A/n: this makes no sense and is hella rushed, but fuck it
Summary: All you wanna do for the summer is work as much as possible to avoid your new stepmother, no matter the cost on your body and mind. Your rich stepmother seems appalled by the idea, forcing you on a weekend getaway with her to... bond.
Wordcount: 4k
Warnings: Step-parent, the most unoriginal plot in existence, mommy kink, dom/sub, mock sympathy, pet names, praise kink, age gap (R=mid 20s, W=early 40s), smut, somnophilia, grinding, mild dub-con, humping, fingering, perv Wanda, rich people
The cracked handle of the broom is clutched loosely in your hand as you take in the massacre before you.
Countless cereal boxes are scattered along the floor, some slowly seeping out more work for you as pebbles and crumbs ooze from the broken plastic seals. Drifting in an ocean of Captain Crunch, Lucky Charms, and Cheerios, you get closer to the source of your interrupted break.
It seems that during your fifteen-minute lunch break, the cereal aisle exploded.
Clusters of cereal lie strewn along the floor with strange voids in the middle, like a shitty murder mystery, just that instead of a body being outlined by white tape, it was more like a blob monster drawn with Cheerios.
It wasn’t the first time either- this is the third time just this week that you’ve had to clean it up.
Safe to say, your workplace has a cereal killer on the loose.
The squeak of obnoxiously loud sneakers screeches to a halt on the opposite side of the murder scene. A shadow falls across the dire situation as murder suspect #1 completely disregards the mess in front of you. Instead, the boom of hands colliding with each other has you raising your brows in annoyance.
“Why are you just standing there? Come on, we need you at the registers, chop chop!” Kyle, your asshole of a manager, doesn’t waste a second to hear your response, already halfway across the room before you can open your mouth. His condescending clapping still echoing down the hall with his retreat.
If it weren’t for the fact that he always gave you the shifts you wanted, you would’ve made him the murder outline by now. However, as it stands, he’s the only reason you get out of the house as much as you do, so with a huff, you get to work.
To say your time back from Uni has been dull would be an understatement. The thought drifts somewhat loosely in your head as you clock out at the end of your shift. It’s late, the time trickling into midnight as you make your way across the parking lot.
Mindlessly kicking a rock around, it jumps over bumps and crashes against divots in the pavement. The gentle clatter of stone striking is suddenly overpowered by the honk of a car.
The air shifts, her presence layers itself like something tangible until it slathers against the inside of your throat. You can’t escape the jump of your pulse or the squeeze of your lungs as headlights illuminate you in the darkness.
You attempt an on-foot escape from the familiar Porsche closing in on you. Your shoe digs into your heel, the bent material has become a near-constant ache as it aggravates the blister that brewed long ago. A slick dribble of blood smears itself against your white sock, spreading until a ring of red peeks over the edge of your shoe.
The voice of your stepmother follows your hasty retreat, but your ignorance is short-lived as Wanda points an accusatory finger through her rolled-down window.
“Nuh uh, no avoiding me today, baby Bambi.” The pet name runs through you like a splash of cold water, sending chills down your spine as you freeze in your path.
Wanda points to the passenger seat, undeterred by your initial resistance. It has become a dance between you and your stepmother since you came home for the summer. She would insist that you both do something together, to bond or whatever, while you would take on extra hours and avoid her religiously.
She has tried to pick you up from work multiple times now, but you would pretend you didn’t see her, simply walking past or hitching a ride with a coworker.
You know it’s rude, but you’d rather be rude than admit that you have a crush on your own stepmother.
There is no telling how it festered, but since the moment you laid your eyes on her, she’s consumed you. The idea of spending more time with her than strictly necessary sinks like a weight into the pit of your stomach.
You’d rather she hate you than be disgusted by your perverted crush.
Besides, you are well over the age where you need to bond with your father’s partner. It’s not like it will last anyway, anyone with a pair of eyes can tell they married for business’s sake. Your father owns a rather lucrative business in the corporate world, a business that just so happens to have been your stepmother’s business rival until the two CEOs supposedly found love.
Yeah, love is what you would call the new car in your dad’s driveway and him stepping down to let Wanda handle both businesses.
There was no telling why she hadn’t left him yet.
Today would be another one of your elusive instances if it weren’t for the look she is giving you. It’s stricter than usual, with a tightness around her mouth and firmness in her eyes.
With a sigh, you climb into the passenger seat. A waft of rich perfume engulfs your tired frame. It creeps over your skin like a second layer, spreading the warm scent of cinnamon and cherry over your sweat-stained uniform. Wanda regards you with a strange fondness in her eyes as your slumped frame not so subtly leans toward her in pursuit of the smell's source.
Wanda is dressed more homely today, her blond hair slung into a side part and her face void of makeup. Even her clothing choice is far beyond the usual. You’ve gotten used to the blazers and form-fitting dress pants over the past few weeks, but today she’s in a simple white shirt coupled with some washed jeans.
The sluggishness of your exhaustion must be doing a number on you, as you don’t even realize you’re staring until a touch against your leg startles you.
A hand settles, palm up, on your thigh as she drives out of the parking lot. The shitty fabric of your work pants does little to diffuse the heat that radiates from her. A strange lump forms in your stomach at the thought of heat spreading elsewhere, as her patience seems to run thin. “Come on, hand it over.”
You blink in confusion, looking over to where her eyes stay glued to the road, in question.
She glances at you, a hint of amusement and something you’ve never seen on her, flashing across her features, “Your phone. You know the rules, honey.”
Ah right…
It was one of the weird things she had started implementing into your life.
The rules.
Most of them were fairly easy: keep your room clean, wash the dishes when it’s your turn, and help make dinner when you aren’t working. Then there were the stranger ones. Suddenly, you had a curfew at 10 pm outside of work hours, you weren’t allowed on your phone in Wanda’s vicinity, and only approved guests could stay over.
Knowing there is no point in making a fuss about it, you fish your phone out before dropping it gently into Wanda’s waiting palm. She opens the middle console and puts it in before leaning over slightly to pat your thigh in reward.
“Well done, darling. Thank you.”
The pet names are another odd addition to Wanda’s involvement in your life. Though they are always sweet, they make you squirm. People in your life never really use nicknames, or pet names, or anything other than your name when they are referring to you.
Wanda is an anomaly in your preferably predictable life.
The crunch of gravel beneath the tires lulls you out of your thoughts. The car drums gently atop the small rocks, some of them knocking against the rim in a soothing hiss that rings through the quiet car.
However, it does confuse you. The road back to your dad’s place doesn’t have any gravel roads. Now that you’re thinking about it, you're pretty sure Wanda is driving the wrong direction altogether.
“Where are we going?”
The slim silence while Wanda seems to ponder her wording makes a drop of sweat drip down your back, “My apartment. Your father is gone for the weekend, and I thought we girls should bond a little.”
Your sluggish mind takes a moment to catch up, merely staring at her, until it hits you like a slap in the face. Spending more time with her addicting presence is the last thing you should be doing. If Wanda had any sense in her, she would see why you avoid her and run for the hills.
“Wan-”
Her hand, not currently occupying the steering wheel, is in your face. Squishing your cheeks together harsher than necessary, Wanda tsks, “No. I don’t want to hear it. Is it really that horrible to spend time with me?”
Fingertips release you from her hold, instead, they glide softly along your cheek. It hypnotizes you, your need to comfort her is stronger than your will to stay away: “No, of course not.”
A happy hum is all you get before her warmth is gone, both hands on the wheel and eyes staying strictly forward as Wanda keeps driving. “Good. Then it’s decided.”
You sigh your agreement.
────୨ৎ────
A lone chair sits in Wanda's luxurious hallway. It’s the first thing you notice, its rich brown color absorbs some of the warm light filtering from above. It’s a stark contrast from the rest of the white hall.
Paintings are scattered across both sides of the hallway, the illustrations vary, some abstract pieces hanging above the coatrack while a far too explicit painting of a woman engaging in… some interesting acts… sits atop the door that you assume leads to the living room.
You squirm where you stand, twisting your fingers as blush crawls up your neck. Wanda’s soft chuckle directly behind you does little to diffuse the sudden tension tightening your stance.
“Come here.”
There is no time to react before Wanda pushes you onto that neat little chair.
The groan of wood falls on deaf ears as all your senses hone in on Wanda’s hands. Fingers slide against your knees, the pressure of her fingertips pushing against the stiff material of your pants before grasping your ankle. Words choke themselves, stuck as your stepmother inspects your bloodied sock.
Blond tresses sway against your exposed skin as she lifts your pants for a better look. A dried slab of blood clings to your skin, a smudge of red festering on the back of your shoe where the broken back resides.
A suspiciously handy med-kit resides under the chair, Wanda getting to work with a quiet, “Poor baby.”
You stay silent as she goes through the motions of cleaning your bloody blister before adding a silly-themed band-aid over it. Leaning back on her knees with one last pat to your heel, Wanda eyes your destroyed shoes before looking back at you.
“I fear those will have to go.”
You know she’s right: if not for your bleeding heel, then the fact that the soles are practically nonexistent by now. Still, you can’t help the tears that build in your eyes at the news. You know you’re just tired and being stupid, but you really like these shoes.
The thought of fighting against her words must flash across your face because Wanda clicks her tongue before you have the chance to open your mouth.
“Now now, I know you’re tired, but there is no reason to throw a tantrum, baby Bambi.”
A stunned stillness settles over you at her words, it’s infuriating how she belittles you, yet some small part of you blooms under the condescending tone that drips so sweetly from her tongue.
The pitter-patter of Wanda’s socked feet hitting the wooden flooring as she starts walking away from you almost has you on your knees begging for forgiveness before she stops.
Illuminated by the bathing light of the living room, Wanda stands directly under her unique art. The warm orange bounces against her loose curls, leaving a strange dreamlike effect as her words float around the far too empty space between the two of you.
“Now, come, it’s late and mo- and I don’t want more attitude in the morning.” The soft murmur of her voice fades away from you as she turns, leaving you to force your depleting strength into your muscles and dart after her at what you hope is an appropriate speed.
Wanda leads you into a guest room, leaving with a curt goodnight.
It all seems awfully rushed to you. You know it’s probably for the best, the mere sliver of affection she granted you today already having left an addiction buzz inside your head.
But you’re greedy.
You want more.
It’s the last thought you have before you succumb to the strangeness of tonight, drifting in an ocean of cinnamon and cherry as your head hits red silk.
────୨ৎ────
The cusp of darkness lies like a shroud above you as you wake up. Something is pushing toward you, heat engulfing your tired frame. Seconds tick by in a meaningless fashion before your mind catches up to the tickle of blonde tresses against your back.
It seems that sometime in the night, Wanda has come back for you. She cocoons around you, pushing in at strange intervals.
You almost ask her if something is wrong before a sound submerges your train of thought.
Wanda’s scattered breath weighs heavily in the air. Sounds you have never heard from her before now moaned directly into your ear.
It stuns you into silence as you focus on her movements.
Hips buck against your back, seeking pleasure in your unassuming form. Wanda grinds gently, like waves cruising along the coastline, back and forth in smooth motions. Her sleeping shorts ruffle on your lower back, bunching with the movement of her hips and pressing into you.
You can hear her breath grow heavier by the second, puffing against the shell of your ear. The last remnants of slumber burn away from you as your own breath hitches in your throat. You wonder what she’s dreaming about.
At least you think she’s dreaming…
The lips resting against your neck expose Wanda's pleasure as she moans silently, “Fuck, I can’t stop… Baby Bambi, fuck.”
The sound of her sends a shiver through you. She isn’t dreaming. Your stepmother is humping your sleeping form because she wants you.
Needs you.
You have to suppress the need to grind back into her desperately. It’s like a sickness, her desperation bleeding into your own as your breath grows quicker.
A hand sneaks beneath your t-shirt. The warmth of her palm travels up- up- up until she’s cupping one of your tits gently. Fingers circle the sensitive flesh of your nipple, not hard enough to rouse any real reaction, but constant enough for the wetness between your thighs to grow.
“You feel so good, baby Bambi.”
The ache in your chest explodes at her words, leaving you to pant against the sheets as you try to keep quiet. You fear what would happen if she knew you were awake, the thought of her stopping almost lets a whine slip past your slack lips.
Her other hand palms against your side now, gripping your hips lightly before braving the path down. She skims over your lower stomach, pushing you deeper against Wanda’s moving hips before she’s rubbing a teasing pressure against your underwear.
Two fingers rub in circular motions, only interrupted by her wild jerking. Wanda’s fingers drag a path across the sticky wetness of your pussy. She tests the stretch of your underwear, pushing against your opening before retreating and returning to your clit.
The bucking turns rougher, with sporadic jumps followed by a drawn-out “Baby, fuck-”
You squeeze your eyes shut, begging for the mercy of her mounting pleasure before you come in your panties, untouched, and reveal yourself. Instead, there is a murmur against your neck, something that sounds suspiciously like “fuck it,” before soft lips trail kisses against the back of your neck.
The movement of her hips stops, then her haughty voice breaks the newfound stillness: “I know you’re awake.”
For a moment, the world freezes as a thousand thoughts drift through your head.
Has she known the entire time?
Were you not supposed to wake up?
Is she mad at you?
But your inner panic is cut short as a thigh pushes itself between your legs. The warmth of her is a stark contrast to the wet patch sticking to the inside of your thigh.
Her hands shift to hold your hips firmly as she starts rocking you with her movement, surrendering you to her mercy as she drags you against the meat of her thigh. Your swollen clit strains against the soaked fabric of your underwear, the flimsy material the only hindrance between your flesh and hers.
“Let mommy take care of you, hm, what do you say, baby?”
A desperate keen is the only response she gets as she flips you.
The weight of a body pins you flat against the bed, coarse fabric pushing along your back as her chest settles atop you. Rougher hands lift until your hips wag in the air.
“You really thought mommy wouldn’t notice, baby?”
There is not a moment of wasted breath before your underwear is quickly pushed to the side and her fingers plunge into you. The naughty noise of wet squealing and your surprised moans bounce against the bedroom walls.
“Fuck, well done, baby Bambi, you take me so well.” The hair on the back of your neck drifts with her words as they blow over your skin. Wanda’s pushing against her hand, humping you as she fucks you roughly.
She grunts deeply, “Can mommy tell you a secret?”
The pads of Wanda’s fingertips rail against your sweet spot repeatedly, her words barely hanging on to meaning. She laughs at your pathetic cries, pushing your head further into the sheets. A pool of saliva turns the white fabric sheer.
Her moans grow in volume with your own, the both of you speeding toward pure bliss.
“Shit, I've been thinking about this for so long.”
Your skin surrenders to her teeth as they lodge into your shoulder.
“Ever since I first saw you, mommy knew you needed her.”
She forces your head to the side before she’s kissing you deeply, a tongue forcing its way down your throat. Wanda licks into you as if she's starving, drinking your spit like it’s one of her expensive wines. Her pace speeds up, hurling you toward pleasure faster than you can keep up.
The pressure in your stomach grows and grows, your crying spreading spit across both of your faces.
Wanda hushes you, “Oh, I know, baby, I know.”
“You’ve been working so hard trying to hide from mommy, haven’t you, baby Bambi?”
