know?”
“Nice try.” Natasha smirks, playfully slapping my hand away as it reaches for the bag of ice. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night.”
“Nat!” I whine, dropping back into my seat. Natasha just chuckles. She reaches over for the coffee table and pulls it closer, taking a seat on it. She rests my leg on hers, and my foot brushes against her member again. I lift my head slightly to look at her, my eyes drawn to her crotch. I stare for a moment before Natasha clears her throat. I look up to see her staring at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry,” I say quickly, looking anywhere but at her.
“It’s alright,” Natasha says, adjusting herself and my leg so my foot is no longer touching her member. The cold ice is doing a good job from the heat of my embarrassment running through my entire body. “I’m sure you mean nothing by it.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, resting my head on my hand so I can look out the window of the balcony. “Nothing by it.” I can feel Natasha’s eyes staring at me, trying to find their way into my soul. I shift my body to keep her from doing that, but it just makes her look harder.
“Hey, Y/N,” she says, leaning over my foot. I tilt my head further away as I feel her breast brush against my foot. “Y/N, look at me.” I close my eyes to keep from the temptation. Natasha moves my foot, placing it on the coffee table next to her, the ice pack resting on top. I hear her move off the coffee table and feel her kneeling against me, her body pressing against my good leg. One hand rests on my thigh as the other reaches up to my face. She gently grabs my chin and directs my face in her direction. “Y/N, open your eyes and look at me.”
I let out a deep sigh, then I do as she asks. I look into her eyes, and what I see staring back at me surprises me. At just a glance, someone could see restraint in her eyes, like she’s holding something back. But beneath that, looking deeper, there’s a longing there, and it seems to have been present for a long time.
“The most important job is to keep you protected.” She says, her thumb brushing over my chin. “I can’t act on feelings. Then it wouldn’t be professional, and I wouldn’t be able to protect you anymore.”
“Yes you could,” I insist quietly. “In a different capacity maybe, but you could still protect me. Maybe even better. You’d be closer, more consistent.” I reach up to grab her hand that’s on my chin, holding gently to her. Natasha shakes her head.
“No,” she whispers. “It doesn’t matter how I feel.” Tears start burning in my eyes, threatening to spill onto my cheeks. I shove her hand away from my face and stand up, the ice pack dropping to the floor. I limp over to the balcony, Natasha following behind me. “Y/N,” Natasha sighs. I open the balcony door and slam it shut behind me, almost taking off Natasha’s nose. “Y/N,” she says again, though her voice is muffled through the glass.
“Leave me alone, Nat.” I say over my shoulder, plopping into one of the chairs on the balcony and bringing my bad leg up to rest on the grate in front of me. She doesn’t listen of course, opening the door and shutting it gently behind her. “I’m serious, Nat.” I try to sound forceful, but the first tear has already fallen, making that impossible.
“No, I’m not going to leave you alone.” She says quietly, walking over to sit in front of me on the balcony, her back against the grate. She pulls her legs up and rests her arms on her knees. “Y/N, I’m just worried,” she continues quietly. “I’m not sure how much longer I can deny these… feelings for you, these emotions. But I was hired to do a job, and protecting you is the most important thing. I can’t risk anything that’ll cloud my judgment.”
“But what about me?” I snap as another tear falls on my face. “My entire life revolves around other people. I have to go out on tour to please my fans and make money for my management. Then I have to make more albums for my fans, just so I can go out on tour again. My whole life is go, go, go. It’s for my fans, my team, but not for me.” I sniffle, rub my sleeve along my nose, and let out an exasperated laugh. “You know, I haven’t been out on a date in four years? And despite what the tabloids say, it’s been longer than that since I’ve had sex.” I bring my foot down on the grate and lean forward. “I want a life, Nat. Not just a public one. A personal one, an intimate one. And I don’t catch feelings easily. So for me to catch feelings for you?” I let out another laugh and lean back in the chair, bringing my hand up to cover my lips. I look out at the city as another tear falls. “I was hoping to get what I’ve been wishing for for years.”
I hear Natasha sigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her hang her head. I shift in my seat and look further out into the city, in the opposite direction from where Nat is sitting.
“It’s been a little longer for me,” Nat says after a few minutes. I glance down at her, the rest of my body staying imobile. She lifts her head up to look at me. “About five years since my last relationship.” A small smile tugs on Natasha’s lips. “Her name is Maria. And I was in love with her.”
“You’re not with her anymore.” I say, taking the hint from how she said it’s been five years ‘since’ her last relationship. Natasha’s eyes reveal a moment of pain before they glaze over again.
“No,” she says quietly. “She works for a government agency. I didn’t mind the late nights or the unknown travel destinations by herself, because I knew what that was like. Coming from my spy background and everything. Especially since when we were together?” Nat lets out a little chuckle. “Oh, it was so good. We smiled, laughed, and had fun. And the sex? I mean, the sex was incredible."
I swallow around a lump in my throat. I don’t really want to hear about the sex that Natasha had with her ex.
“Anyway,” she says, clearing her throat. “I loved her with every fiber of my being. Everything I had in me belonged to her. And after one particularly grueling mission, I was excited for her to be back in town so we could spend time together.” Tears start filling Natasha’s eyes now as she recounts her memories. “I bought a ring. I had it all planned out: a picnic at our favorite park, a cheesy little trip around the pond in one of those stupid ass swan-looking paddle boats. Then ice cream from our favorite place, just outside the park. There, she’d find the ring garnishing her ice cream. I had imagined her jumping up and down with joy, screaming with excitement.”
“But that didn’t happen, I take it?” I say, my voice quiet. Natasha shakes her head.
“As soon as she got home, she was different. Quiet, more withdrawn. I never thought she was cheating on me. She would never do that. But something happened on that mission that just… changed her. And she wouldn’t talk to me about it. She would say that she’s fine, that nothing was wrong. But she stopped wanting to go out on dates, stopped wanting to have sex, stopped wanting to even get out of bed. I spent weeks doing everything I could for her. Making sure the sheets were fresh, that she always had clean pairs of sweatpants, that she ate at appropriate times. But eventually, she just stopped talking to me completely. And then I had to go away for work for a few days. When I got back, our apartment was empty of all of her things. She blocked me everywhere so I couldn’t get a hold of her. Just a letter she wrote telling me that it was too hard. That the weight of the world was falling on her shoulders and she loved me too much to take me down with her.” Nat sniffles and wipes her eyes. “I saw her three years later. Just by chance. She was happy, holding hands with another woman that I’ve never seen before. There was a six-year-old girl running ahead of them. I knew the girl wasn’t hers, but it was clear that the girl saw Maria as another mom. I slipped away before she could notice me. And since then, I told myself I would never allow myself to be in that situation again. A situation where someone else can hurt me that badly.”
“And you think that I’ll hurt you.” I nod, sniffing again. “Got it,” I finish, my voice breaking. I look away from her back to the city.
“I just can’t take the risk.” Natasha whispers.
“Then you’re not living, Nat.” I shake my head, frustrated. “You’re just floating, waiting until you die, That’s not a life.”
“Can you guarantee that you won’t hurt me?” She asks.
“Of course not!” I cry, throwing my hands in the air. “But I’m going to try my damndest to not hurt you. To guard your feelings with my life. Because when I’m down with someone, Nat, I’m down bad. And I’m not going to just get over you. So if you don’t want to try living? Then you might as well give Gretchen your notice.” I watch Natasha tap her fingers against her leg, the muscles in her arms flexing. Her jaw is tight, and her eyes are hard, guarded.
In a second so fast that I can’t even register what’s happening, Natasha is leaning over me, her hands gripping the arms of the patio chair as she crashes her lips to mine. I lean back from the surprise, a small noise escaping my mouth, but I immediately wrap my arms around her neck and moan into her lips, lifting myself up so my breasts rub against hers.
“You’re dangerous,” Natasha mutters against my lips.
“I just want to teach you,” I mutter back. “Teach you how to live life again.”
“And it’s going to be such a sweet lesson,” Natasha captures my lips again, her right hand coming up to grasp my neck. She squeezes gently, cutting off just enough of my airflow to make it difficult to breathe. After a few seconds she releases me, and I break our kiss to take in some air. She doesn’t let me go very far, grabbing my jaw to keep me looking at her.
“I see you like things a little rough,” I choke out a laugh. “Seems like you might be the one teaching me a lesson tonight.”
“Someone’s gotta teach you some manners, you little brat.” Natasha smirks. Her right hand goes back around my throat, holding me gently as her left hand falls from the chair arm. Her eyes drift downward as her finger traces a path up my thigh to the edge of my skirt. “Maybe then you’ll start listening for once.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I chuckle. “People with more power than you have tried.”
“But have any of them tried fucking you into obedience?” Natasha smirks, her hand slipping underneath my skirt.
“I wouldn’t let them get close enough to try,” I bite my lower lip, glancing down at her hand on my leg. “You, however…” I lift my eyes to her face and find her looking at me again. My voice drops to a hoarse whisper, flighting its way up my throat. “You can do whatever you want to me, Nat.” Natasha smirks as her hand tightens around my throat and her fingers travel even further up my leg. I open my mouth in an attempt to get some oxygen in my lungs.
“You may regret saying that.” Natasha growls, the sound as inhuman as my lust for her. I shake my head, telling her no. Never. I would never regret giving her the permission. Natasha smirks and uses her grip on my throat to tilt my head up slightly. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.” She whispers. I do as she asks, my tongue resting on my lower lip. She leans down and puts her lips on mine, sucking on my tongue. Her grip tightens even more on my throat, causing me to inhale desperately. Her fingers creep higher and higher on my thigh until they hit the waistband of my panties, plain and simple cotton ones. She flicks her finger over the piece of cloth hiding my pussy. “Oh, fuck, baby, you’re already drenched for me.”
She’s right. Every time I see Natasha, heat starts building near my core and I can feel myself on my panties. It’s the reason I’ve got a rule against Natasha being anywhere near me or in my sight before a concert. If she’s near, I get wet. When I’m wet, I can feel it. And when I can feel it… I’m distracted. And it’s bad to be distracted when I’m trying to sing in front of thousands of people.
Natasha’s finger swipes across my clit over my panties. The already sensitive spot pulses at her touch, and the beginnings of a moan crack through my impeded airway. Natasha smirks as she places a kiss on the corner of my mouth.
“You like that, don’t you?” She asks. “Tell me you like it.” Her grip loosens around my neck, and I immediately gasp for breath. Natasha lets me take a few moments to catch my breath before she kisses my cheek, swiping her finger once again across my clit. “I said, tell me you like it.”
“I like it,” I moan, still trying to gulp down air. “I really, really like it.”
“Good girl,” Natasha purrs, her finger putting a little bit of pressure on my clit. I gasp, my hands falling to Natasha’s shoulders. Natasha keeps eye contact with me as she smirks, her eyes shining brightly with need. A little more pressure, and my hips jerk upward. Her smirk grows wider, and she lets out a chuckle. “My, my, you’re a little slut, aren’t you?” I look into her eyes and I see nothing but admiration. She grips my chin again, tightly. “Aren’t you?” She growls.
“Yes,” I nod, unable to look away from her gaze.
“Say it.” She says. “Say the words. Tell me what you are.”
“I’m a slut,” I say, my lips curling up as I realize how much I’m liking this.
“And whose slut are you?” Natasha whispers.
“Yours.” I whisper. “I’m your slut.”
“That’s right, baby.” Natasha whispers, trailing kisses up my jaw. “You’re mine.” She kisses my neck right below my ear before dragging her lips up to whisper into my ear. “And for knowing that, you deserve a reward.”
Before I can ask what the reward is, Natasha slips her fingers under the waistband of my panties, showing me exactly what my reward is. Her fingers dip low, dragging through my folds at a dangerously slow speed. I let out a whine at her pace, but Natasha swallows my noise with a kiss, the action hungry. Her fingers work diligently, if very slowly, to spread my arousal from deep within me to help her stimulate my clit.
I tremble at her touch, my clit throbbing for her. It pulses with every pass, every flick, every touch, desperate to feel her. My hips jerk into her, my body involuntarily begging for more of her.
“Do you want something?” Natasha smirks against my skin, her lips dragging across the skin of my neck. “You’re going to have to ask nicely, Detka.”
“P-Please,” I whine, my nails digging into the skin of her neck. “I w-want you inside of me.” My voice is breathy and low, my brain clouded by the shocks of pleasure her fingers are bringing me. I glance down at her crotch so she knows exactly what part of her I want inside me. Natasha pulls back just enough to follow my gaze and smirks.
“No, Detka,” Natasha says, removing her fingers from my panties and bringing out another moan from deep in my gut. Natasha stands and walks around the chair to stand behind me. She leans back down to whisper in my ear. “Not yet. I need to see how truly wet you get for me first.” Natasha brings a hand around one side of the chair, grasping my neck again. Her other hand flows down my body, starting at my shoulder. Natasha’s hand passes over my breast, stopping for just enough time to pinch my nipple before continuing to travel down my body.
When her hand reaches my waist she grabs the material of my skirt, bunching it up in her fist. The action reveals my panties, even more soaked than they had been. Natasha inhales deeply beside my ear, relishing the sight.
“My God, Y/N. You’re going to destroy me with this pussy of yours.” She moves my panties to the side, bringing my pussy to full view of not only her, but the city. Her fingers slide through my slit, wet and noisy.
“Please,” I beg again, bucking my hips. “I want to feel you inside me, Nat.”
“You’ve asked so nicely, Detka, the least I can do is reward you.” Natasha places a kiss on my cheek and closes her fingers around my throat as she inserts a finger inside me. I gasp, my body arching at the contact.
“More,” I choke out around her fingers. “Please, Natasha, more.”
“Oh, you’re a greedy little slut, huh?” Natasha’s voice flows over me, the water underneath the honey not as muddy as it once was. “You want more? Can you handle more?”
“Yes,” I gasp, grinding against her finger. “I c-can take it.” I crane my neck upward to look at Natasha, but the action causes Natasha to tighten her grip on my neck. I struggle to get out my words now.
“What was that?” Natasha asks, the smirk on her face wide. “I couldn’t hear you, baby.”
“P-Please,” I manage, my chest heaving with the attempt to pull in air. “M-More.”
Natasha’s smirk is just as greedy as I feel as she slips another finger inside of me. My mouth opens wider as my pussy sucks her in, trapping her fingers between my walls. My throat convulses as I can’t get air, and I feel my brain fogging in a bad way. I bring my hand up to tap on her hand, and she immediately loosens her grip.
“I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to suffocate you.” Natasha bends down to place small kisses on my cheeks as I take in air, her fingers pumping in and out of me. “Fuck, Detka, you’re so fucking tight. I can barely move my fingers in you.” She brushes her lips against my ear. “If you’re so tight for my fingers, you’re going to have a lot of trouble taking Daddy’s cock.”
I moan loudly, the thought of her fucking me with her cock making me wetter. And judging by the sounds that Natasha is making into my ear, the sounds coming from my pussy as Natasha finger-fucks me are making her excited.
“I want you to come for me, Detka.” Natasha whispers. “Fuck my fingers until you’re empty.”
“Mhmm…” I nod, pressing my lips together, the heat in my stomach getting hotter.
“Say it,” Natasha commands, slightly tightening her grip on my throat. “Say it for me, baby.”
“I’m going to ride Daddy’s fingers until I come,” I breathe, my hips moving in rhythm with her fingers. “Leave my pussy so wet for Daddy’s cock!”
“That’s right, Detka.” Natasha growls, the pace of her fingers picking up. “Let’s see how far I can stretch you, hmm?” Without warning, Natasha pushes a third finger inside of me, spreading me impossibly wide. I let out a loud gasp, one that echos off the balcony as I lift my hips off the chair.
“Natasha-!” I cry as I close my eyes. Natasha moves her fingers quickly inside of me, finding just the right rhythm for all three of her fingers. She curves them at just the right angle, hitting my G-spot with each thrust. And with each thrust, a new moan escapes my throat, even with Natasha massaging my throat with her fingers.
“Stop playing around, Detka.” Natasha growls again, thrusting her fingers deep inside me. “I want.” She shoves her fingers in me. “Your come.” Again, harder this time. “On my fingers!” A third time, hitting my G-spot hard enough that I finally start my release.
I cry out again, my hand flying to hold her fingers inside of me as I hit my climax. My hips jerk harshly as my legs shake, and I struggle to hold them open for her. Natasha notices and releases her grip on my neck, moving her hand down my body to shove my leg to the side.
“You have incredible instincts, babygirl,” Natasha purrs. “Wanting to stay open for me.” I don’t answer her. I can’t. I pant, hard, as I come down from my orgasm. Natasha pulls her fingers out of me, and I instantly feel the cold loneliness of her absence, how empty she’s left me. She stands and walks around to the front of the chair, looking down at me as she sucks on her fingers. “Mmmm.” She moans. “You taste delicious, Detka.” She leans against the railing, her free hand gripping to the cold metal behind her. “Makes me anxious for the rest.”
I sit slumped in the chair, gazing up at Natasha through my eyelashes. She’s got her ring finger in her mouth, sucking on her finger. She pulls it out of her mouth with a sharp pop and looks down at me.
And her gaze kills me.
I slide off the chair and land on my knees in front of Natasha, my hands rising to her waistband. Natasha raises an eyebrow as she sticks her index finger in her mouth. I see her tongue sliding along the length of her finger, licking up all of my arousal. My fingers are steady and deliberate as I unbutton her black combat pants. I slowly pull them down to her ankles. She immediately steps out of them, kicking them to the side.
I look at Natasha’s member through her boxers. From just her outline I can see that she’s large. My mouth waters and I swallow hard. My hands rise back up to the waistline of her boxers and pull them down slowly. Once her member is free, I let the boxers fall with the help of gravity, too focused on the scene in front of me to care about her boxers anymore.
My heart races at the sight in front of me. Natasha is fully hard, her dick sticking straight up like a pole. It’s easily 8 inches and thicker than any dick I’ve ever seen, a literal God of a penis. I slowly wrap my right hand around her member, my mouth hanging slightly open.
“So?” Natasha asks around her finger, still in her mouth to suck me off of her. “What’d’ya think?” I look up at her, shocked.
“You walk around with this every day?” I whisper. Natasha smirks. She leans down, holding onto my chin.
“It’s even worse when I’m around you. Around you, I’m always hard.” Natasha lets go of my face and stands back up, grabbing back onto the railing. She starts sucking on her middle finger, still smirking. “You better hurry up. When I get all of you off of my fingers, I’m going to need to go looking for more.”
I nod and look back down at her. I pump my hand once across her length, surprised to already see precum forming at her tip. I swipe my tongue against her tip, catching the liquid in my mouth as it comes from her, pulling my tongue back into my mouth to swallow her down. It’s salty in my mouth, and as I swallow, I look back up at Natasha, at that cocky smirk, and wrap my mouth completely around her cock.
I push, more and more of her cock entering my mouth. At about six inches, I feel her ticking the back of my throat. By the full eight I’m choking, tears threatening the corners of my eyes. I pull off of her, choking as she falls from my mouth.
“Oh come on, babygirl, I know you can do better than that.” Natasha leans down, cupping my pussy with her hand and shoving two fingers back inside me. I gasp, placing my hand on her pelvis to steady myself. “Do something to please Daddy. If you do, I’ve got something else in store for you.” She winks as she pulls her fingers out of me, straightening back up and placing her index finger in her mouth. I lower my gaze back to Natasha’s dick and quickly dive back in.
I take Natasha in my mouth, not all at once, but just enough to get her wet. I place my hand at the base of her member, stroking the second half of her member while my mouth works on the first. I bob my head, trying to coax out everything I can from her.
It’s working. Natasha’s hand falls from her mouth in favor of grasping onto the railing on her other side, all of her knuckles now white as she grips the railing. Moans fly from her mouth as her head rolls back, her voice full of ecstasy.
“Goodness, Detka,” Natasha moans. “You’re very good at this.” I don’t answer her. I keep sucking her, twisting my tongue around her head as my lips reach her tip. My hand reaches down to grasp onto her thigh, my nails digging into her skin. “I’m filling up already, baby. Keep going.”
I do as she asks, worshiping her cock with every inch of my tongue. In this moment, my sole purpose is to pleasure her like she’s never been pleasured before. My mind begins to race with all the ways my tongue can bring her pleasure to the surface. I make sure to make noises as I suck her down, letting her know how good she tastes.
Natasha brings her hands down, using her hands to gather up my hair into a makeshift ponytail. She grips it tightly in her right hand, leaning back again to grip the railing with her left. She twists her hand, wrapping my hair around her wrist as she holds my hair close to my skull.
I pull my mouth off of her, taking a few deep breaths as my hand continues to rub her cock, thick with my saliva. After a short break I lean back in, my tongue licking her tip as my hand coaxes Natasha’s orgasm out of her.
“Fuck, baby, I’m close,” she gasps, using her strength to push my head back around her cock. She thrusts her hips, fucking my mouth with ferocious force. With her doing a lot of the work, I place my other hand on her other thigh, steadying myself as she pounds into me. Her cock falls deeper and deeper down my throat, her tip scratching the back of it every time. “Ah, baby, fuck-!” She groans, grabbing my hair with her left hand now, too. With both hands she shoves her cock deep inside me, and with a loud exclamation she comes, shooting ropes of her come into my mouth. She keeps my lips against her pelvis, thrusting hard every few seconds to shove her come deeper down my throat. When she tries to pull out I dig my hails into her skin, holding her against me. It’s difficult, but I swallow around her dick, making sure that every last drop of her disappears.
“Jesus, Detka,” Natasha sighs when I finally let her go, falling on my ass and panting like a dog. She takes her hand and rubs herself, slow and deliberate. She’s also panting, but it’s more controlled, not as desperate. “You really are a slut, sucking me down like that.” She kneels down in front of me, taking my chin in her hand. I look up at her, still panting, and wipe the last drops of her from my lips. Then I suck on my hand, making sure those drops join their brothers and sisters inside me. Natasha smirks. “You’ve got one hell of a magic mouth.”
“It’s not nearly as magic as my pussy,” I pant, my chest rising and falling steadily now. The smirk grows on Natasha’s face, and in an instant she’s pulling me to my feet then sweeping me off of them, placing one arm under my ass and the other one on the back of my head, pulling me in to kiss her. I wrap my legs around her waist, opening my mouth when she pokes at my lips with her tongue to let her taste herself on me.
Natasha’s dick points straight out underneath me, rubbing against my pussy like it’s itching to be inside me. Hell, I’m itching for her to be inside me. Natasha walks to the balcony door, opening it before stepping inside. She doesn’t close it behind her. Instead she walks to the bedroom, tossing me down on the bed. I scramble up towards the headboard, sitting with my back against it, legs cocked at the knee and spread for her. Natasha smirks, taking off her jacket and tossing it to the side. She climbs onto the bed after me, settling between my legs as she kisses me again. I grab onto her shoulders as Natasha fumbles with the hem of my shirt, lifting it up over my head and tossing it aside, forgotten just like her jacket.
My heart races as Natasha looks eagerly at my breasts, now only covered by my bra. She looks into my eyes and lifts her hand, curling her index finger into herself, silently asking me to lean forward. I do, and she reaches behind me to unhook my bra. That, too, is discarded.
“Damn, Detka.” Natasha whispers as I feel her eyes hungrily taking me in, her gaze landing on my breasts. “They’re absolutely perfect.” She glances up at me, smiling. “You’re perfect.” Her hand falls gently on my mound, caressing the skin and passing gently over my nub. “They’re absolutely perfect.” She bends down and licks my hardened nub. “Daddy’s gunna take good care of you.”
”Hmm,” I whimper, my lip back between my teeth. Natasha looks up at me as she lowers her mouth onto my nipple, her eyes sparkling with control. Her lips brush against my hardened nub and then stops, hovering over me. I whimper again, bucking my hips.
“Nuh-uh,” Natasha shakes her head. “What is it that you want, Detka? Tell Daddy what you want.”
“Your lips on me,” I gasp, arching my back to push my breasts closer to her mouth, but Natasha moves her lips away from me. I whine again, pouting. “Please, Daddy.” I whisper.
“There’s my good girl,” Natasha purrs, lowering her lips to finally capture my nipple between her lips. She massages my nipple with her mouth, pulling her hand up to cup my other breast. She pinches my nipple between her fingers, twisting my nub until I yelp, my back arching into her touch. “So sensitive, baby. My sensitive little slut.” Natasha chuckles around my nipple.
“It’s not enough,” I moan, writhing underneath her. “I n-need you inside me, Nat.”
Natasha ignores me, licking my nub before grasping it between her teeth. She pulls, earning another yowl from me.
“Daddy!” I scream. “I’m sorry Daddy, please, I need you inside of me!”
“There you go, baby.” Natasha smiles, letting go of my nipple and swiping her tongue over it to soothe the burn. She starts kissing her way down my body, her hands gripping tightly to my hips. My hands go with her, staying glued to her shoulders.
Natasha takes the waistband of my skirt and panties and takes them both off in one swift motion. Tossing them off the bed she dips her head, her lips leaving traces of her saliva on my pelvis. She kisses down lower, her lips gracing the skin just above my clit.
“Daddy,” I whine. “Please, stop teasing me, Daddy. I need you bad!”
“Patience, sweetheart, and I’ll give you everything you want and more.” Nat kisses my clit, taking the engorged bundle into her mouth and sucking. My hands travel up her arms, my fingers slipping into her hair as I exhale in a moan. Natasha then slides her tongue through my folds, flicking her tongue over my clit at the top. “Fuck, Detka, I can’t get enough of your taste. Seriously, you’ve got me addicted.”
“Oh, Daddy,” I cry, my body already shaking with anticipation. “I want you, Daddy.”
“You crave me, baby, don’t you?” Natasha hums against my pussy, her tongue drawing lazy circles through my folds and around my clit. “Your body begs for me as your mouth does. As your pussy does.”
“Yes, Daddy!” I moan, grinding my hips against her mouth. “Fuck, I crave you so much.”
“I’m going to spread you open like the slut you are.” Natasha moans, kissing the outside of my pussy lips. “Spread your pussy open and fuck you like a corner store whore.”
I don’t answer her as my pussy starts to leak, my fingers twitching in her hair. I grind on her face harder, chasing a high that I’m so close to catching. But then Natasha pulls away, licking my slick off her lips as she falls back on her haunches, tasting me. I scramble back up and crawl over to her, placing my arms around her neck and straddling her dick so it pokes out behind me between her ass cheeks.
“Please, Daddy,” I beg, placing kisses all over her face and neck. “Please, Daddy, I need you inside me. I’m desperate, soaking for you. I can’t wait much longer.” Natasha bows her head and kisses my neck, wrapping one strong arm around my back. She lifts me up slightly, using her other hand to direct her cock toward my entrance.
“Tell me again.” Natasha commands. “Tell me again what you want Daddy to do to you.”
“I want you inside me, Daddy. I want you to fuck me, to pound yourself inside of me so I never forget who’s dirty little slut I am.”
“That’s a good girl,” Natasha kisses my neck again, sucking at my skin. Her hand guides her cock underneath me. Then she slowly sets me down on top of her, wrapping her other arm around me once the tip of her cock is inside me. She takes her lips off my neck to look at me as she slowly lowers me on top of her. As her cock sinks deeper and deeper inside of me, spreading me wide, I squeeze my eyes shut and bow my head, my mouth hanging open. She goes in easily, thanks to my still dripping cunt, but her size still takes some getting used to. My hands cling to the back of Natasha’s neck, my grip getting tighter with each inch.
Natasha doesn’t stop until I bottom out, feeling the entire length of her twitching inside me. She pushes my hips down further, keeping herself inside me as I get comfortable with the size of her. I move my hips back and forth, trying to use the movement to adjust to her.
“Daddy, you’re so big,” I whisper, my voice breathy and heavy. I open my eyes and look at her. “Fuck, you feel so good inside me.”
“Take it slow at first, babygirl.” Natasha urges. I nod, keeping my hip movements slow and precise. Natasha bites her lip as she watches me, her eyes staring straight at where we’re connected together. Her breathing quickens as I move on her, her fingers digging into my hips.
I place my hands on her shoulders and use the leverage to lift myself up, exposing about three inches of her to the cool air before I sit back down. Natasha lets out a moan, her right hand slipping forward to run circles around my clit. I lift my body up again, exposing even more of her cock before I bring myself back down.
I speed up my movements, her cock twitching every time I sit back down on her. My noises get louder and louder as I ride her, my nails digging into her shoulders. Natasha’s finger continues to circle my clit, and the sensation grows in me again. I rest my forehead against Natasha’s, my breathing quickening as I breathe the same air as her.
“Fuck, Detka, you feel so tight around Daddy’s cock,” Natasha groans, tilting her head to place little ghost kisses against my lips and nose. “You’re such a desperate little slut, clenching around Daddy’s cock like that. How long have you been aching for my cock to be buried inside you?”
“Since the… day I met you,” I mutter, my heart racing as her cock pulses against my walls, threatening to tear me apart. “Fuck, I’ve needed your cock so bad, Daddy. I feel your cock so deep inside me.”
“You’re being such a good girl, taking Daddy’s cock like this,” Natasha hisses, her finger putting more and more pressure against my clit. “Fucking come on my cock, you little slut. Get Daddy’s cock all wet with your juices.”
I pick up my pace, lifting high enough that Natasha’s cock comes almost all the way out of me before I come back down, feeling the entire length of her cock cracking my cervix every time. Natasha passes over my clit in perfect rhythm with when I fall back down on her, helping me to my climax.
“Natasha!” I scream as I come again, my walls completely closing around her cock. Natasha removes her finger from my clit and grips my hips tightly, slamming me down completely on her cock as I come. My body shakes and trembles, my pussy throbbing as I suck her cock into me. Natasha leans in and kisses my neck as I ride out my orgasm, sucking on the most sensitive parts of my neck. This only strengthens my orgasm, causing it to last longer. My hips jerk on her cock from the aftershocks, her cock twitching with need at every movement.
“There’s my good girl.” Natasha whispers against my neck. “You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for Daddy.” Natasha wraps her arms around my waist and, without removing herself from inside me, moves us both up the bed, laying me down on my back as she settles above me.
Natasha leans down and kisses me, gentle and sweet. She adjusts her hips to settle between my legs but she doesn’t move, allowing me to get used to her in this new position. As she does that, I bring my hands down to the hem of her shirt and pull it up. Natasha breaks our kiss so I can pull the shirt off of her body, tossing it aside. My hands immediately slide down her back, gripping the hem of her sports bra. I peel that off, too, and forget about it immediately after it’s away from her body.
Natasha leans back down, her breasts brushing against my mounds as she trails her lips along the skin of my neck. She still doesn’t move, her cock sitting in the same position inside of me. I move my hips, but that doesn’t egg her on. Nat just continues to kiss my neck, sucking at one particular spot before swiping her tongue over it and moving to another spot for a moment. But she always comes back to that one spot.
“Please, Daddy,” I whisper, my voice low. “I need you. Fill me with your cock, Daddy!”
“My, my, so needy.” Natasha smiles against my neck. But that gets her going, moving her hips to push herself inside me. She pulls back as she starts to fuck me, placing one hand on my neck as she looks at me. Her grip tightens around my neck as her pace quickens, and my airway is cut off again. “Still needy for my cock, Detka? After all I’ve given you, are you still needy for me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I choke out, my eyes rolling back in my head as her cock starts to hit that perfect place inside me. My tongue hangs out of my mouth, chasing the high that Natasha is trying to give me.
“What a pretty little slut you are,” Natasha smiles. “Are you going to be Daddy’s good little whore?” She slams her cock inside of me, bottoming out hard. “Be a good little whore and take Daddy’s cock for me, huh baby?” She loosens her grip on my throat for me to breathe.
“Yes Daddy,” I tell her, nodding. “I’m going to take your cock like a good little whore.”
“That’s right,” Natasha says through gritted teeth, slamming her cock hard in and out of me. Her hand balls into a fist on the bed, the bedsheets getting caught in her fingers. “Take Daddy’s cock, babygirl.”
“Fuck, Daddy, you’re soo big inside me,” I whine. “It’s so much, Daddy.”
“You asked for this,” Natasha grunts, continuously pounding into me. “You remember that when you cry about it, slut. You asked for this.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper. “I asked for this!”
Natasha’s hand darts from my neck to the other side of my body, fisting the sheets on that side as well. I can feel her cock twitch more aggressively inside me as my walls threaten to clench again. Natasha pounds mercilessly into me, and she crashes her lips into mine as I start to scream again at my next orgasm, so quick after the last one. She swallows my screams as she fucks my release back inside of me, refusing to let up even as my clenching walls make it harder to move inside me.
I clutch at her bare back, my nails digging into her skin as I scratch at her back. This makes Natasha fuck me harder, and she falls onto her forearms. Her breasts and stomach touching mine as her cock penetrates deep inside me. Her head hangs close to my neck and I listen to her pant like a dog on top of me.
“Fuck, Detka, I’m close,” Natasha breaths onto my neck. “Where do you want it?”
“Want it?” I ask, my nails dragging up Natasha’s back.
“Where do you want Daddy to come, baby?” Natasha kisses my neck. “Should I paint your stomach? Your face? Do you want me to flip you and paint your back? Where do you want me to come?”
I bring my hands up and grab onto Natasha’s head, dragging her down so my lips brush against her ear.
“I want you to come inside me, Daddy.” I whisper, bringing my legs up to squeeze Natasha’s hips between me.
“Baby, I can’t,” she shakes her head.
“You’re fucking me raw, Daddy,” I moan into her ear. “Come inside me, get me pregnant. Then you’ll know I’ll never leave you.”
The idea of being pregnant with Nat’s baby thrills me, just as much as the idea of her coming inside me. I slide my hands down her body, tracing the muscles along her back as my hands make their way to her ass, gripping her tightly and pulling her into me.
“Jesus Christ, baby, you really are going to be the death of me,” Natasha groans, but she doesn’t try to pull out. In fact, she quickens her pace more, barely spending any time outside of my pussy before slamming back in. Her fists grip the sheets so hard that they pop off the corners as her mouth finds a spot on my collarbone. “Daddy’s going to fill you up so good, babygirl.” Natasha growls against my skin. Her hips slam into me one more time before her cock pulses hard, spilling come inside me.
Natasha bites down hard on my collarbone, her hips stuck in an upward position as her cock empties inside of me. It’s never ending as her seed shoots deep inside of me. I can feel her dripping inside of me, her cock pulsing as more come exits her and enters me. She jerks against me, muffled moans leaving her mouth as she empties herself into me, my clenched walls coaxing every last drop from her.
When she’s fully drained, Natasha rolls off me and onto the bed. She reaches for me, wrapping her powerful arms around me. I snuggle into her embrace, my hand finding a nice resting spot on her hip. She’s got one hand splayed across my back and the other tracing little circles on my ass. She places a few long, soft, intentional kisses on my head before she rests her lips in my hair.
“I’ve been fighting this for so long, I’m not sure how to feel right now.” She whispers, her admission lifting some sort of imaginary weight off of her shoulders.
“You don’t have to know how to feel yet.” I whisper back, placing a kiss on her chest. “Just lay here with me.” I look up at her, relishing how pretty she looks as she looks down at me from this angle. “But I hope that you’ll think about taking me up on my offer.”
“Your offer?” Natasha asks.
“To stay close to me.” I whisper, my fingers running over the skin of her hip. “Protect me from your spot next to me instead of behind me. And let me teach you how to love again.”
“You drive a really hard bargain, Detka.” Natasha sighs, the corners of her lips curling up into a smile. “But I might be able to swing something like that.”
“Really?” I perk up, smiling. “Natasha-”
“We don’t have to talk about it right now, baby.” Natasha whispers, kissing my head again. “Just know that I’m saying yes. That I’ll be yours.”
“Natasha,” I murmur, my smile growing bigger. She leans down and takes my lips in hers, kissing me like we’ve been in love for years. “All mine.”
“Y/N,” she murmurs against my lips. “I’m all yours, Detka. All yours.”
Summary: The Avengers rescue an injured wolf from the woods surrounding the Compound. Keeping her is supposed to be temporary. Weeks turn into months, the wolf refuses to leave, and somehow Wanda and Natasha end up far more attached than either of them intended. Unfortunately, secrets don’t stay buried forever—and neither does the past she’s been running from.
The new Avengers Compound still doesn’t quite feel lived in yet.
The building itself is enormous, gleaming glass and steel rising out of the countryside like something pulled straight from a science fiction film, but there are still boxes in hallways, equipment waiting to be unpacked, and entire sections of the facility that remain eerily quiet. The team is settling in, finding routines, claiming rooms, learning which elevators are the fastest and which kitchens are stocked with the good coffee. For the first time in a long time, things feel almost peaceful.
Outside, the late afternoon sun paints the grass in shades of gold.
Tony sits on a blanket spread across one of the open lawns surrounding the compound, watching Morgan run through the grass with the endless energy only a child seems capable of possessing. She laughs as she chases a butterfly, tiny sneakers kicking up dirt behind her while Tony pretends not to be smiling.
“You know,” he calls out, leaning back on his hands, “I personally think that butterfly is cheating.”
Morgan gasps dramatically. “Daddy! Butterflies don’t cheat!”
“Says who?”
“Says science.”
Tony snorts. “I’ve made a career out of arguing with science.”
The little girl simply sticks her tongue out before continuing her pursuit.
For a while, everything is normal.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
The forest bordering the compound sways gently in the breeze, leaves rustling softly overhead. Birds sing somewhere beyond the tree line. The distant sounds of construction and moving equipment drift from the compound itself.
Then Tony’s phone buzzes.
One of the technicians inside needs a security code.
“One minute,” he tells Morgan, standing up. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She nods absentmindedly, completely focused on the insect she’s following.
Tony walks inside.
It should take less than sixty seconds.
Back in the forest, far beyond the compound’s sensors and surveillance systems, you move silently through the undergrowth.
The woods belong to your pack.
Humans rarely come this deep into the territory, and when they do, they almost never notice the wolves watching from the shadows. Your kind has survived that way for generations. Hidden. Careful. Unseen.
The breeze shifts.
Your ears twitch.
A strange scent drifts through the trees.
Human.
Several humans.
You pause.
The scent isn’t unfamiliar anymore. Ever since the massive compound appeared on the edge of the forest months ago, humans have become a constant presence. Loud machines, strange smells, bright lights.
Usually, you stay away. Today should be no different.
Then another scent reaches you.
Predator. Your head immediately lifts. Bear. Large. Close.
Far too close to the humans.
You break into a run.
Back at the compound, Morgan finally notices the silence. The butterfly has disappeared. The breeze has changed. Something feels wrong. Slowly, she turns. The enormous brown bear stands at the edge of the lawn.
For a moment, neither moves.
Morgan freezes.
The bear stares.
Then the little girl screams.
The sound rips through the countryside.
Inside the compound, Tony’s heart nearly stops.
He drops everything and sprints.
Outside, the bear begins moving forward. Not charging. Not attacking. Just advancing.
But to a frightened child, the difference means nothing.
Morgan stumbles backward.
Tears immediately spring into her eyes.
The bear huffs.
And then a brown blur explodes from the forest.
You hit the animal with enough force to throw both of you sideways across the grass.
The bear roars.
Morgan gasps.
The lawn erupts into chaos.
You land on your feet first, placing yourself directly between the predator and the child. Fur bristles along your spine as a deep growl tears from your chest.
The bear answers with one of its own.
Neither backs down.
The size difference is obvious.
The bear is massive.
But you don’t move.
Behind you, Morgan cries.
The sound only hardens your resolve.
The bear lunges. You dodge.
Teeth snap inches from your face.
You retaliate instantly, slamming into its shoulder hard enough to stagger it. The two of you crash across the lawn, tearing up grass and dirt as claws and teeth flash.
The bear recovers first.
A powerful paw swings.
You try to evade.
Almost.
The claws rake across your side.
Agony explodes through your body. A strangled yelp escapes before you can stop it. Warm blood immediately begins soaking into your fur.
The smell fills the air.
But you remain standing.
The bear advances again.
You bare every tooth you have - growling, threatening. Refusing to yield. The predator hesitates.
You take one step forward. Then another. Ignoring the blood. Ignoring the pain. Ignoring the way your legs are beginning to shake beneath you.
Something changes.
The bear decides you aren’t worth it.
With one final warning growl, it begins backing away.
Then it turns.
Then it disappears into the forest.
Only then do you allow yourself to breathe. Tony bursts out of the compound.
“Morgan!”
He reaches her in seconds, dropping to his knees and pulling her against his chest. She immediately buries her face against him, sobbing as he frantically checks for injuries.
“Dad—dad—the wolf—”
“I’m here,” he says quickly. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” Only then does he finally look up.
And see you.
The wolf standing twenty feet away.
Covered in blood. Swaying unsteadily. Your breathing is ragged. Your legs threaten to buckle beneath you.
For a second, Tony simply stares. Because wolves don’t protect humans. They certainly don’t throw themselves at bears for them.
And then, right before his eyes, your body finally gives out. You collapse into the grass. And everything goes black.
Consciousness returns slowly, surfacing through layers of exhaustion and pain that seem determined to drag you back under every time you try to fight your way awake. Your entire body feels heavy, your limbs sluggish and weak, and the deep burning ache radiating from your side makes it painfully obvious that whatever happened before you blacked out was not some strange dream.
The first thing you notice is the smell. Sterile. Artificial. Clean in a way no forest ever is. Beneath it are dozens of other scents layered together—metal, electronics, unfamiliar cleaning products, coffee, humans. Lots of humans. Your eyes slowly open and immediately narrow against the bright overhead lighting. White ceiling. White walls. Medical equipment. Panic sparks through your chest almost instantly.
You try to sit up only to discover something restraining you. Thick rope is looped securely around your torso and forelegs, keeping you anchored to a reinforced medical bed, while an uncomfortable muzzle wraps around your snout. A low sound rumbles in your throat before you can stop it. The movement pulls painfully at your injured side and your gaze drops to find your entire flank wrapped beneath layers of thick bandages. Even through them, you can smell dried blood.
Across the room, three men stand talking. One of them you recognise immediately from countless distant observations near the compound’s perimeter. Tony. Beside him stands the broad-shouldered blond man you’ve seen training outside before, and another dark-haired man wearing glasses.
None of them notice you’re awake at first, too focused on their conversation. “I’m serious,” Tony is saying, arms folded tightly across his chest. “We’re putting up fencing. Big fencing. Electric fencing if we have to. I step inside for sixty seconds and a bear shows up. A bear. Do you know how insane that sounds?” The blond man sighs. “Tony, wildlife exists. We built this place practically next to a forest.”
“Great. Then wildlife can stay in the wildlife section and my daughter can stay in the not-being-eaten-by-bears section.” The man with glasses pinches the bridge of his nose. “Morgan wasn’t hurt. That’s the important thing.” “Because of her,” Tony immediately replies, pointing directly at you. “Or him. Her. Whatever. The wolf. If that animal hadn’t intervened…” His voice trails off slightly, and for the first time you hear genuine gratitude beneath the protective frustration. “Morgan keeps asking if the wolf is okay.”
The movement of your head finally catches Steve’s attention. His posture immediately straightens and his eyes widen slightly. “Guys.” Tony and Bruce turn at the same time. For several seconds none of them say anything as they realise you’re conscious and staring directly back at them.
The room becomes strangely quiet. You can practically smell their uncertainty. Tony takes a cautious step forward first, not fearful exactly, but wary in the way anyone would be standing this close to a predator. “Well, hey there.” His voice softens unexpectedly. “Good to see you’re still with us.” You stare back without blinking.
The muzzle makes it impossible to communicate anything beyond a low frustrated huff. Bruce glances between you and the restraints. “She’s calmer than I expected.” “She just woke up,” Steve points out. “Give it a minute.” Tony studies you for a long moment before exhaling. “So what exactly do we do now?” Nobody answers immediately because they all know it’s a complicated question. In every practical sense, you’re a wild animal. An unusually large wild animal, but a wild animal nonetheless. Wild animals belong in the wild. That’s the obvious answer. The problem is that every single person in the room knows what would happen if they released you right now.
You can barely move without pain. The deep claw wounds across your side would leave you vulnerable to infection, other predators, or simply collapsing somewhere in the forest where nobody would find you. Steve seems to reach the conclusion first. “We can’t release her like this.” Bruce nods almost immediately. “Agreed. Medically speaking, she’s nowhere near healed enough.” Tony looks at you again, meeting your gaze directly. “And considering she basically saved my kid’s life, dumping her back into the woods half-dead feels like a pretty terrible thank you.” He rubs a hand over his face before letting out a long breath. “Alright. Fine. We keep her here. Temporary arrangement. We treat the injuries, make sure she’s recovered, then we release her back into the forest when she’s healthy enough to survive on her own.”
Steve folds his arms. “You realise you’re talking about keeping a wolf inside the Avengers Compound.” “Trust me,” Tony mutters, looking directly at you. “I am painfully aware of how ridiculous that sounds.” Despite the conversation being about you, none of them notice the strange intelligence lingering behind your eyes as you watch every word, every movement, every decision being made. Because as far as the Avengers know, lying restrained in that medical bed is nothing more than an injured wolf.
The discussion about your future inside the compound is interrupted by the sudden crackle of a radio sitting on one of the nearby counters. The burst of static immediately draws everyone’s attention before a familiar female voice comes through the speaker. “Control, this is Romanoff. Requesting clearance to land.” Steve reaches over without hesitation, pressing the response button. “You’re clear. Pad’s open.” A brief pause follows before Natasha’s amused voice returns. “Good. Because we’re landing whether it’s clear or not.”
The transmission clicks off, earning a tired sigh from Steve and an eye roll from Tony. “She’s been spending too much time around you,” Steve comments. “Excuse you,” Tony replies. “That level of confidence is a gift.” Despite the conversation, your ears have already perked up. Two unfamiliar scents drift faintly through the building, carried in through ventilation systems and opening doors. Human. Female. One carrying traces of smoke, leather and gunpowder. The other carrying something warmer. Something strange. Something that almost reminds you of standing in sunlight during winter. Before you can properly identify it, distant engines rumble somewhere outside the compound. Even through the walls you can hear the unmistakable sound of a Quinjet settling onto the landing platform.
Several minutes later the medbay doors slide open and both women walk inside. The first thing you notice is that every scent in the room immediately changes. The dark-haired woman enters first, dressed in a partially damaged tactical suit with several shallow cuts visible along her arms and one across her cheek. Nothing serious from the smell of it, but enough to explain the dried blood. Beside her walks the redhead. Unlike the other woman, she appears mostly unharmed apart from a split lip and a few smudges of dirt lingering across her uniform.
The moment your eyes land on them, something strange happens. Your tail immediately begins thumping lightly against the medical bed. Once. Twice. Then continuously. You don’t even realise you’re doing it at first. Every instinct in your body suddenly seems focused on the two newcomers.
They are, quite simply, the prettiest women you have ever seen. The dark-haired one carries herself with effortless confidence while the redhead seems to possess an almost unnatural kind of beauty that makes it difficult to look away. Your tail continues its rhythmic tapping against the mattress despite the pain in your side. Natasha notices first. “Well that’s either adorable or concerning.” Tony turns. “Oh great. Now she’s happy.” “Maybe she’s happy to see me,” Natasha says with a grin. “Most creatures are.” “Most creatures don’t have teeth the size of steak knives.”
Bruce immediately shifts into doctor mode the second he spots the cuts on Natasha’s arms. “Sit.” Natasha glances at the medical bed beside yours. “You know, every mission I come back from, you somehow find a way to make this place look more ridiculous.” Bruce points firmly at the bed. “Sit.” “Bossy.” “Natasha.” “Fine.”
She drops onto the mattress with exaggerated suffering while Bruce begins gathering supplies. Wanda remains standing instead, her attention entirely focused on you. Unlike the others, she isn’t studying you with caution. She’s simply watching. Curious. Interested. Your tail somehow starts wagging harder under her gaze.
The movement finally draws a laugh from Steve. “See? That’s what I mean.” Natasha glances between you and Wanda before smirking. “Looks like somebody has a favourite already.” Wanda doesn’t respond immediately. Her eyes remain fixed on you, lingering on the muzzle wrapped around your snout, the ropes binding you to the bed and the thick bandages covering your side.
Something about the sight clearly bothers her. “What happened?” she finally asks. Tony launches into the story while Bruce works on Natasha’s injuries. By the time he’s finished explaining the bear attack, Morgan’s involvement and the rescue, both women are staring at you with entirely different expressions than when they entered. Natasha looks impressed. Wanda looks heartbroken. “Poor thing,” Wanda murmurs softly. “She saved Morgan?” Steve nods. “Pretty much.” “And now she’s tied to a bed.” “Because she’s still a wolf,” Tony immediately replies. “A very large wolf. A very injured wolf. But still a wolf.”
The conversation continues for several minutes as the men explain the situation. They explain how releasing you would almost certainly be a death sentence in your current condition. They explain how keeping you permanently isn’t realistic either. They explain that despite everything you’ve done, you’re still a wild animal and they can’t simply start treating you like a domesticated pet.
Wanda listens quietly throughout the explanation, though it’s obvious she dislikes almost every part of it. “She’s scared,” Wanda says at one point. “Anybody would be scared.” Tony gestures toward the muzzle. “Anybody with those teeth gets the muzzle until further notice.” Natasha snorts. “Fair.” Despite the teasing, even she seems reluctant to argue with the precautions.
Eventually the discussion reaches the same conclusion Steve, Bruce and Tony had already reached earlier. You stay. You heal. Then you’re released once you’re healthy enough to survive. Bruce finishes patching Natasha up, Steve gets called away to deal with something involving training schedules, and Tony leaves shortly afterwards after reminding everyone at least twice that he intends to install enough fencing to make the compound look like a small country. Before long the room falls quiet again. Bruce eventually departs as well, leaving only two occupants besides yourself.
Natasha leans back against her bed while Wanda slowly pulls a chair over beside yours. Neither woman seems in any particular hurry to leave. The silence that settles over the room feels strangely comfortable. Your tail has finally slowed, though it still occasionally taps against the mattress whenever either of them looks your way. Wanda reaches forward carefully, stopping her hand several inches from your head. Giving you the choice. Giving you space. “Hi there,” she says softly. Her voice is warm enough to make your ears immediately tilt forward.
Natasha watches the interaction with an amused expression. “That’s it. You’ve adopted the giant wolf already.” Wanda doesn’t look away from you. “I haven’t adopted her.” “You’ve got the voice on.” “I do not have a voice.” “You absolutely have a voice.” For the first time since waking up, something almost resembling contentment settles through your chest. You’re still injured. Still restrained. Still trapped inside a building full of humans. But as Wanda continues speaking softly to you while Natasha teases her from across the room, you find yourself thinking that maybe staying here until you heal won’t be quite as terrible as you first imagined.
By the end of the evening, Tony has somehow managed to do what only Tony Stark could accomplish. Instead of simply discussing solutions, he has apparently purchased an entire reinforced animal enclosure online, paid an obscene amount of money for immediate delivery, and had it assembled inside the common room before dinner. Nobody is entirely sure how he managed it so quickly. Nobody is particularly surprised either. The temporary enclosure occupies one corner of the large living space, significantly bigger than any normal dog crate but still undeniably a cage. Thick metal bars form the walls while several blankets have been piled inside alongside a large padded bed that Bruce insisted on providing.
You were less than thrilled when they moved you from the medbay. The journey had pulled painfully at your injuries, and despite everyone’s best intentions, being carried through hallways and elevators by a collection of superheroes had done very little to improve your mood. Still, once settled inside the enclosure, you had begrudgingly accepted that this arrangement was better than being tied to a medical bed.
The common room itself is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the darkening forest beyond the compound, soft lighting illuminates the space, and several large couches surround a television that currently occupies most of the room’s attention. The rest of the team drifts in and out throughout the evening, some stopping to stare at the giant wolf now living in their headquarters, others barely reacting at all because after alien invasions, killer robots and Norse gods, an injured wolf somehow doesn’t seem that strange. Eventually, however, most of them disappear to their own rooms, leaving the common area quieter and considerably more peaceful.
Natasha and Wanda remain. Apparently, post-mission takeaway has become a sacred tradition between them, one neither injury nor exhaustion is allowed to interrupt. Several containers are spread across the coffee table while a movie plays on the television. Natasha has already changed into comfortable clothes and sits stretched out across one end of the couch. Wanda occupies the other, though only briefly before Natasha hooks an arm around her waist and effortlessly pulls her closer. Wanda rolls her eyes but doesn’t resist for even a second, immediately settling against her side with the kind of casual familiarity that only comes from years together.
From inside your enclosure, you watch the interaction with far more interest than the film currently playing. Earlier, after what felt like an unfair amount of debate from the men, Wanda had finally convinced them to remove the muzzle. More specifically, she had waited until Tony left the room, spent twenty minutes researching what wolves could safely eat, then used her powers to float a plate through the bars while giving everybody a look that clearly dared them to argue.
The meal itself sits mostly untouched beside you now. You’d eaten enough to stop Wanda worrying, but your appetite remains limited by pain, exhaustion and confusion. Your head rests against the cool metal bars instead, chin propped between two of them as you quietly observe the women across the room. The scent of food fills the air alongside the steady rhythm of their conversation, occasional laughter and the comforting knowledge that neither of them seems remotely bothered by your presence.
You tell yourself you’re watching because they’re interesting. Humans are fascinating creatures, after all. These particular humans even more so. They possess extraordinary abilities, live inside a futuristic fortress, and somehow spend their evenings arguing about which takeaway restaurant is superior. That should be enough to justify your attention.
Unfortunately, even you know that’s not entirely true. The reality is significantly more embarrassing. You simply can’t stop looking at them. Every time Natasha presses a kiss against Wanda’s temple while pretending to focus on the movie, your ears twitch. Every time Wanda unconsciously leans closer to Natasha while reaching for food, your eyes follow the movement. They fit together so naturally it almost seems effortless. Comfortable. Safe. Familiar. The sort of bond most people spend their entire lives searching for. A small, unhappy feeling settles somewhere in your chest.
You don’t fully understand it. Maybe it’s loneliness. Maybe it’s homesickness. Maybe it’s simply the knowledge that while they sit together surrounded by warmth and companionship, you’re currently occupying a cage in the corner of the room. Whatever the reason, you find yourself lowering your head further onto the bars and staring quietly at the pair.
Across the room, Wanda notices first. Her expression immediately softens. “She’s not eating much.” Natasha glances over. “She’s eaten enough.” “She looks sad.” “She’s a wolf.” “She still looks sad.” Natasha studies you for several seconds before shrugging. “Okay. Slightly sad wolf.”
Wanda’s attention remains fixed on you long after the conversation ends. Every few minutes you catch her looking over. Not out of caution. Not out of concern that you’ll suddenly become aggressive. Just checking on you. Making sure you’re comfortable. Making sure you’re okay.
It’s a level of care you’re entirely unprepared for. Back home, your pack looks after one another because you’re family. Protection is expected. Support is expected. Here, however, these people owe you nothing. They barely know you exist beyond being the wolf that saved Morgan. Yet Wanda still worries when you don’t finish your dinner. Natasha still casually points out that your water bowl needs refilling before getting up to do it herself. The entire situation feels bizarre. The movie continues playing in the background while darkness settles fully beyond the windows.
Eventually Natasha stretches, pulling Wanda even closer until the redhead is practically curled against her side. “You know,” Natasha says, glancing toward your enclosure again, “for something that’s technically a giant predator, she’s ridiculously well behaved.” Wanda smiles faintly. “Maybe she knows we’re helping her.”
You lower your gaze before either woman can notice how intently you’ve been watching them. The truth is that you don’t know what tomorrow will bring. You don’t know how long your injuries will take to heal. You don’t know how you’re supposed to eventually explain being a werewolf when that particular problem inevitably arrives.
Right now, however, none of that feels especially important. The television flickers softly across the room, the compound remains peaceful around you, and for the first time since waking up inside a building full of strangers, you slowly close your eyes and begin drifting toward sleep while listening to Wanda and Natasha quietly talking on the couch.
The movie eventually ends sometime after midnight. The takeaway containers are cleared away, the television is switched off, and the compound gradually settles into the quiet stillness that only arrives when dozens of people finally go to sleep.
Before leaving, Wanda kneels beside your enclosure one last time. Her expression softens as she studies you resting amongst the blankets, though she still reaches for caution over sentiment. With a small wave of her hand, red magic surrounds the muzzle resting nearby and gently secures it back around your snout. You immediately huff your displeasure.
Wanda offers an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, detka. Just for tonight.” Natasha snorts from behind her. “The giant predator is judging you.” “I know.” “Harshly.” Wanda reaches through the bars to scratch lightly behind one of your ears before standing. “Goodnight.”
The simple word shouldn’t matter. Humans tell each other goodnight all the time. Yet somehow, as you watch the two women disappear toward the elevators together, the common room immediately feels emptier than before. Much emptier. Soon the sound of their footsteps disappears entirely, leaving only silence, distant ventilation systems and the occasional hum of electronics somewhere deeper within the compound.
For a while you remain curled amongst the blankets, trying to settle back down. You close your eyes. Open them again. Shift positions. Try another position. Nothing helps. The common room is comfortable enough. You’re safe. Warm. Fed. Your injuries are being treated. Rationally, there is absolutely no reason for the uncomfortable feeling sitting heavily inside your chest. Yet it refuses to go away.
Several hours pass before the loneliness finally wins. It begins with a small sound escaping your throat. Barely noticeable. A quiet whine. Then another. Then another. You don’t entirely understand why you’re making the noise. Back home, wolves are rarely alone. Pack members sleep together, hunt together, exist together. Solitude is unusual. Wrong, almost. The compound is filled with people, yet none of them are here. The common room feels too large. Too quiet. Too empty. Before long, soft whining begins slipping from your muzzle every few minutes despite your best efforts to stop.
Unfortunately, the architects responsible for designing the compound made one critical mistake. Directly above the common room sits Wanda and Natasha’s bedroom. Every single sound carries upward with remarkable efficiency. Upstairs, Natasha is the first to recognise what she’s hearing. She groans into her pillow. “Ignore it.” Beside her, Wanda lifts her head immediately. “She’s upset.” “She’s a wolf.” “She’s whining.” “She’s dramatic.” Another muffled whine drifts through the floorboards. Wanda’s eyes narrow.
Natasha immediately recognises the expression. “No.” “Natasha.” “No.” “What if she’s scared?” “What if she wants attention?” Wanda pulls the blankets aside. “Then she’s getting attention.” Natasha falls backwards onto the mattress with all the suffering of somebody deeply wronged by the universe. “This is how it starts. One minute you’re checking on the wolf. Next minute she’s paying rent.”
By the time the elevator doors open, Wanda is already halfway across the common room wearing oversized pyjamas and fluffy socks. Natasha follows several steps behind, muttering complaints she clearly doesn’t mean. The moment you spot them emerging into view, the change is immediate. Your ears perk up. The whining stops entirely. Your tail begins thumping against the blankets.
Wanda pauses beside the enclosure and immediately points triumphantly toward you. “See?” Natasha folds her arms. “Traitor.” Wanda crouches beside the bars. “Were you lonely?” The question is ridiculous. You cannot answer. Yet your tail somehow starts wagging even harder. Natasha notices.
“Don’t encourage her.” “Look at her.” “I am looking at her.” “She’s sad.” “She was sad.” Wanda studies you for another few moments before standing again. A thoughtful expression appears on her face. Natasha immediately looks concerned. “Don’t.” “What?” “Whatever you’re thinking.” “I’m not thinking anything.” “Wanda.” The redhead glances between you and the elevator. Then back to Natasha. Then back to you. “She can come upstairs.”
Natasha stares at her. “Absolutely not.” “Why?” “Because she’s a giant wolf.” “She’s injured.” “She’s still a giant wolf.” “Natasha.” “No.” Wanda doesn’t even argue. Instead, red energy immediately begins surrounding your enclosure. Natasha closes her eyes. “You’re not listening to me.” “I listened.” “You ignored me.” “That’s different.”
The journey upstairs is probably one of the strangest experiences of your life. One moment you’re inside a cage in the common room. The next you’re floating through hallways suspended in glowing red magic while several night-shift agents openly stare. Wanda ignores them entirely. Natasha follows behind carrying armfuls of blankets while continuing her entirely unsuccessful campaign against the idea.
When you finally arrive at their bedroom, you discover it is significantly less intimidating than expected. Large bed. Soft lighting. Bookshelves. Personal photographs. Comfortable furniture. It feels lived in. Safe. Familiar. Wanda immediately directs your enclosure toward an empty corner of the room before finally lowering it onto the floor.
Natasha drops the blankets beside it with a dramatic sigh. “This is ridiculous.” “You’re helping.” “I’m helping because if you’re doing this, we’re doing it safely.” Despite her complaints, she begins arranging the blankets anyway.
Within minutes she has constructed what can only be described as a wolf-sized nest. Additional blankets line the floor. Extra cushions are added for comfort. Water is placed nearby. Then comes the final precaution. Natasha disappears briefly before returning with a length of sturdy rope from one of the room’s drawers (😏). “There.” She secures it carefully to create a boundary between your corner and their bed. “Perfect.”
Wanda raises an eyebrow. “Really?” Natasha points directly at you. “That wolf could probably bite through steel if she wanted to. The last thing I need is waking up to discover she’s decided two in the morning is cuddle time.” Wanda laughs despite herself. “She’s not going to maul us.” “You don’t know that.” “I do.” “You absolutely do not.” The argument continues as they prepare for bed, but it grows softer with each passing minute.
Eventually both women settle beneath the blankets. The room darkens. Silence returns. This time, however, it feels entirely different. Because instead of being alone several floors below them, you’re only a few metres away. You can hear Natasha turning pages of a book. You can hear Wanda quietly speaking to her. You can smell both of them nearby. The loneliness that had twisted uncomfortably in your chest earlier disappears almost instantly.
As sleep finally begins pulling at your consciousness once more, you curl deeper into the blanket nest Natasha built for you and listen to the gentle sound of the women talking until their voices gradually fade and the room falls completely silent.
The arrangement that began that night somehow became permanent. Not officially, at least not at first, but nobody seems capable of stopping it. Your injuries heal steadily over the following weeks. The angry wounds across your side gradually close. The bandages disappear. The limp fades. Bruce declares you healthy enough to return to the wild on at least three separate occasions. Unfortunately, nobody ever accounted for the fact that you had absolutely no intention of cooperating.
Somewhere along the way, the blanket nest in Wanda and Natasha’s room becomes your blanket nest. The common room enclosure is quietly dismantled and removed. The muzzle disappears entirely after several weeks without a single incident, much to the visible horror of the male members of the team.
Tony claims it is reckless. Clint claims they’re all going to die. Sam insists he wants written documentation proving the decision wasn’t his idea. Wanda ignores all of them. Natasha occasionally joins in solely because she enjoys watching them suffer.
You, meanwhile, spend most of your days following the two women around the compound with the determination of a particularly oversized shadow. Training room? You’re there. Kitchen? There. Movie night? There. If Wanda gets up to refill her coffee, you immediately lift your head to make sure she’s coming back. If Natasha disappears for a mission briefing, you’re waiting outside the room by the time she emerges.
Steve attempts to bond with you several times. Bruce brings treats. Clint tries bribery. Thor enthusiastically declares you a warrior beast worthy of Asgard. None of it works. The only people you consistently choose are Wanda and Natasha. It becomes such an established fact that nobody even questions it anymore.
Morgan, however, quickly becomes a special exception. The young girl absolutely adores you. Every time she visits the compound, she immediately seeks you out. It starts with cautious petting and nervous excitement but rapidly develops into complete confidence. She sits beside you during movie nights, reads stories aloud while leaning against your side, and occasionally attempts conversations that make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
One afternoon she discovers that you enjoy licking the cheese powder from her fingers after she’s been eating Cheetos. From that moment onward, the behaviour becomes a tradition. Tony nearly has an aneurysm the first time he witnesses it. “Morgan!” he practically shouts. “Stop feeding the giant wolf your fingers.” “She’s not eating my fingers.” “That’s not the point.” “She likes the Cheeto dust.”
You do, in fact, like the Cheeto dust. Morgan giggles every time your tongue cleans the orange powder from her hands while Tony watches with the exhausted expression of a father who has long since accepted that nobody listens to him. Wanda finds the entire thing adorable. Natasha takes photographs specifically to annoy Tony later. Life settles into a comfortable routine. A surprisingly normal one considering it involves superheroes and a wolf living inside a high-security compound. For the first time since being dragged from the forest, everything feels stable.
Naturally, that is precisely when Secretary Ross arrives to ruin it. The disruption begins on an otherwise ordinary afternoon when a government vehicle pulls up outside the compound. Nobody is particularly happy to see him.
Ross spends the first fifteen minutes arguing with Tony, the second fifteen arguing with Steve, and then somehow finds time to annoy everybody else as well. You pay little attention until your name—or rather, your species—enters the conversation.
The moment the word wolf reaches your ears, you immediately become interested. Unfortunately, the news is not encouraging. According to Ross, there are laws regarding wildlife. Lots of laws. Apparently keeping a wolf inside an Avengers facility falls into several extremely complicated legal categories.
Tony argues that they didn’t capture you. Bruce argues that they rescued you. Steve argues that releasing you while injured would have been irresponsible. Ross agrees with all of them. Unfortunately, the law does not particularly care. The solution seems obvious at first. Release the wolf. End of discussion.
The team actually attempts it. Once. Bruce drives you back toward the forest. Steve walks you to the tree line. Everybody says their goodbyes. You wait until they’re halfway back to the compound before sprinting directly past them and returning home. The second attempt lasts even less time. The third attempt ends with you somehow arriving back before Bruce’s vehicle does. By then even Ross appears irritated.
Several days of phone calls, paperwork and governmental nonsense follow. Eventually a compromise is reached. A legal exception. A special permit. Some absurd mountain of documents that only bureaucrats could create.
The conclusion is simple enough. You may remain at the compound. However, somebody must legally assume responsibility for you. Any damage, incidents or accidents become that person’s liability. Technically the responsibility could belong to anyone.
Practically speaking, everybody already knows how the vote would go. You spend approximately ninety percent of your time attached to either Wanda or Natasha. Nobody else even comes close. “This is ridiculous,” Sam says during the discussion. “The wolf already chose.” Clint nods. “She’s basically their kid at this point.” Natasha immediately points at him. “Don’t call her our kid.” “Your giant wolf daughter.” “Clint.” “Furry daughter.” Wanda is trying very hard not to laugh.
By the end of the meeting, the paperwork is signed. Wanda signs. Natasha signs. Just like that, they become your official owners in the eyes of the government. The entire concept feels deeply insulting from your perspective. You are a werewolf. A member of a pack. A fully capable person. Yet all anybody else sees is a very large animal. Still, there is something unexpectedly comforting about the way neither woman hesitates before accepting responsibility.
A few days later, Wanda and Natasha return from town carrying several shopping bags. The moment they enter the compound, you immediately investigate. Natasha attempts to stop you. You ignore her. Wanda laughs. Inside one of the bags is a collar. Not the cheap kind found in ordinary pet stores.
This one is clearly custom-made. Thick padded leather. Soft lining. Durable metal fittings. It smells new. Expensive. Natasha holds it while Wanda kneels beside you. “Before you get offended,” Natasha says, as though you can somehow understand every word, “this was not my idea.” “You helped choose it,” Wanda immediately points out. “I helped stop you buying the one covered in stars.” “The stars were pretty.” “The stars were ridiculous.”