Her voice grows louder, hinting at how deeply she is affected by her own words.
“It’s why you’re going to quit your job and spend your time with me.”
The fingers inside of you are the only thing you can focus on as you moan your answer.
Wanda releases you from her hold, sitting up on her knees until she towers over your frame. The sweet bliss of your orgasm fades away as she takes her fingers with her. You whine, tears springing to your eyes as the taste of your denied relief sits strong on your tongue.
“Will you do what mommy tells you?
Your ass pushes against her crotch, a small cry of frustration the only sound you manage to make as she palms your ass. You twist your neck all the way to see her, her question going unheard as the sight of her licking your arousal off her fingers consumes you.
The pink of her tongue curls around her digits, dragging across the wet pads of her fingertips seductively slowly. Wanda holds eye contact all the while you watch helplessly, wanting nothing more than for the fingers to drive back into you. A moan rumbles from deep in Wanda’s throat, your answering whine going ignored as she refuses to touch you.
Wanda clicks her tongue, the mental timer ticking down to its end tally.
A slap rings through the bedroom like a gunshot, almost louder than the keening moan that tears through you.
It startles you enough to have words spilling out of you faster than you can comprehend them,
“Yes! Yes, whatever you want! Please, mommy, anything!”
You barely know what you’re saying. Your words are nothing more than nonsensical babble, but it must have made her happy because her fingers come back, railing you harder than ever before. Wanda is back to humping you too, pushing her fingers deeper as she grinds into you.
“There you go, good girl!”
You can’t hear her anymore, the pressure in your stomach is now balancing on a needle’s point. It’s overwhelming: the thickness of your desire choking you, and you begin to fight against her grip. You don’t know what you’re doing, your mind far away as your body fights the inevitable.
Her weight settles back over you as she shushes you gently, her words soft even as her fingers continue their drilling into your wet hole.
“Hush, baby, you’re okay. You’re okay, give in. You can give in now.”
You whine, a panicked noise your only response as the feeling inside of you reaches its limit. It feels like you’re going to explode, the feeling stronger than you have ever felt it before. It blisters inside you, festering onto every nerve, expanding the numbing pleasure from the tips of your fingertips and down to your toes.
Wanda pushes your face into the pillows, the suffocating lack of air, strangely enough, sending you flying over the edge. The loud moaning and jerking against your back tell you that Wanda came right with you.
It’s the last thought you have before the void plunges you in headfirst.
A hazy flicker of static hums inside you as you float far above your own mind. Dim lights simmer beneath your eyelids, a pattern of no sense or reason drawing across your mind like a gentle embrace. Warmth envelopes you, a soothing voice cooing at you while wetness and sweat are wiped away with soft hands.
You’ve just returned to your body when Wanda slides back next to you in bed—all resemblance of space a laughable notion now. Her voice drifts along your residual softness, “Well done, my beautiful girl. You’ll call your manager in the morning, and then we’ll talk. Let's sleep.”
Her palm brushes your cheek before she leans down to plant a sweet kiss atop the red flush. You hum your agreement, the previous conversation long gone from memory. But if it’s what mommy wants, then it’s what she’ll get.
Wanda wraps around you, her body curling into your own as her hand cups you carefully.
The request that I didn't follow too well 😅 (sorry)
When Natasha walks into your restaurant for the first time, you don’t think much of it. She’s just another customer for you to serve… albeit a beautiful one.
“Hi! Welcome in! How’s your night treating you?” you ask cheerily, giving her your best smile.
She offers you a huff through her nose and brushes off your question.
Okay, well, you can try and work with that. You persevere despite her lack of receptive response. “Here’s our menu. I’ll be back shortly to take your order,” you tell her, flashing her another smile.
Natasha grabs the menu from you without another word, so you take the hint and give her some space and time to peruse her options.
When you return to her table, she orders one of the simplest things on the menu—a burger, fries, and a water.
She doesn’t address or speak to you any further, ignoring your continued polite attempts at a small, pleasant conversation.
She leaves without a “thank you” or a “have a good night”, exiting the restaurant without a backward glance.
And she doesn’t tip.
Oh, so she’s not just another customer. She’s the fucking worst.
One week has passed since you last saw Natasha, and yet, you’re still ranting about the minimal interaction. You can’t stop; anger and irritation have been present every moment of your shifts since that day no matter what you do.
“She was just so rude,” you say hotly for what is probably the umpteenth time, “Literally, infuriating.”
“Uh huh,” your coworker responds, bored, having heard this basically on repeat.
“I just- I can’t fucking believe the nerve of her.”
“I hear you.”
“The absolute audacity to walk in here, barely say a word to me, and then not leave a tip.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I’m a great server, a fucking delight… and, not to mention, I’m downright adorable. No one doesn’t tip me.”
Your coworker has finally had enough of your tirades. “Dude, just let it go,” she sighs exasperatedly, “You’re, like, obsessed with her.”
“The fuck? I am not obsessed with her,” you deny immediately, spitting out the words as if just the thought disgusts you.
“You haven’t shut up about her since you saw her. Just admit you thought she had that super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on and you liked it.”
“I didn’t find her hot!” you argue, taking genuine offense at the fact that your coworker could think something like that about you.
“Sure, you didn’t.”
“No, seriously, I didn’t. I don’t,” you declare vehemently before muttering under your breath, “I swear, if she shows her face again, I’m going to-”
“Well, you’ve got your chance.”
“What?”
“She’s here.” Your coworker nods her head in the direction of where Natasha is, seated at the same table as the last time she was here. “She’s been here. Eavesdropping probably. You haven’t been quiet.”
Your gaze snaps over to Natasha, finding her already staring. One of her eyebrows quirks up as you make eye contact. “You didn’t think to warn me?” you hiss, alarmed, voice finally dropping to a lower volume as you look back at your coworker.
Your coworker just shrugs, unbothered, and then she walks away from you, heading to the back, leaving you alone behind the counter.
Natasha’s still watching you, eyes intense and unmeetable. You’re fleeing to the back after your coworker in just seconds.
You don’t emerge until you’re sure the redhead has left the restaurant, too sheepish and embarrassed to face her. You make your way over to her booth to clean up her dishes, and there, left on the table, is several crumpled bills. It’s the biggest tip you’ve ever received—the biggest tip you’ve ever seen—and, written on the merchant copy of the receipt in sloppy scrawl underneath her signature… ‘Fair enough’.
You don’t know how or why; the whole situation doesn’t make sense to you. You insulted Natasha, and yet she left that huge tip and agreeing note… and she continues to show up, over and over, arriving at the same time every week. She becomes a regular, always coming in during your shifts, always seating herself in your section, and always alone.
Your coworker teases you relentlessly. “She likes you,” she singsongs.
You have to frantically shush her every time, her loudness way too much for the small restaurant, the redhead surely able to overhear. “There’s no way she does,” you reject her statement, “I insulted her. A lot. Multiple times. And she made it clear that she heard me.”
“Yeah, and she also told you that you were right.”
“That doesn’t mean she likes me.”
“Don’t play dumb, and don’t pretend you don’t like her too.”
“How many times do we have to do this. I don’t like her.”
Despite the less-than-respectful-on-her-part first interaction, despite the less-than-respectful-on-your-part second interaction, you two do develop a sort of routine. Natasha sits in the same booth every visit; you memorize her order and put it in with the kitchen before she has to ask. She begins to smile and talk a bit more; you learn that her silences, when present, aren’t impolite.
You don’t want to admit it—because how could your heart possibly betray you like this by fluttering every time you see her stroll through the restaurant doors?—but you can’t keep lying to yourself about how you aren’tbeginning to like her. She’s not totally unpleasant anymore, you guess.
“Your usual,” you say as you deliver the burger, fries, and water glass to Natasha’s table.
She flashes you a small grin, and, like what’s typical for her now, thanks you, her voice soft when she talks. “You always know just what I need.”
You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your own smile. “You ‘need’ the same thing every time. It’s not hard.”
Unconsciously, you find yourself happy that she’s always unaccompanied, with no one in tow, and although you don’t think you’ll ever stop ignoring your coworker’s claims—“Just accept that she has a crush on you”—you’re secretly pleased at being told that perhaps Natasha likes you. Your coworker was right. She really does have a super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on.
It’s a Thursday when Natasha next comes in, which is… weird. She’s a Wednesday patron, a 6:30pm Wednesday patron, to be exact. She’s always on time. So, when she arrives at the restaurant on a different day than normal, at a different time than normal—right before you’re off, actually—and sits at a different table than normal, it’s beyond unexpected.
Your coworker shoots you a confused look when she watches the redhead make her way into her section instead of yours, and although you’re puzzled and perhaps ever so slightly jealous, you technically are supposed to be clocking out in a few minutes, so it’s not like you could serve her anyway.
Maybe she just really wanted another burger earlier than normal, and maybe she just didn’t want to sit by the window tonight.
You can’t help but eavesdrop on Natasha’s order. Will she be switching that up too?
“Can I get you your usual?” your coworker asks her.
Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet,” she answers, “I’m actually waiting for someone this time.”
You falter, heart sinking in your chest in a funny way that you don’t want to acknowledge. She’s on a date. Your eyes flick to the front doors, wondering just when the person meeting with her will be walking through them. You don’t want to be here for that.
You remove your apron and fold it over your forearm with maybe a little too much force, you grab your bag from the back possibly somewhat too roughly, and you make your way out of the back room, heading toward the exit with purpose. You happen to have to pass Natasha’s booth on your way. You don’t make eye contact.
You’re stopped by a hand reaching out to grab your wrist, and you whip around, confused and surprised at being stopped by her.
“Where are you going?” she asks, voice gentle as she tries to soothe your clear agitation.
“I’m off,” you reply, and you can’t help but throw something a bit more bitter her way as well. “But you know that already.” It’s a definitive statement. She’s familiar with your schedule by now; she’s been here enough times to have learned it.
“I do know,” she confirms.
It makes you even angrier, and your annoyance, stemming from jealousy, flares. You open your mouth to shoot back some retort, but she beats you to it.
“Well? Are you just going to stand there? Aren’t you going to sit?”
You freeze, brows furrowing. “What?”
“Table for two today,” she informs you even though you’re well aware, grinning in amusement at how obvious it is that you’re trying to connect the dots.
And then it clicks… and you slowly slip your bag off your shoulder… and you slowly take a seat across from her… and you slowly find yourself smiling instead of frowning in hurt.
Your coworker returns to the table, smirking knowingly, an ‘I so told you so’ expression on her face as she gives you a pointed look. “Your date finallyshow? Ready to order now?” she addresses Natasha.
Natasha nods, turning to face your coworker. “Yeah, I’ll take my usual, and…” She then looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to relay what you want to eat. “Get whatever you’d like. It’s on me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I work here. I get all my meals for free.”
“I know,” she says playfully, “That’s why it’s on me.”
Summary: When Natasha gets injured, the school tells her that the six weeks of no training will be the perfect break that she needs to improve her concernedly low GPA. It’s either shape up or ship out, and considering basketball is everything to the star player, the latter isn’t an option.
All Natasha can think about is how she should be practicing. She should be running drills, or continuing conditioning training, or scrimmaging, or perfecting her free throws. She should be doing something.
What she shouldn’t be is seated in an office during practice time.
Her spiraling thoughts are interrupted.
“Are you listening, Ms. Romanoff?”
“Hmm?” Natasha hums vaguely in question before forcing her eyes to refocus on the athletic academic advisor sitting in front of her now, her gaze no longer blatantly pointed on a random point outside of the window. “I’m listening,” she replies unconvincingly.
The woman sighs, letting out a deep breath. She’s used to overseeing athletes that don’t ever want to talk academics, but Natasha outshines them all. “Look, I’m trying to help you. If you don’t get your GPA up by the end of the semester, you will be declared academically ineligible to continue competing.”
That gets Natasha’s attention, her one-track mind an endless loop of just basketball, basketball, basketball. “Wait, you’re pulling me from the team?”
“That’s not what I just said,” the woman responds calmly.
Despite the denial, Natasha remains visibly alarmed, only having heard one thing during this conversation: she’s getting kicked off the team. Her team. She’s been team captain for two years. She built the team. And now…
“I didn’t say that it was a definite,” the academic advisor tries to reassure while remaining firm, “My job is to keep you on track to graduate and eligible to play. We simply need to get ahead of this before it becomes a bigger problem.”
“How?” Natasha asks bluntly, urgently, trying and failing to tamp down the panic she’s feeling.
“I’m going to connect you with some support resources. We have some great tutors here on campus that are provided at no charge through the university.”
“I have to go to tutoring?”
“It’s highly recommended. Look, Ms. Romanoff. This is just a courtesy warning. You have until the end of the year to raise your GPA to the minimum GPA requirement and remain in good academic standing. If you choose to accomplish that without a tutor, that’s up to you, but this isn’t something to take lightly. Your scholarship could be affected.”
“What?” Natasha asks, voice going up an octave in further alarm.
The woman sighs a second time at how Natasha is somehow taken off guard yet again. None of this should be news to her. The details of her scholarship, of her contract, of her seat on the basketball team were all outlined very clearly when she got accepted into the university, but here she is, acting as though the consequences of her actions have never been explained to her before.
“Your scholarship is up for non-renewal at the end of the year if your GPA doesn’t improve. If we don’t see you trying academically, you’ll lose your full ride here.”
Natasha is speechless, her jaw practically on the floor, and when she doesn’t respond, the academic advisor keeps going.
“The coaching staff has been made aware of-”
“You told my coach?” Natasha’s interrupts.
“It’s procedure.”
“Fuck,” she groans, the curse long and drawn out, her body slumping down into her seat.
“Ms. Romanoff,” the academic advisor chides her language.
“Sorry,” Natasha mumbles, but it’s halfhearted. She takes in a breath, eyes closed as she tries to settle her nerves and come to terms with everything that’s just transpired since she first stepped foot in this small office. “So… a tutor then?” she asks, finally acknowledging the reality of her situation.
“A tutor,” the woman confirms, and then she offers up a weak smile, “Try to think of your injury as a blessing in disguise. You were spending all your time training, but now, you have the next six weeks to devote to studying and raising your GPA. There could be a silver lining to all of this.”
Natasha can’t say that she agrees.
Natasha is late to her first tutoring session. She makes sure of it.
You’re waiting at the agreed upon table in the library, pencil tapping impatiently on the flat surface, wondering if perhaps your new student got lost? Or maybe something happened? Maybe she had an emergency?
But when the redhead comes casually strolling through the library doors, your irritation flares.
“You’re late,” you say flatly when she arrives.
“Am I?” she asks as if she’s not blatantly showing up a half hour after the scheduled time.
You purse your lips but decide not to push it. Your frustration is already at an all-time high. No need to make it worse. “Let’s just get started,” you mutter, “We’re already behind.”
Natasha refuses to even look at the textbook in front of her. Every attempt at teaching her is met with an apathetic huff and an eye roll. She doesn’t try to hide the fact that she doesn’t care. If anything, she’s broadcasting it for everyone to see.
“Look, if you don’t care about-”
“I don’t,” Natasha cuts in.
“Your grades are shit, and you’re injured. You might as well study. You have nothing better to do.”
“I have everything better to do.”
“Isn’t there the possibility of you getting kicked off the team?”
“Who said that?”
“Academic advisors don’t actively ask me to tutor someone unless there’s risk involved.”
“They’re not kicking me off the team,” Natasha states firmly, scoffing in disbelief, “I’m their star player. They need me.”
“Whatever. Refocus,” you retort, pointing back to the problem at hand.
Natasha doesn’t listen.
You find yourself waiting on Natasha a second time, anger simmering beneath your skin as you know Natasha is doing it on purpose.
She’s once again disinterested, unmotivated, sulky, basically spending the hour whining about how she’s been wronged and doesn’t deserve this and shouldn’t be here right now, the ‘woe is me’ act on full display, much to your annoyance.
She’s the worst student you’ve had in your entire career as a college tutor, and if you weren’t getting paid for the time wasted with the redhead, you wouldn’t be showing up to sessions where you make no progress and only gain headaches.
When the third tutoring session begins the same way, Natasha’s disinterest more than obvious, you abruptly stand up from your chair.
She may be the absolute worst in your opinion, but you can tell her behavior is because she’s struggling at the root of it all. She’s lost basketball, the thing that drives her, her believed purpose. She doesn’t know who she is without the sport, and although you think that’s rather stupid, you can’t blame her for being adrift given the circumstances, when that’s all that she’s known since childhood, only ever practicing with the aim to perfect.
“Get up.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get the fuck up.” You give her foot a kick for good measure and then start packing up the materials you had laid out in preparation on the library table.
“Why?”
“We’re not staying here.”
“What about tutoring?”
You scoff. “You have been purposely refusing to listen for the past two sessions… which is wild, considering your scholarship is on the line.”
Natasha grumbles at that, lips pursing in displeasure at being called out, but she stands anyway, following suit by putting away her own minimal number of supplies back in her backpack.
“Fine. Where are we going?”
You don’t answer, turning on your heel and walking away, expecting her to follow behind you.
It’s not a long walk, but you do cross campus to a more unpopulated area.
“Where are you taking me? What the fuck is this place?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow as she takes in the solitary tree at the top of a hill that you seem to be leading her to.
When you make it to the top, you stop, just gazing out at the campus below you. “I go here sometimes,” you say, voice softening unconsciously as you talk about the place, “When I need to think. When the world is just a little too loud. I thought it could benefit you too.”
For once, there’s no snarky comeback or quip, no belittling your words or efforts.
A comfortable silence falls over you two—the first one since meeting—and you both just stand there, watching as students walk to their next classes, listening to the birds chirping above in the tree, the breeze rustling through the leaves.
It’s peaceful.
And it’s only interrupted when loud cheers resound from the quad below you. You both glance over in that direction.
Natasha recognizes the player from her team, expression turning bored. You, on the other hand, look on curiously, wondering what all the commotion is about.
“They’re just giving their jersey away,” Natasha tells you flippantly.
“What?”
“It’s basketball team tradition,” she explains, “You give your jersey to someone special for the championship game. It’s supposed to be good luck.”
“Have you ever given yours away before?”
“Me? God, no.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not really my thing.”
You just hum, gaze still watching the scene below you.
Things change after you bring her to the tree, after you share a piece of yourself with her.
Natasha starts trying during tutoring sessions, starts giving you her full attention when you’re teaching, taking in what you’re saying and attempting to apply it to her schoolwork and assignments.
You two make a new habit of going to get food after sessions together, sharing a basket of fries, talking about more than just school, and, after two or three outings, Natasha even begins paying, pulling the check away from you before you can see the price and refusing your offers of your debit card.
Everything feels different. You notice how she always tips more than 20% even when she’s just ordering a coffee, you notice how her eyes light up whenever she discusses basketball, her passion for the sport clear, you notice how, even though she acts nonchalant about it, she’s genuinely proud of herself and the progress she’s making in her classes. You’re growing to like her; she’s always on your mind.
You wonder if she feels it too.
You walk out of the lecture hall, stressed, cortisol levels probably slightly higher than healthy, and close your eyes as you let out a shaky exhale. That was the hardest midterm you’ve taken in a while. You spent the whole semester keeping up with the material, studying for hours after class, and yet, you still don’t feel good about over half the tested questions.
You immediately make a beeline to the tree, needing distance from the school, from people, needing to take a moment to yourself and just breathe and decompress.
But when you arrive, you find Natasha already there, sitting on the ground, leaning back against the trunk.
She offers you a small smile when she sees you. “Sorry,” she murmurs, “It seems I commandeered your space today.”
You shrug, and for some reason, you’re not particularly bothered by the fact that you’re not going to be alone… because it’s Natasha.
You take a seat next to her, and, after a few seconds, you lean your head on her shoulder.
She doesn’t push you away.
She has to feel it too.
It’s one of Natasha’s first practices back from her injury. You’re seated in the bleachers, waiting for it to finish, you two having plans to grab a bite together afterward.
You’re attempting to actually watch the practice, to watch all of the players and the drills, to watch the free throws and three-pointers and whatever other things basketball players do that you have minimal knowledge about, but your gaze keeps getting drawn to Natasha.
The way she dribbles, the way she pivots, the way she moves. The way she’s just… her. In her element on the court.
You barely notice when the team is wrapping up, too focused on Natasha’s form, Natasha’s hair falling out of her ponytail and clinging to her sweaty forehead, Natasha’s body in her jersey and shorts, to fully realize.
“Hey, teach,” Natahsa calls out softly as she begins walking your way, “How’d you like seeing me practice?”
You smile up at her. “I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good,” you compliment, standing up from your seat to meet her in the middle.
An arm is immediately thrown around your waist when you two make contact, Natasha pulling you in close. She only barely resists placing a kiss to the top of your head. It would be a first.
“Natasha! Is this the girl you’ve been absolutely gushing about?” one of her teammates questions loudly from her position on the court. A few of the others around laugh, and they all begin to make their way toward where the two of you are currently standing by the bleachers, intending on embarrassing the redhead.
Natasha’s cheeks go pink at the question. “Shut up,” she replies, glaring playfully, but there’s no heat in her words. They’re not a lie; she has been gushing about you almost nonstop to her team.
She’s met with more laughter, and then her team immediately starts shooting off questions and comments regarding you and her.
“Oh, you were right. She is cute.”
“Come on, Natasha, introduce us! We’re all dying to meet her.”
“We all just want to know who the girl is that has had you in a tizzy for the past few weeks.”
Natasha rolls her eyes at their rowdy behavior, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she murmurs, trying to ignore the fact that she’s still blushing furiously. She introduces you easily, smiling fondly as she does, eyes on your face as she gives your name to her team before… “She’s my…” she trails off, catching herself, suddenly unsure what to call you. Technically, you’re not a couple yet—not really, not officially—so what labels are allowed right now?
Your glance over at Natasha’s hesitation, your expression one of curiosity. One of your eyebrows is raised as you wait for her to complete her sentence. You’re aware that nothing has been truly established, but it’s always felt established, so you’re definitely interested in hearing just what Natasha is going to say.
“She’s my… tutor,” Natahsa finishes lamely, struggling to find an appropriate title. She knows she’s fucked up the moment the words come out of her mouth.
Her teammates instantly snicker at her answer, not even trying to hide their reactions, and you deflate, both disappointment and hurt reflecting themselves on your face for a few seconds before you school your features into neutrality, tamping down your emotions as your gaze drifts away from the redhead in front of you back to her team, unable to look at her at the moment. You offer up a slightly strained smile to her teammates.
“Yep, that’s me. I’m her tutor.”
Natasha’s eyes have been on your face this entire time, watching the array of emotions play out.
One of her teammates speaks up again. “Damn, just your ‘tutor’? Nothing else?” she asks, poking and prodding at the already precarious situation.
Natasha is about to respond, to correct herself, to try and fix the disaster she’s made, but before she can, you interject.
“Nope, that’s it,” you reply quickly, and then you’re gently removing Natasha’s arm from around your waist. “I’m really sorry, but I have to run. It was nice to meet you all. Natasha, I’ll see you at your next tutoring session, yeah?” You’re already walking away; the last question is called out over your shoulder.
Panic flashes on Natasha’s face as she sees you approaching the exit. “Wait-” she tries, but your back is to her, and you make no move to turn around to listen to what she has to say. “Uh, okay, yeah, yeah! Next tutoring session then. See you!” she tries to shout toward you as you exit the gym. She’s certain that she was unsuccessful at hiding the note of desperation in her voice.
There’s an awkward silence between her and her teammates now as she just stands there for a long moment, frozen, wondering if she just screwed everything up for good.
“‘Tutor’?” someone echoes, rubbing salt into the wound, “Good luck recovering from that one.”
Natasha groans, putting her face into her hands. “I can’t believe I just said that,” she mutters through her fingers, “Fuck.”
Her teammates just look at her with a mixture of pity and sympathy.
“Did I just fuck everything up?” she asks.
“It wasn’t your smoothest moment,” one of them confirms.
“I didn’t know what else to call her. We haven’t exactly…”
“You couldn’t have just said ‘friend’?”
“I just- I panicked, okay? We’re not together, but we’re not not together.”
“You should probably go talk to her… sooner rather than later.”
Natasha nods, and then she’s promptly rushing out of the gym, bursting through the doors in an attempt to find you, but you’re already gone.
Natasha texts you nonstop, calls you nonstop, over the next few days, desperate to remedy the situation.
‘I don’t know why I said that.’
‘You have to know you’re not just a tutor to me.’
‘Please, can we just talk?’
‘Look, I’m fucking stupid. I promise I didn’t mean what I said.’
“I just panicked. We never talked about what we were. I didn’t know what to say.’
Despite her pleas, her apologies, her imploring, you never reply, and the texts and calls eventually dwindle to a stop when she realizes that maybe you aren’t ever going to.
Eight days after receiving her last text, the day of the championship game, your phone lights up one more time.
‘The championship is tonight… I don’t expect you to be there, but I’d really appreciate if it you were.’
You still don’t respond.
It’s game day. It’s game time.
Halftime should have already passed… not that you’re keeping track.
You want to go to support her—you really do—and Natasha’s constant texts only further that feeling. She said that she’s sorry, that she wants you there, that you’re more to her than just a way to help her raise her grades. But you remind yourself that she couldn’t say it out loud, that you’re just her tutor when in front of others. Nothing more.
You sigh and continue your walk to the tree, the currently and seemingly endless feeling of dejection still present.
Your squint your eyes, brows furrowing in confusion, as you approach, seeing something sitting at the base of the trunk.
A jersey. Her jersey.
There’s no note, no explanation, nothing to tell you what it’s doing there. It’s just her jersey, neatly folded with her number—number seven—facing up, waiting for you.
You pick it up, holding it delicately in your hands, turning it over and feeling the soft mesh on your fingertips, and then you’re running, sprinting across campus.
There’s somewhere you need to be, and you have to make it in time.
You slam on your brakes in front of the gym, feet screeching to a halt, breathing hard, and you just look at the doors for a few moments, your anxiety skyrocketing. What if she doesn’t want to see you?
The sounds of the game coming from inside are loud as you stand there, the squeak of sneakers, the cheers and applause from the crowd, the blow of the referee’s whistle.
You take in a steadying breath and steel your nerves, carefully putting on the jersey over your shirt before forcing yourself to walk inside and face the girl you’ve been avoiding.
It’s chaos within, the bleachers packed to the brim, the smell of sweat and rubber invading your nose, both teams clearly pushing themselves to their limits. You glance at the scoreboard. It’s neck and neck, the timer relentlessly counting down the seconds, Natasha’s team only two points behind the opposition.
You can tangibly feel the stress, the determination, the heightened emotions from the players as the game continues. Natasha’s teammate has possession of the ball, and you watch with bated breath as she passes it off to Natasha with only a few seconds left on the clock.
Natasha immediately begins dribbling down the side of the court, her movements urgent, every moment now crucial, dodging oncoming defenders before finding an opening. She pivots… aims… takes the shot from the three-point line.
The basketball flies through the air, the gym falling deadly silent as everyone watches with overwhelming anticipation.
She scores.
The crowd explodes with cheers, exclamations of joy and excitement echoing throughout. Natasha’s teammates run to her, clapping her on the back, pulling her in for a hug, praising and congratulating her, but she’s distracted. Her gaze is scanning through all the spectators, scanning the gym. She doesn’t think you’re here, but she has to search just in case anyway.
And then… she finds you, still standing by the doors, your eyes wide and your expression a mix of happiness at the win and uncertainty over what’s to come.
She instantly takes off toward you, gently pushing people and other players trying to surround her out of the way, needing to get to you and confirm that you’re really here.
When she makes it in front of you, neither of you speak.
“I… I think I was a little late,” you finally say, awkwardly breaking the silence.
“No, no, you’re here,” she says back, an overjoyed smile appearing on her face, “You’re actually here.” The adrenaline from the game is still pumping through her veins, and it only feels amplified by the sight of you, by the fact that you actually came to her game to watch and support her after everything.
You just stare, not sure what else to say. You want to apologize, you want to ask about the jersey, you want to confirm what happens now, but you just remain in place, stiff and unable to look away.
“You’re wearing my jersey,” Natasha comments happily.
“You left it for me.”
Natasha nods emphatically. “There’s no one else I’d want to be wearing it,” she murmurs, and then she’s picking you up, hoisting you into her arms as she begins to walk back onto the court to show you off, to join the ongoing celebration that is still occurring in the background.
There’s no way anyone can doubt what you two are to each other anymore, not with you wearing her number, not with the way she’s cradling you against her chest, not with how she presses a firm kiss to the crown of her head for everyone to see and tucks you even closer, smiling giddily into your hair.
Maya Mason (bottom)🔒 x Reader Erotica Writer (top)🔑
Read Chapter 1&2 Here - I want to wear his initial - On a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck'-T.S 🔐🔐
WARNING:🔐 BDSM / NSFW / Movie Shop Talk / Sorry for giving you guys blue balls for the ending / Kinky Talk / TOP AND BOTTOM ROLES / Power play / SAFE SANE CONSENSUAL / Maya is a service bottom / But also she just needs to be a good brat / Lock and Key explained because Apple won't do it / Fetish Talk /5k word count/🔑🔐🔑🔒🔑 18+
“Budget Cuts.”
You say your marital safe word in front of the studio heads. Only to hear the one person in the room who understands chuckle. Well, Maya actually snorts in laughter as your ass is sitting on the confrence table pouting.
“We cannot- afford et.” The nasal Saperstein practically is choking on his own spit.
The completely bruised Sal is laying on the floor with his nose bandage making his speech slurred. Sadly the wounds don’t cause him to stop being annoying.
“Bar fight my ass.” Quinn whispers and Patty lifts an eyebrow at her and she shuts up.
Quinn grinds her jaw but throws her hands up towards Matt who’s pacing.
“You can’t cut out the smut! It makes the book!” The young woman is too green in this business. Sorta like Matt himself, she thinks this is all about art still. The heart of a film, the beauty of humanity the heart and soul of the world. Blah, blah, blah - you don’t roll your eyes as much as you’d like to. No if you were being honest, you’d love to have the room clear out, and talk to Maya. Because you two could figure this out a hell of a lot faster than these guys.