While they argue, Wanda carefully fastens the collar around your neck. It fits perfectly. Not restrictive. Not uncomfortable. Just secure enough to stay in place. Hanging from the front is a custom metal tag. On one side is Wanda’s symbol. On the other is Natasha’s. The metal catches the light as it settles against your chest.
For several seconds, neither woman says anything. Then Wanda reaches forward to smooth the fur beneath it. Natasha scratches behind one of your ears. “There,” Natasha says quietly. “Official.” You should probably hate it. You should definitely hate the entire concept. Instead, standing between the two women while they admire the collar they’d chosen together, you find yourself doing something deeply embarrassing. Your tail starts wagging.
The collar somehow marks the beginning of an entirely new phase of your life at the compound. Once the novelty wears off and everybody accepts that you are, apparently, staying forever, the team gradually stops treating you like a rescued animal and starts treating you like part of the household. It begins innocently enough.
Wanda teaches you basic commands, mostly because she thinks it’s funny. Sit. Stay. Come here. Spin. The first time she asks you to shake her hand, you stare at her in complete disbelief. You are a werewolf. A hunter. A member of an ancient pack. Yet five minutes later you’re placing your paw into her hand because the look of excitement on her face makes refusing impossible.
Natasha finds the entire thing hilarious. She begins inventing increasingly ridiculous tricks solely to see if you’ll do them. Bruce walks into the common room one afternoon to discover you balancing a biscuit on your nose while Wanda counts down dramatically. Sam nearly falls over laughing. Clint records the entire thing.
The problem is that you’re embarrassingly good at all of it. You understand what they want almost immediately. Your intelligence is significantly higher than any normal wolf’s, and years of pack communication have made interpreting body language second nature. Within a matter of weeks you’ve mastered every trick either woman can think of.
Eventually Natasha narrows her eyes at you one evening after watching you flawlessly follow a complicated chain of commands. “Okay,” she says. “I have an idea.” Wanda immediately looks concerned. “That’s never good.” Natasha ignores her. “I wonder if she can do tactical commands.”
What begins as curiosity rapidly evolves into training. Real training. Natasha starts small. She hides objects around the compound and teaches you to locate them. Then she begins using volunteers. Usually Clint. Sometimes Sam. Once Tony, who spends the entire exercise loudly protesting that billionaires shouldn’t be hunted for sport.
Natasha teaches you hand signals. Silent directions. Ways to circle around a target without being noticed. Methods for steering people exactly where you want them without ever physically touching them. The first time she points toward a fleeing agent during a training exercise and signals for you to intercept, you understand instantly.
Instead of tackling him, you cut off every escape route until he unknowingly moves exactly where Natasha wants him. The look on her face afterwards is almost alarming. “Oh no,” Clint says from nearby. “Don’t make that face.” “What face?” Natasha asks. “The face that means you’ve discovered something.” “I’ve discovered something.” Clint groans.
Over the following weeks the exercises become more advanced. Tracking scents through forests. Locating hidden individuals. Moving quietly through difficult terrain. Working alongside Wanda’s powers. The entire thing feels so natural that it barely registers as training. You’ve hunted with a pack your entire life. Coordinating movements. Anticipating teammates. Understanding positioning. Reading body language. None of it is new. The only difference is that your packmates now happen to be a telekinetic witch and one of the deadliest spies on the planet.
Eventually Natasha decides there’s only one way to find out if the training works. “Absolutely not,” Steve says the moment she suggests it. “Absolutely yes,” Natasha replies. “She’s not going on a mission.” “She’s more qualified than half the people Clint recruits.” Clint immediately points at her. “Leave me out of this.”
The argument somehow continues for three days. Tony sides with Steve. Wanda sides with Natasha. Bruce attempts neutrality. Thor enthusiastically supports bringing the giant wolf warrior into battle. Nobody is surprised. In the end Natasha wins, mostly because the mission in question is relatively straightforward.
A small HYDRA facility operating deep within a remote forest. Limited personnel. Minimal risk. The objective is simple. Get inside. Gather intelligence. Shut the operation down from the inside. The plan relies heavily on stealth, tracking and coordinated movement.
In other words, exactly the things you’ve been doing for months. Even so, the atmosphere inside the Quinjet feels different on the day of the mission. Steve looks like he’s preparing for disaster. Tony keeps finding reasons to repeat safety instructions. Wanda spends most of the flight scratching behind your ears while Natasha reviews the operation for the tenth time. “She’s going to be fine,” Natasha eventually says. “You don’t know that,” Steve replies. Natasha gestures toward you. “Look at her.” Everyone does. You’re currently asleep.
The mission itself begins just after nightfall. The HYDRA facility sits hidden amongst dense woodland, isolated from nearby towns and protected by layers of security designed to detect approaching humans. Humans being the important word.
You move through the trees almost effortlessly. Every scent. Every sound. Every vibration beneath your paws paints a picture of the environment around you. Long before the others spot the first patrol, you’ve already identified three separate guard routes and two concealed entrances. Wanda and Natasha follow close behind while communicating through earpieces.
The coordination feels effortless. Familiar. Comfortable. Natasha gives a silent signal and immediately you move. One guard notices movement in the trees and leaves his assigned position to investigate. Exactly as intended. Another follows. Then another. By the time they realise something is wrong, Natasha has already guided them directly into an ambush.
Further inside the facility the pattern repeats. Guards are distracted. Patrols separated. Escape routes quietly eliminated. Whenever Natasha points, you understand. Whenever Wanda shifts position, you adjust automatically. The three of you move through the operation with a level of coordination that surprises even yourselves. At one point Wanda glances toward Natasha after watching you flawlessly herd two fleeing agents directly into her line of sight. “You trained her too well.” Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself. “I know.”
By the time the facility finally falls, most of the fighting is already over. SHIELD teams move in to secure prisoners while agents begin collecting intelligence. The mission is declared an overwhelming success. Steve congratulates everybody over the comms. Tony reluctantly admits the operation went smoothly. Natasha spends the entire return flight looking unbearably smug. You curl up on the floor of the Quinjet, exhausted but content, while Wanda absentmindedly runs her fingers through the fur around your collar.
For the first time since arriving at the compound, it truly feels like you’ve found your place. Not as a rescued animal. Not as a guest. Not even as Wanda and Natasha’s oversized shadow. Out there in the forest, moving beside them through the darkness, working together without needing words, everything had felt instinctive. Natural. Like slipping back into a role you’d been born for. The only difference was that this pack looked very different from the one you’d left behind.
For a while after the HYDRA mission, everything seems perfect. The team’s concerns about bringing a giant wolf into active operations disappear almost overnight after seeing how effectively you work alongside Wanda and Natasha. Training becomes less about teaching you and more about refining what already comes naturally.
You spend mornings following Natasha through obstacle courses and afternoons stretched across the common room floor while Wanda reads with her feet resting against your side. Life settles back into its familiar rhythm.
On the afternoon everything changes, the team has gathered outside to enjoy one of the rare warm days where nobody is actively saving the world. Someone has produced a baseball bat. Someone else has produced enough enthusiasm to convince half the team to participate.
Natasha is currently standing in the middle of the makeshift field arguing with Clint about rules that neither of them are actually following. Sam is laughing. Steve is trying unsuccessfully to keep things organised. Tony is insisting that technology should be allowed in sports. Morgan is cheering for whichever team happens to be winning at any given moment.
You lie comfortably in the grass nearby with your head resting across Wanda’s lap while her fingers move absentmindedly through the fur around your neck. The collar sits comfortably against your throat now, so familiar you barely notice it anymore. Every now and then Wanda scratches behind your ears and you find yourself leaning into it without thinking.
Across the field Natasha glances over and catches the sight. “Spoiled,” she calls. Wanda doesn’t even look up from her book. “She’s earned it.” You close your eyes, content to simply enjoy the moment. The smell of freshly cut grass fills the air. Laughter drifts across the compound grounds. Everything feels peaceful.
Then the wind changes.
Your eyes snap open instantly.
The scent hits you before anything else.
Wolf.
Not one.
Many.
Every muscle in your body immediately locks.
Wanda notices the change at once. Her hand stills against your fur. “Detka?” she asks quietly. Across the field Natasha turns as well. Years of experience make her notice danger the same way you do. The laughter gradually dies as the team picks up on the tension spreading through both of you.
The bushes bordering the compound begin to shake. Once. Twice. Then violently. Steve straightens immediately. Natasha lowers the baseball bat. Wanda stands. For several long seconds, nobody moves.
Then figures begin emerging from the tree line. One after another. And another. And another. Some appear fully human. Others remain in wolf form. Every single one carries themselves with the same confidence as an apex predator. They are large. Powerful. Scarred by years of survival. Several of the wolves are nearly your size. One is larger. The atmosphere changes instantly. Even the Avengers look unsettled.
The newcomers don’t appear frightened by the heavily armed superheroes standing between them and the compound. If anything, they barely seem interested. Their eyes pass over the team entirely. Their focus settles on only one person. You.
By now you’ve already risen to your feet. Your tail is rigid. Your ears flattened. A low growl vibrates through your chest. The wolves spread slightly as they approach. Not threatening the Avengers. Not even acknowledging them. Their attention remains fixed entirely on you.
The first voice comes from a broad-shouldered man standing at the front of the group. “There you are.” The words immediately freeze half the team. Because wolves aren’t supposed to talk. Behind him, a woman folds her arms and openly scoffs. “Unbelievable.” Her gaze drifts over your collar. Over Wanda. Over Natasha. Disgust twists across her face. “Look at you.” Nobody says anything. Even Tony appears too stunned to interrupt. The man steps closer. “We’ve been looking for months.” Your growl deepens. “And this is what we find?” another pack member asks. “Living with humans?” “Wearing a collar?” “Sleeping in their house?”
The accusations come one after another. Natasha slowly moves toward your side. Wanda does the same. Neither woman takes their eyes off the strangers. “Care to explain what’s happening?” Natasha asks quietly. You can’t answer. Not without revealing everything.
Unfortunately, the pack has no such concerns. The broad-shouldered man laughs harshly. “You didn’t tell them?” Wanda’s expression shifts. “Tell us what?” The woman beside him gestures directly toward you. “That she’s one of us.” Silence falls across the field. You feel it immediately. The confusion. The disbelief. Wanda’s gaze snaps toward you. Natasha’s follows a second later. “One of you?” Steve asks carefully. The man smirks. “A werewolf.” The word lands like a grenade.
For several seconds nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Then all at once the carefully controlled situation collapses. “You’re kidding,” Tony says. “You’re not kidding.” Clint looks personally offended. “The wolf was a person this entire time?” “Technically,” Sam mutters. Natasha still hasn’t looked away from you. Neither has Wanda. The emotions flickering across their faces are impossible to ignore. Confusion. Shock. Hurt.
Not because you’re a werewolf. Because you’ve apparently been capable of understanding everything for months without ever being able to tell them. The pack continues speaking. “You abandoned us.” “For them.” “You traded your pack for humans.” “For a collar.”
The last comment finally snaps something inside you. Before anyone can react, you’re moving. The nearest wolf barely has time to dodge before you slam into him. The impact sends both of you tumbling through the grass. Another pack member lunges. You meet her head-on.
The fight erupts instantly. Growls tear through the air. Teeth flash. Bodies collide. Years of resentment and frustration explode all at once. The Avengers start forward. Steve shouts something. Natasha curses. Wanda’s eyes begin glowing red. None of it matters. Not until one particularly large wolf crashes into you and the two of you roll dangerously close to Morgan’s position. That is the moment Wanda finally intervenes.
Chaos simply stops.
Scarlet energy erupts across the field.
Every werewolf is ripped apart from the fight and suspended in midair before they can react. You included. One moment you’re snarling at a pack member. The next you’re floating several feet above the ground, completely immobilised by Wanda’s magic.
The field falls silent except for heavy breathing. Wanda stands in the centre of it all. Her eyes glow brightly. Her expression is impossible to read. Natasha steps forward beside her. Neither woman looks angry. Somehow that makes it worse.
They look hurt. Genuinely hurt. Wanda’s gaze settles on you first. Then on the collar around your neck. Then back to your eyes. “You understood us,” she says quietly. It isn’t really a question. Natasha folds her arms. “Months.” The word hangs heavily in the air.
Around you, the rest of your pack remains trapped in scarlet energy while the Avengers stare in stunned silence. Nobody seems entirely sure what to do next. Least of all you. Because for the first time since arriving at the compound, there is no hiding behind being a wolf. No pretending. No misunderstandings. The truth has finally arrived. And judging by the expressions on Wanda and Natasha’s faces, it may have cost far more than you ever intended.
Nobody says anything for a long time after Wanda stops the fight.
The field remains frozen in an uncomfortable silence broken only by heavy breathing and the distant rustling of leaves. Scarlet energy still glows around every member of your pack, holding them suspended several feet above the ground. The anger that had fuelled the confrontation has long since faded, leaving behind something much worse. Embarrassment. Regret. Uncertainty.
You remain trapped amongst Wanda’s magic as her gaze moves across the assembled werewolves. Some glare back defiantly. Others avoid her eyes entirely. The sheer power radiating from her is impossible to ignore. Even your pack seems to understand that pushing things further would be a very bad idea. Eventually Wanda takes a slow breath and lowers her hands slightly.
One by one, every member of your pack is released. Boots hit grass. Paws hit dirt. Nobody immediately moves. For several tense seconds it seems like another fight might break out. Then the broad-shouldered man who had spoken first glances toward you. His expression softens slightly, though not by much. “Come on,” he says quietly to the others. The woman beside him gives one final look toward the compound before turning away.
Gradually the rest of the pack follows. Human forms disappear back toward the tree line. Wolves melt into the shadows between the trees. Within moments the forest begins swallowing them once more. They leave without another word. Without another accusation. Without looking back. Everyone is released except you. Scarlet magic continues holding you motionless above the grass while Wanda watches the last traces of your former life disappear into the woods.
The moment the final pack member vanishes from sight, Wanda’s attention returns entirely to you. Natasha’s does too. Somehow that feels significantly more intimidating. Neither woman appears angry. You almost wish they were. Anger would be easier. Simpler. Instead they simply look at you. Really look at you. As though they’re trying to reconcile the wolf they’ve spent months caring for with the person they now know has been hiding behind those golden eyes the entire time.
Natasha’s expression remains unreadable, though the hurt is obvious if you know where to look. Wanda doesn’t even attempt to hide hers. Confusion flickers across her face. Questions. Doubt. She opens her mouth as if to say something. Then closes it again. Whatever words she had don’t seem sufficient. For several more seconds nobody moves.
Then, without warning, the magic disappears. You drop back onto all four paws. The impact barely registers. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing before you. Wanda studies you one final time before turning away. No dramatic speech. No confrontation. No shouting. She simply turns and begins walking toward the compound. Natasha hesitates slightly longer. For a brief moment it almost looks like she wants to say something. Instead she follows Wanda. Together they disappear through the glass doors and leave you standing alone on the lawn.
One by one, the others eventually follow. Steve offers you a sympathetic look before heading inside. Bruce looks concerned. Clint awkwardly pretends not to be staring. Sam gives a small nod before leaving as well. Nobody knows what to say. How could they?
The wolf they’ve been living with for months apparently isn’t a wolf at all. Eventually the field empties entirely. The baseball game is forgotten. The equipment remains scattered across the grass. The afternoon sunlight gradually shifts toward evening. Through it all, you don’t move. You simply stand there.
The compound’s enormous glass walls make it impossible to avoid looking inside. Every room seems brighter now. More distant. More unreachable. Occasionally you catch glimpses of Wanda moving through the common room. Natasha appears beside her. Sometimes they’re talking. Sometimes they’re simply sitting together. Every so often one of them glances toward the window. Toward you.
The looks aren’t angry. That’s what hurts the most. They aren’t glaring. They aren’t avoiding you. They just look thoughtful. Processing. Trying to understand. Hours pass this way. The sun sinks lower. Shadows stretch across the grounds. Inside, life continues. Outside, you remain exactly where they left you.
As darkness begins creeping across the compound, a strange realisation slowly settles over you. You have spent months building a life here. Months becoming part of something. You learned routines. Earned trust. Found a place within a new pack. Yet standing alone in the grass, watching the people you care about through a wall of glass, you’ve never felt further away from them.
The truth is finally out. The secret you’ve carried since the day you collapsed outside the compound no longer exists. And somehow everything feels worse now than it did when nobody knew.
Your eyes find Wanda one final time. She’s sitting beside Natasha on the couch. Neither woman is looking outside at the moment. For the first time all day, you finally break your stare away from the compound. Slowly, you turn around. The forest waits silently beyond the edge of the property. Familiar. Dark. Home. Or at least it used to be.
You take a step toward it. Then another. Nobody notices. Nobody stops you. The grass gives way to dirt beneath your paws. Trees begin surrounding you once again. Within minutes the compound is hidden behind trunks and leaves. The lights disappear. The voices vanish. Soon there is nothing left except the forest stretching endlessly ahead. And without allowing yourself a chance to look back, you continue walking deeper into the darkness.
The compound feels wrong that night.
Not quieter. Not emptier. Wrong.
The difference is subtle enough that neither Wanda nor Natasha notices it immediately. After everything that happened outside, after the pack, the revelations, the fight and the silence that followed, neither woman has much energy left for analysing why the atmosphere feels off. They simply move through the evening together.
Natasha makes coffee she never drinks. Wanda spends almost an hour staring at a book without turning a single page. Neither brings up you. Neither brings up the fact that the wolf they’ve spent months caring for apparently understood every conversation, every argument and every embarrassing nickname they’d ever used around you. Neither mentions the look on your face when you realised they were hurt.
Eventually exhaustion wins over confusion and they make their way upstairs. The routine is automatic by now. Natasha brushes her teeth. Wanda changes into pyjamas. Lights are switched off. Curtains are drawn. The bedroom settles into darkness.
For a few moments both women simply stand there staring at their bed. The bed that suddenly seems much larger than it did yesterday. Wanda climbs in first, pulling the blankets over herself before instinctively leaving a gap near the foot of the mattress. Natasha notices immediately. Neither comments on it.
A few seconds later Natasha slides beneath the covers as well. Silence settles between them. The room should feel familiar. Comfortable. Safe. Instead there is a strange absence hanging over everything. An absence both women are becoming increasingly aware of.
Wanda is the first to suffer from it. Sleep refuses to come. She shifts onto one side. Then the other. Pulls the blankets higher. Kicks them lower. Every position feels wrong. More than once her foot drifts toward the bottom of the bed without conscious thought, searching for a familiar bundle of fur that should be curled there.
Every single time she remembers halfway through the movement and immediately stills. The first few times it’s merely frustrating. After the fifth or sixth attempt it starts becoming painful. Beside her, Natasha remains motionless. At least outwardly. Her hands rest behind her head while she stares up at the ceiling as though it contains some secret answer she hasn’t found yet. It doesn’t. The ceiling remains spectacularly unhelpful.
Hours seem to pass with neither woman speaking. Eventually Wanda lets out a quiet huff and rolls onto her back again. “Stop looking at the ceiling.” Natasha doesn’t move. “I’m thinking.” “The ceiling isn’t helping.” “I know.” Another silence follows. Longer this time. “Do you think she left?” Wanda finally asks. Natasha closes her eyes briefly.
The question hangs heavily in the darkness. “No.” The answer comes immediately. Certain. Confident. Wanda turns her head. “You don’t?” “No.” Natasha stares upward again. “She’s stubborn.” Despite everything, a tiny smile briefly appears on Wanda’s face. It disappears just as quickly.
Eventually they both drift asleep. Not properly. Not deeply. The sort of sleep people fall into when their minds refuse to fully switch off. Every few hours one of them wakes. Sometimes it’s Natasha checking the time. Sometimes it’s Wanda reaching toward the foot of the bed before remembering why it’s empty. Neither sleeps for longer than an hour or two at a time.
By the time morning finally arrives, both women feel exhausted. The pale sunlight creeping through the curtains drags them awake properly. Neither moves for several moments. They simply lie there staring at opposite walls. Thinking. Processing. Wondering. Finally Wanda sits up. Natasha does the same. No discussion takes place. None is necessary.
One look passes between them and an entire conversation somehow happens without words. They both know exactly what the other is thinking. Whatever happened yesterday, whatever conversations need to happen later, whatever questions remain unanswered, the first thing they need to do is find you.
Wanda is already climbing out of bed by the time Natasha stands. Within minutes they’re dressed and heading downstairs together. Neither heads toward the kitchen. Neither stops for coffee. They walk straight through the compound and out onto the grounds where they’d last seen you standing.
The morning air is cool. Dew clings to the grass. The field remains exactly as it was left yesterday. A few forgotten pieces of baseball equipment still lie scattered near the edge of the lawn. Wanda scans the area immediately. Natasha does the same. Neither sees what they’re looking for.
For several seconds they continue walking forward anyway, as though expecting you to appear from behind a tree or emerge from somewhere nearby. Nothing happens. The patch of grass where you’d stood for hours is empty. Wanda’s pace slows. Natasha’s expression tightens slightly. Together they reach the edge of the property and stop. Beyond them, the forest stretches endlessly in every direction. Dense. Silent. Unfamiliar. The same forest you’d disappeared into the night before.
Wanda studies the tree line for a long moment. Then another. Then another. Eventually she lowers her gaze. Natasha follows the direction of her stare. There, pressed into the damp earth at the forest’s edge, are a set of pawprints leading away from the compound. Deep. Clear. Fresh enough that neither woman has any trouble recognising them.
Neither speaks. Neither needs to. Because for the first time since finding an injured wolf bleeding on their lawn all those months ago, there is no sign of you anywhere.
The panic begins approximately thirty seconds after Wanda and Natasha reach the tree line.
At first neither of them says the word out loud. Neither woman is particularly eager to admit that they’re worried. Wanda keeps insisting there must be a reasonable explanation. Natasha keeps insisting that if you wanted to leave permanently, you would have done so months ago. Both arguments sound increasingly hollow with every passing minute. The pawprints leading into the forest are impossible to miss. Fresh enough to follow. Clear enough to confirm exactly where you’d gone.
Before long they’re gathering supplies and heading into the woods themselves. Steve attempts to convince them to bring backup. Natasha refuses. Tony suggests drones. Wanda ignores him entirely. Within an hour they’re moving between the trees, following the trail deeper than either of them has ever travelled before. The forest surrounding the compound is enormous. Larger than most people realise. The Avengers have mapped sections closest to the facility, primarily for security purposes, but nobody has ever found much reason to venture further.
As the hours pass, even those familiar landmarks disappear. Cell signals fade. Marked routes vanish. The terrain becomes rougher and less travelled. More natural. More wild. Wanda occasionally spots broken branches or faint traces of movement through the undergrowth. Natasha finds tracks. Neither says much. Both remain focused entirely on finding you.
By the third hour of walking, even Natasha is beginning to look concerned. “How far out does this forest go?” Wanda asks quietly. Natasha studies the endless trees ahead. “Apparently further than we thought.”
Eventually the landscape begins changing. The signs are subtle at first. A narrow path that clearly didn’t form naturally. Cut logs stacked neatly beside a stream. Marks on trees. Evidence that people live here. Both women immediately become more alert.
They continue following the trail until the forest finally opens into a small clearing. Nestled amongst the trees sits a structure that looks somewhere between a cabin and a hunting lodge. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney. The building itself appears handmade, weathered by years of exposure.
Natasha and Wanda exchange a look. Neither says anything. They simply continue forward. A few minutes later another building appears. Then another. Then two more. Some are little more than huts. Others are larger communal structures. Children dart between them. A few wolves nap lazily beneath shaded trees.
Human voices drift through the air. The entire settlement seems to emerge naturally from the forest itself, hidden so effectively that it would be almost impossible to locate without knowing exactly where to look. “This has to be it,” Wanda murmurs. Natasha nods slowly. “Pack territory.” The words feel strange to say aloud. Until yesterday werewolves had been something neither of them believed existed. Now they’re standing in the middle of an entire village filled with them.
The pack notices them almost immediately.
Conversations gradually stop as heads turn toward the newcomers. Several adults rise from where they’d been sitting. None appear particularly alarmed. Curious, perhaps. Wary. But not hostile. Many of the faces are familiar from the confrontation outside the compound. The broad-shouldered man stands near one of the larger buildings speaking with a younger wolf. The woman who had mocked your collar the day before sits sharpening a knife near a fire pit. Several pups in wolf form immediately stop playing to stare openly at the strangers.
Natasha instinctively scans the area. Wanda does the same. Both searching for the same thing. Brown fur. Golden eyes. Any sign of you. They find neither. Instead Wanda suddenly stops walking altogether. Natasha notices immediately. “What?” Wanda doesn’t answer. She simply points.
Standing beside one of the largest huts in the settlement is a carved wooden post.
And hanging from that post is your collar.
The thick padded leather is unmistakable. Wanda recognises it instantly because she spent almost forty minutes choosing it. Natasha recognises it because she spent twenty arguing over which design looked least ridiculous. The metal tag glints softly in the sunlight. Wanda’s symbol on one side. Natasha’s on the other.
Seeing it hanging there feels strangely wrong. Too final. Too deliberate. For several seconds neither woman moves. The sight creates an uncomfortable knot somewhere deep in Wanda’s chest. Natasha’s jaw tightens slightly. The collar had become part of you. As ridiculous as that sounds. Seeing it removed and abandoned here feels like a message neither of them particularly enjoys receiving. “Well,” Natasha says carefully. “She’s definitely been here.”
“Obviously.”
“Not helping.”
Wanda doesn’t respond.
Because a much larger problem has just occurred to her.
Every werewolf in sight appears human.
Every single one.
The adults standing nearby. The children. The people moving between buildings. None of them resemble the wolf they’ve spent months living with. Not because you aren’t here.
Because they have absolutely no idea what you actually look like.
The realisation arrives simultaneously for both women.
Months.
They’ve known you for months.
They know your favourite sleeping spot. Your favourite food. The exact way your ears twitch when you’re annoyed. They know you secretly like being brushed despite pretending otherwise. They know you steal Wanda’s side of the bed whenever given the opportunity.
Yet they don’t know the simplest thing of all.
Your face.
Natasha slowly looks around the settlement again.
“Do you know which one she is?”
Wanda opens her mouth.
Then closes it.
Because she doesn’t.
Neither of them do.
Somewhere amongst the dozens of werewolves moving through the village is the person they’ve spent months caring about. And they have absolutely no idea who they’re looking for.
You catch their scent long before you actually see them.
Even amongst dozens of pack members, countless overlapping smells and the constant presence of the forest itself, their scents remain unmistakable. Wanda’s carries traces of coffee, old books and something warm that has always reminded you of home. Natasha’s carries leather, gunpowder and the faintest hint of whatever shampoo she stubbornly refuses to admit she uses.
The moment those scents reach you, every muscle in your body locks. You’d spent the entire night convincing yourself they wouldn’t come. That they’d be angry. That they’d be relieved to finally be rid of the giant wolf that had apparently lied to them for months. Yet somehow, despite all logic, they’d followed you. Followed you further into the forest than any human should reasonably be willing to travel.
Now, standing amongst your pack in a half-shifted form, you find yourself wishing you’d had more time to prepare. Thirty feet separates you from them. Thirty feet and an entire world of uncertainty. Around you, other pack members continue watching the strangers cautiously. Some are openly suspicious. Others merely curious. You barely notice any of them. Your attention remains fixed entirely on the two women standing near the central huts.
Seeing them here makes everything hurt far worse than it did yesterday. Guilt twists painfully inside your chest. Every memory seems determined to replay itself at once. Wanda sneaking you treats when Bruce said no. Natasha pretending she didn’t enjoy your company while secretly building you a blanket nest. Movie nights. Training sessions. Sleeping curled at their feet before eventually earning a place on the actual bed. You’d never meant to deceive them. Not really. Yet looking at them now, you can suddenly understand exactly why they felt betrayed.
Unfortunately, your body chooses this exact moment to completely betray you as well.
Specifically, your tail.
At first it’s only a slight movement behind you. Barely noticeable. Then Natasha shifts her weight slightly and your tail immediately starts wagging. You freeze. It freezes. Wanda turns her head and your tail starts wagging again. Mortified, you attempt to force it still. The effort lasts approximately three seconds. Because despite everything that happened yesterday, despite the guilt currently eating you alive, despite being surrounded by your actual pack, seeing them again fills you with an embarrassing amount of happiness.
Your ears flatten slightly as you realise exactly what this means. Somewhere along the way, entirely against your better judgement, you’ve become hopelessly attached. Across the clearing, Natasha’s eyes narrow. You know that look. It is the look of a predator noticing something important. The same look she gets during missions. The same look she gets whenever Clint attempts to lie.
Your tail continues wagging. “Traitor,” you mutter under your breath. The tail does not care. Natasha’s gaze moves across you carefully. Not threatening. Not judgemental. Just observant. She notices your eyes repeatedly flicking toward the collar hanging from the wooden post. She notices how quickly your attention returns to her and Wanda every time you try looking elsewhere. She notices the obvious guilt written all over your face.
Most importantly, she notices that every other werewolf in the clearing is looking at her and Wanda like outsiders. Potential threats. Strangers. You’re looking at them like you’ve just found something important that you thought you’d lost.
The problem, unfortunately, is that Natasha Romanoff is very, very good at noticing things.
“You see that?” she asks quietly.
Wanda follows her gaze.
For several seconds she doesn’t seem to understand what Natasha means.
Then she notices your tail.
A tiny, unwilling smile immediately appears before she quickly suppresses it.
“Oh.”
“Yep.”
The smile almost returns.
Meanwhile, neither woman seems particularly prepared for finally discovering what you actually look like. Back at the compound, every image they’d ever formed of you had been filtered through fur, paws and golden eyes. The reality standing before them is… different. Your half-shifted form leaves the wolf traits obvious enough. Brown ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues its humiliating display behind you. Yet the rest of you is undeniably human. Or close enough.
Like most of the pack, your clothing consists primarily of practical materials gathered from the forest itself. Leather wraps around your waist. Woven vines and natural fibres cover your chest and shoulders. Functional. Traditional. Entirely normal by pack standards. The arrangement leaves your arms and much of your skin exposed, revealing years of hunting, climbing and surviving in the wilderness. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-bronzed skin every time you move.
Yet somehow the intimidating image is completely ruined by the fact your tail refuses to stop wagging. Natasha notices that too. In fact, she notices everything. Her expression slowly becomes more complicated with every passing second. Wanda seems equally distracted. Neither woman had expected this. Not really. They’d imagined meeting you eventually. They’d wondered about it countless times without realising it. But now that the moment has actually arrived, neither seems entirely certain what to do.
The silence stretches.
You don’t approach them.
They don’t approach you.
The distance remains exactly the same.
Yet somehow it feels far smaller than it did a few minutes ago.
Around the clearing, several pack members are beginning to notice the strange exchange taking place. The broad-shouldered man who’d confronted you outside the compound folds his arms. A few of the younger wolves openly watch with interest. One of the elders looks suspiciously amused.
You wish the ground would swallow you whole. Your tail is still wagging. Natasha is still watching. Wanda’s gaze keeps softening every time your eyes meet hers. Everything is becoming increasingly unbearable. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Wanda finally takes a small step forward. Not enough to invade your space. Not enough to force anything. Just one step. The sort of step someone takes when approaching a frightened animal. Or perhaps someone they care about.
Your tail somehow wags even harder. Natasha immediately notices. Of course she does. And for the first time since arriving at the pack grounds, a faint smirk appears on her face.
“Oh,” she says quietly.
“What?” Wanda asks.
Natasha never takes her eyes off you.
“I think we found her.”
And despite everything, your stupid tail practically confirms it for her.
The moment Natasha says it, every survival instinct you possess immediately takes over.
Run.
The command slams through your brain with enough force to make your ears flatten against your head.
You don’t wait to see what happens next. The second Wanda takes another step forward, you turn and bolt. Straight into the forest. Branches whip past as you sprint between trees, heart hammering violently against your ribs. Behind you, voices erupt from the clearing. You don’t stay long enough to hear what they’re saying. Shame burns through every inch of you. Embarrassment. Guilt. Relief. All twisted together into something impossible to untangle. You’d spent months imagining what would happen if Wanda and Natasha discovered the truth. Somehow every scenario had been less humiliating than this one.
Because now they knew. They knew you understood every conversation. Every argument. Every movie night. Every time Natasha secretly let you onto the bed after pretending not to want you there. Every time Wanda called you pet names when she thought nobody was listening. And worst of all, they knew exactly how attached you’d become.
Your tail had made absolutely sure of that. You hear movement behind you. Not footsteps. Something much worse. Red magic.
“Oh come on,” you groan.
A second later scarlet energy wraps around your waist. The forest disappears beneath your feet. You immediately find yourself suspended several feet in the air.
“Really?” you call.
“Really,” Wanda’s voice replies.
The world moves alarmingly fast as the magic carries you backwards through the trees. Several branches narrowly miss your face. One doesn’t. “Ow.”
“You ran.”
“I panicked.”
“You always panic.”
“I do not always panic.”
“You literally turned around and sprinted away.”
Unfortunately, she has a point.
The clearing comes back into view moments later. Several amused pack members are openly watching the entire thing. One of the elders is laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.
You decide you hate everyone. Especially Wanda. Mostly because she’s right. The magic finally lowers you back onto solid ground a few feet from the two women.
For a moment nobody moves. You stare at the grass. Wanda stares at you. Natasha stares at you. The silence stretches.
Then suddenly both women are moving. Before you can react, Wanda’s arms are around your shoulders. At almost the exact same moment Natasha wraps her arms around your waist. The impact nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.
“What—”
Wanda hugs tighter. Natasha somehow hugs tighter than that. The result is less a hug and more a coordinated assault.
“You idiot,” Natasha mutters.
You blink. That isn’t the response you expected.
“We thought you were gone,” Wanda says quietly.
Her voice sounds suspiciously emotional. Your confusion only deepens.
“You left.”
“You left us first.”
“I thought you hated me.”
Both women immediately pull back just enough to stare at you. The looks on their faces are almost offended.
“Hate you?” Wanda repeats.
“You lied to us,” Natasha says. “That’s not the same thing. We were confused. We were hurt. But we didn’t hate you.”
Wanda’s arms tighten again.
“If anything,” she admits quietly, “we were more upset with ourselves.”
You frown.
“What?”
The women exchange a glance. Then Natasha sighs.
“We shouldn’t have left you out there.”
Your ears twitch.
“What?”
“Yesterday,” Wanda says softly. “After the fight.”
The guilt returns immediately.
“We found out this huge secret and instead of talking to you…” Her expression falls slightly. “We just walked away.”
“You were hurt.”
“So were you.”
The simple response steals every argument from your mouth.
For several moments nobody says anything. The forest around you feels strangely distant. Eventually you lower your gaze.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Wanda and Natasha remain silent. Waiting. So you continue.
“At first I couldn’t.”
Your tail lowers slightly behind you.
“Then after I healed…” You swallow. “You already thought I was a wolf.”
Natasha nods slowly.
“And every day that passed made it harder.”
You laugh weakly.
“How do you even start that conversation?”
Neither woman interrupts.
“‘Hey, thanks for rescuing me. Also I’ve secretly understood every word you’ve said for six months.’”
To your immense relief, Natasha snorts. Wanda covers her mouth. Encouraged, you continue.
“Then I got scared.”
Their expressions soften immediately.
“If I told you, everything would’ve changed.”
Your eyes finally lift to meet theirs.
“And I liked it.”
The admission leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You immediately regret it. Your tail, however, begins wagging. Traitor.
“I liked being there.”
Wanda’s eyes soften even further.
“The compound felt like home.”
Your throat tightens.
“You felt like home.”
Silence follows. A dangerous silence. The sort that makes your heart beat significantly faster. Especially when Natasha keeps looking at you like that. You try very hard not to notice. Really. You do. Unfortunately, Natasha Romanoff has spent the last several minutes finally getting a proper look at you.
A very proper look.
Your half-shifted form leaves very little to the imagination compared to the giant wolf she’d become accustomed to. Years of hunting and surviving in the wilderness are obvious in every movement. Strong muscles shift beneath sun-warmed skin. Wolf ears protrude through your hair. Your tail continues wagging with absolutely no regard for your dignity whatsoever.
Natasha notices all of it. Every single bit. You pretend not to. Desperately. The problem is that pretending becomes significantly harder when her gaze briefly drops before returning to your face. Then does it again. Your tail somehow wags harder. Mortified, you immediately focus on literally anything else. Trees. Clouds. The ground. A random squirrel. Anything.
Across from you, Natasha’s lips twitch suspiciously. Wanda notices both your tail and Natasha’s expression at the exact same moment.
“Oh my god,” Wanda says.
“What?” you ask instantly.
“Nothing.”
Natasha looks away far too quickly. Your tail continues wagging. The elder watching nearby starts laughing again. And for the first time since everything fell apart outside the compound, Wanda and Natasha are smiling.
The conversation with your pack takes far longer than expected. Not because anyone is actively trying to stop you from leaving, but because the entire settlement seems fascinated by the fact that two Avengers have wandered several hours into werewolf territory just to find you.
By the time the sun begins dipping lower through the trees, you’ve endured enough teasing to last a lifetime. The elder who had laughed at your tail earlier somehow finds even more reasons to do so. The broad-shouldered man apologises, in his own gruff way, for causing problems at the compound. Several of the younger wolves openly ask Natasha questions about fighting. Through all of it, Wanda remains close enough that her shoulder occasionally brushes yours, while Natasha hovers nearby with the casual protectiveness of somebody pretending not to be protective at all.
Eventually the topic everyone has been carefully avoiding finally comes up. “So,” Wanda says softly, glancing toward the path leading back through the forest. “Are you coming home?” The simple question immediately steals your attention. Home. Not the compound. Not the Avengers facility. Home.
Your ears twitch slightly. Natasha notices. Of course she does. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily,” she adds. “Besides.” A faint smirk appears on her face. “You’re our girl.” Heat immediately rises into your cheeks. Wanda smiles. “Our best girl.” Your tail begins wagging before you can stop it.
Around you, several pack members groan dramatically. One of them pretends to gag. You completely ignore them. Because despite everything that happened, despite the confusion and hurt and misunderstandings, the thought of returning with Wanda and Natasha fills your chest with a warmth you haven’t felt since leaving the compound. The decision becomes surprisingly easy after that.
The journey back feels very different from the journey out. Nobody is rushing this time. Nobody is desperately following tracks or searching for signs. Instead, the three of you walk together through the forest, gradually leaving the hidden settlement behind. Conversation comes slowly at first. Then more naturally. Wanda asks questions about your pack. Natasha asks questions about shifting.
You answer what you can. Some things make sense to them. Some clearly don’t. More than once Natasha has to stop herself from reaching out to touch your ears when they twitch. More than once Wanda fails entirely. By the time the compound finally comes into view through the trees, the tension that had lingered since the confrontation outside has largely disappeared.
Unfortunately, a new problem immediately presents itself. Namely: the rest of the Avengers. “Absolutely not,” Natasha says the second the building comes into view. “Absolutely not what?” you ask. “If Clint sees you first, we’re never hearing the end of it.” Wanda immediately agrees. “Or Tony.” “Definitely Tony.” “Especially Tony.” Before you can question their logic further, you’re being ushered around the side of the compound like part of some highly classified operation.
Thankfully, the boys appear distracted elsewhere. Within minutes you’ve been successfully smuggled through side corridors, up elevators and into Wanda and Natasha’s room without a single person spotting you. Natasha actually looks proud of herself afterwards. “See?” she says. “Perfect.” “We’re literally sneaking a werewolf into our bedroom,” Wanda points out. “Exactly.”
The moment the door closes behind you, however, both women suddenly seem to notice something they’d previously been too distracted to fully process. Specifically, your clothing situation. Or lack thereof, compared to normal human standards. You immediately become aware of it the second Wanda’s eyes flick downward. Then Natasha’s do. The woven vines across your chest. The leather around your waist. The practical attire of someone who grew up in the wilderness rather than modern civilisation. Perfectly normal amongst your pack. Significantly less normal standing in a high-tech Avengers compound.
“Right,” Wanda says after a moment. “We should probably fix that.” You glance down at yourself. “What’s wrong with it?” Natasha makes a small choking noise that suspiciously resembles laughter. Wanda immediately elbows her. “Nothing’s wrong with it.” “You just might be more comfortable in actual clothes.” “Actual clothes are overrated.”
Both women stare at you. “Actual clothes,” Natasha says firmly, “are happening.” Wanda disappears toward the wardrobe while Natasha remains where she is. For several moments neither speaks. Wanda begins sorting through drawers. Natasha watches her. Wanda glances back. Natasha watches her a little more. A completely silent conversation seems to pass between them.
One you’ve seen countless times over the months. Tiny expressions. Small looks. Entire discussions occurring without a single word. This one feels different somehow. More nervous. More deliberate. When Wanda finally turns back around holding a bundle of clothes, neither woman immediately moves to hand them over.
Instead, the room grows unexpectedly quiet.
You glance between them.
Then back again.
Your heart begins beating a little faster.
Natasha takes a single step forward.
Then another.
Close enough now that you can see every tiny detail in her expression. Every flicker of uncertainty. Every trace of affection she isn’t bothering to hide anymore. Her hand rises slowly, brushing lightly against your cheek. For a moment she simply looks at you. Really looks at you. Not the wolf she’d rescued months ago. Not the mystery she’d spent weeks trying to understand. Just you.
Then she leans forward.
The kiss is soft.
Gentle.
Almost hesitant.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing demanding.
Just Natasha’s lips meeting yours as though she’s trying to memorise the feeling for the first time. The contact lasts only a few seconds before she slowly pulls away again. Yet somehow those few seconds leave your heart attempting to escape your chest entirely. Your tail is wagging. Obviously. Because apparently it has completely abandoned all loyalty to your dignity. Natasha’s forehead briefly rests against yours before she finally steps back.
And then Wanda is there.
Warm fingers finding your jaw.
A smile so soft it almost hurts.
She waits just long enough for you to look at her.
Then her lips meet yours too.
The kiss is every bit as gentle as Natasha’s had been.
Careful.
Affectionate.
Like she’s been wanting to do it for far longer than she’s willing to admit.
When she finally pulls away, the three of you remain standing there for a moment in complete silence.
The clothes are still forgotten in Wanda’s hands.
Your tail refuses to stop wagging.
And neither woman seems particularly interested in pretending they don’t find that adorable.
The room remains quiet after the kisses, though it feels like an entirely different kind of silence now. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Heavy. Warm. The sort of silence that settles between people when something important has finally been acknowledged.
Wanda is still holding the clothes she’d pulled from the wardrobe, though judging by the way her fingers have gone still against the fabric, she’d completely forgotten about them. Natasha remains standing close enough that you can feel her body heat, her attention fixed entirely on you with an intensity that makes it difficult to think straight. You become painfully aware of every little thing all at once. The way your heart is hammering against your ribs. The way your tail continues sweeping behind you despite your desperate attempts to stop it. The way both women keep looking at you differently now. Not because you’ve changed. Not because you’ve suddenly become someone else.
But because for the first time there are no misunderstandings left between you. No pretending. No secrets. Just you. Standing in front of them. And somehow that feels far more exposing than running around the compound covered in fur ever did.
A faint smile tugs at Natasha’s mouth as she watches your increasingly failed attempts to force your tail still. “You know,” she says, voice lower than before, “for somebody who spent months hiding the fact she understood everything we said, you’re actually terrible at keeping secrets.” Heat immediately rushes into your cheeks. Wanda lets out a soft laugh beside her. “She really is.” You groan and look away, only for Wanda to immediately reach out and guide your attention back toward them with a gentle hand beneath your chin.
The movement isn’t forceful. If anything, it’s almost unfairly tender. “Don’t hide now,” she murmurs. Her thumb brushes lightly across your cheek as she speaks, and the simple contact nearly short-circuits your brain. Natasha notices instantly. Of course she does. You see the amusement flicker across her expression before something softer replaces it. Something that makes your stomach perform an alarming number of somersaults. “Look at her,” Natasha says quietly. “She’s still trying to run.” “I am not.” “You literally ran into a forest earlier.” “That was different.” “Was it?” Natasha asks. “Because this looks exactly the same.”
Wanda laughs again, shaking her head fondly before finally setting the clothes down somewhere behind her. The action feels oddly significant. Like she’s consciously choosing not to interrupt whatever this moment has become. You swallow hard as both women remain close. Too close to ignore.
Then Natasha’s lips connect with yours again, hungrier this time. Like she’s a starved woman. Wanda appears behind. Her arms wrap around your waist and her lips connect with the side of your neck. If it weren’t for them holding you up, you’re sure you would’ve turned into mush on the floor by now.
Natasha finally parts from you, only to sink her teeth down into the side of your neck. A whimper escaped your mouth before you can stop it. You didn’t even realise when they started pulling your clothes off, and their own, until they were pulling you back towards the bed.
Wanda moves to sit against the headboard and pulls you down into her lap, your eyes immediately find her breasts. They’re bigger than yours, fuller. Her nipples stood hardened against the cold breeze and the arousal coursing through her body. Wanda follows your gaze and a soft smirk graces her lips. “You can touch, Detka. I don’t bite.” She murmurs as her hands find yours, pulling them up to her soft mounds.
Your tail wags even harder, if that was even possible at this point, as you squeeze her. Wanda watches as literal drool forms on your lips whilst you obsess over her body like a teenage boy seeing a bare woman for the first time. Her thumb absentmindedly wipes it away, even as her chest begins to heave from your touches. Then without warning, the digit moves into your mouth and your lips wrap around it like second nature.
You’d almost forgotten about Natasha at this point. Almost being the keyword. Then her hands wrap around your neck from behind and the familiar sound of your collar buckling sounds out as she attaches the thick leather back around your neck with a sultry whisper of: “You’re ours, pretty girl”
Wanda’s thumb, the one in your mouth, moves to press down on your tongue and a little whine escapes you. Natasha’s hands move from your neck and down to your own breasts, her large hands easily cup both of them before she rolls your nipples between her fingers. A broken moan slips from around Wanda’s thumb in your mouth.
Her eyes flicker red for a brief moment, and you feel something pressing against your core that wasn’t there before. You try to look down, but unfortunately Natasha keeps your head raised.
Wanda’s free hand moves down to the dick she’s enchanted into her body, guiding it to your entrance that is soaked by now. In one movement she bottoms out, causing you to cry out. Your teeth clamp down around her thumb but she doesn’t care or at least react to it.
Natasha’s hands find your hips and start moving you to grind against Wanda’s cock. Every movement of her inside you hits deep and hard, cries turn into moans as you get used to the feeling of her. Her thumb slides out of your mouth only to rub up and down your sides, occasionally squeezing your breasts.
One of Natasha’s hands moves from your hip to press hard circles against your throbbing clit, each one making your hips buck against her hand.
“You’re doing so good, pup… so good.” The praise comes from one of the girls, you can’t exactly tell which one, too lost in the pleasure of Wanda hitting every wall inside of you.
Her eyes glow red again, you barely pick it up this time. And before you know it, Natasha is rubbing, an admittedly smaller, cock against your ass. She uses the arousal from between your legs as makeshift lubricant before pushing the cock into your ass. That completely wrecks you. You collapse against Wanda’s bare chest, hands clutching the bedsheets beneath her as both your holes are fucked by the two most attractive women you’ve ever seen.
“Breathe baby, your okay… your doing amazing.” Wanda says, now rolling her own hips up into you since you stopped when you collapsed against her. She presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and guides your lips to wrap around her nipple. You easily take the hardened bud into your mouth, the skin muffled your cries and absorbs your tears. Wanda revels in this, her baby girl crying whilst taking two cocks at one. She couldn’t be prouder honestly.
Natasha’s hand on your hip moves to wrap around your waist, her movements are a lot more juttery and uncontrolled compared to Wanda’s. She’s also a lot louder than Wanda is, soft groans leaving her as she pressed her lips between your shoulder blades.
The feeling of being so full eventually pushes you over the edge, your back arches up and toes curl against nothing. You mouth opens but no sound comes out. Then like clockwork, both of the cocks inside you begin to twitch as the women let their loads sink into each of your holes.
The room gradually settles into a comfortable silence.
Not the awkward sort.
Not the uncertain sort.
The kind of silence that only exists between people who feel completely safe around one another.
You barely have enough energy left to move. Every muscle in your body feels heavy, your thoughts pleasantly slow and fuzzy as you remain curled against Wanda’s side beneath the blankets. At some point she’d pulled you fully against her chest, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while her fingers drift lazily through your hair. The motion is absent-minded. Instinctive. The same way she’d stroked your fur countless times when she thought you were just a wolf. Somehow the familiarity of it makes your chest ache.
Home. The word keeps returning. Home.
Natasha eventually slips out of bed with a quiet groan, disappearing into the bathroom for a few moments before returning with a damp cloth, a glass of water and an entire armful of snacks she’d apparently stolen from somewhere. You watch her approach through half-lidded eyes, your ears twitching lazily when she sits back down beside you.
“Were those already in here?” you mumble.
“No.”
“Did you go downstairs?”
“Maybe.”
“Natasha.”
“What?”
“You robbed the kitchen.”
“It wasn’t robbery.”
Wanda doesn’t even open her eyes.
“It was absolutely robbery.”
“I live here.”
“You stole my crackers.”
“I stole our crackers.”
Wanda finally peeks one eye open.
“That isn’t better.”
Natasha looks deeply offended.
You let out a tired laugh and immediately regret it because it uses far too much energy.
“There she is,” Wanda murmurs softly.
One of her hands leaves your hair long enough to gently cup your cheek.
“You okay, Detka?”
The concern in her voice immediately melts something inside your chest. You nod. Then, after a moment’s consideration, shake your head. Then nod again. Both women laugh.
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
“It means she’s tired,” Natasha says knowingly.
“I am not.”
“You once fell asleep standing up.”
“That happened one time.”
“It happened three times.”
You glare weakly. Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself.
The glass of water is gently pushed into your hands before you can continue arguing. Both women watch until you’ve taken several proper drinks. Only then does Natasha seem satisfied. The crackers are next. You take one mostly because refusing seems like too much effort. Then another. Then another.
“You were prepared for this,” you realise.
Natasha shrugs. “I know you.”
Wanda hums in agreement. ”She does.”
Your tail immediately thumps beneath the blankets.
Traitor.
The movement earns a smile from both women.
“You did good today, pup.”
The praise catches you completely off guard.
Your ears twitch.
Natasha reaches over and scratches lightly behind one of them.
“You came back.”
Something unexpectedly emotional tightens in your chest.
You lower your gaze. “I almost didn’t.”
The admission slips out quietly. Immediately both women go still. Wanda’s arm tightens around your shoulders. Natasha’s expression softens.
“Hey.”
You glance up. Natasha is looking directly at you now.
“You came back.”
The words are simple. Matter-of-fact. Yet somehow they hit harder than anything else could have. Because she’s right. You did. And they came looking for you. The thought settles warmly somewhere beneath your ribs.
Before the room can become too emotional, Wanda reaches for another cracker and immediately discovers Natasha has already eaten half the packet.
Her eyes narrow.
“Natasha.”
“What?”
“You ate all the cheese ones.”
“No I didn’t.”
“There are literally none left.”
Natasha glances into the packet.
“Oh.”
“Natasha.”
“I didn’t realise.”
“You absolutely realised.”
“It happened accidentally.”
“You sorted them.”
“I was organising.”
“You organised them into your mouth.”
You bury your face against Wanda’s shoulder as laughter threatens to escape.
Natasha points accusingly.
“Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m not encouraging anything.”
“You are smiling.”
“Because you’re ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
Wanda’s entire expression softens instantly.
“Unfortunately.”
“See?”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It was close enough.”
The argument continues for another ten minutes. It isn’t really an argument. Just the familiar back-and-forth that you’ve spent months listening to from various corners of the compound. The same bickering that always ends with one of them laughing and the other pretending they aren’t.
Somewhere during it, your eyes begin drifting closed. Wanda notices first. Of course she does. Her fingers never stop moving through your hair. Natasha notices a few moments later when your head slowly slides further onto Wanda’s shoulder.
“Oh, she’s gone.”
“I’m not gone.”
“You answered that three seconds late.”
You choose not to respond. Mostly because you are, in fact, nearly asleep.
A warm blanket is pulled higher around you. Someone presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another to the top of your head. You aren’t entirely sure who does which.
By the time the girls finally stop bickering and settle down themselves, you’re practically glued to Wanda’s side, your tail loosely wrapped around both of their legs beneath the blankets.
Safe. Warm. Loved.
The last thing you hear before sleep finally wins is Natasha’s quiet voice from somewhere beside you.
“Our girl.”
Wanda immediately hums in agreement.
“Our best girl.”
Your tail gives one final sleepy wag.
Then everything fades into darkness.
:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:
Masterlist
A/N: I started writing this as “what if Wanda and Natasha found a wolf?” and somehow ended up 16.8k words deep into a story about them accidentally adopting a werewolf. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fluff, the angst, the possessive girlfriends, and Natasha discovering that she has absolutely no authority in a relationship where Wanda exists.
You text Natasha from a bar because a man is not taking your hints to back off. She arrives by motorcycle and handles the situation accordingly. Then she fucks you to celebrate it. Featuring Liho.
featuring: possessive/protective Nat, spit kink (thank you to my unc anon), breeding kink
18+, NSFW, oneshot | 5.9k words
Based on the song from Victorious
ao3
This wasn't the first time this had happened.
It was always men, and it was always the ones who just didn't seem to get it. You liked to think you were a nice person—you genuinely tried to be, tried to lead with warmth and give people the benefit of the doubt—but maybe that was exactly the problem. Maybe the polite nod and the friendly smile read as something other than what it was, which was you being too kind to say what you actually meant, which was: please stop talking to me. Please take your cologne and your name-dropping and your incremental lean and redirect them toward literally any other person in this building.
Kate and Yelena had been gone for twenty-three minutes.
You'd clocked what they were up to the moment they'd both excused themselves to the bathroom at the same time, with the poorly concealed urgency of two people who had been eye-fucking each other across the table for the better part of an hour. You'd checked your phone with resignation, having seen this coming from the moment Yelena had suggested this particular bar—which had, you'd noted upon arrival, a single-occupancy bathroom that locked from the inside. You were happy for them. Genuinely, completely happy that they were in love and passionate about it in bar bathrooms on Friday nights. You were also alone now, your drink getting low, with a man standing approximately eight inches closer to you than he'd been when he first materialized at your elbow, and the gap was still shrinking.
He had been talking for a while now. You'd stopped absorbing the content of it around the five-minute mark, somewhere in the middle of his third celebrity name-drop, which you were fairly certain represented a one-time encounter he'd since promoted in his memory to a close personal friendship. Since then you'd been performing the minimum facial expressions required to sustain the impression of a conversation—a small nod here, a neutral sound there—turning your glass slowly on the bar and waiting for literally anything else to happen.
"—so at that point I just told him, look, I know more about this than you do—"
"Mm," you said.
"—and honestly the numbers backed me up completely—"
"Hm."
He shifted his weight, leaning further on the bar in a way that angled his whole body toward yours, and you noticed immediately. He had the confidence of someone who had never seriously entertained the possibility that this conversation might be going worse than he thought, not aggressive but something almost worse than aggressive, simply and completely certain of himself in a way that made your skin prickle. He'd had you at hello, if you were being honest with yourself. You had thought he was nice and this would simply be a casual conversation. And then he'd opened his mouth, and here you were.
He leaned in slightly when he laughed at something he'd said, and his breath reached you, and you thought very privately that he could use a mint. Several, maybe. A whole pack and a lifestyle change.
"You know what I mean?" he said.
"Totally," you said, having retained nothing.
He smiled, encouraged—the wrong reaction on your part, you knew it the moment his posture opened up—and his eyes dropped to your mouth in a way he'd been doing periodically for the last ten minutes, a recurring check that had started to make the back of your neck prickle. He looked back up and seemed to think the eye contact was going well.
"So what's your sign?" he asked.
"Stop," you said, laughing it off because it was a little funny, like a stop sign. You were still trying to be nice.
He laughed too. "You’re a funny one. Can I buy you a drink?”
"I'm good," you said, lifting your current one to demonstrate.
"Come on," he said, with the smile of someone who had decided your no was a negotiating position rather than an answer. "Let me get you something. I know the bartender."
You looked at him steadily. "No, thank you."
He smiled again, wider, like your refusal was a move in a game rather than a conclusion, and you thought if you had a dime for every name he'd dropped tonight, for every thinly supported claim, for every moment of this conversation—you'd be somewhere considerably more pleasant than this bar stool. He said something else, something about a rooftop bar nearby, and you were doing the math on how bad it would actually be to just text her, whether that was the nuclear option or just the sensible one, when his hand settled at your hip.
He wasn’t aggressive about it, not trying to hurt you or restrain you. He genuinely thought this was a reasonable course of action based on the way he perceived the conversation to be going.
It wasn't.
You went very still, but he kept talking. You weren't hearing it anymore. You pulled out your phone, angled it away from him, and typed. You knew she’d be able to decipher the words being typed, so it didn’t worry you that you couldn’t quite see the entire keyboard as your thumb slid against it.
Bar n Clement. Kate and Ylena in bthroom. Man tlking to me
The three dots appeared before you'd finished the sentence.
Are you okay?
He wont take th hint
On my way.
You locked your phone, tucked it away, and turned back to the man with the polite expression of someone who had just quietly solved the problem and was simply waiting for the solution to arrive.
"Sorry," you said. "You were saying?"
He was saying something about interest rates. You chose to sing the ABC’s in your head to pass the time.
(-)
You heard the motorcycle before the door opened.
It cut through everything—the music, the hum of conversation, the man who had now progressed to telling you about his apartment—and it didn't go to your ears so much as land somewhere lower, somewhere that didn't require conscious processing. A sound you'd learned to recognize the way you recognized her voice. Your body knew it before your brain had finished the sentence, some deep-wired thing that had developed over a year and a half of her arriving places and your nervous system treating it like a fixed point.
The door opened and she was moving before you'd fully located her in the room.
The leather jacket was the dark one, worn soft at the elbows and fitted to her like it had been made specifically for the geometry of her shoulders, which knowing Natasha it might well have been. Dark jeans, her boots, her hair down and longer than it had been last spring. She had all her ear piercings in, the small silver ones climbing the curve of her left ear, the simple ones in her lobes. When she was just herself, the version of herself that existed in the spaces between everything else, and you thought every time you saw her like this that it was your favorite version, which was saying something because you were partial to all of them.
She wasn't scanning the room. She already knew where you were. She'd known before she walked in.
Her eyes found you and she read the situation in the two seconds it took her to cross half the distance—the man at your side, the placement of his hand still at your hip, the careful neutral set of your face that she knew was not relaxed neutrality but managed neutrality, which were two different things and she had always been able to tell them apart. Something in her expression did a thing, like the physical look of a decision completing itself. She was already done deliberating before she reached you.
Natasha didn't look at him at all.
Her hand came to your jaw—warm, certain, the cool familiar weight of her rings—and she kissed you. You tasted coffee and underneath it the warmth that was just her, and you felt it move through you from the point of contact outward. Down your spine, into your fingertips, somewhere warm and low. The man ceased to be a factor you were tracking for several consecutive seconds.
Her thumb moved once across your cheekbone when she pulled back. Those green eyes, darker in the bar light, asked their question without asking it out loud.
You were fine. She already knew you were fine. She was checking anyway, because she always checked, because that was who she was underneath everything else.
The man had recalibrated. You could hear it in the way he broke the silence. "Okay, so—" his hand hadn't moved from your hip, and now his other arm was beginning to move, angling toward Natasha— "if you're both—I mean, I'm very open-minded—"
Natasha looked at his hand on your hip.
Then she looked at his face. The sequence of it was very controlled, very still, and you watched something happen to his expression in real time—the beginning of the understanding that he had fundamentally miscalculated something—and then his arm finished its motion, trying to loop around toward Natasha's shoulder.
She caught his wrist. One hand, smooth and immediate, and then she had his head and it met the bar with a sound that made the nearest tables go completely quiet. The efficiency of someone who had done this many times and saw no reason to perform it. He made a sound that was both startled and pained. She let him start to straighten and her knee found his stomach before he'd finished the motion, and the air went out of him entirely, and he folded. She stepped back and looked at him on the floor for a moment with the expression of someone completing a checklist, and then, almost as an afterthought, she placed one boot on his crotch and applied just enough weight to make her feelings on the matter clear.
She held it for a moment. Then she stepped off when she was satisfied.
The bar was very quiet.
Natasha reached past you for a cocktail napkin. She wiped her hands—methodical, unhurried, the way she did most things—and set it down. She looked at her hands briefly, checking, and then looked at you with an expression that had loosened around the edges, the loosening that happened when the thing she'd been carrying since your text had been handled and set down.
"Ready?" she said.
You looked at the floor. You looked at her. "We should probably—"
"No," she said.
"But—"
"No." Her hand found the small of your back, steady and familiar through your shirt, and she steered you toward the door with the calm certainty of someone who had already closed the chapter.
Outside, the night air was cool and smelled like the city, and the motorcycle sat at the curb where she'd left it, and Natasha was already pulling the spare helmet free and holding it out.
You took it and stood with it in your hands, looking at her in the low light from the bar window—hair loose around her shoulders, rings catching the light, the leather jacket, the small silver piercings along her ear—and felt the thing that had been sitting warm in your stomach since the sound of the engine on Clement Street.
"Nat."
She raised an eyebrow.
“Aren’t you—”
"He had it coming," she interrupted. The corner of her mouth twitched into her familiar smirk.
The laugh arrived before you could do anything about it. "Okay," you said. "Okay. But are we—should we be worried about—"
"Get on the bike, baby," she said.
You didn’t argue with that tone. She swung on in front of you with the easy automatic grace of someone who had been doing this for decades, and you wrapped your arms around her waist and pressed your face between her shoulder blades and felt the warmth of her through the leather, the solid reality of her back against your chest. The engine came alive beneath you both—low and certain, a sound you felt in your sternum—and just before the helmet went on, she paused.
"The cops know better by now," she said.
You didn’t question it.
(-)
Natasha kept her eyes on the road and let the rhythm of the bike work through her the way it always did, stripping things down to their simplest version.
She'd been moving before she'd finished your text. She had just grabbed her jacket and her keys without deliberation. The whole ride over she'd been running the numbers on how long you'd been sitting there being polite while some man who didn't deserve a minute of your time had taken twenty-four of them, and by the time she'd walked through that door she'd already decided.
She hadn't been angry, exactly. Anger was loud and imprecise and she'd never found much use for it. What she'd been was certain, in the way she was certain about things that mattered to her—clear-eyed and calm and entirely, completely sure of what was going to happen next.
You pressed closer against her back through a long curve and she felt your arms tighten at her waist and one hand press flat against her stomach briefly, just a moment of contact, and it moved through her chest and settled there warm in a way she'd stopped trying to catalog because the catalog had gotten too long.
Mine, something in her said, the way it always said it. Simple and blunt and not interested in being argued with.
Yeah, she told it. I know.
(-)
The apartment was quiet when you got in, smelling like home, and Liho appeared from the hallway within seconds—black cat, hazel eyes. She wound around Natasha's ankles with focused thoroughness and then, after visible deliberation, extended the same courtesy to you.
"Hi, Liho," you said. “Have you behaved?”
Liho walked away, which was the typical response you got.
Natasha hung up the leather jacket and turned, finding you watching her with an expression she recognized—that look, the one you had when you were feeling something large and hadn't decided what to do with it yet. She crossed the room, taking your face in her hands and kissing you. You got your hands into the front of her shirt, and she walked you toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss.
She sat you on the edge of the bed and stood in front of you in the lamplight and just looked at you for a moment, really looked, the way she let herself look in rooms like this one when there was no performance required of her. She'd seen you in lamplight hundreds of times by now, in this room and in rooms that weren't this room, and she should have been past the part where the sight of you did something to her chest. She wasn't past it. She suspected she never would be.
She reached for her own shirt first and pulled it over her head, set it aside, stood there in the unselfconscious way she'd arrived at gradually over years—the scars, the map of everything she'd survived written into her skin, none of it something she needed to manage or explain. You looked at her the way you always looked at her and she felt it land in the place it always landed, which was the place she'd never thought to armor because she hadn't known anyone would aim there.
She reached for you, undressing you with careful hands, each piece of clothing removed deliberately, her eyes following what her hands uncovered with the focused attention she gave to things she found worth her full care. By the time she pressed you back against the pillows there was warmth in her chest alongside everything else, something she'd stopped trying to name because naming it hadn't ever done justice to it. She settled over you and looked at your face again in the lamplight.
She kissed your throat first, finding the spot below your ear that she'd mapped the very first time and committed to memory because your breath changed there without fail. She let herself stay there for a while because she wanted to, her mouth warm against your pulse point, feeling your heartbeat quicken under her lips while her hands moved down your sides in long, slow strokes. She found your breast and her thumb traced circles against it until you arched into her hand, and she kept the pace deliberate, not rushing toward anything, letting the warmth build at whatever pace it wanted to build.
She kissed down your body after—your collarbone, the center of your chest, the soft curve of your ribs—pressing her lips to each place with intention, spending time where your breathing changed. She found the birthmark at your hip and pressed her mouth there, acknowledging it, and felt the small sound you made above her move through her chest. She kissed along the inside of your hip where the skin was thin and sensitive and felt you shift against the mattress, and she took her time there too, not because she was teasing but because she was here and she wanted to be here, wanted every part of this the way she'd wanted it since the first time she'd understood that she wasn't going to stop wanting it.
She pushed your thighs apart gently and settled between them, looking up at you with dark eyes that seemed to explain everything she wanted to do to you.
She slid her hand up the inside of your thigh and found you through your underwear and pressed, and the sound she made at what she felt there was involuntary and entirely sincere—quiet and satisfied, something low in her pulling tight in response. She pressed again, feeling the soaked fabric give, and felt your hips tilt toward her hand before you'd decided to move them.
"Christ," she said softly, almost to herself. She rubbed slow circles against your cunt through the fabric, learning the pressure that made your thighs tremble, and listened to the sounds you were making above her get less managed. "You're soaked through. All of this is for me?"
“Natasha—please—"
"I know,” she said, grinning at you.
She hooked her fingers into your underwear and drew them down and off in one smooth motion, and then her hand was back and there was nothing between her and you. She slid through your folds slowly, thoroughly, the way she always started—learning you again even though she already knew every part of you. She pressed two fingers to your entrance and felt you clench toward them and held them there, not pushing in yet, just letting you feel the promise of it.
"You did a good job,” she said. “Texting me tonight. I hate that you had to deal with that.”
"Natasha," you said. "Please—can you just—”
She pushed inside, both fingers deep and immediate, your back coming off the mattress before she'd finished the motion. She curled them on the first stroke, finding the right place with the accuracy of someone who had learned you completely, and the sensation of that curl dragging against your inner walls made you make a sound that filled the room entirely. She held that angle and started to move—not slow, because tonight wasn't a slow night, because she could feel how wound up you were and had been since the bar—purposeful and steady, the curl on every stroke deliberate, her thumb finding your clit and pressing in circles that matched her rhythm. Her free hand spread flat across your lower stomach and she felt the movement of her fingers from the outside and you clenching around her.
"Natasha—" Your voice was already broken at the edges. "I'm already—I'm going to—"
"Not yet." She eased the pressure by a fraction, held you right at the edge with the particular patience of someone who found the edge interesting. "You can wait."