“No! The tenderness makes eth” Sal says unable to make I’s sounds without too much ‘e.’ Kinda like the sick kids in the Campbell Soup commercials.
“You need both to make the story!” Quin argues back with too much passion, and you wonder if she’s written fanfiction for your books now. Patty checks her apple watch one more time then necessary.
Maya stands up and looks at the white board, stepping closer to see. But not obstructing your view of the chicken scratch and post it notes hung up. Only you are human, and your 50 year old wife is too sexy to ignore. So you lose all concentration for the whiteboard.
Your eyes fall to her ass in those designer jeans. Fuck, she was probably wearing that green thong today…
You miss what the room is discussing - instead your dirty mind imagines Maya’s ass cheeks in the air as you-
“Earth to Doctor Smut?” Quinn speaks to you and you come back down from your high to see Maya spin around, facing you, smirking, always understanding where your brain went.
Fuck you were worse than Sal, you just wanted to take Maya by the hair and force her onto your strap.
Maya makes a noise in her throat real time and you blink again before the engine in your brain seems to come back on.
“Cut the scene in half - but add the biting and ass checks. That’ll keep within the budget and not get a NC-17 rating. If you cut it too far they’ll think you are being a pussy. See if you can free a nipple while you’re at it. But the smut scene at the finale is too important to cut.” You offer, and Maya’s face morphs into absolute glee, and you can’t figure out why.
“Yeah….We know. Maya just said that.” Patty spoke, and your ears actually turned pink in embarrassment.
“Are you high right now?” Sal snidely asks from the floor - just like you had asked him at the houseparty. But it’s Quin who answers.
“She was lost staring at her wife’s thicc ass.” Her monotone choice of words mixed with the eyeroll has you turning to glare at her.
“Okay, fine, can we be done with this now?” Matt complains a little squeamish about talking about soft-core porn. You wouldn’t be surprised if he needs to go to the bathroom after this. Relieve some of his Jewish guilt into a hand towel.
“Matty, hey, grow a pair will ya? It’s sex,” Patty verbal won’t miss the opportunity to jump on the man. She’s got that maternal ‘I’ll put your nose in your soiled pants’ vibe about her.
Now you are picturing her and Quinn in a scene and you cringe. Not from being a prude like Matt, but because you realy don’t wanna know.
“It’s not our Mathew s’ ehs fault! Eh’s still a virgin.” Sal teases around his bandages and then giggles.
“I am not!” Matt crosses his arms over his chest. Then he turns to Maya for backup. She just shrugs, not about to confirm they’d had sex. It was far too embarrassing to relive the moment. He finished in forty-five seconds; he never even got it in. She doesn’t count it, but you sure as shit do.
“Are we good now?” You insert not wanting to talk about this either.
“When are you going to write a movie with furries?” Sal asks as you hop off the conference table.
“Are you asking because you want a furry film?” You step back into your heels and try to gauge what kind of HR nightmare you are wading into.
Maya rolls her tongue around her mouth as she stares at the white board still, you recognize she’s counting money in her head. Sorta like the cartoon Scrouge McDuck with gold stacked on his desk.
Matt shuffles over to her to ask something stupid. But she’s only half listening, carrying the 1 million in her mind. You know the face when she’s only half listening, and the person she gives that face to the most is Matt. The only mystery is how he hasn’t noticed she’s already solved the problem and is letting him run himself tired before she interjects.
Sal stands and takes his phone out to probably show you something but you are grabbing your bag ready to run.
You aren’t sure what Maya would do if she walked over to see Sal trying to show you furry porn. But the man wasn’t going to look good with more facial trauma.
Sadly, Sal’s too fast for you to get away from, probably from everyone in the industry attempting to move around him. He’s holding a brand new iPhone 17, you wouldn’t touch it, you’d rather lick the New York Subway handrails. So he holds it up with his shaking hand.
“My cousin says they’re very kind and-” Sals phone has saved full furry costumes.
“Listen Sal, I do often write for stuff I’m not even into. But I don’t know if I’m the right voice for the furries.” You say lifting your bag over your shoulder. Looking over the phone rim back at the bruised man's face.
“Woah you kinkshamin?” He looks horrified at the very idea. His attempt to say kink-sharming just kinda jumbles together. You’re almost proud he knows the term.
“Never, I don’t yuck your yum. I just know that I wouldn’t do their community justice, Id need to research more. But none of this is the point, the real question is; Sal are you curious about furries?” You use your therapy voice, your calm voice - non-judgmental, but gentle prodigy. You used it on Quinn at the award show. You used it when Maya was cranky as hell and you needed to wait for her to get it all out before punishing her.
It’s a mix between a grade school teacher's tone, and your aunt who needs you to not ruin another family dinner. You’ve perfected it, your eye only twitches a little when you have to give it to Saperstein.
Sal slowed his walk as you moved towards the door and considered this. His silence spoke volumes and your fingers dig into your back pocket for your own phone.
“You know there’s plenty of people in this town who have munches, you could get involved.” You offer, not sure how you are once again talking someone through kink positivity.
You don’t say that Matt is a furry, you hope they just figure it out together, that would be a cute workplace romance.
Sal opens his mouth but Maya’s faster as she comes behind you, taking your bag off your shoulders and carrying it herself.
What a cute service bottom, always being so attentive, you’d have to remember this later when you were fucking.
Maya’s eyes find Sal and he freezes, so she hisses comically at him and he flinches then walks away. You school your features, not wanting to laugh at how fast he scattered.
Maya uses her dump truck of an ass to push the glass door open and walk you out of the office.
“He still afraid of you?” Your lips curl at the entertainment. Your wife shrugs but looks a little too delighted herself to lie to you.
“I’ve been told without being told that as long as I don’t hurt him on company property on company hours, then it’s his word against mine.” Maya rattles off the legality of it all, and you chuff but open your phone to see missed emails from your editor.
“Sounds like a loophole for abusing authority, what a legal nightmare.” You respond, but you’re already deep into the email, not caring at all anymore.
Maya presses her body a little closer to yours as you both walk.
“Hey, I know you are already deep in the Outlook emai’s pussy, but before it has claimed your soul. But you have to eat, and I have got to use some of Matt’s shmoozing money to take you on a ‘work lunch,’ so what do ya say? I highkey could grab some sushi, or if you are feeling like phoritto, I saw an Insta reel with a gigantic- are you listening to me?” Maya asked and without looking up from your phone, you had walked on muscle memory through the studio lobby.
Maya opening doors as you stared down. Trying to figure out how to respond to your editor.
As they typed about the usage of ‘honeybutter,’ in the semen scenes.
“Mmhmm, highkey, work lunch, phorrito.” You list back, thumbs typing as you spoke. Trying to decide why food was the reason that it wasn’t liked or if the cum inflation is no longer in. Your mind goes back to the furry conversation and you ponder if you need to research it when you get home. Then IM your editor and ask about monster fucking, or furry erotic.
Maya’s hand falls to your lower back to guide you.
“You know you can’t just repeat keywords - that doesn’t work on me. If you’re not careful I’ll swipe that thing from you.” Maya warns, not as dumb as Matt. Your wife holds the last door open for you two to walk into the parkinglot.
You are adding a hyperlink to the bottom of your email when Maya grabs you by the back of your pants to stop you from walking in front of a Ferrari.
Your heartbeat doesn’t even raise as it whips by you.
“FUCK YOU NEPO COKE WHORE! WE’RE WALKIN HERE! GET YOUR HEAD ATTA YOUR BUSSY OR I’LL RE-ERRANGE YOUR TRUST-FUND NOSE!” Maya screams in fury, and you don’t even look up, as she hand signals some rather usavory gestures.
The guy honks and speeds off, either informed enough not to get out of the car to fight Maya. Or chicken shit and unaware of who the head of marketing is.
Either way your heart stays level, brain still trying to figure out how to respond to the email.
That is, until Maya moves her hand to your ass to guide you to step down onto the blacktop, then swipes your phone out of your hands.
“MAYA!” You don’t use your dominant voice, too surprised at her. But you try to grab it back only for the 50 year old to easily evade you.
“I know baby, I know, you gotta get back and finish your writing. But I also know from you staring at my ass like you are some kind of cartoon character salivating that you can’t figure out the next part. That’s where I come in, I’m the muse. I’m also the submissive Mommy who keeps you fed. So, shawarma, or sushi?” Maya pockets your phone, god she was good.
Her usage of submissive Mommy has your cunt clench, already wet from staring at her ass from before.
Maya checks both ways as she directs you towards her car.
“What happened to phorrito?” You pout as Maya opens the door for you and you scoot in. Maya chucks your bag into the backseat and then rounds the car.
Her music blares once she’s sat and pressed the button on her overpriced vehicle.
“You lost phorrito when you ignored me.” Her pretend pout is adorable and you kiss her bottom lip, once, twice, then Maya steals the third one for good luck.
“What a brat I have.” You coo at her, leaning back to buckle your seat belt.”May I have my phone back?” You aren’t really asking, but your love decides to ignore the understone of a command.
“It’s my bargaining chip, besides we have a wager that is left unfinished.”
“Maya-” You start, lowering your voice.
Maya makes an interrupting rude noise in her mouth and then slips on her shades.
“Lunch, Sex, then writing.” Maya backs out of her parking space, her sunroof opening to the L.A heat. The one that baked the cement enough to sometimes make it squishy.
“Sal’s right, bottoms are so predictable.” Your lips curled seeing the reaction you’d wanted from your wife. Offense making her shades droop down her nose just enough to play it up
“No one in the history of ever has uttered the words ‘Sal’s right.’ Not once, not ever - and you cannot ruin such a healthy streak.” Maya says, using her middle finger, she pushes up her shades.
Turning the car, checking for blindspots, but her right hand like glue to you falls on your thigh. It’s as though there’s an imaginary impression on your skin. One that makes her body fit with yours.
“Are you being a brat because you need something?” You say it evenly, almost like the question for Sal. But this has a promise of you making those needs come true.
“Yes,” Maya tells you, not lifting her face away from the traffic of the road. “Good thing I have no problem taking what I want.”
You roll your eyes now and reach into her glovebox to find a bunch of useless shit for her car. Before bringing out a pair of shades that cost more than you’d been offered for your first book deal.
Snapping them onto your face, you lean back in the seat and close your eyes. Maya doesn’t complain about your cat nap; she uses the buttons on her steering wheel to turn her music up impossibly higher. The ’90s R&B is comforting, brings back memories, you smile at Maya.
Years of marriage confirm this won’t bother you. In fact you find it comforting, as she weaves in traffic, her hand ontop of your thigh is warm and comforting. You eventually lay your hand ontop of her own, securing her claim.
Twenty minutes later Maya pulls into the parking lot on some overpriced hipster phorrito place and as you open your eyes and put your sunglasses back into her glovebox, you can’t help but feel the warmth from this tiny act.
“I thought I’d lost my phorrito choice?” You question but Maya just shrugs not about to get gushy about it.
“Must have taken a wrong turn.” She lies opening the car door and then comes to your side to open yours. She locks the car, and you walk with your hand behind your back, a little too coachella like. But your wife doesn’t let your finger be cold for long.
Lacing them together from behind your back as you step up to the front door and open it.
By the time you are both set down into the cramped and busy restaurant, Maya’s already hangry. Her hair whipping over her shoulder as she plops into the seat, cracking open the menu and scrunching her nose up.
It’s not the food she’s disapproving of, it’s a half true to say it’s the noise.
But you know how to fix it, you stand up making Maya look up. You round the booth and she scoots further inside for you to plop next to her.
“You do love me.” Maya says, and you chuckle, you like your MILFs physically affectionate, downright needy, and murderous, it seemed.
You eye the alcohol menu but instead grab the laminated food menu and sigh.
“You need a margarita.” Maya slid in the seat ever closer to you, thighs pressed against the other, Maya put her ankle under yours and your legs are wrapped.
“I do not.”
“Yeah, a big one with the salt on the glass.”
“You want me to forget I have an email in my inbox and lose my bra between here and home.” You say monotone as you flip the menu around.
“You get the classic, I’ll get the fruity one you want to try but you’ll actually hate. We’ll get salt on the rim like you like. After we’ll have car sex, then home sex, the alcohol will kick in, and you’ll take another nap. I’ll order dinner in, you can work as we watch the sunset, then bubble bath and anal. I don’t see why this is a bad plan?” Maya reaches across to see what kind of tequila they have on hand.
Kink and alcohol didn’t mix, but Maya and tequila tasted so good mixed on your tongue.
“They have your favorite,” Maya muttered, already deep in her devious master plan.
“Just because I lost my top-”
“In the middle of Folsom Fair, they should rename the Bay Area the Gay Area. I almost got into a fist fight with a dyke on a bike. Not that tequila, the other one…”Maya tilted the menu to her chest so you couldn’t see. Mason did love her games.
You look up and think for a moment back to tequila's long gone.
“Not Plaza’s, that just came out.”
“That woman liked you too much at the choice awards, no go earlier in our relationship.” Maya adds, and you think this reminder of jealousy has her needing to say ‘relationship.’
You turn in your seat a little to face her.
“Marriage or relationship?”
Maya’s grin spreads up her cheeks, making her eyes squint like she did when she’s already won.
“Now that’s the right question.”
“Am I going to black out?”
“You’ve only blacked out once, and I will never let you eat at Matt's ‘Old School Hollywood Party’ ever, ever, ever again. That wasn’t the tequila’s fault; she didn’t mix well with shrooms.” Maya defended her favorite brand and you quickly took three more brands off the list of possibilities.
How you two did love to play.
You brush your hair back and straighten your posture, causing Maya’s eyes to travel like a droplet of water down the stem of a margarita glass. You play dirty too, if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with your wife this long.
Before Maya’s drool can fall onto the table, a waitress comes over with a notepad.
Maya’s not looking at her, which is rude, but you do while your wife tries to figure out if she can unhook your bra and get away with it in this booth.
Still she’s got a crazy high intelligence, and so she holds up two fingers.
“Two margaritas, one fruity blended, one classic - top shelf.”
The waitress is too used to hollywood, she doesn’t look up from her pad as she asks.
“You want th-” she drones with her dark lipstick smacking, a little melted in the heat.
“Top shelf,” Maya repeats, not wanting her to give it away. You tilt your face to Maya to scowl.
“Behave.” You whisper but she’s ready to hump your leg in this restaurant.
“Extra salt on the rim, then two of your number 7s, extra dipping sauce. Can you make the first one with a side of brown rice?” Your wifes gaze turns to the uncaring waitress.
You know when your wife is trying to stay out of trouble.
With this much fun on the agenda for the afternoon, with you two playing hookie, she wants to get to the end of the rainbow.
Fuck you two were gay.
“I’ll be back with some waters.” She says placing the pen back behind her ear and leaving you.
“Manners, come on.” You try to joke but Maya’s body is rounding yours, and you try not to inhale her scent.
“Why is the email stressing you out?” She says, and you give her major points for cooling her libido and changing the subject. A waiter drops off your waters and sets down two paper straws. You fiddle with yours, needing a distraction as Maya forcefully fists her straw against the table making the recycled paper split, then shoves the straw in the ice water.
“I… Can we put this conversation on hold, tell me what Matt was asking you. Why were you punching the numbers?” You fidget in your seat, but place your hand behind your neck and try your best to block everything out but Maya’s voice.
“Okay,” your wife allows you to avoid the topic. Mason also pretends not be impressed by your ability to read her mind, even after all this time, it makes her happy.
“If we keep making his artsy movies, we’ll lose a quarter of the funding before we ever get to making the two kids movies. They don’t want to pump advertising for an arsy alien piece of shit that one of their college buddies is doing. Griffin doesn’t know about it. He wants the sex scenes from your film to stay. Letting Matt toss and turn over your intimacy scenes really is just to-”
“-Let him think he’s picking before you show him the numbers tomorrow morning. You timed it so that he could hit a soft ball before you sucker punched that the artsy film has no fan base and will tank. You need to either advertise it better, show Griffin and tattle, or get his buddy to re-cast or edit the script.” You finish, having listened to enough of Maya’s days to really get where she was working from.
You push the paper off the straw and sink it into the cold water, taking a drink as Maya spends a second enamored by how right you were for her.
You swallow the cold water and then put an elbow on the table casually and rest your cheek on your hand.
“So, why was Patty checking her watch?” You don’t miss a thing. Maya wants to put another ring on your finger right now.
“She’s taken a meeting with a director-”
“Kravitz.” You are just showing off now.
“Jesus, they shouldn’t even have me sign an NDA; they should make you sign it.” Maya chuckles at you, but you just raise your eyebrows.
Maya’s hand finds your knee as she draws anxious fingers up and down your thigh. It’s different from her hold in the car.
“You’re going to have a trailer ready by tomorrow?”
“Elevator pitch with some headshots, I said we needed a trailer - what do I know? I’m just the head of fucking marketing. But Patty and Kravitz don’t have a leading lady who will do it without a contract, no surprise.” Maya’s tension sits on her shoulders, you inhale slowly and think of her problem instead of your own.
“Can’t be a romcom, not arts, not horror-”
Maya’s about to ask why you think that when you give her a ‘i’m not dumb’ glare.
“Kravitz just did Blink Twice, you won’t be able to get her sequel - it’s already in the works. But they’re having a point of tension with the lawyers. So….”
“You are one scary writer.” Maya tells you but her pupils dilate and she’s leaning in to kiss you.
You smile broadly, loving the glow of her compliments.
“You are playing hookie on purpose.” You understand this plot better than your own book now.
“If I’m not there for the meeting, and I’m not there for Matt to get high with his old buddies and Sal. Then, when Quinn and Patty make a shot for this movie - I’m able to pretend to be Switzerland for Griffin.”
“Saving the day, making yourself indispensable-” You roll your eyes and list all the ways that her manipulations pay off. But Maya shook her head and sipped at her water.
“Saving the god damn studio from another film trainwreck. We’re still not out of the lawsuit over AI with Kool-Aid. End of the day Griffin’ll look at the bottom line, how much we made, how much we lost. Sadly marketing always get’s CC’ed on the emails, and I have to fire someone.”
You nibble on your top lip, so Maya knows you’re trying not to say something.
“Out with it, Mason.” Your wife likes using your shared last name to remind you that you are very married to her.
“Have you read Stranger In A Strange Land?” You ask already knowing from years of being together that she hasn’t. You’re purely questioning her it to move the conversation.
Maya lifts an eyebrow, so you continue.
“Movie rights would be low, book came out in 1961…But it’s a classic. They made 715 worldwide with Dune part 2….” You shrug, and Maya’s grin is methodical, slowly as she savors the idea.
“Matt is a nerd….” You put the two together.
Maya picks it up just as fast;
“Matty won’t want his friend to direct. He’ll actually take it seriously..it’ll be easily put together teaser of a monologue with some shiny lights…”
You shrug again like you didn’t think of something great that will cost her nothing to buy the title too. But if she makes into a two-parter like Dune, she could sell billions in merch.
Maya doesn’t get out her phone like she wants to, instead her eyes continue to study you.
“Book sales?”
“1961 to today…easily 25 million. One of the top-selling psyfi novels. An Avatar-like sex scene to stir up the angry Midwest moms. The book is considered a classic, you get a director and a score as annoying as the screechy Dune yell. You make an offensive actor make a claim. You’re back on top.” You say turning at the sound of the waitress bringing you over two margaritas.
You thank her but she’s already gone. Turning to Maya as she takes the fruity one that looks good but you won’t like.
She holds it in the air, a toast.
“To smut.” She says which makes you giggle but you lift your glass.
“To behind the scenes.” You smile at your gorgeous wife as her hair curls around her shoulders.
“To us.” Maya adds romantically and you can’t help but lean forward and kiss her.
You toast and the meal is brought out, you both talk about non work things. Your cousins wedding in a eight months, airline tickets to go see them.
Maya asks if wants to go to the opening of the new theater on the strip because they’re going to show classics next sunday. You both argue on why Hans Zimmer will not take Matt’s calls. Both of your reasons and stories very possible answers.
Maya starts to talk about this party coming up for a prequal to a zombie film that was based on a video game she can’t remember.
You listen to her, having finished your food you sip at your second margarita. Realizing that this is definitely your favorite tequila.
You're feeling a little too good for lunch, as Maya’s lips move quickly, her right arm moving animatedly as she speaks. But her left arm moves to your shoulder, bordering on the back of the booth, casually.
The body language is unmistakable, though. You’re here with Maya Mason, your wife. Her arm around you, stopping anyone from coming up to your table. This was a date, didn’t matter how long you’d been married or how rich and important you two were.
Maya Mason was taking you on a date.
You fiddled with the key, then you put the round metal bit in your mouth. The warm light flecked off of the object between your bottom lip, pressing the side, the jagged edge against the soft bit of your lip.
You flip it over again and your top lip trapped the key, your gold chain taunt from the back of your neck to where the metal bit sat against your mouth.
Maya stops speaking, her clit throbbing like it might explode as she envisioned you eating her out instead of playing with the key that went to the chain around her neck.
She doesn’t touch the lock, because she knows it’s there, just like she knows you’re wedding ring doesn’t come off your finger.
“Tell me,” Maya says, the command is laced with intimacy; she is so close you could kiss those gorgeous lips.
Maya’s safe, she’s your home, and just as NDA’s for her work don’t count in your marriage. Your fears aren’t allowed to stay between your own ears. Maya carries the bags, as much as she’ll carry your burdens.
You release the key, upset that you’d shown your hand so easily by touching it.
It would be silly to blame the tequila for the truth; you were dying to talk to Maya about it.
So you lick the side of the last bit of salt on the margarita and set it down. Folding your lips on top of each other like you could seal an envelope and drop this fear at the bottom of the sea.
But Maya’s eyes are gentle, she’s waiting for you - and you won’t lie.
“What happens if I run out of stories?” You say it so quickly it almost doesn’t register in your ears. But Maya’s already needing more information.
“What do you mean?” She counters, and you realize she’s not asking for herself but for you to follow the fear down to the dark places.
“What if I’m a one-trick pony. Sal talked about furries-”
“Don’t bring Saperstein into our lunch, or I’ll lose my lunch.” Maya jokes back, and it does lighten your load a bit.
“If I run out of tricks…I’m just….”
Maya waits for you to find an ugly thing to say, but decides quickly she won’t even let you say it.
“You just came up with a solution that no one in my marketing meeting at five am this morning, or the last six meetings this week, thought of. You write smut while we watch TV in your head. Just like you see me counting, I know you’re sitting there coming up with plot and fucking euphemisms like ‘Honey Butter Ejaculation.” Maya says and you can’t help but snort at how ridiculous that one was.
“Eventually the well will run dry, right?”
“Eventually, I won’t understand the latest trend, and they’ll come up with an app I’ll need a teenager to show me. I’m fifty years old in this game, I bagged a hottie with a body who likes to hurt me. Baby, we don’t know what’s gonna happen. You like writing erotica?” Maya tilts her head at the end to ask you.
You think for a second, but you don’t need to, because you know the answers.
“I love it.” You beam, it’s honest.
“Then you write, and I’ll give you more source material to work with.” Maya leans in slow so she can stare into your eyes. Your body melts into her as you push forward to kiss.
Her lips move against yours and the PDA is too much for a lunch spot.
You break the kiss but don’t move away, letting your forehead rest against yours.
“We’re gonna get the check-”
“No, bathroom…”You say against her lips. Your hand reaches out to the large lock against her chest. You’re going to steal her panties to gagg her from what you’re about to do.
“Not even the car?” She flirts, knowing that she’d take the charge and bend over the booth if you told her too.
“Bathroom.” You repeat as your hand travels to her stomach, fingers moving lower.
“Whatever you say boss.” Maya moans, but you stand up from the table and tilt your head to the bathrooms. Your wife stands quickly, then wobbles on her back leg to follow you.
A waiter rounds the corner faster than you realized and stops to see you both walking towards the bathroom.
You know what’s coming, because it’s the same thing that came from Quinn, from Sal, from strangers at the grocery store.
He points to your neck, then looks over at Maya’s as he’s standing in the way between you and your afternoon delight in the bathroom.
But not even Maya Mason can stop the twink from asking;
“What’s with the Lock?”
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Soulmate Mark - Maya Mason / Innocent Reader | More Maya Fics Here
Warning ⚠️: Short Fic to get out of funk | Soulmate Au | Vulgar Langauge and Subject Matter | edited+wrote on phone - bad edit / fluff / possessive Maya / Tramp Stamp jokes / ps:lower back tattoos can be good/fun no shade just jokes/ Maya Controlling /drunk studio// innocent fem reader kink / 18+
“Oh my god, why? Where is yours, on your tit? ” Sal laughs and you bristle.
No.
It wasn’t.
Yours was…what did they call it?
A Panama License Plate. A Beer Coaster. Ass Antlers, Ho Tag, Slag Tag, a Bitch Tat, Tart Art, Jizz Target, the Mark of The Beast.
But it’s known best as-
“No Sal, my soulmate mark is a tramp stamp.” You state confidently, enough tequila in you that you didn’t care.
Maya's eyes flicked up so fast her head almost spun around.
The first spot your soulmate touched, that’s where that handprint would ignite ablazed.
The issue?
You had been celebrating award season, hands all over you as you guys sprayed champagne and yelled.
You had no idea who it was.
But they’d been daring enough to touch your lower back right over the crack of your ass.
A month later and you could only pray it wasn’t Matt.
You’d never believed in soulmates, and you were very sure that you’d never meet yours.
And you were sure you wouldn’t meet your Mr right at work.
But recently…well your family had told you that soulmates were only straight… but your eyes had begun to wander.
You weren’t sure if gay was the word you’d used. But you were convinced without a doubt heterosexual wasn’t it either.
“Oh shit, that’s hot.” Sal answered and you got the heebie jeebies.
Yeah not straight.
“You're disgusting.” Quinn added and you felt better.
“Can we see it?” Matt asked and you wanted to fall into your seat.
“We just - none of us have ours.” Quinn said quickly like she wanted to smooth it over.
“Don’t.” Maya snaps so angrily that you actually flinch.
Everyone twists to look at her with her thousand dollar scotch cradled in her arms.
The tumblr in her other hand with perfectly killer sharp nails.
“Why do you care Manson. No one loves you.” Sal blabbered making the distinction that Maya was too cold blooded like Charles Manson* to be in love.
“Soulmate marks are meant to be seen by soulmates, and soulmates only.” Maya supplies and you don’t know why her stare warms you.
Your skin feels like tiny pins and needles, you swallow at nothing, your palms are sweaty.
This kept happening.
But every time you got close to her, you bolted like a little lamb.
Something about her stare felt so hungry, like she could see you through your clothes, down to your bones.
You’d been warned about Maya Mason.
To stay far far away from such a psycho.
But the head of Marketing had been extremely tight lipped around you.
Maya had only ever been on her best behavior in your presence.
You hadn’t seen the so called Maya Manson, or Maya Mayhem, or the Marketing Monster.
You’d imagined her like some sort of Miranda Priestly.
But Maya’s been….gentlemenly? That wasn’t the right word.
I mean even at the old school buffet she was shooing you from the fun. Always opening doors and speaking up for your space.
It was…something you hadn’t experienced before.
You broke away from her stare, but still felt the heat of her everywhere.
“Do you have one?” Matt asked Maya now. Though he appeared a smidge green.
“He’s asking if he gave her a soulmate brand.” Sal laughed and Matt reddened.
“Not on your life.” Maya answered and then sneered in disgust.
The table laughed but you couldn’t join in.
Your stomach in your throat.
“So where is it? Huh?” Sal questioned, arching an eyebrow atMason now.
Always with the emotional intelligence of a teaspoon.
“I didn’t see it!” Matt added and Maya snorted before downing the rest of her drink.
“You’ve all drunk too much,” Maya tells the group, taking a gold clip out with wads of 20s she puts a couple in the table to cover your drink and a tip for her own tab.
The heat of her shifts back to you, it’s sweltering.
“Come on, I’ll drive you back.” Maya orders more than asks. But there’s that streak of chivalry again. Always with the awareness, the confidence to guide you. The small actions for you.
“What you don’t trust us together?” Sal slobbered drunkenly and the rest of them chuckled. Like the high pitch wine of people who wouldn’t remember this conversation tomorrow.
That answers that question for Maya real quick.
She grabs at your chair, pulling it out with strength you hadn’t given her credit for.
Looping your jacket over her arm, she’s Maya is simply nit asking.
You sort of stumble to stand and her hand goes to grab your arm and she stops herself.
It’s a microslip-up, but you notice her hand all the same.
You catch yourself on the table making Matt giggle.
“You guys should go! You’ve met your soulmates! Leave the rest of us to rot!” He hiccups as his voice always tends to resemble the chest rattle of a punctured dog toy.
“I’m going to die single with only a half dead plant to mourn me.” Quin said into her glass. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride. The guys seemed to share the sentiment, it was all rather cosmo magazine of them.
“Don’t mind if we do.” Maya answers holding her arm out, guiding you with her body blocking but not actual contact.
“Losers!” Sal yells and Quinn throws her head back. No one was getting out unscathed from whatever they would end up doing for the rest of the evening.
You walk to the door and twist to see Maya. She appears older to you now. All those designer clothes and new age terms are gone.
Her wrinkles crinkle the corners of her. High end makeup faded.
The veins and sunspots in her hands now that she’s given up the bottle for the table.
“You didn’t need to do that. I can find my own way back-“ you try to sound polite, but your voice shook.
You want to be mad, but why does it make you feel differently?
“It’s no trouble.” Maya says without really addressing you. You walk across the hotel bar scene, then enter the endless casinos.
“You could go back, it’s Vegas it’ll be-“ you push, but Maya shakes her head lightly.
“It’s your first time in Vegas, you don’t know this town well. It’s not an issue.” Maya repeated, not listening to you. A step behind you, like a guard dog.
You looked over your shoulder to see her again, a step behind, watching for your needs, for trouble.
“I can-“ you try to interject again.
When you almost collide with a bartender. Who’s got empty martini glasses.
That’s when Maya's hand grabs the back of your belt and yanks you into her arms.