"I really—I genuinely—Nat—please—"
"You can," she said, against your hip. "You're going to be so good about it." Her fingers pressed deeper and you made a sound that wasn't a word. "Aren't you?”
"Yes—yes, please—I'll wait—"
"Good girl." She felt you clench hard at that, the immediate response you always had, and the pull in her stomach went sharp and low. She added a third finger gradually, feeling you stretch around them, heard the sound you made—different from the others, fuller—and held there for a long moment, just letting you feel it, before she began to move again. The fullness of all three, the curl on every stroke, her thumb working your clit without mercy, was intoxicatingly intense and you were gripping the sheets in both fists, making sounds that had moved well past language.
She built it and held it and built it and held it—watching your face the whole time, reading every shift and sound and the way your expression kept cresting toward something and falling back—and when she finally pressed her thumb hard over your clit and curled her fingers one final time and said "okay", the orgasm that broke over you came from somewhere compressed and suddenly released, rolling through you in long deep waves. Your back came fully off the mattress, your thighs locked around her hand, and she worked you through every second of it without stopping until you were trembling and pulling weakly at her wrist.
She slid free, looking at her hand for a moment. Then she started moving down your body.
Her lips at your ribs, your stomach, the soft skin below your navel, each place acknowledged with the warm press of her mouth. She found the mark she'd left at your hip and pressed her mouth there briefly, and then settled between your thighs and looked up at you.
She let the spit gather slow in her mouth and released it—warm and deliberate, landing directly on your cunt—and the sound you made was completely undignified and she felt a low pull of satisfaction move through her at it before she lowered her head.
The first press of her tongue was thorough and exploratory, moving through your folds like she was relearning something she already knew. She didn't go to your clit first. She mapped the rest of you with slow attention, the taste of you moving through her, and you found her hair with one hand and held on without directing. Her tongue moved and she heard every sound you made in response.
Then her hands slid under your thighs and pushed them wide.
She was strong, and the experience of her using that strength to hold your thighs open and simply keep them there—while your body tried instinctively to close them against the overwhelm and found that it couldn't, that she was simply holding you where she wanted you without apparent effort—registered in a category entirely its own. She held you wide and lowered her mouth to your clit and the sound you made was loud enough that she was briefly aware of Liho somewhere in the apartment making a mildly concerned noise, and she didn't slow down at all.
She worked your clit with focused attention, in tight circles that varied just enough to keep your whole body chasing, pressure building and redirecting, her arms locked around your thighs. Then she sealed her lips around it and sucked once, brief and precise, and the sound you made filled the room completely.
She pressed the flat of her tongue against you and held. She didn't move and your hand in her hair was not gentle anymore and she didn’t care. She held your thighs wide and stayed exactly where she was, your back coming fully off the mattress again. The orgasm arrived enormous and deep, rolling through you in long waves that started in your chest and moved outward, and she stayed through every second of it—licking you through each wave, easing gradually as the oversensitivity built—until you were trembling and making sounds that were nearly the word stop.
She lifted her head, looking at you. You were flushed, your chest heaving, barely coherent—exactly what she loved seeing. She crawled up your body again, strong biceps supporting her weight over you. She cocked her head to the side, an idea visibly forming on her face.
"Say ahh," she said, her voice very close to a coo.
Your brain processed that slowly and opened your mouth.
She grinned in satisfaction, leaning over you and letting the spit gather and fall from her lips to your tongue in one slow, warm drip. You felt it land on your tongue, the weight of your taste left in her mouth and the thought of what had just happened at the same time, and then she kissed you—deep and slow, her tongue moving against yours. You barely kept up, your body still reacting to the act in ways you didn’t know how to explain. She pulled back and looked at you for a long moment with that open expression, the one that only surfaced in rooms like this one, and then she reached for the nightstand.
She got the harness on with practiced efficiency, no ceremony, the way she approached everything she'd already decided. She checked the reservoir carefully, ran her thumb along it, and came back between your thighs and looked down at you in the lamplight.
"Still with me?" she asked.
You made a sound that was approximately yes.
"Good." She settled her weight, lining the strap up against your entrance, and she pressed forward slowly, watching your face the entire time. She felt you stretch around the strap as she pushed inside, the ridging catching at your entrance and dragging along your inner walls on the way in, each ridge distinct and registering clearly in your oversensitized body.
Once she bottomed out inside of you, she held there for a long moment—both of you breathing, the strap fully seated, the base of the harness against her clit—and she let you feel the fullness of it, the warmth of what was already inside you, before she started to move.
The rhythm she built was deep and deliberate, long strokes that gave you everything on every push forward, the ridging dragging back along your inner walls on every pull. She felt the base grinding against her clit on each stroke and the accumulation of it was something she had to focus through, the pleasure building steadily alongside yours. At the deepest point the strap filled you completely and she held there on each stroke for a half-beat longer than necessary just to feel it, just to hear the sound you made at the fullness of it.
"You feel incredible," she said in a low tone, and she meant it completely. "So perfect. Taking me so well." She moved deeper and you made a sound that went straight through her. "Mine. You understand that? All of this is mine."
"Yes—" Not really a word.
"Good—fuck—good girl." She kept the rhythm steady and deep, her breathing going less even with each stroke, the base working against her. The sounds you were making were just sounds, incoherent and unmanaged, filling the quiet apartment. She groaned softly on a particularly deep stroke, the sensation of the base against her clit sharp and exact, and she felt your nails in her back at the sound.
Natasha was shaking slightly with the effort of maintaining herself through it, the base relentless, and she pressed the mechanism at the bottom of each deep stroke, small measured releases, and felt more fake cum filling you each time. Every time she bottomed out she could feel it, the increasing warmth and fullness of you around the strap.
She pulled out and grabbed your hips and flipped you, and before you'd finished registering the position change she pushed back inside from behind. The angle was entirely different—deeper, more direct—and you dropped onto your forearms with a sound that filled the room. She grabbed a handful of your hair, gentle enough not to hurt, tilting your head back slightly, and she felt you push back toward her, your body asking for more before you could have formed the words.
She gave it to you. Of course she did.
She moved fast from here, the rhythm she'd been managing coming loose, her hips striking yours with a sound she felt in her sternum. She was groaning on the deep strokes—the base against her clit, the feeling of being inside you, the sounds you were making below her all layering into something she was losing the edges of.
Her hand came down on your ass—clean and sharp—and she felt you clench hard around the strap at the impact and she hissed through her teeth and smoothed her palm over the heat before doing it again, lower. You made a sound that was not a word and she groaned at it and reached around to find your clit with her fingers.
"Come on," she breathed. "Give it to me. You're so—god—" Her rhythm stuttered slightly and it took her longer than either of you expected to steady it. "So perfect. Mine. Say it."
"Yours—" Not quite a word. "Yours—please—"
She felt you clenching toward another orgasm and moved harder and you came apart. She groaned through it with you and then pulled you upright—her arm hauling you back against her chest, the strap still buried inside you, your back against her front. She held you there with one arm across your chest and her hand splayed across your stomach, and you grabbed her forearm with both hands and held on.
She rolled her hips slow and deep and from this angle the strap hit somewhere new and the sound you made against her throat was broken and helpless. You both loved it.
"I've always protected you," she said, into your ear. Low and certain, nothing performed in it, just true—the way the truest things came out of her, plainly, like stating something decided long ago. "I'll always protect you. You know that."
It was said in desperation, like she needed you to know. She needed you to understand it. You were hers, and she would never let anyone harm you. She’d slam every man who annoyed you into a bar, and she would break any law she needed to, if it meant you were safe and happy.
"You're mine," she said. "So fucking mine." Her hips thrusted deeper and you sobbed. "And you're going to feel that. Right now. You're going to feel exactly who you belong to."
You came completely apart.
She held you through every wave and then eased you down—one hand gentle between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward until your face was in the pillow and your hips were up—and she moved with everything she had left. Her arms were trembling on either side of you with the sustained effort of it, the base of the harness grinding against her clit on every stroke, and her groans were real and uncontrolled as she approached her own orgasm. Each thrust brought her close, and it was the way you arched into her even in your current fucked-out state that allowed her to fall over the edge.
She pushed deep and held there, pressing the mechanism for the last time, giving you the full release. Her whole body was shuddering, her breaths uneven through her parted lips, beads of sweat forming on her brow.
Natasha’s forehead dropped to the back of your shoulder, both of you breathing in the quiet apartment. When she could move without falling on top of you, she pulled out slowly, shushing you softly when you whined.
She reached between your thighs after removing the strap—gentle now, entirely gentle, the shift from one thing to this happening without a gap or an announcement, just a change in temperature—and felt where the fake cum had begun to slip out. She pressed it back in slowly, two fingers careful and deliberate. You made a small sound, and she kept going, until she was satisfied.
"There," she said softly. Maybe it was to you. Maybe to herself. Maybe just to the room.
She cleaned you up with a warm cloth from the bathroom—careful with every mark, her lips pressing briefly and without comment to the ones at your hips—and got you into the sheets with the efficient tenderness she brought to this part every time. She lay down beside you, and you turned into her immediately. She let you, her arm coming around your back, her chin at the top of your head. Her fingers began their slow arcs along your spine.
You lay there in the warmth of her and felt your heart rate making its slow return to something resembling normal. The city outside did whatever cities did, and in here there was just the lamplight and both of you breathing.
The mattress dipped, and Natasha smiled into your skin.
Liho landed with the authority of a cat executing a decision that didn't require anyone's input. She walked the full length of the bed, assessed the situation with hazel eyes that missed nothing, turned in a precise circle, and settled against Natasha's side. Her small warm weight pressed against you both.
One small black paw extended and came to rest on your neck, and you didn't move it.
Natasha's hand migrated from your back to Liho's fur and then back, the same slow rhythm for both without any apparent awareness that she was doing it, and you felt that somewhere in your chest in a way that didn't need explaining. The tenderness of being included in the same motion as something else she loved and would never fully admit to loving.
A long quiet settled. Liho purred. Your eyes were closed.
"She’s beautiful, isn’t she?" Natasha mused quietly to Liho, the way she talked to Liho when she thought you were asleep.
Liho purred once, an agreement.
"There was a man," Natasha said, with the serenity of someone reporting mild weather. "He had his hand on her hip." The hand in your hair stilled briefly. Then resumed. "He made a miscalculation."
Liho made a small sound, and Natasha interpreted it as a knowing laugh.
"She's mine," Natasha said, the way she said things she had decided were simply true and required no further support. "And I’m glad she trusts me with that.”
Liho flexed her small paw against your neck.
"Think I’ve been softened up," Natasha laughed, sighing at the end as she stared at the ceiling for a few moments before her eyes came back down to Liho. “Did you ever expect that?”
Liho purred again. Natasha could’ve sworn the cat said “yes, I did”.
Natasha laughed once again, closing her eyes and burying her face in your neck. You smelled like yourself, but you had her scent as well, and that comforted her in a way nothing else could.
Liho was the last to fall asleep, settled against both of you like she knew it was right where she belonged.
And somewhere, probably at home with his golden doodle named “Gracie”, the man from the bar held a bag of frozen peas to his crotch and whimpered with every breath he took.
Summary: There has been a significant decline in your performance at work after a recent relationship breakdown. This has been scaled up to higher management and Wanda Maximoff, CEO of the company, decides if you deserve punishment.
Warnings: This series is 18+ only! It contains smut. Individual warnings are available on each chapter.
CHAPTERS:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Do not copy, translate or publish my work as your own.
Summary: Y/N release a new song that goes viral immediately.
Word Count: 9,398
Request: Yes
Warning: Fluff, Little Smut, (18+), Reader has a P.
Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist
---
---
The internet didn’t explode right away.
It cracked first.
Like a glass under pressure—silent, subtle fractures spreading before anyone realized it was about to shatter.
Y/N’s name had already been trending that morning. That wasn’t unusual anymore. Ever since her debut, everything she touched turned into noise—charts, headlines, speculation. But this… this was different.
Because at midnight, without warning, she dropped a new single.
“Pillowtalk.”
No teaser.
No countdown.
No explanation.
Just a black cover, her name, and the track.
---
Lizzie’s POV
Elizabeth woke up to the sound of her phone vibrating relentlessly against the nightstand. She groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow—Y/N’s pillow, she noted absently, still faintly smelling like her—before blindly reaching for the phone.
“...what,” she mumbled, eyes barely open.
Notifications flooded her screen.
Mary-Kate: DID YOU HEAR IT??
Ashley: Lizzie. Call me. Now.
Trent: Uh… so is this about you or—
Unknown Number: “Pillowtalk?? Girl???”
Lizzie frowned.
“…what did she do now…”
She tapped one of the links. A music app opened, and the song started.
---
Climb on board…
We’ll go slow and high tempo…
Lizzie froze.
Her eyes snapped open.
“…oh no.”
---
Y/N’s POV
Across the city, Y/N was very much awake—pacing, phone in hand. Regret? No. Nerves? Definitely. She stared at the ceiling of her apartment, jaw tight as notifications rolled in faster than she could process. Streams skyrocketing. Fans losing their minds. Speculation threads already forming.
And then—
Lizzie ❤️ calling…
Y/N stopped pacing immediately. “…shit.” She answered.
“Hey—”
“Did you write a sex song about me?”
Straight to it.
Y/N blinked. “…good morning to you too?”
“Y/N.”
There it was—that tone. The one that made her both want to laugh and immediately behave. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, first of all—”
“—it’s very detailed,” Lizzie cut in.
“I—”
“Second of all, my entire family just woke me up.”
Y/N winced. “…okay, that part I’m sorry about.”
“Y/N.”
“…yes?”
A pause. Then, softer—dangerously softer: “…is it about me?”
Y/N leaned back against the wall, staring at nothing. There it was. The real question. Not teasing. Not playful. Something vulnerable underneath it. And suddenly, all the confidence she had at midnight? Gone.
“…you tell me,” she said quietly.
Lizzie huffed on the other end. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m serious,” Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You’ve been in my life long enough. You know how I write.”
Lizzie didn’t answer right away—because she did know. Y/N didn’t just write songs. She documented feelings. Moments. People. And this song—the intimacy, the tension, the want threaded through every line—
Her cheeks flushed. She pressed her lips together, pacing once before dragging a hand through her hair. “…you’re unbelievable,” Lizzie muttered, but there was no real bite to it now—just warmth, familiarity… recognition.
On the other end, Y/N smiled softly. Not nervous this time. Just… fond.
“You know,” Y/N said, voice quieter, steadier, “it’s about this girl I’ve been dating for over six months.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes immediately, even as her heart picked up. “Oh really? Tell me more,” she said dryly.
Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. “She’s kind of a menace. Steals my clothes. Judges my cooking. Wakes up grumpy if I’m not there—”
“I do not—”
“—and I’ve been in love with her for a while now.”
That stopped her.
Not because it was new—it wasn’t. Y/N had said it before, softly, late at night, half-asleep, pressed into her skin like a secret meant only for her. But this—hearing it now, wrapped inside a song the whole world was dissecting… it hit differently.
“…you’re really leaning into this, huh,” Lizzie murmured, quieter now.
Y/N smiled. “I mean, it’s not exactly breaking news.”
Lizzie let out a small breath, shoulders relaxing despite herself. “No,” she admitted. “…it’s not.”
A pause settled between them—comfortable, lived-in. Then Lizzie spoke again, quieter now. “…come over tonight.”
Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There was a soft shift on the other end, like Y/N had straightened, like something in her had warmed at the invitation. “I’ll be there.”
Lizzie nodded to herself, even though she knew Y/N couldn’t see it. “…good.”
A beat. Then, softer—almost shy, but not quite: “And for the record…”
Y/N hummed. “Yeah?”
Lizzie’s lips curved, her heart steady now. “I really like the song.”
Y/N’s smile grew, slow and certain. “Good,” she said. “Because I wrote it thinking about you.”
Lizzie shook her head, huffing under her breath—but she was smiling. Of course she was. Because this wasn’t the beginning. It wasn’t some sudden confession. It was just them—six months in, already in love, and now, apparently… with a hit song to prove it.
---
Lizzie’s POV
The apartment felt quieter after the call ended. Not empty—never empty—but… full in a different way, like the air itself had shifted. I stared at my phone for a few seconds longer than necessary, Y/N’s contact still open, her last words lingering in my ears. Because I wrote it thinking about you.
God.
I dropped the phone onto the bed beside me and fell back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “…she’s insane,” I whispered, but my lips were already curving. Because this wasn’t new.
That was the thing. Anyone else listening to Pillowtalk would think it was some bold confession, some reckless, romantic reveal—but they didn’t hear her the way I did.
They didn’t know how she sounded at 2 a.m., voice low and soft, tangled up in me as she murmured I love you like it was the easiest thing in the world. They didn’t know how she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
They didn’t know the way she felt.
I did.
And somehow… that made the song feel even more intimate—not because it was the first time, but because it wasn’t. Because it was ours—just… louder now.
I turned my head, glancing at the nightstand—at her hoodie half hanging off the edge, at the faint imprint of where she’d slept last time she stayed over. My chest tightened, soft and warm. “…six months,” I murmured. It hadn’t felt like six months. It felt like something that had just… settled into place, like she had always been there and I just hadn’t noticed until suddenly I couldn’t imagine anything without her in it.
And now the entire world was trying to piece her together through a three-minute song.
I huffed, sitting up again and reaching for my phone. Big mistake. Notifications exploded across the screen the second it lit up, but curiosity got the better of me anyway. I tapped into Y/N’s page—and immediately, chaos. Comments flooding in faster than I could even read them.
“WHO IS THIS ABOUT???”
“SHE’S IN LOVE I CAN HEAR IT 😭”
“I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE—PICK ME Y/N”
“WHOEVER SHE’S DATING IS LIVING MY DREAM”
“GIRL WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER???”
I snorted despite myself, scrolling—thread after thread, fans dissecting every lyric like it was a crime scene. Some were sweet, some unhinged, most were… thirsty.
My eyes paused on one:
“I wish I was the one she’s singing about.” Another: “The way she sings?? I’d fold instantly.”
I shook my head, lips pressing together to hide the smile creeping in. “…you have no idea,” I murmured.
But then—another comment.
“Have you SEEN her Calvin Klein shoot?? Whoever she’s with is GOD’S FAVORITE.”
I froze. Oh. That. That week.
I groaned, dropping my head back dramatically. “…don’t remind me.” I could still picture it perfectly—those photos, the way she looked at the camera, the comments that followed, the absolute feral energy her fans had unleashed.
I had been so annoyed—not at her, never at her—but at… everything else. At the fact that everyone got to look. At the fact that people talked about her like she wasn’t—
Mine.
I rolled onto my side, staring at my phone again. And yet… now? Now I was just smiling. Softly. Because the comments kept coming—
“WHO IS SHE AND HOW DID SHE PULL Y/N???”
“SHE MUST BE INSANE LEVELS OF LUCKY.”
“I’D NEVER SHUT UP IF Y/N WROTE THIS ABOUT ME.”
My chest warmed, a quiet, almost smug kind of warmth. “…yeah,” I whispered. Because they didn’t know. They didn’t know what it felt like to have Y/N’s hands on you, steady and sure. To hear her voice drop just for you. To be the one she *looked at* when the world wasn’t watching. They didn’t know how soft she could be—how gentle, how *hers* she was when it was just the two of us.
I locked my phone, bringing it down to rest against my chest. A small smile stayed on my lips. Because for all the noise—for all the speculation, for all the people wishing, hoping, imagining—
Y/N was mine.
Only mine.
And tonight?
I’d have her right here again. Not through a song, not through a screen—just…
Mine.
My phone buzzed again against my chest.
I groaned. “Please don’t be—”
Ashley.
Of course.
I unlocked it slowly this time, bracing myself.
Ashley:
So… we’re all just going to ignore the fact your girlfriend dropped the horniest love song of the year?
I snorted. Before I could even type back—another notification.
Mary-Kate:
Be serious for one second. Is this the same girl you’ve been secretly smiling at your phone about for six months?
“…I hate both of you,” I muttered under my breath, already typing.
Lizzie:
You’re both dramatic.
Three dots appeared instantly. Then—
Ashley:
That’s not a no.
Mary-Kate:
That’s VERY much not a no.
I pressed my lips together, fighting the smile that was trying to give me away—even though they couldn’t see me.
Lizzie:
You already know I’m dating her.
Ashley:
Dating is one thing.
Being the muse of THAT song is another.
I rolled my eyes, flopping back against the pillows again. God, they were relentless.
Mary-Kate:
Okay, jokes aside—
That made me pause.
Because Mary-Kate only said that when she actually meant something.
Another message came through.
Mary-Kate:
We need to meet her.
My fingers stilled over the screen.
Ashley:
Yeah. Before this whole thing goes public and suddenly she’s everywhere with you.
A small knot formed in my chest—not bad, just… real. Because they weren’t wrong. This—whatever this was turning into—It wasn’t going to stay quiet forever.
I sat up again, pulling my knees in slightly as I read the next message.
Mary-Kate:
If she’s important to you, Lizzie… we want to know her.
Ashley:
Also I need to see if she’s actually worthy of inspiring THAT song.
I huffed out a laugh at that, shaking my head.
“…you two are unbelievable.”
But my heart had softened. Because underneath the teasing—they cared about me. About who I was letting into my life.
And Y/N…
My gaze drifted briefly to the hoodie still draped over the chair. To the quiet presence of her that lingered everywhere.
“…she is,” I murmured.
More to myself than anything.
Then I looked back at my phone and typed.
Lizzie:
You’ll meet her.
A pause. Then I added—
Lizzie:
Soon.
The replies came instantly.
Ashley:
Oh my god it’s serious serious.
Mary-Kate:
Of course it is Ash! They’ve been dating for six months!
I laughed, shaking my head as I locked my phone again.
“Idiots,” I said fondly.
But the word soon lingered in my mind. Because tonight—
Tonight wasn’t about family. Or the public, or any of that. It was just us.
But after that?
After the song…
After everything it stirred up—things were changing.
And maybe—Just maybe—I was ready for them to.
---
At Night
Lizzie’s POV
By the time I got home, my head was full.
Meetings always did that—too many voices, too many opinions, too many versions of my future being laid out in neat little bullet points like it was something that could actually be controlled.
My PA had gone over scripts, scheduling conflicts, press timelines… the usual. I said yes to some things. Maybe to others. No to a few I already knew I didn’t want. But through all of it—there was this quiet pull in the back of my mind.
7 p.m.
I slipped my shoes off by the door, exhaling as the silence of my apartment wrapped around me again.
Finally.
Just me.
Well…
Me—and her, in all the little ways she seemed to exist here even when she wasn’t.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Right on cue.
Y/N ❤️:
Still alive? Or did your meetings kill you?
I smiled instantly, dropping my bag onto the chair.
Lizzie:
Barely. I think I signed my soul away to at least two projects.
The reply came fast.
Y/N ❤️:
Damn. Should I be jealous?
I scoffed, walking toward the kitchen.
Lizzie:
You wish.
Three dots.
Y/N ❤️:
I mean… I am the one getting you tonight, so I think I’m winning.
My cheeks warmed.
God.
I leaned against the counter, biting back a smile.
Lizzie:
Don’t get cocky.
Y/N ❤️:
Too late.
Another message followed right after.
Y/N ❤️:
I’ll be there around 7. Still at the studio right now.
I glanced at the time. Just past five. Two hours.
My chest did that annoying little thing again—tightening, but in a way that felt more like anticipation than anything else.
Lizzie:
Okay.
I hesitated. Then—
Lizzie:
Drive safe.
A pause. Longer this time.
Then—
Y/N ❤️:
I can’t wait to see you.
And with that I smiling stupidly. I stared at that for a second longer than necessary before locking my phone.
“…okay,” I murmured to myself.
Two hours. I pushed off the counter, looking around my apartment again.
Still clean.
Still… very obviously lived-in by two people, if anyone looked close enough.
I walked into the bedroom, opening my closet without really thinking about it.
My hand hovered over a few options.
Something casual?
Something comfortable?
Something that would absolutely get a reaction out of her?
I huffed a quiet laugh.
“…why am I like this?”
Because it mattered. Because she mattered.
I pulled out one of her shirts instead. Of course I did. Slipping it on, I caught my reflection in the mirror—hair a little messy from the day, her shirt falling just right on me.
My lips curved slightly.
“…yeah. That’ll do.”
I left the room, glancing at the clock again.
6:12 p.m.
Still time.
I tried to distract myself—turned on the TV, flipped through channels, didn’t actually watch anything. Checked my phone. Put it down. Picked it up again.
Scrolled. Locked it.
“…this is ridiculous,” I muttered.
But my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. Because no matter how many times she’d been here—no matter how normal this should’ve felt by now—it didn’t. Not completely. There was always that little spark. That anticipation. That pull.
And tonight…
After the song.
After everything it stirred up—
It felt just a little more intense.
6:47 p.m.
I stood up.
Paced once.
Twice.
Then stopped in front of the door, like somehow that would make time move faster.
“…relax,” I told myself.
As if that was going to happen.
6:55.
The handle moved. I blinked.
“…wait—”
The door unlocked before I could even react, and then it opened—
And there she was.
Like she had just appeared.
Y/N stood there, slightly breathless, hair a little messy like she’d run a hand through it too many times, jacket still on—
And the second her eyes landed on me—
She smiled.
Wide.
Immediate.
Like it had been longer than three days. Like those three days had actually mattered.
My chest tightened.
“Hi—”
I didn’t even get to finish.
She stepped in, closing the door behind her without looking, already moving toward me—and then her arms were around me, pulling me in like she’d been waiting all day for this.
Like she needed it.
The height difference made it effortless. I barely had time to react before I was pressed against her, her warmth wrapping around me—her face burying into the side of my neck.
“Hey,” she murmured, voice soft, a little rough.
I exhaled, my hands coming up instantly, gripping onto her like I had something to prove.
“Hi,” I whispered back.
God. Three days. It wasn’t long. It shouldn’t have felt like this.
But it did.
She held me tighter, like she was making up for lost time. “Gosh, I missed you,” she mumbled against my skin.
And this time—I didn’t tease her.
“…I missed you too,” I admitted, quieter.
She stilled for half a second at that, like she felt it—really felt it—before pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes softened, something warm and a little undone flickering there. “Yeah?” she asked gently.
I nodded, not trusting myself to say it again without sounding… too much. But she already knew. She always did.
And then—she kissed me.
Not rushed. Not playful. Slow. Like she was grounding herself, like she was reminding herself I was actually here. My hand slid up to her jaw, holding her there as I leaned into it, letting it linger just a little longer than usual.
When we finally pulled back, my forehead rested briefly against hers. “…you’re early,” I murmured softly.
Y/N smiled faintly. “Couldn’t stay away.”
That did something to my chest. Of course it did.
Her gaze dropped slightly—and she paused. “…is that my shirt?” she asked.
I glanced down, then back up at her, completely unapologetic. “Maybe.”
Her smile returned, softer this time. “…looks better on you.”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t move—didn’t step away. Because after three days, this—this was exactly where I wanted to be.
Her smile lingered for a second longer before she finally shifted, like she’d just remembered something. “Oh—” Y/N pulled back slightly, one arm still loosely around my waist as she lifted the other.
A takeout bag.
I blinked. “…you brought food?”
She raised a brow, a hint of amusement slipping into her expression. “You just noticed?”
I glanced down at it, then back up at her, a little sheepish. “I was… distracted.”
Y/N huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, I could tell.” She gently nudged the bag toward me. “Figured you wouldn’t have eaten properly,” she added, tone casual—but there was that underlying care she didn’t even try to hide anymore.
My chest warmed. “…I had a meeting,” I defended weakly.
“Exactly,” she said, like that proved her point.
I rolled my eyes, but took the bag from her anyway, peeking inside. The smell hit immediately. “…oh my god.”
Y/N watched my reaction, clearly pleased with herself. “Yeah?”
I looked up at her, genuinely impressed. “You got my favorite.”
“I know.”
Of course she did.
I shook my head, smiling as I walked toward the kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” she cut in easily, shrugging off her jacket.
I turned back just in time to see her toss it over the chair, already making herself at home like she always did—like this place was just as much hers as it was mine. And honestly? It kind of was.
“You eat yet?” I asked, opening the containers.
Y/N shook her head, leaning casually against the counter across from me. “Not really.”
I paused, glancing up at her. “Then we’re sharing.”
She smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
I grabbed two sets of chopsticks, handing one to her as I nudged the food between us. We stayed by the counter at first, eating straight from the containers like we always did when neither of us felt like being proper—comfortable, easy, familiar.
But it didn’t take long before the silence shifted—subtle, but noticeable. Because there was something sitting between us. Unsaid.
I glanced at her, catching the way she was focused on her food a little too much. “…so,” I started casually, leaning my hip against the counter. “The song.”
Y/N’s chopsticks paused mid-air for a second. Then she resumed eating like nothing happened. “Mm,” she hummed. “What about it?”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. “You really just dropped that,” I said. “No warning. No heads-up. Nothing.”
She glanced up at me, already reading the tone behind it. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said simply.
I blinked. “…a surprise?”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah.”
“For who?” I asked, half incredulous.
“For everyone,” she replied—then her eyes softened slightly when they met mine. “For you, too.”
That… did something to me. But still—
“You couldn’t have, I don’t know, mentioned it?” I pressed, though there wasn’t real anger behind it. “Like, ‘hey Lizzie, I’m about to release a very—very—specific song’?”
Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, scratching the back of her neck. “Okay, yeah… maybe I should’ve.”
I raised a brow. “Maybe?”
She exhaled, her expression shifting—more serious now. “I didn’t think it would hit like this,” she admitted. “The reactions. The speculation… all of it.” Her gaze flickered over my face, searching. “And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she added quietly. “So if it did, I—”
“Hey.”
I didn’t even let her finish. My chopsticks clattered softly onto the counter as I stepped forward, closing the small distance between us.
She looked up, slightly caught off guard.
I didn’t say anything else—just moved.
One second I was standing in front of her—the next, I was settling onto her lap, turning slightly so I was facing her properly.
Her hands instinctively came to my waist, steadying me.
“Liz—”
“I liked it,” I said immediately.
She blinked.
“…what?”
“I liked the song,” I repeated, softer this time, my hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “A lot.”
Something in her expression shifted—like tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding started to ease.
“You did?” she asked, almost careful.
I nodded, a small smile pulling at my lips.
“Yeah.”
Her thumbs brushed absently against my sides, grounding, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
“…it didn’t freak you out?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“No.”
A pause. Then, quieter—“It’s not the first time you’ve said those things to me,” I added. “It’s just… the first time the world heard it too.”
Y/N watched me for a second, really watched me.
“…and you’re okay with that?” she asked.
I held her gaze.
There was still that carefulness in her eyes—like she was bracing for something, like she didn’t want to push too far.
God.
She really didn’t get it sometimes.
My hands slid up slightly on her shoulders, grounding myself before I spoke.
“I love you too,” I said softly.
The words landed between us—familiar, but still heavy in the best way. Her breath caught just a little.
And I didn’t look away.
“I’ve loved you,” I continued, quieter but steadier now. “This doesn’t change that.”
Her eyes searched mine, like she was making sure—really making sure.
So I gave her more.
“And I don’t care if the world knows about us,” I added.
That did it.
I felt the shift in her hands immediately—tightening just slightly at my waist, like something in her had finally settled.
“Lizzie…” she murmured.
“I mean it,” I said, brushing my thumb lightly along her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a lot. And yeah, people are going to talk and speculate and be… insane.”
That pulled the faintest smile from her.
“But they already are,” I added softly. “And none of that changes what this is.”
I leaned in just a little closer.
“What we are.”
Her gaze dropped briefly to my lips, then back up again. Something warm. Something certain.
“…you sure?” she asked, almost like she needed to hear it one more time.
I smiled.
“Yeah.”
A small pause.
Then, a little teasing—because I couldn’t help it:
“Besides,” I murmured, “if you’re going to write songs like that about me…”
Her lips twitched.
“…kind of hard to stay a secret.”
She let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something more emotional.
“Fair point,” she said.
But then her expression softened again, deeper this time.
More real.
Her hand came up, brushing lightly against my cheek.
“…I meant what I said too,” she murmured.
“I know.”
And I did.
Because I could feel it—
In the way she held me.
In the way she looked at me.
In everything she didn’t even have to say anymore.
Her forehead rested briefly against mine.
“…you’re really okay with this?” she asked one last time.
I didn’t hesitate.
“I’m okay with you.”
That was the answer. That had always been the answer. And whatever came with it—the world, the noise, the attention—
None of it mattered as much as this.
As her.
Y/N smiled then. Not the confident, teasing smile the world knew. Something softer. Something only I got to see.
“…come here,” she murmured.
I was already there.
Her lips were already on mine before I could say anything else.
This time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful.
It deepened almost immediately—like something that had been building all day, all week, all three days apart finally snapping into place.
I inhaled sharply against her, my hands sliding up into her hair as hers tightened at my waist, pulling me closer—closer—until there was barely any space left between us.
“Y/N…” I breathed, but it came out softer than I intended.
She answered by tilting her head, kissing me deeper, more certain—like she didn’t want to stop now that she had me again.
And I didn’t want her to.
God, I didn’t.
My fingers curled slightly in her hair, holding her there as I leaned into it, completely giving in to the warmth, the familiarity, the pull of her.
Her hands shifted—one pressing firmer against my lower back, grounding me, keeping me right where she wanted me.
And somewhere in the middle of it, I start to grind down on her lap.
It wasn’t intentional. Not really. Just instinct. Just the way my body reacted to hers—
The way I shifted on her lap, closer, seeking more without even thinking about it.
A soft, breathless sound slipped out of me before I could stop it. The sound was barely more than a ghost, but in the quiet of the kitchen, it felt deafening.
Y/N let out a low, rough groan against my mouth, and I felt it everywhere—vibrating through my chest, settling deep in my stomach. It was raw, unfiltered want. The kind of sound that never belonged in public, never belonged to the polished version of us the world saw.
Hearing it now, after everything today, made something in my blood spark.
I didn’t pull away. I leaned into it.
My hands tightened in her hair, and I started to move—slow, deliberate. A gentle roll of my hips, pressing myself down into the heat of her lap, testing, teasing.
Y/N hands, steady on my waist just seconds ago, suddenly gripped harder. Fingers digging into the fabric of the shirt—her shirt—that I was wearing.
“Lizzie,” she rasped.
Her voice cracked just slightly as she pulled back an inch, her forehead still resting against mine. Her breathing was uneven, her eyes dark and completely locked onto me.
I didn’t stop.
If anything, I slowed down, making every movement count. Every shift of my hips more intentional, more precise.
And then I felt it.
That firm, growing pressure beneath me—impossible to miss, impossible to misunderstand. The heat of her, even through the denim, sending a sharp, electric feeling straight through me.
My lips curved before I could stop them.
Not soft. Not shy.
A smirk.
Because I knew exactly what I was doing to her.
“Oh…” I whispered, letting it trail into a quiet hum as I shifted again, deliberately chasing that friction. “Is that for me?”
Her eyes fluttered shut, her jaw tightening like she was trying to hold herself together—and failing.
Another groan slipped out of her, deeper this time.
“You know it is,” she managed, her hands sliding from my waist down to my hips, guiding me—or maybe just holding on. “God, Lizzie… you’re going to be the death of me.”
I let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, the sound brushing right against her lips.
Leaning in, I nipped lightly at her jaw before murmuring into her ear, “Good. Because after that song… I think you owe me.”
I pressed down once more—slow, firm—feeling the way her breath hitched, the way her whole body reacted under me.
The rest of the world could keep talking, guessing, analyzing. Right here, in this dim kitchen—there was only one thing that mattered.
And I was sitting right on top of it.
The heat in the kitchen had become too much—too consuming, too intense to stay contained against the counter. I barely remember how we moved, only that I didn’t let her go for more than a second before we ended up in the living room, collapsing together onto the couch.
The change of space didn’t cool anything down. It made it worse.
The kiss deepened instantly—hungrier, more desperate—like the three days apart had left something aching under my skin that only she could fix. My hands moved over her without thinking, tracing the lines of her body through her clothes, relearning, needing more.
Too much fabric.
I grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up, the motion urgent, wordless. She understood immediately, breaking the kiss just long enough to lift her arms so I could drag it over her head and toss it somewhere behind me.
The second her skin was bare, she was back on me—her mouth crashing into mine with a force that made my head spin.
Then it was my turn.
Her hands found the bottom of the oversized shirt I was wearing—her shirt—and tugged it up and off. The moment it cleared my head, our skin met, and—
God.
It was like fire.
I let out a shaky breath as I settled back into her lap, straddling her, my chest rising and falling against hers. Without the layers between us, everything felt sharper. Every movement, every shift of my hips—
I felt her.
Firm. Heavy. Pressing through the denim of her jeans. Familiar.
My lips curved slightly despite how unsteady my breathing had become.
“You’re so desperate for me tonight,” I murmured against her mouth, the smirk slipping back into place even as my voice came out softer than I intended.
Her hands slid down to the small of my back, pulling me closer—flush against her.
“Can you blame me?” she breathed. “I spent twelve hours in a booth singing about exactly this. Having the real thing is… a lot better.”
Then she moved.
Her hips tilted up, pressing against me in a way that made my head fall back, a sharp gasp tearing out of my throat before I could stop it. The directness of it—the way she reacted to me so openly, so unapologetically—it sent a rush straight through me.
My hands moved on instinct, fumbling slightly in my haste as I reached for the button of her jeans. I popped it open, dragging the zipper down, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.
She exhaled—long, shaky—as she was released from the constraint of the denim, the tension eased.
And I felt it. Her cock, already slick and aching, sprang free, pulsing against my stomach. My eyes dropped, my breath catching as I took her in, my hand moving almost automatically, wrapping around her—warm. Soft. Alive under my touch.
I tightened my grip, drawing a slow, deliberate stroke that pulled a broken sound from her.
“Lizzie…” she warned, her head dropping on my shoulder, her voice strained.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, my voice dropping—lower, steadier, something possessive threading through it without effort. I shifted slightly, moving in a way that teased both of us, letting the contact build just enough to make her react again.
“I’ve got you,” I repeated softly, closer this time, my lips brushing near her ear. “And I’m not going anywhere.” The “soon” I’d promised earlier—everything waiting outside this moment—felt impossibly far away. Right now, none of that existed. No public. No expectations. No noise. Just her beneath me—and the undeniable, electric reality of us.
The air felt thick—heavy with the scent of us, with everything that had been building since that song dropped at midnight.
I didn’t slow my hand.
I kept that same steady rhythm—firm, knowing—and I felt the exact moment her composure started to crack. She leaned into me, her hips lifting instinctively into my touch, like she couldn’t help it anymore. Our kiss turned messy—desperate, teeth catching, breath mixing—until she pulled away, like she needed air just as much as she needed more of me.
Then her face was in my neck.
Her breath hit hot and uneven against my skin, and I shivered as she started moving—slowly, deliberately—her lips dragging along my jaw, then down my throat. Every small bite, every soft press of her tongue after, pulled sharp, shaky breaths out of me before I could stop them.
“Don’t stop,” she murmured against my skin.
I felt it more than I heard it.
“God, Lizzie… don’t stop.”
I wasn’t going to. My grip tightened, my thumb sweeping over the crown of Y/N’s cock, catching the beads of moisture gathering there. I watched her—really watched her—the way her eyes rolled back, the tension in her arms as she braced herself against the couch.
It did something to me.Seeing her like that. Undone. Because of me.
But she wasn’t the only one losing control.
Her hands moved over me, sliding up my sides, fingers spreading over my ribs like she was feeling everything—my breath, my heartbeat. Then higher, thumbs brushing just beneath my breasts before her mouth followed.
I gasped softly, my head tipping back as she moved lower, her kisses turning slower, heavier, more deliberate along my collarbone. My fingers tightened in her hair, holding her there without even thinking.
And when Y/N reached my chest—She didn’t hesitate. The moment her mouth closed around my nipple, her tongue moving in a way that sent a sharp, direct pulse straight through me—I gasped, my hips jerking forward on instinct.
The movement pressed me harder against the base of Y/N’s pulsing length, the friction sudden and overwhelming, and for a second it was almost too much.
But I didn’t stop. If anything, I sped up. My hand moved faster, more urgent now, feeling the way she was swelling, the way everything in her was starting to give.
I could feel it—the way she was winding up again, every small break in her control finally collapsing into something much sharper, much heavier. And I held onto it. Pushing her right to the edge.
The room felt smaller, like everything had narrowed down to just us—the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven, and the soft brush of skin against skin.
I barely had time to think before her hands moved to the clasp of my bra. Even with the slight tremor in her fingers, she was sure, steady. A quick flick—and it gave way, the lace loosening and falling from me. Y/N pulled back just enough to reach for the clasp of my bra, her fingers sure and steady despite the slight tremor of adrenaline. With a deft flick, she released it, letting the lace fall away.
A sharp, cut-off gasp slipped from my lips.
Y/N’s mouth was on me immediately—warm, firm, claiming—while her hand cupped the other one. The sensation hit all at once, overwhelming and grounding at the same time, like the only thing keeping me tethered while everything else blurred.
My hand never stopped. Still wrapped around her, still moving—firm, slick—feeling every pulse, every shift in her as she reacted. My other hand stayed tangled in her hair, holding her there, silently urging her not to stop.
“God, you’re so good to me,” she groaned against my skin. I felt it more than I heard it, the vibration running straight through me. She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark—heavy with something deeper than just want.
“Lizzie, you’re perfect. Everything about you.”
The smirk I’d been holding onto slipped away. All I could do was look at her, breathless, my chest rising and falling as I felt the way she harder and harder beneath me—the tension building in her thighs, her breathing turning sharp, uneven. Her cock starting to throb in my hand.
“Lizzie… I’m close,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “I’m so close.”
I didn’t answer. I just tightened my grip. My hand moved faster, more focused, every movement deliberate as I pushed her closer. My thumb brushed the crown focusing there, and her head fell back to my shoulder, a deep, raw sound tearing from her.
Then suddenly—
She surged forward, pulling me into a kiss that stole whatever breath I had left.
And I felt it. Her whole body tensed, a sharp shudder running through her as a hot, heavy release coated my fingers as she came in my hand—hot, overwhelming, the force of it making her go weak against me. She collapsed into me, arms wrapping tight, almost desperate, her face pressed into my shoulder as she rode it out.
I held her there, my own breathing uneven, my heart pounding against hers. For a moment, neither of us moved. Just that—our hearts racing, bodies pressed together.
Then she shifted.
Before I could react, her arms hooked under my thighs and she flipped us in one smooth motion. A breathless laugh escaped me as I landed back against the couch, her body now above mine.
Y/N reached for her bra, tossing it aside like it didn’t matter anymore, her hands already moving to the waistband of my jeans. I looked up at her—and the look in her eyes made my breath catch again.
Bright. Focused. Dangerous in a way I knew meant I was in trouble.
“My turn,” she whispered, her smile slow, certain.
My breath hitched as I felt her tug at my jeans, my heart already racing for what came next.
---
Next Morning
The next morning came softly—warm, quiet.
And then—
Ding dong.
I groaned, my face still buried somewhere warm and familiar. “…no,” I mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Ding dong.
I shifted slightly—and that’s when I realized.
I wasn’t in bed.
I was… on the couch.
More specifically—on Y/N.
My eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the windows. Y/N was still asleep beneath me, completely still except for the steady rise and fall of her chest. One arm was wrapped securely around my back, the other resting loosely at my side, like even in her sleep she hadn’t wanted to let me go.
And we were—
Oh.
Right.
Naked.
I huffed a quiet, sleepy laugh, my lips curving as I took her in. “…you’re going to have the worst back pain,” I murmured softly. Because somehow, at some point, we’d ended up here—half tangled, half collapsed—falling asleep in the middle of everything. There was a blanket thrown over us, barely covering anything, like one of us had tried… and then given up halfway.
I didn’t remember when. Or how. I must’ve passed out.
But still—she’d held onto me. Even like this.
My fingers lifted, brushing gently through her hair, slow and careful. God. She looked peaceful. Soft in a way the world never got to see.
Ding dong.
I groaned again, dropping my forehead lightly against her shoulder. “…whoever that is, I hate them.”
The bell rang again. Persistent. Annoying. Very much not going away.
I sighed, reluctantly pushing myself up—careful not to wake her as I slipped out of her arms. She shifted slightly at the loss, brow furrowing just a little, but didn’t wake. “Sorry,” I whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder.
Then I stood.
And immediately paused.
“…oh my god.”
The living room was a mess. Clothes everywhere—on the floor, on the couch, half hanging off the table. And—
I pressed my lips together, trying, and failing, not to smile. Used condoms. Two on the floor, one definitely on the coffee table, wrappers scattered around like we hadn’t even tried to be discreet.
“…wow,” I muttered under my breath.
I shook my head, heat creeping up my neck despite everything. “…okay.”
Grabbing a robe quickly, I slipped it on and tied it tight before making my way to the door, running a hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to look presentable.
Ding dong.
“I’m coming!” I called, still a little hoarse. I reached for the handle, pulling the door open—and froze.
“…oh my god.”
There she was. Mary-Kate. Standing on my doorstep like she hadn’t just flown across the country on a mission, looking way too pleased with herself.
Her eyes flicked over me instantly—taking in the robe, the messy hair, the very obvious context. Her lips curved. “Well,” she said casually. “Good morning.” She leaned slightly to peek past me into the apartment. “…I came to meet your girlfriend,” she added, far too calm.
I just stared at her.
“…you said soon,” she continued, completely unapologetic. “I interpreted that as immediately.”
I blinked once. Twice. Then glanced back over my shoulder—at the very naked, very asleep singer currently on my couch, and the very incriminating state of my living room—then back at her.
“…you have got to be kidding me.”
Mary-Kate’s smile only grew. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
I immediately stepped out just enough to block the doorway. “No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not. You can’t just—show up like this—”
“Lizzie,” Mary-Kate cut in, already trying to peek around me again, “you’re wearing a robe at”—she checked her phone—“eight in the morning.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to take in the details. “…and your hair looks like that.”
I deadpanned. “Thank you.”
Her smirk turned sharper. “So she’s here.”
I crossed my arms. “That is not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.”
She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it worse. “…I can smell it.”
I froze. “…you can—what?”
Mary-Kate waved a hand vaguely. “Not literally. Just—” she gestured toward me, then past me—“the vibe.”
I stared at her. “…you’re insane.”
“Move,” she said simply.
“No.”
“Lizzie.”
“No.”
A beat.
Then Mary-Kate spoke again, calm as ever—“Is she naked?”
I choked. “Okay—nope—conversation over.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, she is.”
I pressed my lips together, trying very hard not to laugh and scream at the same time. “You are not coming in here right now,” I said, lowering my voice. “She’s asleep.”
That made her pause. A small shift. Because despite everything—she wasn’t completely heartless.
“…I flew all the way here,” Mary-Kate said, softer this time—but still stubborn.
“And you’ll survive waiting five minutes,” I shot back.
She studied me for a second. Then, unexpectedly—she smiled. Small. Knowing.
“…you really like her,” she said.
I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
No deflection. No teasing. Just—yeah.
Her expression softened, just for a second. “…okay,” she said, holding her hands up slightly. “I’ll behave.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know how to behave.”
“That’s fair,” she admitted.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “…give me a minute.”
She nodded—reluctantly.
I stepped back inside, closing the door just enough to leave them outside, then leaned against it for half a second. “…oh my god,” I whispered to myself.
Then I pushed off and turned—and immediately softened. Because there she was. Still on the couch. Still asleep. Barely shifted from where I left her, except now one arm was stretched out where I had been, like she’d reached for me even in her sleep.
My chest tightened.
“…hey,” I murmured quietly, walking back over. I crouched beside Y/N, brushing my fingers gently through her hair again.
She stirred this time—brows furrowing slightly before her eyes blinked open, slow and heavy with sleep. “…Lizzie?” she mumbled, voice rough.
“Hi.”
She squinted up at me, clearly still half asleep. “…what time is it?”
“Too early,” I said.
That earned a faint, sleepy huff from her. Then her gaze focused a little more. “…why are you dressed?”
I smiled despite myself. “Because—”
I didn’t get to finish.
Her hand caught my wrist, tugging me forward before I could react. A soft yelp left me as I lost my balance, landing right back on top of her, the blanket shifting around us. “Y/N—” I started, but it came out more breath than protest. She was already smiling—sleepy, warm, dangerous in that quiet way of hers.
“Mm,” she hummed, eyes still half-lidded as her hands settled at my waist. “You left.”
“I was gone for like—two minutes,” I said, but my voice softened automatically as she pulled me closer.
“Too long,” she murmured.
Her fingers brushed the edge of my robe, slowly, like she was rediscovering me all over again. My breath caught slightly.
“Y/N…” I warned, though there wasn’t much strength behind it.
She looked up at me, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
“What?”
Her hands slid a little higher, pushing the robe open just enough to expose my shoulder. “You are not supposed to wear this yet,” she added, quieter now.
My breath hitched as her lips brushed just under my ear—soft at first, then a light nip that sent a sharp shiver down my spine. I bit my lip instantly, trying to keep quiet, but it barely helped.
“Y/N…” I whispered, already losing a bit of my resolve.
She hummed against my skin, clearly pleased with herself, her voice dropping as she murmured teasingly into my ear—“Thought you liked it when I take my time…”
That did it.
I turned my head, catching her lips in a kiss that was anything but slow this time—harder, needier, like the night before hadn’t been nearly enough. Her hands moved instinctively, sliding along my sides, pushing the robe further open—and then one of them lifted, settling against my chest—
“Wait—”
I caught her wrist gently but firmly, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe.
She frowned slightly, confused, still close enough that I could feel her breath against my lips. “…why?”
I let out a shaky exhale, pressing my forehead lightly against hers. “Because,” I said, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected, “my sister is outside.”
A pause.
Y/N blinked. “…your sister.”
“Mm-hm.”
Another pause.
Then her eyes closed briefly as she groaned under her breath. “…that is incredibly bad timing.”
I laughed softly, still a little breathless. “You think?”
She opened her eyes again, looking at me—really looking—like she was debating whether or not it was worth ignoring that fact. “…we have five minutes,” she said slowly.
I raised a brow. “Y/N.”
“I’m just saying—”
“No.”
She huffed, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. “…fine.”
I leaned in, pressing a quick, softer kiss to her mouth—gentler this time. “Later,” I murmured.
Her expression shifted instantly at that. “…yeah?” she asked.
I smiled. “Yeah.”
That seemed to satisfy her.
For now.
I pushed myself up with a quiet exhale, forcing my brain to actually function. “Okay—move,” I muttered, already stepping off her.
Y/N let out a soft, reluctant groan as I left her, but she didn’t argue this time. Instead, she ran a hand through her hair and sat up, blinking away the last of her sleep.
I grabbed the nearest thing—a shirt from the floor—and started picking up whatever I could reach. “…condoms,” I muttered under my breath, scooping up the very obvious evidence from the table and floor. “Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.”
Y/N snorted softly behind me. “Hey,” she said, voice still rough, “that’s teamwork.”
I shot her a look over my shoulder. “You’re helping.”
“I am helping,” she said, already leaning down to grab her boxers from the floor.
I huffed but didn’t argue, tossing wrappers into the trash as fast as I could. Behind me, I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she pulled on her boxers, then reached for the rest of her clothes—her bra, her shirt, her jeans—moving quickly but without that earlier rush. Now it was… focused. Real.
“We have, like, two minutes,” I said, glancing at the door.
“We’re fine,” she replied, way too calm for someone about to meet my sister for the first time.
“Easy for you to say.”
She smirked faintly. “I’m charming.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbing the last of the mess before backing toward the hallway. “Bathroom,” I pointed.
“Got it.”
I disappeared into my room while she headed the other way.
---
A few minutes later, I stepped out, now fully dressed, hair quickly fixed, trying to look like I hadn’t just—well. Everything.
At the same time, the bathroom door opened. Y/N walked out, running a hand through her hair one last time, looking… annoyingly put together for someone who had been asleep on my couch five minutes ago.
She glanced at me immediately. “…do I look okay?” she asked.
I didn’t even hesitate.
I stepped closer, reaching up slightly before leaning in and pressing a quick, soft kiss to her lips. “You look perfect,” I murmured.
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction at that. “…good.”
I smiled faintly, then grabbed the perfume from the table, spraying it quickly. “Okay,” I said, more to myself than anything. “We’re doing this.”
Y/N nodded once. “Yeah.”
I took a breath, reaching for the door. And then—I opened it.
Mary-Kate was still there. Waiting. Watching.
And the second she saw us, her expression shifted—curious, assessing, and just a little too amused.
I glanced back at Y/N briefly, then stepped aside.
“Alright,” I said. “You wanted to meet her.”
A small pause.
Then—
“This is Y/N.”
I stepped aside, giving her a clear view.
For a split second, everything went… still.
Y/N, standing just behind me, lifted her hand in a small, polite wave—calm, composed, like she wasn’t standing in front of my sister for the first time after… all of that. “Hi,” she said simply.
Mary-Kate didn’t wave back.
She just looked at her—up, down, then back up again. A slow, impressed hum left her.
“…okay,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You’re hotter in person.”
“—Mary-Kate,” I snapped immediately.
Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard—and then, just slightly, she blushed. Actually *blushed*. Which somehow made it worse.
Mary-Kate let out a quiet breath through her nose, clearly amused—but at least she didn’t push it further. “What?” she said, glancing at me. “I’m just being honest.”
“You’re being inappropriate,” I shot back.
Y/N cleared her throat softly, lowering her hand with a small, slightly awkward smile. “…hi,” she said again, a little more unsure this time.
Mary-Kate stepped forward then, shifting gears. “Hi,” she replied calmly this time, extending her hand. “I’m Mary-Kate.”
Y/N took it immediately, grateful for the normal interaction. “Nice to meet you.”
There was a brief pause. A weird one. Not uncomfortable exactly—but new. Everyone taking each other in.
I cleared my throat, stepping in before Mary-Kate could say anything else that would make this worse. “…so,” I said, forcing a small smile, “how about breakfast?”
That seemed to break the tension just enough. Mary-Kate shrugged. “I flew here. I’ll take food.”
“Great,” I said quickly, already turning toward the kitchen—and, without thinking, reaching back to grab Y/N’s hand and pull her along with me.
The second we were out of direct view, I let out a quiet breath. “…oh my god.”
Y/N chuckled softly beside me. “That went well.”
I shot her a look. “Did it?”
She smiled, relaxed despite everything. “I’m still alive, so yeah.”
I huffed a laugh, moving around the kitchen to grab plates. Then, out of nowhere—
“You know,” Y/N said casually, leaning against the counter, “you really do look like her.”
I paused. “…what?”
She gestured vaguely toward the living room. “Your sister. You look like twins.”
I stared at her for a second—then laughed. “Okay, first of all—rude. And second, she has her own twin.”
She grinned. “I’m serious.”
I shook my head, still smiling as I turned back to the counter. But then—I glanced at her again, a thought clicking into place.
“…wait,” I said slowly, narrowing my eyes. “Is that why you blushed?”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
“Earlier,” I pressed, pointing slightly. “At the door. When she said…” I stopped myself, rolling my eyes. “When she said you were hotter in person.”
She immediately lifted her hands in defense. “No—no,” she said quickly. “That’s not—”
I raised a brow.
“I was just caught off guard,” she added, a little more carefully this time.
I studied her for a second. “…uh-huh.”
“I was,” she insisted, softer now.
Then she stepped closer—and just like that, the teasing faded a little.
“Yeah, you look alike,” she said, voice quieter. “But…” Her eyes met mine. “…you’re different.”
Something in my chest shifted. “How?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
Y/N smiled—small, but real. “You’re you.”
Simple. But the way she said it—like it meant everything.
“…smooth,” I muttered, but there was no bite to it.
She huffed a quiet laugh. “I mean it.”
I looked at her for a second longer, then shook my head, turning back to the counter to hide the way I was smiling. “Yeah, yeah,” I murmured. “Help me before she comes in here and starts judging my cooking.”
Y/N pushed off the counter immediately. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, stepping beside me.
And just like that—it felt normal again.
Well.
As normal as it could be—with my sister in the other room, and the girl I loved standing right next to me.
---
Everything… actually went well.
Surprisingly well.
There were a few teasing comments—mostly from Mary-Kate—but nothing Y/N couldn’t handle. In fact, she handled it better than I expected. Calm, easy, just the right amount of charm without trying too hard.
Mary-Kate warmed up to her quickly. That quiet, observant way she had? Y/N met it with the same kind of steady presence, and somewhere between breakfast and coffee, they just… clicked. Mary-Kate, of course, still tested her a little. Pushing. Waiting to see if Y/N would crack.
She didn’t.
And by the time they were both laughing over something stupid I’d said—completely at my expense, obviously—I realized something.
Y/N fit.
Not perfectly. Not instantly. But naturally.
Like she wasn’t forcing her way into my world—she was just… stepping into it.
---
Later, after MK left—after the apartment finally went quiet again—my phone buzzed.
I glanced down.
A message from Mary-Kate.
Mary-Kate:
Y/N is approved! I really like her.
I smiled before I could stop myself. Then—another message came through.
Ashley:
So you’re telling me you met her WITHOUT ME?
A second one, almost immediately—
Ashley:
I’m offended.
…another.
Ashley:
Actually no, I’m jealous.
I huffed out a quiet laugh. Of course she was.
Mary-Kate:
You were busy.
The reply came instantly.
Ashley:
That’s not the point and you know it.
I shook my head, locking my phone. “…unbelievable.”
But I was smiling. Of course I was. I looked up from my phone—and there she was. Y/N, sprawled comfortably on my couch like she belonged there, scrolling through something on her own phone, completely unaware of the messages I’d just gotten.
My chest softened.
“…hey,” I said.
She glanced up immediately. “Yeah?”
I shook my head, smile still lingering. “Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re smiling.”
“Am I not allowed to smile?”
“Not like that,” she said, already suspicious.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Just—come here.”
She didn’t question it—just got up and walked over, settling beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Which, at this point—It was.
---
Outside our little bubble, though—the world hadn’t slowed down.
Pillowtalk kept climbing. Streams rising, charts updating, the buzz getting louder. It hit Billboard.
And the speculation? It only got worse.
Fans digging through interviews, clips resurfacing, every glance, every interaction, every *moment* being picked apart.
“WHO IS SHE???”
“SHE HAS TO BE SOMEONE FAMOUS.”
And all the while—we stayed quiet. Stayed in this space that was still ours, for a little while longer.
---
Until few weeks later—we were spotted.
Just a simple moment. A walk, a laugh, a hand that lingered a little too long.
My hands are cold, but your lips are warm (natasha x fem!reader)
word count: 1,800ish
warnings: oral (r receiving), kissing, biting, slight argument, lesbian yearning, and they were best friends!
context: failed mission in siberia, both are cold frustrated in shitty cabin in middle of nowhere. natasha and reader are best friends since red room, basically reader is a black widow like natasha and follows all same events. they are partners in SHIELD.
—
When fury said siberian weather conditions were not that bad during this time of the year, he clearly didnt mention this. the wind howled outside of the small cramped cabin that was supposed to be a safe house. everything was freezing cold. snow began covering the windows to the brim, fogging up every way to look outdoors.
only heavy sound that could be heard was the big door slamming open, shaky exhales from utter pain of the cold.
rubbing your ripped fingerless gloves together, trying to warm up at least a bit while thinking about the mission. you turned to natasha, about to start arguing about assignment gone wrong but she beat you to it. shoving frustratedly past you, she sat on a beaten up twin sized bed that was placed in the corner of the small bedroom. with her jaw violently tensing, she looked up at you then threw the broken comms device at your face. still not saying anything.
with a deep sigh, pinching the nose bridge and looking back at her, you took the broken comms device and put it on the small table. sitting down with your back turned, refusing to talk to her as you began taking off your shredded gear. only leaving yourself in the compression long sleeved thermal top and leggings. shit. those bruises hurt bad.
neither of you acknowledged one another for a long time. not the failed mission you were forced to retreat because of lost broken signal. not the tension that has been building up. not even checking each other for injuries like usual.
all your focus was on fixing the comms that you didnt even notice natasha moving. stepping behind your chair, she hesitantly tried to place her rough cold hands on your shoulders, making you jerk away. your head snapped back, looking up at her from your seat. you didnt relax, it looked like you became even more tense. brushing her hands off you sternly, you shooed her off in russian so you could fix the goddamn comms. it looked like you were going to be stuck in the safe house for quite a while.
—
after hours, you finally managed to scrap up a few signals and wires. managing to send a morse code message. all you now had to do was wait, which was not a good thing. it was getting darker outside, snow storm intensified, and it was becoming even colder. you shivered at just thought of it, sighing you finally looked around the cabin.
it wasn’t anything special. dust everywhere, broken closet, walls made out of old oak trees that did nothing to isolate the cold. looking down at the floor, your eyes finally spotted the ginger haired woman who was laying down with a thin ripped blanket covering her body, her head bumped into imitation of a pillow that was made out of her gear clothes. she was wearing just thermal clothing like you.
with a blank face, you took in her expressions. her eyes were clammed shut, eyelashes fluttering as she tried to fight off the shivers from the cold. jaw clenching, hurdling up into herself. pity took over your chest, looking down at your best friends of god knows how many years. you walked over, crawling up to the bed before leaning down to try tug at her. stopping yourself just moments before reaching her, you pulled back and let her be. you wouldn’t want the tension to get worse.
covering yourself with a thin spare blanket, you tried to use military methods that were taught in Red Room to keep the warmth in. it was a hard fight with siberian winter, one you were losing. you werent the only one it seemed. natasha finally let a shiver through, exhaling harshly through cackling teeth, her breath visible in the dark of the room.
giving up, you softened. you couldn’t stay mad at her for long. even if she was a bitch during the mission. she was still your supposed girl best friend and you didnt like seeing her in pain. with a frustrated sigh and a soft noise, you leaned down tugging at her sleeve.
ginger finally turned, acknowledging you. plopping on her elbows, she quirked her eyebrow tiredly. her braid was messy, baby hairs sticking out. yet she still looked beautiful, even in the dark. looking at her like that always made something churn in your lower stomach, bringing heat up your cheeks even in freezing cold. and when you two did act up on it, both of you wanted to keep it casual and not mention it again. it somehow felt different tonight, not just because of the failed mission or the constant tension. something has been changing lately, for a good while in fact.
snapping out of a daze, you scooted towards the wall, making space in the twin bed, petting the spot next to you and looking at her with best soft, warm eyes you could muster. and it always worked on her. she plopped on her knees fully just as you began talking
“come here, draga? its so cold, i need to warm up… please ‘tasha?” the words were raspy coming out of your mouth, little voice crack and accent slipping in. it made natasha look up at you with a strange familiar look in her green eyes. her lips tugged, moving up and dragging the thin blanket with her, she settled next to you.
getting in a comfortable position wasnt an issue for the two of you. you both had too much experience with one another for that. you settled half on top of natasha’s side, leg thrown over her hips, your chest completely smushed up against side of hers and her strong arm. she herself got loose, trying to gain as much warmth as she could, she snuggled her hips up against your inner thigh, pulling you closer to share body warmth. her arm was supporting your back, your face was right against her neck, breathing the sweat and gunpowder in.
staying like that for a while, you managed to get some body warmth but it wasnt enough for this kind of weather. it was never enough with natasha. gripping her bicep with one hand, and side of waist with another, you tried to angle her more towards you. she let out a soft grunt after a moment, gripping your hands away and quickly moving on top of you to cover your body like a human blanket.
her thighs didnt let your hips escape, gripping them tightly she snuggled deeper. letting out another sigh which you responded with a little hitch in the breathing. your chests were smushed together, her face right above yours. you felt her breath hot and quick on your lips, just a little closer and you will meet her halfway.
if natasha’s goal was to make you hot, she did succeed. except now you were hot and bothered, just like her. restless, you squirmed under her, matching her strength but not wanting to fight for dominance. you were submissive in your nature, and you werent going to deny your beautiful control freak best friend of having charge over you.
staring at each other, you analyzed one another’s features. before you knew it, tips of your noses were touching. the next moment, you were making out with her. hot lips pressed against yours, passionately pulling you in. it quickly escalated, she was pinning you down with her hands while her tongue licked and nibbled your bottom lip. asking for the permission in. you subconsciously parted your lips back, letting out a quiet moan at feeling of her saliva and tongue in your own mouth.
the more you kissed, the more hot you got. the earlier freezing cold seemed to never exist as heat took over. trying to grind and strut your hips up, trying to find any relief, you pulled out a sharp grunt from the ginger. she pinned your hips down, not allowing you anywhere and making you whine. you felt her shit eating grin against your neck.
soon enough, she began moving her mouth south. kissing your jaw. focusing on underside of it, she sighed into it, breathing you in before moving onto the neck. then lower. sucking at yours collarbone, then sneaking under your shirt and making your back arch instantly. taking one of your sensitive, already hard nipples in her mouth, warmth enveloped you. you sighed out her name, bringing her other hand up to your other breast.
kisses were getting lower and lower. licking and kissing your tummy muscles, she bit softly around your ribs. lower. licking your hipbones. lower.
the thermal leggings quickly came off, she adjusted your position, getting all up against your thighs. you rested your legs on her shoulders, needy expression coming across your beautiful face. chewing on your lower lip, you looked down at her only to see she was already glancing up. her eyes were filled with animal like hunger as she let her tongue swipe over fabric of your panties.
the teasing was endless. her hot breath hitching over the wet patch on the fabric, nudging her nose up to the sensitive bud through the underwear, gripping and biting all over your inner thighs. it made you ache, hot coiled feeling swarmed your tummy, your hips were raised as you gripped the back of her ginger hair.
she began eating the panties off of you, her warm tongue finally found your needy soaking cunt, making her groan in pleasure of the taste when she lapped up your slit. it made you moan in unison. you were so sweet, she couldve stayed like that forever, but you were getting impatient and overly needy.
lapping up your juices, she focused on the sensitive bundle of nerves. she didnt hesitate or tease anymore. her tongue flicked expert circles on your clit, finding its nervy sensitive spot, making you whimper and moan even louder, jerking your hips into her face, helplessly gripping her hair.
“please… please- oh god yes— nat please”she huffed from down there with a heavy breath when she heard you finally getting vocal. gripping your thighs closer, she watched you while eating you out. wanting to see and memorize every face that her best friend made through the hazes of pleasure she was giving them.
“come on… come on, give it to me” natasha grunted through, her rare accent thickening. strong forearms flexing. you melted at her words, intensifying the warm feeling that pooled through you. you felt yourself getting closer. your vision blurred, the stomach muscles clenching and flexing and your hips violently tried to grind.
“i cant—god i cant, i cant i cant i—“ the words turned into a deep moan of gingers name as white hot pleasure washed over you. your thighs clenched around her head, trapping her in until you rode it out. legs were shaking as you finally came to your mind, breathing out heavily and letting go of her head after she ate all of the essence with deep enjoyment.
after her lapping up your sensitive pussy, natasha smugly sat up, pulling your panties and thermal leggings back on, tucking herself into your side on top of you. sharing a taste of you through a kiss, she murmured
part 4 out of 4 parts (link for pervious at the end)
She kicks off the heels.
They land somewhere on the carpet with two soft thuds, the first time those shoes have hit a surface without purpose all day. She pulls back the duvet on the other side and slides in, careful, controlled, keeping a deliberate distance between her body and yours like the six inches of mattress between you is a professional boundary she's still pretending exists.
She lies on her back. Stares at the ceiling.