You let out an ‘oof’ but the sensation returns, hotter than before.
This sensation happened before, you know this.
Mayas’ hold on you is firm like tie down straps.
An exhausted man who appears like a penguin in this casino.
That’s when you feel it light you up like a skyscraper at night.
You look up in her arms and you see it.
Your handprint sears her skin right above her heart.
Right on the top of her tit.
That’s funny, and perhaps only fair.
Maya doesn’t have to gaze down at your handprint, she knows.
It’s like falling asleep while the people you love are in the other room, knowing you're completely safe and adored.
It’s fresh air on your face. Its a plunge into a pool. It’s the euphoria of a New Years kiss. Full of promise and light.
And it's all happening as Maya holds you tight.
Your jaw slacks and Maya surges forward to kiss you.
No longer able to wait until you figured out who gave you the mark.
Maya has shown incredible patience, but now your lips were hers.
Soulmates, what an understatement.
Every nerve ending spiked like dynamite.
Whatever was before was gone.
There was only the two of you now.
Everything you’d ever done had led to kissing Maya right here.
Nothing was a regret anymore.
As Mayas hand cupped the back of your head you knew that neither of you could ever do anything to break this.
Whatever unconditional love was before made sense as her lips moved against yours.
Two halves, now whole.
Maya broke the kiss and you let out a sad little noise.
“Shh, I know.” The older woman whispered against your lips. Her nose rubbed against your teasing.
It was tooth rotting sweet, and so unlike the Maya persona you’d known.
You two share little kisses, lips bruised but desperate for just one more peck. And then another, just one more.
The sound of the casino slowly enters your mind.
“We-“ You say as you open your eyes in shock.
Guess you did like PDA after all.
“My room.” Maya responds her fingers caressing the back of your neck, having fun squinting herself with the little baby hairs.
As if Mayas confident touching was her way of reacquainting with a love she’d always known.
“Please,” you whisper as you let hands shake, you don’t want her to go. But you're afraid to reach out and take all the same.
Maya understands on a level no one else ever could figure.
In the middle of the casino she took your hands and placed them on her own hips.
A lifetime of being afraid to ask for basic needs to be met, and Maya was giving you the whole buffet of intimacy like you’d always owned her heart.
“I have so much to teach you,” Maya giggled seeing your reaction. You blushed and then stood on your tippy toes a little more to whisper in her ear.
“I’ve never…” then you faulted.
Maya kissed your cheek and whispered back.
“It’s okay, I prefer it in fact. My soulmates’ all mine.” She added with a darker voice. Her arm pulling you impossibly closer against her heavy breasts.
“No- I mean yes never with a woman but also…” You don’t feel shy per say, I mean this was your soulmate. You knew on a deep level she wouldn’t laugh at you.
But something about saying it to Maya made your desire sky rocket.
And as you remembered you were in a very large venue it made you even more turned on.
People passing by didn’t care for two gay women holding each other, they simply went on gambling.
“Never cum?” Maya says kindly, patiently.
You shake your head and then bury your nose in her neck.
Maya makes a growling noise of appreciation and your knees falter.
It seemed you’d have more than just the soulmate mark before the morning came.
Pretty Girl I'll Make You Famous (Chp1,2,3 Repost)
You are Maya Mason's wife and the head artist of Continental Studio's Animation division. You both haven't told the team that you are married. But the key to Maya's lock hangs around your neck..and that might just be a give away.
Warnings : Maya Agression / Impreg kink / Daddy Kink / Slow fucking / Intimacy / Horror movie talks / The Studio Gang / Semen Kink / Cum Kink / Married R and Maya / R is head of Animation for the Studio / Smut / Love and yearning / Maya has a dick/ GP/ Sexual Harassment In Work Place / Scary Maya Mason / Bucky/ Alice x Jen/ Wanda x Nat/ Baby Billy/ Matt is an idiot/ Patty is a Star/ Tony Bashing/ Sexually explicit language and themes 18+
You’d been in this industry for a while now. And you knew how these meetings usually went. But as of April, you’d been promoted. You were now the head artist of Animation for Continental Studios. So far, you have been greenlit for working on a new franchise. They wanted to make a popular video game series into an animated show. So you were sitting on a Tuesday afternoon with your best storyboard artist, Jennifer Kale. And the usual bigwigs: Matt, Sal, Quinn, Patty, and Maya. Of course.
Plus Alice, you’d figured taking Alice Wu-Gulliver would be a good idea. Knowing she could talk shop and not get her feelings hurt in the harsh crowd. While Jen would remain silent and take notes, Alice would politely defuse the conversation. Jennifer definitely could stir the drama, which is why you’d instructed her to be as quiet as she could stand. Which you knew was a losing game.
Alice and you had spent some time with the storyboard team and made some concept sketches. A few mock posters for God of War, Red Dead, Halo, and Resident Evil. They were currently propped up, and your, Jen, and Alice drawings were spread across the conference table.
What should have taken two hours was now going on six because none of them could agree on a fucking thing. You desperately wanted a new iced coffee, but you sat next to Alice as the guys paced. Patty was groaning with her feet on the table. Maya was across from you, but she wasn’t looking at the mockup drawings. She was looking at you, and you both knew why.
Alice was talking to Matt and Sal while you and Maya had a silent debate wordlessly across the table.
“So you like the God of War idea? Is it the idea of making it into more of an anime style that you don’t like?” Alice asked honestly, it was a good question. Seeing as how they’d been going around and around like school children for hours.
“I like the anime idea,” Matt says, but then he looks down at a drawing and winces.
“You keep making that face, what is it?” Quinn asks, and you are thankful for the woman.
“Is it too hentai?” Matt questions.
“What is hentai?” Patty says, groaning and pulling her hair in frustration.
“Oh god.” Maya rolled her eyes, not wanting to explain it. She always knew what was in.
“Porn.” You say through gritted teeth, surprising Sal in that moment. You’d kept your demeanor neutral for most of the meeting. Besides the communication of micro expressions with Maya.
“Specificlly asian porn, so you don’t want to make it look like anime? Y/n made mock-ups that aren’t that-” Alice says delicately.
“Look, I don’t mean to offend you-” Matt says, looking at Alice, and you try not to roll your eyes like Maya. Of course the white guy was saying that to the asian artist in the fucking room. Jen chuckled but didn’t say a word.
“Not taking it personal-” Alice says, cutting him off before he can actually say something offensive. You decide to stop this before it’s an HR complaint you have to fix, again.
“Matt, if you don’t want it to look like any kind of anime, we can go back to a more claymation look. 2D vector is in because of Rick and Morty.” You offer, and Maya nods, agreeing with you. Because you two always shared thoughts.
“3D, 2D, hand-drawn is cool again because of Cuphead,” Alice adds, and you see Maya’s face twitch, she didn’t like the goth artist. Mostly because Alice had asked you out before you were her boss, and you had to tell Maya what happened. You two didn’t do secrets. You’d walked in with hickies the next day that would put a hentai artist to shame.
“The point is, if you don’t like the more anime style, we can scrap it. No questions asked, we put it in because Netflix and Castlevania, and a bunch of the other ones. Listen, they aren’t producing it, but they’re marketing and distributing it. We just want to make sure our department gives you options. Whatever you guys decide is fine; we haven’t picked a franchise yet. Maybe we start there?” You try to keep it constructive, but Matt is staring at the Resident Evil drawing you’d made of Lady Dimitrescu. The over nine-foot-tall, large-breasted, vampire villain. And you tried to keep your face from looking annoyed at him ignoring you for boobs. Maya eyed you and followed your line of vision to see what was bothering you now.
“Oh god, Matt put the damn drawing down. Don’t get an errection from a fucking drawing ok?” Maya snapped at the exec, who blushed and put it down.
“No wait, that’s a good point. Matt, what gave you a boner?” Patty said, and you closed your eyes. You’d known this was going to happen. You’d drawn it, for god's sake, Maya had seen you drawing it. It was around four am, and you had your drawing table at a tilt as you made sure her breasts were proportionate to the video game. Maya had been in a mood since she couldn’t sleep without you next to her after all these years. But she’d seen you drawing and teased you about your concentration, until she saw what you were drawing, and her jealousy flared. She realized you’d not been in bed with your wife and instead been drawing boobs. So Maya took her top off to show you real boobs and fucked you against the drawing to prove that a vampire had nothing on her.
Looking up at your wife in the conference room, she arched an eyebrow, her lips pursing a bit. You couldn’t talk to her about this even silently right now.
Turning back to Patty and trying to tune back into the debate.
“It has sex appeal.” Sal and Patty were, of course, on the same page. Quinn was looking at the drawing now, and she seemed to be having a sexual awakening. Maybe she’d finally figured out she was gay. Both you and Maya had been taking bets on how long it would take.
Alice was explaining ‘The Village’ to the group. You took off your leather jacket and took a hair tie to tie up your long hair. As you stood and riffled through paperwork. You realized people were staring at you. Not just Maya, that was normal, but you realized men were looking. You turned to see Matt and Sal staring at your cleavage as you wore a low-cut shirt that was Maya’s today.
But then you realized Patty was staring too, and she hadn’t been queer since the 80’s so something was up. Turning to Alice, who was looking too you realized that they were looking at your necklace.
“Is that a key?” Sal asked as he had no ability to hold a thought in.
“What?” You said trying to catch up with what they were curious about.
You look over at Maya, who is smirking. Your eyes go down to her lock, the one around her neck. And then you realize, usually your chain is longer, more hidden, but it had broken during sex this morning. So Maya had grabbed a simple chain from her jewelry box. Then you’d moved the key that went to her lock onto it.
“Oh…” You look down, realizing it’s visible and dangling from your neck. As you are hunched over the table.
“What’s the key go to?” Matt chuckled, and then Patty eyed Maya.
“What’s your last name? Everyone calls you the what is it?” Patty snaps her fingers trying to remember. Quinn nods, trying to remember too and Alice winces at the names. She knew what people called her boss. But Maya licked her lips. Jen tensened next to Alice.
“Yeah, before you got the promotion, they called you Walt’s Monster or the Reckless Rembrandt, and the Deviant of Da Vinci,” Sal said, and your fingers twitched. You knew what they’d called you. You were cutthroat, and you weren’t embarrassed. Maya and you both weren’t afraid of being crazy. You’d once set fire to an animator's desk because he wouldn’t listen to you. And he kept drawing dicks ontop of one of the queer interns illustrations. You felt for the young queer artists, poor Billly. You’d given Billy the assholes job, and you’d made an HR complaint against yourself.
One of many…Because you’d set said assholes desk on fire. You’d taught everyone quickly that bullying wouldn’t be tolerated at your animation house.
But you were feared in the Studio, and you didn’t mind. Maya was feared even more, and you two were a perfect match. Matching each other's freak, but you also were safety for each other.
Nothing was embarrassing or too much in your house. Neither of you ever judged the other. Not for weird spirits of anger or workaholic-like tendencies. You had rules in your house about bedtime and self-care. But Maya knew what it took for an illustrator to make it. And you understood she was the thing between a movie that made it and a movie that tanked. And that was a lot on anyone's shoulders.
But you’d found a home in each other long ago. Before you’d even worked for Maya’s studio.
“Let’s stay on topic.” You interjected through clenched jaw, and Maya just tilted her head at you. You’d both made it a point to not mention that you were married. You’d been worried that people with think that Maya favored your projects because you were her wife. But you didn’t try to hide it that much. Your last name was Mason. But no one called you that; everyone just knew the nicknames.
Maya laughs because she’d planned this. You see that now. She’d been getting annoyed at your desire to not tell people you were married to each other. The two of you had argued about it last weekend.
“We aren’t teenagers. Baby, I don’t like that they don’t know you're mine!”
Maya complained having just got off the phone with her assistant. It was very late. She was in her bra and boxers and you were in her pajama pants and sports bra. Both of you were seated in the theater room. A long L shaped sofa that you were laying on as she paced. Her acrylic nails were perfect as she threw her hands in the air.
You had your large iPad on your lap with your Apple Pencil between your lips. You don’t know what the silly assistant had said, but it had pissed off your wife. Because you were drawing and tuning them out, and now the veins were popping from Maya’s forehead.
You rubbed your temples and took the pencil out of your mouth to respond.
“Maya, I am yours. We know that. I wear my wedding ring to work every day! I’m not exactly hiding you in a closet!” You knew you shouldn’t have met her anger with irritation.
“Alice didn’t seem to notice your wedding ring.”
You roll your eyes at her and she growls.
“You know I shut that down. She’s also one of my best concept and sketch artists. I’m not going to-“
“Mentioning it to HR, protects you both!”
You’d told her you weren’t going to HR because of a harmless, casual ask-out. Alice wasn’t a perv who couldn’t take no for an answer. You’d told her you were married, and she’d apologized. That was that. You’d know if you’d taken her to HR, that would mean Maya could pull her file and make life hell for the poor artist. She’d even blacklist her if Maya wanted.
“Baby-“
“We were talking about trying for a kid! What happens when you are pregnant? I’m not allowed to bring you lunch? Can’t have lunch with my wife?!”
You knew now that Maya was upset yes, but she was scared. Something that you didn’t see from your wife often. You try to ground her in facts.
“Maya you bring me coffee and lunch now! Why would that change?” You say more patient then before.
“So the studio thinks your husband got you pregnant? That you are straight?” Maya sneers and she looks at the large projector screen. You’d put on ‘The Visit’ which had been a fun pick. Maya had not seen it yet, but you didn’t miss a Kathryn Hahn film.
It was the scene where the grandma is getting the young girl to crawl into the oven. Maya looks momentarily distracted but you knew better. She grabs the remote and pauses it. Which you take to mean she is actually enjoying the film enough to not want to miss it.
“No one thinks I’m straight at work.” You tell her and she plops down onto the sofa next to you. She grabs your knees and pulls you into her lap. You are all too happy to sit on Maya’s lap.
“I know you just got that promotion. I’m so proud of you darling. We aren’t on different levels now-” Maya tries to reason with you.
“Say that to my paycheck, Mama still makes a lot more than me.” You tease and smile and Maya doesn’t fall for the distraction.
“You are my wife. I heard my assistant talking with Matt, who was asking Patty if you were single. No one is paying attention to your wedding ring, which is rude since I spent so long picking it. Now I’m tired of this. I want to have your pussy in my mouth in the office. And I want people to get scared when they’re rude to you, because they know your Mommy will skin them alive.” Maya smirks at her sinister thoughts, and you kiss her. She moans as your tongue seeks hers. You start to make out, and it does distract her this time. Maya’s need to possess you, be inside you, it’s just too much.
You’d been an idiot to think that was the end of the conversation. Now looking at Maya with a gleam in her eye and her hair cascading down her gorgeous back that you’d scratched up this morning. You realize she’d planned all of this.
“No I really don’t remember her last name!” Patty said annoyed, not one to be distracted like your wife by your breasts.
“Boss?” Jennifer asks her eyebrows knit in confusion on what to do. Jennifer tended to defend you in the workplace. Which was sweet but not needed. Jen told the men in the office that if you’d been a guy, they wouldn’t have given you such nicknames or questioned your authority. They’d all see you for the talented artist and the sharp business mind you were. You’d fucking studied animation at CalArts. You’d undergrad at the Rhode Island School of Design.
You were a triple threat with illustration. You could paint, animate, concept art, story board, block a fucking scene. You knew so much about special effects that Maya when you first started dating would call you and send you top secret scenes to make sure they didn’t look stupid. You’d helped her, free of charge of course. But somehow Maya always paid you for your work, in fancy dinners, in weekends away, in new art equipment, even in hours of her between your thighs. Maya always liked treating her favorite artist.
“It’s fine Jen, my last name is Mason.” You don’t look at Maya but you turn to Patty and tilt your head much like your wife does. You roll your tongue over your front teeth.
“Shit. Fucking..oh shit.” Sal says, and his eyes look at your wife.
Patty starts to laugh so hard you think she might have broken. Quinn’s mind can’t seem to catch up to how you both are gay and married, and successful.
“Oh my god.” Alice whispers looking down at her lap as if she’s about to totally be fired.
“It’s fine Alice.” You whisper to her and she looks like she doesn’t believe you for a second. So Jen pats her shoulder to comfort the poor artist. Jen wasn’t shocked as she’d worked for you before.
“Woah that’s crazy coincidence! Unless, are you guys like related though, like cousins?” Matt says over Pattys laughter. And Sal looks like he’s gonna combust at Matt’s dumb ass.
“Would she be wearing the key to Maya’s lock if they were cousins Mathew? It’s a fucking kinky thing idiot.” Sal whisper screams at him. You force a smile at the head of the studio.
“Oh my god.” Matt’s mind is starting to catch up and it’s hilarious. Meanwhile Maya just looks like the king of the table. She’s smiling broadly like she’s won the lotto. She’s made everyone uncomfortable and the cat is out of the bag.
Patty finally stands up to stop laughing as she goes over to find the booze and she pours three whiskeys.
“Isn’t it a little early to be-” Quinn says not liking that Patty was drinking in a meeting. But Patty holds the tops of the three glasses pinching them to carry them and the bottle. She pushes one towards Matt. But Sal takes it instead and downs it. Then she walks over to Maya.
“Mozel Tov.” She says and hands Maya a drink. Maya clicks her glass against Patty’s and the two down their drinks.
“Boss?” Jennifer asks again unsure of how to defend you. You’d not needed her defending. But you’d hired Jen when she was like twenty two out of art school. And she’d followed you to the studio. So you knew Kale was ready to walk out if you were.
“Relax Kale, no one’s in trouble. And we are making the Resident Evil and God of War animated films. Matt they’re brilliant and my wife will need a full budget. She’s already got the story board mostly complete but I’m sure Maximoff got a script already, right Babe?” Maya looks at you now and you roll your eyes and nod. Wanda had been your friend for a long time and you two had already been working on stories. The two of you could make anything fantastic together.
“Sounds good to me Matt.” Patty agrees and refills Maya and her own glass.
“So vampires?” Sal asks and Matt is still reeling, his eyes are huge and you don’t know if he can even hear the room anymore. You look over at Alice but she’s gawking at Maya with so much fear. So you turn to Jen to back you and she doesn’t need to be told twice.
“Vampires are part of it, but not all of it. It’s supernatural beings meets Daddy Daughter day. Think The Last of Us kind of a thing.” Jen tells the team and you wish you’d let her talk instead of Alice now. She’d been solid at pitching ideas in the animators room. But she’d not liked white dudes in power, and you couldn’t blame her.
“God of War should be a different type of animation. So people don’t think we’re just re-doing the last thing.” Quinn says and Maya looks ready to tell her she’s an idiot.
“We could do the anime style for Resident Evil, because the sex appeal. Then we’ll make more of a Marvel comic look for God of War. Lots of blood in both but different amount of visual carnage.” You instruct.
“I like it, like Kill Bill animation scene?” Matt says finally looking at you.
“Exactly.” You agree with him, and he smiles. Patty leans down to pour more alcohol into his and Sal’s cup. Like they’d earned it this time. Sal let’s Matt drink this time.
“So manga style for Resident Evil and God of War get’s comic book. Do we lean more towards Deadpool type of humor?” Jen asks and she’s not looking at the room but writing things down.
“No, it’s not gonna sell as well. Keep the Last of Us idea for both. Make it heartfelt but gory and marketable.” Maya says and she sips at her drink.
“Does Hr?” Quinn starts asking Maya who holds up her hand.
“We’re married, and I didn’t hire my girl. The Studio knew the Deviant of Da Vinci was the best fit. I didn’t do a thing. So there will be no complaints or silly favoritism.”
It was a half-truth, Maya was always doing something behind the scenes. But your portfolio got you the job. As for the raise and promotion you weren’t a hundred percent sure she didn’t do something. But Maya kept talking firmly with the class.
“Mrs. Mason got here because she’s the best. My wife also saved our last animated film. Which I was able to market and profit the studio two billion dollars. So does anyone want to complain?” Maya asked and the look in her eyes was enough to make the grown men feel scared.
“Let’s just focus on the films. I’ll have Wanda send over her script for Resident Evil. I’ve got Romanoff and Barton ready to write for God of War. Does anyone have anyone else they want to throw in the ring?” You ask and Patty drinks before shaking her head in surprise.
“You got Wanda Inc and R&B Productions in your back pocket? Matt your head animator needs a fucking raise. Besides if you piss her of she’ll set the place on fire and then Maya will kill you with her bare hands. Da Vinci, honey, you just email me when you've got them all lined up. I’ll come over and produce. Not that it seems like you need any help. We always knew whoever Maya ended up with would be a firecracker.”
“More like a pitbull.” Quinn murmured and you turned and glared at her. She seems a bit scared of you and her eyes went down to her notes.
“Natasha won’t work with us.” Sal said and he took the glass from Matt and drank the last of his whiskey.
“Why not?” Patty angrily snapped at him.
“Because someone tried to hit on her at a Cat Blanchet party and now she thinks our studio is the plague.” Matt said staring at Sal and everyone knew exactly what happened.
“She’ll work with me. Just keep Sal out of the studio when she’s on my side of the lot.” You said confidently and Maya grinned at you. She’d been telling you that the Animation building was ‘yours.’ And now in front of Matt you were owning it. And she couldn’t be more proud.
“We can do that.” Matt said and he grabbed the Resident Evil drawing you’d done of Ethan Winters. “Do we really want him to be white?”
This made another four hours of discussion over voice actors.
_________________
When the meeting was finally over, Matt offered to take everyone out to dinner. You turned to Maya, who didn’t look like she felt anyway about it. But you two spoke a different language for each other. So when you finished your silent discussion, you turned to Matt.
“Sorry Mr. Remick, I need to start illustrations for the first teaser-” He shook his head at you not taking no for an answer.
All of you were walking out of the conference room and you cursed yourself for being friendly.
“It’s Matt! And no way, we’ve never gone drinking together! And with your promotion we gotta celebrate! Right Patty!” He said as you guys walked out the front door in a group. Jen shook her head and you touched her shoulder to bring her to the side. Jen had the big mock ups under her arm and she’d have to bring them back to work tomorrow.
“Bye girl, I’m going the fuck home,” Jen said as Patty, Sal, and Matt bickered about restaurants.
“See you tomorrow. Drive safe, Kale.” You tell her, and she smiles at you.
“Good job today Boss. Two feature films, our old boss could never have gotten them to do one. Continental is about to get rocked by it’s illustrators!” Jennifer shouts at you before she crosses the studio to her side of the parkinglot. Alice waits until Jen is away to ask you something.
“Do I still have a job?”
“Oh my god Alice, yes. I can’t do these films without you-”
“Yeah you could, you could totally Miyazaki the shit out of this. But is Maya gonna let me stay?” Alice asks just as you feel your wife coming over to you. Her hand grabs your ass and you know she’s not a fan of you alone with your flirty animator. So her possessive hand holds your right asscheek to remind everyone on the lot what happens in your bedroom.
“Yes, you have a job. Do not worry. Go get some rest. Early start tomorrow with Wanda, ok?” You tell her and she smiles more reassured and eyes Maya before waving goodbye to you both and running after Jen. You hoped the two of them would get drunk and date each other already.
“You sure know how to manage your minions, Baby,” Maya whispers before her body is flush with yours. One hand coming around your hips. You are holding the file with all the drawings from today. You ignored her compliment and closed your eyes, letting your head fall back onto her shoulder. Her long, dark hair tickling your ear. Before you straightened back up remembering what the three of them were talking about behind you. Maya made a noise of irritation at you moving away from her shoulder. She liked how cuddly you were, she demanded PDA. And now you had no reason not to touch each other at work.
But you broke her pout with your own.
“Please tell me we aren’t going to get drinks with Matt and the gang.” You didn’t turn to look at her as she kissed behind your ear. You felt the last traces of her lipstick against your skin.
“I already told you my thoughts, and you read me better than anyone.” She teases and you knew from before she didn’t want to hang out with them tonight. Maya usually bitched about Matt and Sal after work for twenty minutes each night before she sighed and said ‘ok enough of them, give Mama a kiss’ and you guys continued your night without their names.
“Ok, we settled on a nightclub!” Matt says coming over to you both. You try to hold your grimace but Maya’s hand on your ass squeezes and you know she is aware of your displeasure. The two of you tolerated clubs but neither of you were in your twenties anymore. Clubs weren’t so much fun when you had things like responsibilities and mortgages.
“I’m taking my wife home Matt. You guys have fun.” Maya says and it’s stern and leaves no room for arguing but Quinn comes around with her iphone. And she’s typing and looking up to Sal.
“We have to go! We all have to go! It’s bonding!” She squeals, and you take a half step back towards Maya’s side, and she knows what that means. You feel anxious, and it’s her job to get you out. She’d appointed herself your protector in all things.
“We are leaving, see ya tomorrow!” Maya turns you around and she flips her long hair over her shoulder.
“We need to go by your office and get your stuff?” You ask Maya and she shakes her head. She pulled the keys to her car out of her pocket.
“Nah, Baby, it can all wait until tomorrow. Straight home or do you wanna get Indian on the way?” She asked, and your mood shifted and you beamed at her. Maya always knew what to say.
“Indian, you’ll even let me get it super spicy?”
“Whatever my little artist wants, she gets.” Maya teased and you rolled your eyes at her. But she came around to the front of the executive's lot, where she had one of the best parking spots.
Opening the passenger side you threw your art in the back like it didn’t matter, and her eyebrows furrowed. But Maya closed the car door. You let your head lean back against the sports car's headrest. Maya has a few cars, but you never cared much about vehicles. But she’s got a big Hummer, a SUV, and this little red Bugatti Chiron.
It’s got a gorgeous interior and it costs 3.5 million. You had been shocked when she’d brought it home. You both usually talked about big purchases.
But that was when Maya had been promoted and made the big bucks. So you’d let her celebrate and she’d fucked you inside and on the hood to christen it.
You close your eyes and try to box breathe through the anxiety, and Maya opens her side and she goes over to your thrown art. You hear papers moving, and you open one eye, confused. But Maya is collecting all of you and your team's drawings and putting them back into the folder carefully.
“What are you doing?” You finally ask and she’s put the drawing on the back seat now that they weren’t wrecked all over. “Were you mad I made a mess in your pretty car?” You tease.
She snorts at you.
“No, I just don’t like the idea that my wife’s drawings are crumpled in a pile like they aren’t stunning. Like she didn’t spend a week preparing for that meeting.”
“Maya..” You say like she’s the sweetest, and her face softens, and she leans over and pecks your lips.
“Your art matters to me.”
“You mean because it’s gonna make you a bunch of money and you can buy a Bugatti in blue this time?”
Now Maya throws her head back and laughs.
“No, but that’s not untrue. I cared about your art long before it made Mama any money baby. You have more talent in your pinky finger than every soul combined in this whole lot.” She says starting her car like it’s just a fact she says everyday and no big deal. You grab her strong bicep and she turns to you.
“You actually believe that?”
“Of course I do. And you should too if you know what’s good for you.” Your wife says, and then the Bugatti is revved and she burns rubber as she speeds off the lot.
_______
After you put the order in on your phone, the two of you picked up dinner. You are stuck in traffic now with everyone else in LA. And you groan before grabbing your phone and start checking work emails. Maya has at one point pulled her sunglasses on, and she’s looking at you and not at the road.
You know Maya, you’d been married for thirteen years now going on fourteen and you’d both never stopped fucking. So you didn’t need to see her eyes, or an inch of her face to know what she was thinking.
“Whatever your cock wants right now it’s gonna have to wait until we get home.” You say as you write an email back to Natasha about how the meeting went and what the story elements she wants to incorporate.
It’s not the first film you're going to work on. You figured you’d break your team in half, one side for Jen and one for Alice. You’d have Jen focus on God of War because the comic was more her speed. Alice obviously like you, enjoyed more supernatural animes, and she’d rather work on Resident Evil. Also, Alice played more video games in general so she’d be good on both. So maybe you should need to make her go on both projects and then mayb-
“Darling, stop it.” You looked up to see you were still sitting in traffic, you turned to Maya who had lifted up her sunglasses and was looking at you like she’d caught you doing something naughty.
“What? Is there something on my face? Is it pen again, and you are just now telling me?” You wipe at your nose. You always had pencil or charcoal on your nose. You’d been worse with paint during college. Maya always found it adorable and you knew sometimes she didn’t even tell you, just liked to watch you.
“No, you don’t have anything on your face. You are ignoring your wife though. You are sitting there thinking of how you want to divy up your team. Your answering emails and I need your full attention.”
“You aren’t getting head while we are on the 405 again. You are going to wait until we get home and then you can fuck my throat until the cows come home.” You tell her putting your phone down.
“That’s a visual, what a dirty girl I stole. No, I’m talking about how I’ve been talking to you for the past six minutes and you haven’t listened to a word of it! If we were just now dating I’d be offended. But since we’re married, I know where you sleep. I’ll just get my revenge when you least expect it.” She smirks, showing her teeth now.
“Maya Mason, I apologize for being such a bad wife. What were you wanting to talk about?”
“This week, I was thinking we should have you stop taking birth control. I can call tomorrow and get you in with your OBGYN. I’ll have my assistant clear whatever day you want this week, and we’ll go together. That’s what I was talking about.” Maya wiggled her eyebrows, and it had the effect she wanted as you laughed. But then you did what she didn’t want and you shook your head. And she groaned in clear upset.
“My love, we talked about this. I just got promoted, we need to wait a few years. Let me make a few billion for the studio and have job security-”
“You already have job security because I’ll never let them get rid of you!” Maya says offended that you thought she’d let something so stupid happen at her studio. To you of all people!
“And then once everything's running smoothly, we will take the IUD out. I promise, then you can get me pregnant as many times as you want.” You say, and you see Maya is annoyed and also delighted all at the same time. Before she speaks again.
“Ok, first off, nothing in the studio will ever run smoothly. That’s just showbiz, my girl. Secondly, you are saying I get to pick now how many kids we have?”
“We can compromise, I get to say when and you get to say how many, how about that?” You knew Maya was a business girl down to her bones, and she thought for a minute.
“I am gonna draw up a contract tonight.”
You laugh at her in shock. Your eyebrows went high up your forehead.