You lie on your back. Stare at the ceiling.
The room is dark and quiet and her sheets smell like her.
Your foot moves.
Your toes brush her calf, light, barely there, the kind of contact that could be accidental if either of you were stupid enough to believe that.
"You're touching my leg," she says to the ceiling.
"My foot slipped."
"It slipped."
"I'm on medication, Wanda. I can't control my extremities."
Her lips press together. Her chest rises with a breath she's holding hostage.
"Both your extremities seem to know exactly where my leg is," she says.
"Coincidence."
"Your foot is still there."
"Do you want me to move it."
Silence.
"Wanda."
"I'm thinking."
You smile in the dark. It pulls at something sore in your chest but it's worth it, all of it is worth it, because beside you Wanda Maximoff is staring at the ceiling with the faintest smile on her face and your foot is against her leg and she hasn't moved away.
"Your ceiling is nice," you say.
"Thank you."
"Very.....white."
"That is generally how ceilings work."
"Mine has a crack in it. In my quarters. Shaped like a river. I've named it."
"You've named a crack in your ceiling."
"Gerald."
She turns her head on the pillow and looks at you. Like she's trying to figure out how someone who took a bullet days ago is lying in her bed naming ceiling cracks.
"Gerald," she repeats
"He's been there since I moved in. We have a relationship."
"You have a relationship with a crack."
"Don't judge me. I was lonely."
Something shifts behind her eyes. Quick. Tender. Gone before she can stop it.
She turns back to the ceiling. "You won't need Gerald anymore."
You let that sit between you. Let it breathe.
Your foot is still on her leg.
"Wanda."
"Hm."
What happened. After."
She's quiet for a moment. Her breathing doesn't change but something in her body tightens, a stiffness that moves through her shoulders and settles in her jaw.
"After what," she says, and she knows exactly what you mean.
"After I went down. I don't remember anything past the floor. The concrete. You were there and then..." You trail off. Your hand drifts to your throat without thinking. Fingers brush the bandage. "Then I woke up at the hospital."
Wanda stares at the ceiling.
"Natasha saved your life," she says. Her voice is even but her hand, resting on her stomach, curls into the fabric of her shirt. "Your airway was closing. She performed an emergency procedure in the corridor."
Your fingers press lightly against the bandage. "The scar."
"Yes."
"Natasha did this."
"With a knife. On a concrete floor." A pause. "She didn't hesitate."
You process that.
"I'll have to thank her," you say.
"She won't want you to."
"I know. Thats why I why have to."
Wanda almost smiles.
"What else," you say.
Her jaw works. "You were in surgery for hours. Chest tube. Internal bleeding. Rib fractures." She lists them like items on a report. "They kept you in a medically induced coma for over a day."
"And you were there."
It's not a question.
"Yes," she says
"The whole time."
"Yes."
"In heels."
Her head turns on the pillow again. "What is your obsession with my shoes."
"I'm just picturing you standing outside a surgical wing in stilettos for hours. That's commitment."
You look at each other in the dark. Her green eyes catch the faint city lights from the window. Your foot presses a little firmer against her calf.
"What about Calloway," you say.
Her face changes.
"Calloway is handled." she says
"Thats not an answer."
"It's the only one youre getting tonight."
"Wanda—"
"Tonight," she repeats, and her voice is quiet but final. "You're healing. You don't need that in your head right now."
You want to push. You always want to push with her.
"Okay," you say.
"Okay."
"But you're telling me eventually."
"Evenutally."
"Promise."
She turns back to the ceiling. Her hand uncurls from her shirt. Her breathing settles.
"I promise," she says.
Weeks pass.
It passes in the small, ordinary ways that Wanda Maximoff would never admit she's been starving for.
She cooks. Not well, not at first. The first night she makes pasta and the sauce was too salty and you eat it anyway and tell her it's perfect and she looks at you like she knows you're lying and is furious at how much it means to her that you'd bother.
By the third night she's better. She stands at the stove in bare feet, the heels abandoned by the door, a concession to domesticity she made without announcement and stirs something that actually smells right while you sit at the kitchen island with your oxygen line and watch her likes she's performing surgery.
"Stop staring," she says without turning around.
"I'm supervising."
You don't outrank me."
"I outrank you in the kitchen. You burned rice yesterday."
"We agreed never to speak of the rice."
You laugh. It hurts. You do it anyways.
She brings you your plate and sits across from you and you eat together like it's something you've always done. Like the kitchen island isn't a battlefield and the silence between bites isn't loaded with every word neither of you has said yet.
She learns how you take your coffee. You learn that she drinks tea at night, something herbal, something Sokovian she orders online and won't explain. She holds the mug with both hands and tucks her feet under her on the couch and looks younger than you've ever seen her before.
You play cards
She's terrible at poker. Not because she can't read people, she reads people better than anyone alive, but because she refuses to bluff. She plays every hand like it's a moral position. You win six games in a row and she looks at you like you've committed treason.
"You're cheating," she says.
"I'm not cheating. You just play your aces like they're classified information."
"They are. That's the point of the game."
"The point of the game is to lie, Wanda."
"I don't lie."
"You lie constantly. You told Fury you were fine last Tuesday."
"That's different."
"How."
"That was necessary deception. This is cards."
You win the seventh game. She doesn't play the eighth. She turns on a movie instead and sits close enough that your shoulders touch and neither of you moves away.
The movies becomes routine. Every night after dinner, after medication, after she checks your wraps and your oxygen and your pain level with the quiet efficiency of someone who has turned your recovery into a personal religion.
You fall asleep during one. You wake up with your head on her shoulder and her hand in your hair and she's still watching the screen like nothing happened.
You don't mention it.
She doesn't stop.
Every night you sleep in her bed. Every night she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling and your foot finds her leg and she doesn't move it.
The distance between you on the mattress shrinks by inches, until you wake up one morning with your face against her shoulder and her arm around you and neither of you acknowledges it over coffee.
She doesn't call it anything. You don't ask her to.
She just says, once, standing in the kitchen with her tea and her bare feet
"I want to take care of you."
Not I have to. Not is my responsibility. Not until you're healed.
I want to.
You look at her across the island. She looks back. Her green eyes are steady and terrified and certain all at once.
"Okay," you say.
She nods once.
That's it. That's all either of you needs.
Physical therapy is on the fourth floor.
Twice a week, ninety minutes.
The therapist is a woman named Rojas who speaks softly and has hands like iron and doesn't not care that Wanda Maximoff is watching from the observation window.
"She's always there," Rojas says to you one session, adjusting your arm overhead, stretching the issue around your ribs. "Every time."
"I know."
"She takes notes."
"Of course she does."
"She corrected my technique once. Through the glass. With a hand gesture."
"That sounds right."
Rojas smiles. "She loves you."
You don't answer.
Today is Thursday. Session twelve. You're stronger now, the oxygen is gone, the chest tube is healed, the bruising has faded to a faint yellow ghost. Your ribs still protest deep breaths and sudden movements but your body is remembering what it's capable of. Slowly. Stubbornly.
Wanda is at the window. You can see her reflection in the glass, arms crossed, watching, cataloging every movement you make like she's building a file on your recovery.
Rojas takes you through the stretches, the resistance work, the breathing exercises that make your lungs burn in a way that's productive instead of terrifying.
You're halfway through a set when the door to the therapy room opens.
You assume it's a nurse. An assistant. Someone who belongs.
"Hey, you."
You hands still on the resistance band.
Sue Storm stands in the doorway.
"Sue," you say.
She smiles. It's careful. Warm. The kind of smile that holds a lot of weight behind it.
"Ive heard you were doing PT," she says, stepping in. "Thought Id see how youre moving."
In the observation window, Wanda's reflection goes very still.
Sue crosses the room like she belongs in it. She stops near the bench where your towel and water bottle sit and leans against the wall, casual, easy, the posture of someone who's been in enough labs and training rooms to know how to take up space without crowding.
"You look better," she says, eyes moving over you with a clinical warmth that lands somewhere between doctor and something else. "Color's back."
"Apparently I was beige for a while."
Sue's mouth curves. "Who told you that."
"Yelena. She was very specific about the color chart."
Sue laughs, short, real, the kind that reaches her eyes, and your body remembers the sound. Remembers what it felt like to be the person who caused it. A different time. A different you.
Rojas glances between you and Sue.
"Can you lift your arm again for me," Rojas says, redirecting. Professional.
You lift. The stretch burns along your ribs. You breathe through it.
Sue watches. Her smile fades into something more focused, more intent. She steps closer.
"Your lateral movement is restricted," Sue says. "Are they working your intercostals separately or just—"
"I've got it covered," Rojas says politely. Firmly.
Sue raises both hands. "Sorry. Habit."
But she doesn't step back. She stays close, close enough that when you lower your arm, her hand catches your elbow. Steadying. Familiar.
"You scared me," she says quietly. Just to you.
The PT room door opens.
Click. Click. Click.
Every head turns. Rojas straightens. Sue's hand stills on your elbow.
"Dr. Storm."
Wanda stands in the doorway. Heels. Black slacks. A blouse buttoned to the throat. Her auburn hair is down and her green eyes are fixed on Sue with the kind of precision that makes the air in the room feel thinner.
Sue's eyes close. Just for a second. The kind of exhale you take when you've been expecting a bullet and it finally arrives.
She turns her head slowly. Meets Wanda's gaze with equal weight — jaw set, eyes sharp, refusing to shrink under the attention.
"Commander," Sue says.
"Can I speak with you," Wanda says.
It's not a question.
"Now," she adds, in case there was any confusion.
Sue's mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. More like a scoff pressed into shape. She looks back at you, and the shift is immediate, the hardness dissolving into something soft and private.
"I'll be back," she says quietly.
Her fingers brush your arm once more as she steps away.
Wanda watches the touch. Catalogs it. Files it somewhere behind her teeth.
Sue walks toward the door. Wanda steps aside just enough to let her pass, not an inch more, and follows her into the corridor.
The door swings shut behind them.
Rojas looks at you.
You look at the door.
"So," Rojas says carefully. "Should we continue or..."
You don't answer.
The hallway is empty.
Sue stops two feet from her. Arms crossed. Weight on one hip. Chin up.
"You need to stop," Wanda says.
"Stop what."
"Showing up. Finding her. Engineering reasons to be in her space."
Sue's eyebrow lifts. "I'm not engineering anything. She's a colleague. I'm checking on her."
"You touched her arm."
"She's my friend."
"She's your ex."
The word lands between them like a dropped blade.
Sue's chin lifts. "Since when does she need your authorization to see people."
"Since she was discharged into my care."
"Your care." Sue repeats it like she's tasting something bitter. "That's what we're calling it."
Wanda's jaw tightens. "Say what you mean, Dr. Storm."
Sue uncrosses her arms. Takes a step closer. Not aggressive but deliberate.
"I mean that you moved her into your penthouse," Sue says. "I mean that you blocked my access to her room. I mean that you've built a wall around her and stamped your name on it and you're calling it medical supervision."
"It is medical supervision."
"It's possession."
The word lands between them like a dropped blade.
Wanda doesn't flinch. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I don't?" Sue's voice drops. Quieter now. More dangerous. "I know her, Wanda. I knew her before you. I knew her before the training and the field and the vest and the—" She gestures vaguely toward the PT room. "—all of this."
Wanda is very still.
"And that bothers you," Sue continues, tilting her head. Studying Wanda the way Wanda studies everyone else. "That's what this is. Not concern. Not protection. Jealousy."
"Don't flatter yourself."
"I'm not flattering myself. I'm reading you. You're not hard to read right now, Commander. Not about her."
Wanda's chin lifts. Her eyes are glass, hard, bright, giving nothing.
"You want to know why it bothers you?" Sue says, voice lower now. "It's not because I visit. It's not because I touch her arm. It's because you know I was there first."
Wanda's nostrils flare.
"I know her," Sue says. "Not the way you know her — not the training, not the field, not the orders and the protocol. I know her."
She lets that settle.
"I know what she sounds like when she laughs so hard she can't breathe. I know how she takes her coffee and that she lies about liking it black because she thinks it makes her seem tougher. I know what she looks like when she's scared and won't say it."
Wanda's hands curl at her sides.
Sue steps closer.
"I know what she sounds like at two in the morning," Sue says, and her voice drops to something quiet and precise and ruthless. "When it's dark and she's not thinking about rank or training or who's in charge. I know what makes her gasp. I know what makes her go quiet. I know the exact moment she stops being brave and just lets go."
The hallway is silent.
Wanda's face is stone. But her breathing has changed, shorter, tighter, controlled in the way it gets when she's keeping something caged behind her teeth.
"I know her body," Sue says. "I know her sounds. I know the way she arches when she—"
"Enough," Wanda says.
One word. Low. Vibrating.
Sue holds her gaze. Doesn't smile. Doesn't smirk.
I had her first and you can't erase that.
"All of that," Sue says quietly, "was before you. She was mine before she was ever yours. And she isn't yours now."
Wanda's jaw clenches so hard the muscle jumps. She stares at Sue with eyes that could melt steel.
"Are you done."
Sue's chin lifts.
Wanda steps closer and smirks. Deliberate curve of a mouth that knows exactly how much power lives behind it.
"Let me make myself clear," Wanda says.
Her voice is low. Final.
"You can try to visit. You can smile. You can say her name in that voice you use when you want her to remember what you had." Her head tilts. "But when the day ends and the hallway goes dark and she's tired and sore and looking for the one person who makes her feel safe—"
Wanda's green eyes hold Sue's without blinking.
"—she walks to me."
She lets it land.
"Every night. In my room. Without being asked."
Her smirk fades into something quieter. Something absolute.
"So keep your memories, Dr. Storm. They're the only place you still exist."
Wanda steps closer.
There's nothing left between them now. Inches. Breath.
Sue doesn't move. Her eyes are bright and hard and she holds Wanda's gaze.
Wanda's voice drops to something barely audible.
"Stay away from her."
Sue's jaw tightens. She doesn't blink.
Wanda doesn't wait for an answer.
She turns and walks back toward the PT room, heels striking the corridor floor like a closing statement.
The penthouse is quiet.
Dinner is simple, grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, something Wanda found in a recipe on her phone and followed with the same intensity she brings to mission planning.
She sits across from you at the table. Her posture is perfect. Her fork moves with precision. She's eaten half her plate and hasn't tasted any of it.
She sips her wine. Sets it down. Picks it up again. Sips.
She's been like this since PT. Since she walked back into the therapy room with her heels and her composure and looked at you on the bench and said "let's go" without explaining where Sue went or why the air around her smelled like a fight.
You didn't ask. But you're asking now.
You place your water down. Set your fork on your empty plate.
"Are you okay, Wands?"
The nickname lands softly. You've been using it more, in the dark, in the mornings, in the small spaces between formal and whatever this is. She's never told you to stop.
She looks up from her wine.
"I'm fine," she says.
"You've been quiet since we got back."
Her fingers tighten around the stem. "I'm thinking."
"About?"
"Work."
"Liar."
Her green eyes meet yours across the table. Sharp.
Her jaw shifts. Something settles in her expression, not anger, not softness. Decision.
"You know what bothers me, Y/n."
It's not a question. She leans back in her chair. Her head tilts, that tilt, the one that makes people forget how to speak.
The way she says your name, not a softened version, makes you set your glass down.
You look at her.
She leans back in her chair. Crosses one leg over the other.
"She touched you," Wanda says. "In that room. She put her hand on you like she still has the right. Like nothing changed. Like I haven't spent the last two weeks learning how you breathe in your sleep."
You don't speak.
"And I stood behind that glass," she continues, voice low, even, "and I watched. Because that's what I do. I watch."
Her eyes hold yours.
"I am so tired of being your commander."
The room goes still.
"We've been doing this for months," she says. "You and me. The looks. The sparring. The way you say my name like you're testing how far I'll let you go. The way I let you go further every single time."
She unfolds from the chair. Stands.
"You sleep in my bed. You wear my clothes. You make me laugh in my own kitchen and I haven't laughed in this place in years."
She moves around the table. Slow. Deliberate. Each step silent on the hardwood. She stops in front of you.
You look up at her. She looks down at you. The height difference from the chair makes her feel like a storm standing over a city.
She leans down.
Her hands land on either side of your chair, gripping the armrests, bracing, caging you between her arms. Her face is close. Her auburn hair falls forward, framing you both. Her green eyes are inches from yours and there is nothing professional left in them.
Nothing controlled. Nothing safe.
"I am jealous," she says, and the word comes out like she's ripping it from somewhere deep. "I am possessive and irrational and I hated every second of her standing next to you because you are—"
She stops.
Her jaw works.
Her eyes drop to your mouth. Then back up.
"You are the only thing in my life I have ever wanted that I didn't take," she whispers. "Because I wanted you to choose it."
Your heart is doing something your ribs will punish you for later.
Her breath is warm on your lips.
"So choose," she says.
Your eyes drop to her mouth.
Her eyes stay on yours.
The space between you is a held breath. A dare. A line drawn in something thinner than air.
You close it. Your lips press against hers and the world goes quiet.
She inhales. Sharp. Deep. Through her nose. The kind of breath someone takes when they've been drowning and didn't know it until the surface hit.
Her hand flies to the back of your head.
Her fingers thread into your hair and grip, firm, certain, pulling you closer like she's afraid you'll change your mind. Like she's been waiting for this so long her body doesn't trust it yet and needs to hold on until it believes.
You don't pull back. She doesn't let you.
Your hand finds her jaw. Her skin is warm under your fingers. She makes a sound against your mouth, small, quiet, something between a breath and a whimper
Your ribs ache. You don't care.
Her other hand leaves the armrest and finds your face, both hands on you now, holding you, cradling your jaw like she did on that concrete floor except this time you're not dying. This time you're choosing her. This time the only reason you can't breathe is because she's kissing you like she'll never get another chance.
She pulls back just enough to breathe. Her forehead rests against yours.
Her eyes are still closed. Her fingers are still in your hair. Her chest rises and falls too fast.
"Again," she whispers.
You kiss her again.
And she keeps you there.
You stand.
Your ribs scream at you for it. You ignore them. Your hands find her waist and you pull yourself up into her and she lets you, her arm sliding around your back, steadying you, drawing you in until there's no chair between you anymore.
She kisses you harder.
Her mouth opens against yours and the sound she makes is low and desperate and it vibrates through your chest in a way that has nothing to do with your injuries. Her fingers tighten in your hair. She tilts your head back, just slightly, just enough, and kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the spot just below your ear that makes your knees buckle.
Your hands slide up her back. She presses into you.
Then her fingers graze your ribs.
She freezes.
Her hand hovers, right there, right over the place where the bruising lived for weeks, where the fractures are still knitting together under skin that looks healed but isn't. Her touch goes feather light. Afraid.
"I'm okay," you murmur against her mouth.
Her hand doesn't land.
"Wanda. I'm okay."
"I don't want to hurt you," she says, and her voice is wrecked. Low and rough and nothing like the commander. Her forehead presses against yours and her breath shakes.
Your hand finds hers. The one hovering. You take it and press it flat against your ribs, gently, deliberately, holding it there.
"You won't," you say.
She exhales. Her fingers curl against you, careful, so careful, feeling the shape of you under her palm like she's learning you for the first time through touch.
Her other hand is still in your hair. She hasn't let go. She might never let go.
She kisses you again, slower now, deeper, the urgency shifting into something heavier. Her thumb traces the edge of your ribcage through the fabric of her tshirt and every movement is measured. Controlled.
Wanda touching you the way she does everything, with precision, with intention, with the full terrifying weight of her attention focused on making sure she gives you exactly enough without breaking you.
Your back meets the kitchen counter.
You didn't realize you were moving. She walked you there, guiding without pushing, her body steering yours the way it does in training except this is nothing like training.
Her hips press against yours. Her hand slides from your ribs to your waist. She holds you there, pinned between her body and the counter, and pulls back just enough to look at you.
Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are dark. Her hair is a mess from your hands.
She looks like a woman who just set fire to every rule she's ever followed and hasn't decided if she regrets it yet.
Her thumb strokes your waist.
"Tell me to stop," she says quietly.
You look at her.
"Don't stop."
Her mouth crashes back into yours and this time there's no hesitation.
No careful calculation of where your injuries begin and her want ends. She kisses you like she's spent months starving and just realized you're the only thing that feeds her.
Her hand tightens on your waist. The other finally, leaves your hair and slides down your neck, your shoulder, tracing the line of your collarbone through the loose neckline of her t-shirt.
Her fingers skim the edge of the scar at your throat and she pauses there, just a breath, just a beat, her thumb brushing the raised skin like an apology and a claim at once.
Then she keeps going.
Your hands pull at the fabric at her back. She exhales against your mouth, ragged, shaking, and presses you harder into the counter.
Her thigh slots between yours and the sound you make is involuntary and embarrassing and you feel her smile against your lips.
Private. Hungry. The smile of a woman who just discovered something she wants to hear again.
"That sound," she murmurs against your mouth.
You bite her bottom lip.
Her breath catches. Her grip goes tight on your hip — possessive, pulling you flush against her — and the noise she makes is quiet and low and you file it away somewhere you will never forget.
She pulls back. Barely. Her lips brush yours when she talks.
"We should stop," she breathes.
"You don't want to stop."
"Your ribs—"
"Are fine."
"You're recovering—"
"I'm recovered."
"You are medically—"
You kiss her. Hard. Her objection dies against your tongue.
She gives in so fast it's almost funny. Her arms wrap around you, one low at your waist, one high between your shoulders, and she holds you against her like she's trying to memorize the shape of your body through her clothes.
Your fingers find the buttons of her blouse.
She goes still.
Not pulling away. Not stopping you.Just still, breathing hard, eyes closed, her forehead against yours. Like she's standing on the edge of something she can't come back from and needs one second to decide if she's jumping.
Her hand covers yours.
Your fingers freeze on the button. She opens her eyes. Green. Dark. Certain.
She moves your hand away. Your stomach drops for a fraction of a second, rejection, miscalculation, too fast, too much....
She undoes the button herself.
One button.
Then another.
She watches your face while she does it, not performing, not teasing, just watching you watch her. Reading your reaction the way she reads everything about you. Learning what this does to you the same way she learned your stance, your breathing, your tells.
The blouse falls open.
Your eyes drop. You can't help it.
She lets you look.
"Wanda," you say, and her name sounds different now. Heavier. Like it's carrying something it wasn't built for.
"Hm."
"You're—"
"Don't say something stupid."
"—gorgeous."
"That counts."
"It's not stupid if it's true."
Her mouth twitches. She shrugs the blouse off her shoulders and it drops to the kitchen floor and neither of you looks at it.
She steps back to you. Skin against the thin cotton of her tshirt you're wearing.
Her hands find the hem at your hips and her fingers curl under the fabric, slowly, asking without asking, giving you room to stop her.
You lift your arms.
She pulls it over your head, careful, so careful over your ribs, over the scar, and sets it on the counter behind you like it matters. Like everything about your body matters to her in a way that goes past want into something sacred.
She looks at you.
At the scar on your throat. At the fading yellow bruise along your ribs. At the chest tube mark on your side, pink and healing. At all the evidence of the night she almost lost you, mapped across your skin like a story she's been reading from the outside for weeks.
Her fingers trace the scar at your throat.
Down.
Along your collarbone.
Over the bruise.
She bends and presses her lips to it.
Your breath catches.
She kisses the bruise like she's apologizing to your bones. Soft. Slow. Her mouth moves along the discoloration, following the edges, and you feel her exhale warm against your skin. Shaky. Reverent.
"I almost lost you," she whispers into your ribs.
Your hand finds her hair. Threads through it. Auburn silk between your fingers.
"You didn't," you say.
She kisses lower. Your stomach tightens.
Her hands slide to your hips. Her thumbs press into the hollows there, firm, grounding, holding you still while her mouth works its way back up your chest, your collarbone, the line of your throat. She kisses beside the scar. Above it. Below your jaw.
She finds your mouth again and this time it's slow. Devastatingly slow. The kind of kiss that takes its time because it knows it's not going to be interrupted.
Her hand comes up and cups your jaw and she tilts your head exactly where she wants it and you let her because letting Wanda take control is the easiest thing you've ever done.
"Bedroom," she says against your lips.
It's not a question.
You nod.
Her arms come around your waist, one low at your thighs, one around your back, and you barely have time to grab the counter for balance before she lifts you.
Your ribs scream at the sudden movement but you don't care.
You wrap your arms around her shoulders and her mouth finds your neck, just below your jaw where she knows you're sensitive, her teeth scraping over the spot and leaving a line of fire behind.
The hallway blurs as she walks, her mouth never leaving your skin, and when your back hits the mattress, her hands are already moving.
One pins your wrist beside your head, fingers threading through yours. The other traces the dip of your hipbone, then slides down your thigh, slow, possessive, hitching your leg around her waist.
"Tell me," she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "if I ever hurt you."
The intensity in her gaze makes your breath catch. She hovers above you, auburn hair falling like a curtain around your faces, eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes, waiting, always waiting for permission, even now.
"Wanda," you whisper, sliding your free hand up the column of her throat, thumb brushing the sharp line of her jaw. "You can't hurt me."
Her grip tightens, just for a second before she exhales, rough and uneven. "You don't know that."
"I do." You tilt your chin up, brushing your lips against hers in the barest hint of a kiss. "Because I trust you more than anyone in this godforsaken world."
A shudder runs through her.
And then she kisses you like she's proving something, like she's mapping every place you belong to her. Her free hand fists in the sheets beside your head, the restraint in her touch maddening, because you know how easily she could take. How badly she wants to.
But she doesn't.
Instead, her mouth trails lower, your collarbone, the curve of your breast, the space between your ribs where her fingers had hesitated earlier. This time, there's no pause. Just her lips, warm and deliberate, pressing against every bruise, every scar, like she's rewriting the story of them.
You arch into her touch, fingers tightening in her hair.
"Wanda—"
Her answering hum vibrates against your skin. "I know," she murmurs, and then her teeth graze your hipbone, sharp and sudden. You gasp.
Her grip on your wrist tightens.
"I know," she repeats, softer this time, lifting her head to meet your gaze. The look in her eyes is unbearable, hungry and reverent and yours, so completely yours. "Tell me what you want."
You don't hesitate.
"You. All of you."
Her breath catches.
The quiet inhale is subtle, so faint you might have missed it if she wasn't this close. Her eyes shut for a moment and you watch the mask she holds so tightly around her shatter into pieces.
When she looks at you again, it's with that same intensity and a vulnerability you've only seen a handful of times. She looks stripped, open, entirely at your mercy.
Your hand slides from her neck down to her chest, her heart thudding under the palm of your hand, and for a moment she just looks at you. Like she's memorizing some detail only she can see.
Then, with one smooth movement, she releases your hand and leans back on her knees, fingers finding the button of her jeans.
You watch, throat tight, as she undoes them. Her eyes stay on your face, like she's reading every flicker of your expression and cataloguing it.
Then, in one fluid motion, she peels the jeans and her underwear off, tossing them somewhere behind her.
Your breath dies in your chest. Your hand moves from her heart to her thigh, fingers grazing the inside, feeling the flex of muscle as she shifts her weight.
She leans in again, hands on either side of your waist, eyes burning.
"Touch me," she says softly, and it's more pleading than an order. "Please."
The raw, unguarded tone in her voice sets every nerve in your body alight. You prop yourself up on your elbows, fingers finding her hip, her waist, her ribs, wanting to touch every inch of her at once.
Her gaze follows your hand, sharp and intent, her breathing already growing ragged. When your fingers brush the underside of her breast, she shivers, just barely. But you see it.
Your eyes dart up to meet hers, to tell her just how breathtaking she is, but her mouth crashes into yours before you can speak.
Your fingers tangle in her hair as she deepens the kiss, the heat of her skin searing against yours. She pulls back just enough to whisper, voice rough
"I want to hear you."
Her thumb drags over your bottom lip before she ducks her head, her mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbone, lower
And when her tongue finally flicks over your nipple, the sound you make is exactly what she wanted.
A shudder ripples through her, her grip on your hip tightening as she does it again, slower this time, watching the way your back arches off the bed.
"Again," she murmurs, breath hot against your skin.
And god help you, you obey.
Her mouth moves lower, tongue dragging along the line of your ribs, down the flat curve of your stomach, but she doesn't go where you want her most. Instead, she kisses your hip, your thigh, her hands gripping the edges of your leggings.
She looks up at you like she's searching for something, her eyes glazed with hunger. "Can I—?"
The question hangs between you, heavy and loaded. You nod. "Yes. God, yes—"
Her fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, peeling them down agonizingly slowly, each inch of newly exposed skin met with the heat of her breath, the occasional press of her lips.
When she finally slides them off completely, tossing them aside, she doesn't move. Just stares at you, her chest rising and falling fast, gaze so dark it's almost black.
"Fuck," she breathes, more to herself than to you, fingers tracing the inside of your thigh.
Your skin prickles under her touch. You watch her throat bob as she swallows, the way her free hand flexes against the mattress like she's stopping herself.
"Wanda—"
She doesn't let you finish.
Her grip tightens on your thigh,, claiming, anchoring, as she leans in and drags her tongue through you in one slow, devastating stroke.
You arch off the bed with a gasp.
She hums against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and when she does it again, harder this time, with the faint scrape of teeth, your hand flies to her hair, gripping tight.
"That," she murmurs against your skin, breath hot. Her free hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, fingers splaying possessively over your racing heart. "That sound. That's the one I wanted."
Her words, rough and ragged, send sparks shooting straight through you, but she doesn't give you a second to process them.
Her tongue finds that spot again and her hand moves up, finding yours and threading her fingers through, anchoring like she needs to hold on just as much as you do.
You grip her fingers automatically, your breath leaving in a shaky gasp. She looks up at you, her expression wild and possessive, eyes fixed on yours the way only she can be. Like she's daring you to look away.
You don't. Can't. Couldn't if the roof crumbled down around you. She has you pinned with nothing but a look and a single minded focus that sends heat flaring through you, sharp and sudden.
Her grip tightens.
Her mouth lowers again, and this time there's no hesitation, no teasing, she moves like she has a point to prove, like she needs to wreck you so thoroughly you'll never forget what this feels like.
And god, it's working. Every nerve in your body is alight every thought in your mind obliterated. Your free hand fists in the sheets, your head tilting back, body arching with the heat building so quickly it feels like lightning in your veins.
"Wanda—" you gasp, fingers clenching around hers, breath coming hard.
She hums against you, a sound almost like a moan, and this time she does scrape her teeth against you, just enough to make you shiver.
Wanda lifts her head, lips glistening, her free hand moving up to rest just above the sharp jut of your hip, pinning you down exactly where she wants you.
"Say it again," she orders, and it's the same tone she uses in training.
Your brain struggles to make sense of the words, mind too hazy with desire to process anything but the raw need coiling through you. You just look at her, panting, your grip on her fingers still so tight your knuckles are white.
A flicker of impatience crosses her face, and she pushes against you slightly, fingers gripping your hip. Her voice drops, taking on that same dangerous edge she gets in the field.
"Say it again. Say my name."
Her command cuts through the haze, sharp and irresistible. Your back arches slightly, breath hitching as her nails dig into your hip just enough to make you gasp.
"Wanda—"
It comes out broken. Begging.
A satisfied smirk curves her lips, but it's gone in an instant, replaced by something darker as she leans down again.
"That's it," she murmurs against your skin before her tongue drags over you just so, slow and filthy, and your whole body tenses.
Her fingers tighten on yours.
"Again."
Your head falls back, breath catching, each of her words is like a matchstrike through your veins.
It takes every ounce of control to keep your voice steady when you answer.
"Wanda."
She makes a sound against your skin. A soft hum that turns into another one of those damned moans when you say her name in that wrecked, breathless tone. You feel her exhale against you, shaky and uneven.
You're completely unraveling, the world narrowing to nothing but the feeling of her mouth on you, her fingers locked with yours like an anchor. Every nerve is alight, your back arching as she pushes you mercilessly toward the edge
And then she does something, some perfect twist of her tongue, and you break.
Her name leaves your lips like a plea, a curse, a benediction as you shatter beneath her.
Wanda doesn't stop. Not until you're gasping, trembling, your fingers weakly tugging at her hair in protest.
Then, and only then, does she pull back, just enough to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.
Her breath comes as ragged as yours when she finally looks up at you, lips swollen, chin glistening, eyes black with satisfaction.
She exhales sharply through her nose, watching you with predatory satisfaction as you come down from the high.
Then she's moving up your body in one fluid motion, her knee slotting between your thighs as she braces herself over you. Her free hand, still tangled with yours, presses firmly into the mattress beside your head.
"Look at you," she murmurs, voice wrecked and reverent. Her gaze travels over your flushed skin, your heaving chest, the way your body still trembles with aftershocks.
She leans down until her lips brush your ear. "I could do that for hours." A shiver runs down your spine. "I will do that for hours." Her teeth graze your earlobe. "But first..."
Her hips roll against yours in one slow, deliberate motion that has your breath catching all over again.
One hand grips your thigh, dragging it higher around her waist. The other guides your palm down the taut plane of her stomach, lower, until your fingers brush where she's already soaked and trembling.
Her breath hitches.
"Feel that?" Her voice is raw. "That's you."
Your fingers twitch, an involuntary reaction, and you feel her lips brush the sensitive skin at your neck, her breath coming hot and fast.
"Good girl."
Her praise makes your stomach flip flop, but all coherent thoughts fly out of your head when she shifts again, the heat of her so close it feels like a brand.
She hums against your skin.
"Touch me," she whispers, low and throaty, her hand still guiding yours.
There's something like desperation in her voice. In her eyes, when she pulls back to look at you.
"Please."
Your fingers tremble as they slip through the slick heat, finding her clit with a slow, deliberate stroke that makes her gasp against your neck. Her hips buck forward, grinding against your palm, and the hand on your thigh digs in possessively.
"Again," she breathes, her voice already fraying at the edges.
You stroke her again, slower this time, spreading the wetness with two fingers while your thumb circles her swollen clit. Her whole body shudders, and she buries her face in your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point without quite breaking skin.
"Yes—fuck—"
Her thigh pushes between yours in instinctive retaliation, the pressure making your own breath catch.
You slide two fingers inside her, and the ragged moan she releases vibrates against your throat like a spell.
"More—" Her hips roll against your hand, chasing the stretch, the friction.
Her own hand finds your core again, fingers slipping through your arousal.
As your fingers curl inside her, hitting that spot that makes her eyes roll back, she returns the favor. Her fingers part you, sliding easily through your wetness before pressing inside.
Your gasps mix with hers as she starts a slow, torturous rhythm, matching your pace inside her.
"Fuck, just like that," she whispers against your mouth, her thumb finding your clit and circling it in perfect sync with her fingers inside you.
The room fills with the sound of wet, desperate noises, your moans echoing hers, her breath hitching with each thrust.
You curl your fingers deep inside her, and suddenly her walls are squeezing you so tight you can barely move.
"So tight," you breathe, watching her eyes flutter closed.
When she looks at you again, her pupils are blown wide, eyes rolling back.
Her thighs clamp around your wrist, trapping you inside her as she whimpers.
"Don't— don't stop—" Her head falls back, neck exposed, veins pulsing visibly under her skin.
Your fingers keep moving, relentless.
"Wanda," you moan, your head falling back against the pillow, neck bared as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.
She watches you from above, her own rhythm faltering as she stares down, mouth falling open in silent awe. Her eyes are half lidded, dark with desire, tracking every shiver that wracks your body.
Wanda's breath comes in ragged gasps as she watches your face contort with pleasure. Her fingers move faster, deeper, mimicking the rhythm of your own hand inside her.
"You look beautiful." Wanda's voice is barely a whisper, her eyes locked onto your face as you moan her name again.
She's so wet, your fingers slipping easily in and out of her, the sound obscene in the silent room.
The coil in your belly snaps violently, your toes curling as your orgasm crashes over you.
You moan out, your walls clamping tight around her fingers. Wanda isn't far behind, the sight of you unraveling sends her hurtling over the edge.
She grinds down desperately onto your hand, her back arching as she comes with a shattered moan of your name.
You both ride out each other's climaxes, your hands still moving through the aftershocks until the sensitivity becomes almost too much.
Wanda collapses against you, her face buried in your shoulder, both of you trembling and breathless.
Her fingers slip out of you slowly, bringing you down with them.
She kisses your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, soft, reverent presses.
Her weight is warm and solid against you, her skin still humming with lingering tremors. One arm curls tight around your waist as she shifts just enough to press her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, sweaty and spent.
For a long moment, she just looks at you. Like she's trying to memorize the flush on your cheeks, the way your lashes flutter when you catch your breath.
Then, quietly, almost shyly.."Mine," she murmurs.
It's not a question. It's a truth. Spoken like a prayer, like a vow, like the only thing in the world she's ever been sure of.
Her fingers trace the scar on your throat again, softer now, lingering. As if she's rewriting its history with just her touch.
You tilt your head into her palm, exhaling a laugh that's more relief than anything.
"Yours," you agree.
Something unreadable flickers in her eyes. Then she kisses you, slow, deep, ruinous until neither of you can remember a time when you weren't this.
When she finally pulls back, her thumb brushes your bottom lip.
part 3 out of 4 parts (link for pervious at the end)
The room is still.
You blink up at the ceiling, heavy lidded, drugged, processing the last sixty seconds like someone watching a movie through water. Two women. Your bed. Something happening above you that your body understood before your brain did.
Your eyes drift to Wanda.
Her jaw is still clenched. Her hand is still in your hair. Her green eyes are burning a hole through the closed door.
Yelena lets exactly three seconds of silence pass. Which, for her, is restraint.
"So," she says. "The space woman wants to have sex with Y/n."
Wanda's eyes close.
"I am just observing," Yelena continues, pushing off the wall. "Very obvious. The way she looked at Y/n. Like she was the last sandwich on earth."
Wanda breathes through her nose. Slowly. Deliberately. The way a person breathes when they are calculating the structural integrity of a window.
"And Wanda," Yelena says, gesturing between Wanda and your bed with a finger, "also wants to have sex with you."
"Yelena," Wanda says quietly.
"This is very complicated love triangle. Usually in movies there is more talking and less—" she mimics the scarlet wrist grab with her own hand, making a grabbing motion and a sound effect with her mouth. "—magic assault."
"Get out," Wanda says.
"I am only saying what everyone is thinking—"
"Out."
"—because you are both very beautiful women and she is—" Yelena points at you, "—lying there like a magnet for powerful people with anger issues. It is impressive honestly. I cannot even get text back from barista at coffee shop on fifth floor and she has two—"
"Yelena. I will remove you from this room."
"You will not. I am providing emotional support."
"You are providing a headache."
"Same thing in my family."
Wanda opens her eyes. Looks at Yelena.
Yelena holds up both hands. "Fine. Fine. I am leaving." She takes one step toward the door. Stops. "But I want you to know that if you and space woman fight, I am betting on you. But only because I have seen you throw a bus."
She takes another step. Stops again.
"Also I think she could go invisible during a fight which is cheating. You should establish rules first. I can referee—"
"Yelena."
"Going."
She reaches the door. Opens it. Pauses with one foot in the hallway.
"Should I tell Natasha about the space woman?"
Wanda's jaw tightens.
"Because I already texted Natasha about the space woman."
Wanda stares at her with the expression of a woman who is going to remember this conversation in great detail at a later date.
Yelena smiles, bright, unbothered, fully aware she's pushing a button and delighted by the sound it makes.
"Okay bye. Feel better," she says to you. Then, to Wanda: "Don't do anything I would do."
She leaves. The door shuts.
Silence.
Wanda exhales, long, slow, from somewhere deep, and pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand.
She looks back down at you.
You're blinking up at her like the ceiling just asked you a math question. Your eyes are glassy, half open, completely gone on whatever's dripping through your IV.
You have no idea what just happened in this room.
Wanda's thumb traces your cheek.
A smile pulls at her mouth, small, private, the kind that belongs to a thought she'll never say out loud.
She shakes her head once, barely.
"You have no idea," she murmurs.
The days blur.
Not in the kind way, not soft edges and gentle fading. They blur the way pain makes things blur, where time becomes a series of sensations strung together by medication schedules and the sound of Wanda's heels on tile.
She never left.
Not once. Not for a meeting, not for a mission, not for the debrief that Fury scheduled and rescheduled and eventually held without her because she looked at the summons like it was written in a language she'd chosen to forget.
She ran your recovery like a campaign.
Your medication was reviewed by three specialists before it touched your IV. Your physical therapy was scheduled by Wanda personally, not the standard rotation, the senior team, the ones who worked on Avengers and didn't flinch when their patient's supervisor stood in the corner watching every movement like she was memorizing it for a court case.
The nurses learned fast. They knocked twice. They explained what they were doing before they did it. They didn't touch you without announcing it first, not because protocol required it, but because the woman in the chair by the window had a way of looking at unexpected hands near your body that made people reconsider their career choices.
The doctors gave you the same care they gave every patient.
Wanda made sure it was better.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet word here, a pointed question there, a request framed so politely it took people a moment to realize it wasn't a request at all.
I'd like her chest imaging reviewed again.
I'd like the overnight team to check her drain output every two hours instead of four.
I'd like the best. Only the best. Is that going to be a problem?
It was never a problem.
And every day, every single day, Sue Storm walked down the corridor toward your room.
And every day, the security panel outside your door pulsed red.
The first time, Sue stared at the panel for ten seconds. Then she turned and walked away, jaw tight, steps measured.
The second time, she swiped her clearance badge twice like the system might change its mind. It didn't.
The third time, she stood in front of the panel and exhaled through her nose, slow, dry, the sound of a woman who has navigated asteroid fields and quantum anomalies but cannot get past a door because Wanda Maximoff decided she doesn't get to.
By the fourth day, Sue stopped walking down the corridor.
She sent flowers instead.
They arrived in your room while Wanda was reviewing your discharge paperwork. White lilies. A card that read only: Thinking of you. — S
Wanda looked at them the way you'd look at a grenade someone left on your kitchen counter.
She didn't throw them away.
She moved them to the windowsill behind the curtain where you couldn't see them from the bed.
Natasha noticed. Said nothing. Sipped her coffee.
Discharge day comes not because you're healed but because you're stable enough to heal somewhere else.
Your ribs still ache with every deep breath. The bruising has faded from black to a sick yellow green that looks worse than it feels. The incision at your throat is closed, scarring, tender when you swallow. A portable oxygen line sits under your nose, temporary, they said, just until your lungs finish remembering how to do their full job.
You move slowly. Everything is slow now. Standing takes a negotiation with your body. Walking takes a conversation with your ribs. Getting dressed takes Wanda's hands at your shoulders, easing a hoodie over your head with a patience so deliberate it makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with the fractures.
She walks you to the elevator with her hand on your waist.
Not your elbow. Not your back. Your waist, fingers spread, palm flat, holding you against her side like she's afraid the building will try to take you if she doesn't keep you close.
You lean into her because you have to. You lean into her because you want to.
The elevator doors close. Wanda's free hand reaches for the panel.
You watch her press the button.
It's not your floor.
Your eyes shift to the number. Then to her.
She's looking straight ahead.
Her hand tightens on your waist.
The elevator climbs. Past the residential wing. Past the common floors. Past the level where your small, quiet quarters sit with your unmade bed and your half dead plant and the mug you left on the counter the morning of the mission.
She doesn't look at you when she says it. She guides you forward, gently, carefully, her grip adjusting around your waist as you step out of the elevator into a space you've never seen before.
Her heels click against the hardwood as she guides you through it.
Click. Click. Click.
That sound. Her sound. Measured and certain, the rhythm of a woman who walks like every floor belongs to her.
The black stilettos. The skinny jeans that make her legs look endless. The dark blouse, sleeves rolled once at the forearm now, the first concession to comfort she's made in days.
Her auburn hair catching the warm light of the penthouse, shifting between copper and wine as she moves.
Her green eyes flicking between you and the hallway ahead, scanning for steps, for thresholds, for anything that might catch your feet or jar your ribs.
You don't argue.
You don't have the energy. Your body is a collection of sore parts loosely held together by medication and stubbornness, and every step reminds you of that. The oxygen line tugs gently under your nose. Your ribs protest each inhale. Your throat aches when you swallow.
And Wanda's hand is on your waist, steady and sure, and arguing with her right now would be like arguing with gravity.
She doesn't just want you here. She needs you here.
You can feel it in the way her fingers press into your side, not hard, but possessive, just constant. Like she's checking with every step that you're still solid. Still real. Still hers to keep.
Her bedroom is at the end of the hall. She opens the door with her free hand and the room is dim, curtains half-drawn, the sheets on the king bed already pulled back like she prepared this before she brought you home.
Because of course she did.
"Sit," she says, guiding you to the edge of the mattress. "Slowly."
You lower yourself down and the bed is soft in a way that makes your whole body want to collapse into it. Your ribs disagree. You wince. Wanda's hand is at your shoulder immediately, easing you back against the pillows she's stacked behind you.
She crouches in front of you and unzips the hoodie with careful fingers. Slides it off your shoulders. Folds it and sets it aside like it matters.
"Arms up," she says quietly. "Just a little."
You raise them as far as your ribs allow, which is barely, and she lifts the hem of your shirt, working it over your head with a gentleness that makes your eyes sting.
The wraps around your torso are due for changing. She knows this because she knows your schedule better than the nurses did.
She retrieves the kit from the bag she packed, gauze, tape, antiseptic, the portable supplies the medical team sent home with you. She sets them on the nightstand in a neat row.
Her fingers find the edge of the old wrap at your ribs. She peels it slowly, carefully, watching your face for every flinch.
"Tell me if it's too much," she says.
It's not too much. It's her hands and low light and the quiet of a room that smells like her, and you are so tired.
She cleans the skin around the chest tube site with a focus so precise it belongs in a surgical wing. Her touch is feather light over the bruising, still ugly, still tender, the yellow-green proof of what your body went through. She applies fresh gauze. Tapes it. Moves to your throat.
This part she does slower.
Her fingers hover at the scar before they touch it, the thin line where Natasha's knife opened you up. It's healing. Pink, raised, sealed. But it's there. It will always be there.
Wanda's jaw tightens as she cleans around it.
She doesn't say anything.
She doesn't need to. Her hands say everything, the way they slow over the scar, the way her thumb brushes the skin beside it like an apology for something that wasn't her fault but she carries anyway.
Fresh bandage. Clean tape. She smooths the edges down with her fingertips and leans back to check her work.
"Done," she murmurs.
But you're already gone.
Your eyes closed somewhere between the ribs and the throat, your body surrendering to the softness of her bed and the warmth of her hands and the simple, overwhelming relief of being somewhere that feels safe.
Your breathing is shallow but steady. Your face is slack. Your hand rests on the mattress, fingers still curled loosely where they last touched her wrist.
Wanda watches you sleep for a long moment.
Then she pulls the duvet up to your shoulders, tucks it around you without disturbing the oxygen line, and sits on the edge of the bed until she's sure you're deep enough under that the pain can't follow.
She stands.
Picks up the old wraps, the used gauze, the kit.
Her heels are quiet on the carpet as she leaves the room, pulling the door half closed behind her.
The penthouse is silent for twenty minutes.
Then FRIDAY chimes.
"Commander Maximoff. There is a visitor at the residence entrance."
Wanda is in the kitchen. Coffee in hand.
"Who," she says, though something in her voice suggests she already knows.
"Dr. Susan Storm."
Wanda sets the coffee down.
Her heels click against the hardwood, sharp, deliberate, each step tighter than the last, as she walks to the front entrance.
She opens it. Sue stands in the hallway.
She looks like she hasn't slept well in days but would rather die than admit it.
Her eyes sweep past Wanda into the penthouse, searching.
"She was discharged this morning," Sue says. "She's not in her quarters."
Wanda leans against the doorframe.
One shoulder. Casual. Blocking the view inside with her body like it's an afterthought.
"No," Wanda agrees. "She's not."
Sue's jaw tightens. "Where is she."
Wanda holds her gaze.
The silence is the answer.
Sue's eyes flick from Wanda's face to the penthouse behind her. To the hallway beyond. To the half closed bedroom door barely visible over Wanda's shoulder.
Understanding lands on Sue's face like a slap.
"You brought her here," Sue says quietly.
"She's resting," Wanda replies. "Is there something you need, Dr. Storm?"
Sue's nostrils flare. Her weight shifts. Her hands tighten where they're crossed over her chest, and something hot and sharp moves behind her eyes, not surprise, not confusion, just the specific fury of a woman who already lost and is watching the proof of it unfold in real time.
"I need to see her," Sue says.
"She's asleep."
"I'll wait."
Wanda's head tilts.
That tilt.
"No," Wanda says simply. "You won't."
Sue moves. She steps forward, shoulder angled, ready to slip past Wanda through the gap between her body and the doorframe.
She makes it one step.
Scarlet hits her like a wall.
Wanda's hand doesn't even lift. The magic moves on its own, an extension of something deeper than thought, deeper than reflex. It slams Sue backward and pins her against the hallway wall, shoulders flat, feet barely touching the ground.
Sue's breath punches out of her.
Her eyes go wide, then narrow. Her skin shimmers, the invisibility response kicking in on instinct, her body trying to do what it always does when it's threatened.
"Don't," Wanda says.
One word. Low. Final.
The scarlet tightens. Enough to make it perfectly clear that the shimmering, the powers, the invisibility, none of it matters here. Not against this. Not against her.
Sue's shimmer dies. Her jaw clenches. She stares at Wanda with eyes that are bright and furious and searching for a crack she won't find.
"I said no," Wanda says. She hasn't moved from the doorframe. Hasn't raised her voice. Hasn't shifted her weight or broken a sweat. "You won't."
Sue's chest rises and falls against the scarlet holding her.
"You can't keep her from me," Sue says through her teeth.
Wanda's green eyes are steady. Patient. Lethal in their calm.
"I'm not keeping her from anyone," Wanda says. "She's sleeping in my bed. She's healing under my care. And you are standing in my hallway."
She lets each sentence land on its own.
"So I will say it one more time, Dr. Storm."
The scarlet pulses once, a slow, deliberate squeeze, like a fist reminding you it's there.
"Not tonight."
Sue's hands come up.
A force field ripples outward from her palms, invisible, dense, the kind of energy that holds back cosmic fire and collapsing starships. It pushes against the scarlet like two tectonic plates meeting, and for a single, breathless second the hallway hums with the sound of two impossible forces disagreeing.
The scarlet fractures.
Not much. Not dramatically. But enough. Sue peels herself off the wall, the force field shrugging Wanda's magic aside like shedding a coat, and she steps forward.
One step. Shoulders square. Eyes locked on Wanda's.
She doesn't run. Doesn't charge. Just stands there, close enough that the air between them is a razor's edge, and refuses to move.
Wanda's jaw tightens. Sue's jaw tightens.
"Get out," Wanda says. Low. A warning wrapped in silk.
Sue doesn't budge. Wanda steps closer.
She's taller. Not by much, an inch, maybe two with the heels, but she uses every fraction of it.
She leans closer. Close enough that Sue can see the green of her eyes darken.
"Leave. While I'm still asking."
The standoff holds for three more seconds.
Then FRIDAY chimes.
"Commander Maximoff. Two additional visitors at the residence entrance."
From down the hallway, already audible through the walls:
"—I am just saying, if you fold the pizza, it is a sandwich. This is not controversial—"
"It is literally controversial. That's why we're arguing about it."
"We are not arguing. I am correct and you are experiencing denial—"
Wanda's eyes close.
Sue hears it too. Her jaw shifts. The fire in her expression cools, not gone, just banked, shelved for a fight that won't happen with an audience.
She clicks her tongue once. Sharp. Quiet. The sound of a woman filing this moment under unfinished.
She turns.
Her steps are measured down the hallway, controlled, unhurried, refusing to look like a retreat even though they both know what it is.
She passes Yelena and Natasha coming the other way.
Natasha clocks Sue immediately. Her eyes narrow a fraction, tracking her as she passes, reading the tension on her face like a headline.
Yelena doesn't read the room. Yelena walks straight through it.
"Oh," Yelena says, watching Sue's back disappear around the corner. "Space woman was here?" She turns to Wanda, still standing in the doorway. "Did you fight? You fought. I can tell. Your jaw is doing the thing—"
"Yelena," Natasha says.
"—it does the thing when you are angry, it goes—" Yelena clenches her own jaw in exaggerated demonstration. "—like this. Very scary. I am practicing it in the mirror but I do not have the cheekbones—"
Wanda opens her eyes.
She looks at them, Yelena mid performance, Natasha pinching the bridge of her nose behind her, and for one long, exhausted moment she weighs the merits of closing the door in both their faces.
She doesn't.
She turns and walks toward the kitchen without a word.
Her heels click against the hardwood. Sharp. Tired. Done.
Behind her, Yelena takes this as an invitation.
"She didn't say no," Yelena whispers to Natasha.
They walk in anyway.
The kitchen is warm. Late afternoon light stretches across the countertop in long amber strips.
Wanda pulls two mugs from the cabinet without asking what they want. She pours coffee, black for Natasha, because she knows, and black for Yelena, because Yelena gets what she's given.
She slides them across the counter.
Yelena looks into the mug. "Do you have—"
"No," Wanda says.
Yelena drinks it black.
Natasha wraps both hands around her mug and leans against the counter. She lets the silence sit for exactly as long as Wanda needs to pick up her own coffee, the one she set down when FRIDAY announced Sue, still lukewarm, still waiting where she left it.
Then Natasha says it.
"What are you doing, Wanda."
It's not accusatory. It's not gentle either. It's Natasha, direct, measured, asking because she needs to know and respects Wanda enough not to soften it.
Wanda picks up her mug. Takes a sip. Holds it with both hands and looks at Natasha and Yelena over the rim.
She doesn't answer immediately.
The coffee lowers.
"She's not going back to her quarters," Wanda says.
Natasha's brow lifts. "Okay."
"She can barely walk to the bathroom without her ribs locking up. She's on oxygen. She can't change her own wraps. She can't—" Wanda stops. Resets. "She needs someone."
"She needs someone," Natasha repeats carefully. "Or she needs you."
Wanda's green eyes hold Natasha's over the rim of the mug.
She doesn't answer.
Which is the answer.
Natasha exhales. Sets her coffee down. Crosses her arms.
"You've blocked Sue Storm's access to her room. You moved her into your penthouse without telling anyone. You've been running her medical care like a personal operation for a week." Natasha's voice is calm but her eyes are sharp. "Wanda. You know what this looks like."
"I know what it is," Wanda says.
"And what is it."
Wanda takes another sip. Slow. Unbothered.
"Necessary," she says.
Yelena raises a finger. "It looks like—"
"Don't," both women say simultaneously.
Yelena lowers the finger. Drinks her coffee.
Natasha pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. Her voice drops, not for secrecy, but for weight.
"You're her supervisor, Wanda. You trained her. You evaluate her. You decide if she goes back in the field. And now she's sleeping in your bed."
Wanda's jaw tightens. Not in anger. In the particular discomfort of hearing something true that she's already thought about a hundred times in the dark.
"I know," she says quietly.
"So what happens when she's healed. When Fury asks why she's been living with her commanding officer. When Hill opens a review."
"Then I'll handle it."
"That's not a plan."
"It's not a plan," Wanda agrees. She sets the mug down. Looks at Natasha, really looks, the way she does when she's not performing, not commanding, just being honest with the one person who's earned it. "It's the only thing I can do right now. I almost lost her, Nat. I heard her choking on her own blood. I held her face while you cut her throat open."
The kitchen is very quiet.
"So no. I don't have a plan. I have her in my bed and I have coffee in my hand and I have a door I can lock between her and anyone who wants to take her from me." She pauses. "That's enough for today."
Natasha stares at her for a long moment.
Then something in her expression shifts. Not softening exactly, Natasha doesn't soften. More like... standing down. Recognizing the shape of something she can't argue with because she's felt it herself.
"Okay," Natasha says.
Wanda blinks. "Okay?"
"Okay. For today."
Yelena looks between them. "That's it? No more arguing? This is very anticlimactic. I brought energy for at least—"
Natasha picks up her coffee. "Drink your coffee, Yelena."
"I am drinking. I am also commenting. I can do both."
Natasha and Yelena leave before dark.
Natasha squeezes Wanda's shoulder at the door, brief, firm, the Romanoff version of a hug. Yelena waves at the closed bedroom door and whispers "bye tiny injured person" loud enough that Wanda pushes her into the hallway.
The penthouse settles into quiet.
Wanda checks on you once. Twice. Three times. Standing in the bedroom doorway, listening to your breathing, watching the gentle rise and fall of the duvet. Each time she stays a little longer than she means to.
Then she forces herself down the hall to the office.
A desk. A lamp. A screen mounted on the wall showing mission feeds she hasn't turned off. Paperwork stacked in the kind of organized piles that only make sense to the person who built them.
She sits. Puts on her reading glasses, thin frames, dark, the kind she'd never wear in front of the team because they make her look human. She pulls up the trainee's file on her tablet. Scrolls. Reads. Makes notes in the margins with a stylus, her handwriting sharp and slanted
She drafts an email to Hill.
Director Hill,
I'm aware that Calloway's team has submitted an appeal on their behalf regarding the field suspension. I'm also aware that two training supervisors have co-signed a request to reclassify the incident as a judgment error under duress.
Both are denied.
Calloway was briefed. Calloway confirmed. Calloway broke formation in a live-fire corridor with civilians present and forced a fellow agent into a bullet's path. That is insubordination. I will not call it something softer because it makes the paperwork easier.
Additionally:
Their psych evaluation moves to Monday. Their simulation access is restricted to supervised sessions only — no solo runs, no team exercises. Their clearance is downgraded to Level 1 effective immediately. No mission briefs, no tactical databases, no operational floor access until I say otherwise.
I want weekly status reports sent directly to my office. Full breakdowns. Scores, response times, decision-making evaluations, instructor notes. Not summaries.
And I want the name of whoever approved the reclassification request before it reached your desk. That recommendation didn't come from anyone who was in that corridor.
I will not be flexible on any of this.
Commander W. Maximoff
She reads it back. Sends it without changing a word.
She opens the next file. Your field report.
The cursor blinks on an empty form. She stares at it for longer than she'd admit.
Then she starts typing.
INCIDENT REPORT — CLASSIFIED Operation: RELAY POINT Date: [REDACTED] Reporting Officer: Commander W. Maximoff (filing on behalf of Agent Y/n Y/ln, currently incapacitated)
At approximately 2247 hours, a six person tactical team executed a breach on a fortified humanitarian front operating as cover for an illegal weapons cache and hostage holding site.
Agent Y/l/n was assigned to hostage extraction via the west corridor. Her directive was explicit: prioritize civilian safety, do not pursue targets, maintain formation.
Agent Y/l/n followed her orders.
During the approach, Trainee Operative Calloway deviated from assigned position and advanced into an unsecured doorway, exposing a civilian hostage to direct fire from an armed combatant inside the room.
Agent Y/l/n intervened.
She placed herself between the shooter and the civilian. The round struck her ballistic vest at center mass. The vest performed as designed. The blunt force trauma did not.
Agent Y/l/n sustained multiple rib fractures, severe pulmonary contusion, and progressive airway compromise. An emergency cricothyrotomy was performed in the field by Agent N. Romanoff. Agent Y/l/n was evacuated to Avengers Tower medical wing and underwent emergency surgery including chest tube placement and internal hemorrhage repair.
Agent Y/l/n is currently recovering. Prognosis: stable.
She stops typing. The cursor blinks.
Prognosis: stable.
Two words that sound like nothing and mean everything.
Her fingers hover over the keyboard. There's a notes section at the bottom of the form. Optional. Most officers leave it blank.
Wanda types:
Agent Y/l/n acted in full compliance with her training and her orders. She made a decision under fire that saved a civilian's life at significant personal cost. Her conduct was exemplary.
She stares at the screen.
Her fingers move again. Then stop. Then move.
I want it on record that she should not have been in a position to make that decision. The failure was not hers.
She reads it back.
It says everything it's allowed to say. It says nothing about holding your face on a concrete floor. Nothing about the sound you made when your lungs stopped working. Nothing about the way your blood looked on her hands in the rain.
She signs it. Files it. Moves on to the next.
The lamp hums. The screen glows. Her pen moves.
Then she hears it. Soft. Uneven. Slow. Footsteps in the hallway.
Wanda looks up from the tablet.
You're standing in the doorway.
The oxygen line loops under your nose and over your ears. One of her t-shirts hangs off your frame, too big, slipping at the shoulder, something she changed you into before bed because your own clothes were at your quarters and she wasn't about to go get them.
Your hair is messy from the pillow.
Your eyes are heavy lidded and bruised with sleep. One hand braces against the doorframe. The other presses lightly against your ribs.
You look exhausted and sore and half-awake.
Wanda's face changes.
Everything she was, the commander drafting emails, the supervisor reviewing files, the woman with the reading glasses and the sharp handwriting, falls away in the space of a single breath.
Her eyes go soft.
Her lips part. Her hand lowers the stylus to the desk without looking at it, because she is looking at you, and when she looks at you the rest of the room stops being real.
She's on her feet before you take another breath.
The glasses come off, dropped on the desk without ceremony, and she crosses the room in three steps, her hand finding your cheek like it's muscle memory.
"What are you doing up," she says, and it's not a question. It's a soft accusation.
Her thumb brushes under your eye, checking, reading you the way she always does, pain level, alertness, whether you're about to do something stupid.
"I woke up," you say. Your voice is rough. Scratchy. It sounds like someone dragged it across gravel and left it in the sun. "And you weren't there."
Something flickers across her face. Fast. Gone before she can catch it.
"I was twenty feet away," she says.
"Felt further."
Her jaw works. Her thumb keeps moving against your cheek, slow and absent, like she doesn't know she's doing it.
"You should be in bed," she says.
"Your bed."
"Yes."
"Want to talk about that?"
"No."
"Cool."
Her lips press together. Not quite a smile. The ghost of one held hostage behind her teeth.
You lean heavier into the doorframe. Your ribs remind you they exist and you wince, small, involuntary, and Wanda's hand drops from your cheek to your waist immediately, steadying you.
"Okay," she says, shifting closer, her body angling into yours like a wall you're allowed to lean on. "Okay. Back to bed."
"I don't want to go back to bed."
"I don't recall asking what you want."
"You never do."
"And yet you keep talking."
You look up at her. She's close, close enough that you can see the tired around her eyes, the faint shadows she's been hiding behind authority and caffeine. Close enough that you can smell her, something clean, something warm, something that has no business making your chest ache when your chest is already a disaster.
"Nice glasses, by the way," you say.
Wanda blinks.
"On the desk," you say. "I saw them. Very sexy librarian."
Wanda goes still.
Her brain short circuits for a half second because you said something she wasn't braced for and her face hasn't decided what to do about it yet.
If anyone else had said it, Yelena, a trainee, some agent trying their luck she wouldn't even register it. It would bounce off her like rain off glass. She'd tilt her head, deliver something lethal, and move on without a pulse change.
But it's you.
And you're looking up at her with messy hair and bruised eyes and her tshirt falling off your shoulder, and you're flirting with her in a hallway outside her office while you can barely stand.
The flush creeps up the back of her neck. Slow. Warm. Traitorous.
Her chin lifts a fraction, the tell she doesn't know she has.
"You're on pain medication," she says flatly.
"I am."
"Which means you don't know what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying. You wear reading glasses. That's new information. I'm processing it."
"Process it in bed."
"You keep saying bed."
Her jaw tightens but her eyes, her eyes betray her completely. There's a brightness in them that has nothing to do with tears or exhaustion. Something alive. Something that only surfaces when you push her like this, when you find the seam in her armor and slip a finger through it just to see what happens.
She hates it. She loves it.
"You're staring," you say.
"I'm assessing."
"You're staring. You do it in training too. When you think I'm not looking."
Her thumb presses into your waist. Not hard. A warning. "I observe all my trainees."
"Sure. But you don't observe them like that."
"Like what."
"Like you're trying to memorize them."
Wanda's breath shifts. Barely. If you weren't standing this close you'd miss it.
"You're delusional," she says. "It's the medication."
"It was happening way before the medication."
She doesn't deny it.
That's the thing about you and Wanda, the thing that's been there since training, since the first time she corrected your stance and her hand stayed on your elbow two seconds longer than instruction required.
You push. She deflects. You push again.
She lets you get one inch closer than she lets anyone else and pretends she didn't notice.
In briefings, you'd catch her eye across the table and hold it a beat too long. She'd look away first, always her, because she's the one with rank, with discipline, with the reputation, but she'd look away smiling. Just barely. Just enough.
In the gym, you'd say something under your breath while she was demonstrating a hold and she'd lose her composure for exactly one second. One. And the other trainees would glance around confused because they'd never seen Commander Maximoff's mouth twitch like that and didn't understand what they were witnessing.
You did.
You were witnessing the only crack in the wall she'd built, and you were the only one she'd given a hammer to.
"You know what my favorite part of training was," you say, leaning into her as she guides you down the hall.
"Your form improved significantly in month three."
"No."
"Your tactical scores were—"
"Wanda."
She looks at you.
"The sparring," you say. "When you'd pin me and then just... stay there. Giving me notes. Very thorough notes. Very close. Very intense eye contact."
Her footsteps don't falter but her grip changes on your waist, tighter, a fraction, the kind of adjustment that says you've hit something.
"I give all trainees notes after sparring," she says.
"On top of them?"
"That is how pinning works."
"For thirty seconds after the pin was over?"
Silence.
You grin. It hurts your ribs. You don't care.
"I was being thorough," she says.
"You were being something."
"Careful," she murmurs, and there it is, the drop in her voice, the register that lives below commander and above whisper, the one she only uses with you. The one that makes the air between you feel like a held breath. "You're injured. Don't start something you can't finish."
"Who says I can't finish it."
"Your ribs. Your oxygen levels. Basic medical reality."
"Minor obstacles."
She stops walking.
You stop because she stops and because her arm is around you and where she goes your body follows. It's been that way for longer than you'd admit.
She looks at you in the dim hallway. Her green eyes are tired and bright and impossible. Her auburn hair falls across her shoulder and catches the light from the bedroom doorway behind you. She's close enough that you can feel her breathing and you're close enough that she can probably hear your heart rate doing something the oxygen monitor would disapprove of.
"You need to rest," she says, and her voice is softer now. The banter is still there underneath but something else has surfaced, the thing she keeps under lock and key, the thing that slips out when you're alone and she forgets to be careful.
"Okay," you say.
She waits. Like she expects a fight.
"Okay?" she repeats.
"Yeah. Okay. Take me to bed."
You watch her face process that sentence in real time.
"To sleep," you add. "Obviously."
"Obviously," she says.
"Unless—"
"Do not finish that sentence."
"You're smiling."
"I am not."
She is.
It's small and private and she kills it the second you name it, but it was there, a real smile, the kind that reaches her eyes, the kind you've been collecting since training like evidence of something she's not ready to confess.
She guides you the last few steps into the bedroom. Eases you down onto the mattress. Pulls the duvet up. Adjusts the oxygen line with fingers that know where it sits by now.
You catch her hand before she pulls away.
She looks down at your fingers around her wrist.
"Stay," you say. Not flirting. Not pushing. Just asking.
Her jaw works.
"I have reports," she says.
"They'll be there in the morning."
"I have—"
"Wanda."
She looks at you.
"Stay."
The room is quiet. The city hums below the windows. The lamp in the office down the hall is still on and the tablet is still open and the work is still waiting and none of it matters because you're looking at her and asking her to stay and she has never once in her life been able to say no to you when you look at her like that.
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