“Will this be as legally binding as the key and lock situation we have?” You tease and Maya bites her lip and you can see she’s excited.
“You are going to regret your terms now, baby girl.”
“Oh my god Maya how many do you want!”
“I’m thinking eight.”
“NO WAY! YOU want my vagina to be as congestied as the 405! Your dick will never be snug inside me again! It’ll be a hot dog in a hallway situation!”
“You are unbelievably tight already, and I’m not worried about it. I want eight kids running around who look like you and swear like me. You already said I could have as many as I want, you fucking blew it superstar. I gotta teach you how to negotiate again.” Maya laughs, and the traffic is moving now.
“Is it too late to get a divorce?” You tease, but you see Maya’s lip twitch. She didn’t like joking about divorce and you knew that. She’d never been divorced, never had kids, and she never wanted either. Not until she’d met you.
“Baby.” She said and you slide over and kiss her jaw.
“Sorry Mommy. That wasn’t very nice. Can I make it up to you?” You ask and your hand is on her thigh. It moves up her tight pants and you don’t have to travel far to feel her cock twitch under your hand.
“You know I don’t like it when you say the D word.” Maya whispers and you know she’s not happy.
“You know I’d never. Let me make it up to you? Let me taste you?” You say and you kiss the side of her mouth and you feel her cock harden under your touch. Blood pumping to her shaft and out of her head. And you have Maya Mason wrapped around your finger. You have the key to her heart.
Chapter 2 - So, gather 'round and run your mouths, Did you forget you're in my fuckin' house?
!WARNING: SEXUAL HARASSMENT IN THE WORKPLACE!
ANGRY MAYA ACTIVATED/ Possesive / Talks of Violence / Maya throwing things / Daddy Kink!/G!PMaya/Impregnation kink/Video Game Discussions/Movies/ Hollywood Shit/ Animators/ Shop-Talk / Bucky/ Alice x Jen/ Wanda x Nat/ Baby Billy/ Matt is an idiot/ Patty is a Star/ Tony Bashing/ Sexually explicit language and themes 18+/MDNI / *Not a Healthy Relationship*
So, gather 'round and run your mouths
Did you forget you're in my fuckin' house?
You have your headphones on, but you can lip-read pretty well through the glass, and only one of your big over-the-ear headphones is on your ear. So you were listening/watching the drama happening in the room.
Your office door was open, and you were hoping, like all managers at all levels, that your children would figure it out for themselves. And you wouldn’t need to step in. But you were realizing that this was becoming a hotter and hotter issue.
Wanda opened your door twenty minutes ago and was typing happily on your sofa. She’d eyed you once, one earbud in. She could also hear your minions arguing. You met her eyes to tell her you knew. You and Wanda had been friends since you were in your early twenties in LA. You’d done Molly at a Florence and The Machine concert for fucks sake. You’d taught her with a cucumber how to give a good blow job. You were close, to say the least.
So she knew your style, and knew that you were waiting.
You weren’t on your computer like Wanda. You had your animation table tilted, and the light was off. You weren’t animating, you were drawing Ethan Winter's face. Because for some reason no one could agree on what the fuck this white guy with blonde air looked like. Some said he looked too much like Chris Evans, others said Chris Hemsworth. You were tired of the Chris’s and were looking for more of a Scarsgard look, maybe? Perhaps it was too European? You were fixing his cheekbones when you heard the first person yell.
Groaning you erased the line you’d just fucked up from the noise.
“Oof, you got a problem on your hands, Da Vinci.” Wanda teased, not looking up as she worked on the scene.
Her feet were tucked underneath her and her heels were kicked off on your floor. There was art and storyline pinned on corkboard with scene orders. She’d moved the middle part around about twenty-three times. You knew Wanda was stuck because she was chewing on her milkshake straw. But you didn’t make a snide comment on how she should worry about how the hell Ethan is going to get into the Doll house. You just breathed out through your nose and drew Ethan’s left eye again.
Until Billy walked in with his sketchbook.
“Boss?” He said politely and obviously was completely scared of you. He looked at Wanda, and the two shared a comfortable communication. You didn’t ever say anything about the two of them. Understanding from being Mrs. Mason, how nice it was for no one to know who lived in your home.
“Billy.” You say not looking up at him, and he stares like Bambi back at you. He’s wearing big black glasses and his baggy sweaters again. He’s absolutely adorable, and you’d kill for the twenty-year-old. Wanda goes back to typing, not getting involved. Which was smart, she knew you better than to put her foot in your animation business.
“It’s getting a little..well, you see….Mrs. M- Boss, I think..” He starts, but you don’t look at him. And it’s making the curly-haired boy more nervous. Which is ridiculous because he knows you better than to be this. Of all the people in the building to fear you, Billy shouldn’t be one of them.
Your phone rings, and you don’t let it ring twice before you answer and put your wife on speaker.
“Baby, you are on speaker in the office, don’t say something bad.”
“Ballsack.” She says, and you roll your eyes. Of course she always took that as a dare.
“Hey, baby Daddy!” Wanda yells as she knows your wife is trying unsuccessfully to knock you up. And she likes to poke fun at Maya any chance she gets.
Billy just blushes and looks at the door, wondering if he should leave.
“Hey, red rocket! How’s your fat paycheck doing? Feeling the need to get fired yet?” Maya threatens and teases all in one pretty package. Wanda scoffs pretneindg to be offended.
“Maya, hold on a second. I’m gonna multitask, I know you wanted me to come to your office but I’m swamped. So hold on. Billy, you don’t have to tell me. You don’t need them to think you tell me stuff. I already know Jen and Tony are fighting about Kratos. Tony wants it to look more Viking, and Jen wants it to be more focused on a video game aesthetic. Jen is right, and Tony needs to listen. But I’m not going to intervene about that until Jen asks me to. Because she’s running point on Kratos. Tony is in charge of Atreus, and if he draws his son Peter again, I’m going to put him back on backgrounds. But you don’t need to tell him that. Just go back to Jen and remind her she has a meeting with Barton on Zoom soon. And yes Billy, I know Alice is freaking out. She doesn’t need to, I saw the sketches and the teaser….Well, we are finishing the trailer tonight at midnight. For both of them. No one is going home until it’s done. You can tell them the scary animator said that, ok?”
Billy smiles more sure than before and finding solace in you looking at him like he isn’t fired. Wanda smiles sadly at him, but he doesn’t look at her.
“God, I think I’m hard,” Maya said, and you take her off speaker.
“Can you behave for two fucking seconds in front of my team?” You ask her, but you grab your laptop and the sketch of thirty different Ethan’s.
“I miss you. I can’t behave when I miss you, you know that. I do need you to come to my office, we have some things to sort out.”
“You never behave, Mrs. Mason.” You tell her, and Wanda is packing her stuff and coming out of the office with you. You pick your airpod out of your pocket, and it pairs, so you don’t have to hold your phone. You put it in your back pocket and hear Maya sigh through your right ear airpod.
“I’d behave if you came here and let me fill you, if you take out that stupid implant, I’ll behave. Come to my office, Darling. There’s some things that need taken care of.”
“Someone needs a cold shower.” You half whisper, but you walk into the main office area.
“Tony, where’s the art for Atreus?” You say over his cubicle, and he looks momentarily taken aback. He’s used to your stupid old boss, who wouldn’t be here grilling one of his boys. But you aren’t his boy. You are his fucking boss and you aren’t going to listen to his whiny ass. Tony was a good artist and he had potential if he took his head out of his backside.
“I’ll email it to you in ten, boss lady.” He rolls his eyes.
“You can drop the lady, or we’ll talk about your workload again.” You say, and you hear two other animators laughing at him. Maya in your ear snorts at you, and you hear a faint ‘tell him, baby girl.’
“Yes, boss,” Tony says, and you think that you actually see a bit of respect in his eyes. But maybe not.
“If you can’t handle the task of drawing a child, I can put you on trees or trash cans.” You smile at him, and it’s col,d and it really digs the nail in. You aren’t here to be liked. You don’t care what he draws in the bathroom about you. You don’t care if Tony drinks at his desk and curses you under hi breath. You do care if he draws what you need. And if he can’t, there are plenty of resumes in your inbox.
“No, I got it. I think Jen said something about the eyes of his mother. So I’m just gonna do a few changes, and you’ll have a color animation. Just give me-” He says and it isn’t what you want.
“Do it right, Stark, I’ll have it in an hour. I have a meeting, and then I’ll need it. Color would be nice, since you have been an animator for a long time. But if you are falling behind, you should tell your boss now. While I’m standing here.” You tell him, and Wanda is behind you, and you hear her biting back a laugh. You don’t take pleasure in public humiliation, but if they behaved like drunken fools…well. You’d put his ass in the stockade and let the others throw food at him.
You’d never do this to an animator who didn’t get motivated from it. Billy would never experience this, not just because he was anxious and close to you. But because it wouldn’t make him motivated. Tony however, he wanted you to step on his dick.
And you’d worn your heels today. You were sure they’d draw blood if need be.
You’d seen the drawing around the office. Tony drew them often now, he was naked with his tongue out, you drawn in a latex suit with your heel on his balls. You’d seen it, you’d left it in the break room. You weren’t afraid of them. They were in your fucking house.
This was your house.
Jen came through the cubicles with her laptop and a stack of drawings. She looked exhausted. Jen eyed Tony and had heard you talking to him. She appreciated you more than words could say. Jen had never been under your wrath either. She’d never needed Walt’s Monster to make her work harder. You’d taught Jen what you wanted. And she was quick and detail-oriented, so you motivated her with bigger projects and praise. And it worked wonders.
Alice came out of her office to the middle where you were all huddled near the cubmicles. She had her hair in a tight bun with two pencils in it, and she had her iPad. She also looked like shit. Billy was behind her.
“How many people are coming to this meeting?” Alice asks, looking at Billy confused.
“Baby, you still there?” You ask, and Maya clears her throat, and you realize she’s definitely hard from hearing you knock Tony down a peg.
“Right here Darling, where I always am, right behind you.”
It’s sweet and it warms your heart.
“Does Matt want to focus on God of War or Resident Evil?” You ask and no one has given you a straight answer in your emails.
“He wants both; he’s stupid and thinks it’ll be good to push them out one month apart. I’m working on telling him to stagger them. But he thinks if we do them both, then we can do two next quarter the same way. Patty, Sal,, and I are working on it, baby…But it’s not looking how we want it.”
You ignore Tony staring at your cleavage, and you scratch your forehead.
“Um, ok. So, Billy I need you to go to Motion Design and put a fire under their ass. We are working on both Resident Evil and God of War by midnight. You have Motion Design work faster. Right now, Resident Evil is further along. I need you to have them work faster on both, and email me the final animation for Rose by the end of my meeting in an hour and a half. I’m not entirely sure how long this thing with Matt is going to take.”
You pull your phone out of your back pocket to check the time.
“...Thirty minutes, for Rose animation, and I’ll send you the final on Ethan. Ok, Billy?” You tell him, and he nods and sprints across the offices. Motion Design was down two levels, and he was really taking the stairs to get there.
“He’s adorable. I want to clone him. We need more of him.” Alice says under her breath to no one in particular. You’d known it was a good idea to put Billy under Alice. She loved a goth queer kid, she’d protect him when you weren’t around. No one knew his connection to Wanda. And you were keeping it that way.
“Tony and Jen, figure out Kratos and his son today. Jen, what do you have for me?” You said, looking at what’s in her hand.
“I have the finished Kratos weapons and clothes, and we have a few action scenes that Natasha and Barton put in their scenes. It’s animated, rought but it’s blocked out. So we have an animator's quick sketch cut of it. It’s not teaser worthy, but-” Jen babbles and you put your hand up to stop her and she does. Your team needed raises. Jen and Alice looked rough, and they were both babbling, not a good combo.
“How long?” You ask her. She opens and closes her mouth twice before your question computes. Wanda is still standing there and Tony isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s drawing quickly. One animator throws a paper across to another, and you ignore them.
“A minute and a half.” Your eyes open wider, and you smile. Way to go, Jen.
“Good work Jen, I’ll take that into the meeting. Wanda is coming with me. You talk to Barton and after you and Alice need to meet and show each other we you have. Whatever holes I want you to write them out, and make a list. When I come back, you can tell me what needs tweaking. I’ll be back in a.. time… I’m not sure. If Tony needs help please pair him with Bucky.” You tell Jen but Tony turns out was listening.
“Bucky, the one-hand wonder?” Tony is confused, and you turn to look at him like he’s a mongrel that isn’t supposed to speak. Maya snorts in your AirPods again, she doesn’t need to see your face to know.
“Stark, you are on the thinnest of ice. If I ever hear you refer to him as that again, I’ll drag you into HR to fire you, not walk you.” You tell him, and he looks back down.
Bucky, with his long hair, however, comes around. Once you are finished telling Tony he sucks.
Bucky was missing an arm, you’d hired him with his adorable beard and big daddy dopey grin. You loved the man, he was loyal as hell. He’d taken down dirty drawings of you around the office.
It wasn’t the reason you’d promoted him from background to character animator.
He’d been eternally grateful for the raise and chane. Bucky was a talented illustrator; he could draw beautiful architecture, but he had something you wanted to nurture for characters. His sketches were clean as hell, too. He’d painted a gorgeous poster that you’d run with for Resident Evil, he’d made the castle and Duke come to life. Like you could reach out and touch them.
You saw so much potential in him.
“I’ll help Tony.” He says, and you smile warmly at him. You would have been friends with the man if you weren’t his boss. But he was so smart, you might just have to anyway.
“Thank you, Bucky. Could you also ask the sculptors to finish up Heisenberg’s bust? It should have been done yesterday, but I think there was some confusion about his hat.” You say, and Bucky nods like a good soldier.
“Of course, boss.”
You smile and turn on your heel. Jen goes to her office to call Barton. And Alice scurrries to her corner of the office to ask about character back lighting.
You and Wanda head out of the main animator floor. You take the elevator and you grab your badge, and swipe it.
“Baby?” You ask.
“Still here, still hard as a rock. Still need to talk to you.” Maya teases, and you laugh.
Wanda presses the button for the floor and she's got her computer under her arm. But she’s texting as you talk to Maya.
“What’s for lunch, and how long is this meeting really going to take? Because I have a mountain of work to do, and I don’t want to sit and listen to Matt dick around about Ethan’s chin for an hour. Also, Wanda has to finish the mess she made of my second act. It’s a shit show.”
Wanda turns, and she’s got her mouth hanging open.
“Tell your Daddy that I will fix this before midnight. Like I promised! I just need to- Ya know what! Give me God of War, I’ll fix whatever Natasha’s fucking up! It looks way easier!” Wanda squeaks, and you know you’ve hit a nerve with her.
“Uh oh, sounds like your maid of honor is upset with you now,” Maya says, but she’s not teasing because she finds Wanda kinda annoying. She still was fine when Wanda came over for drinks or dinner, but she rolled her eyes a lot at the writer. You would love to mention how all of Maya’s dinner guests were work-related. But Maya just told you that you were her best friend. And you melted when she did that.
“Oh my god, I’m only joking. I know you will. Besides- wait a fucking minute. Is this because of you and Nat? Are you guys fucking again?” You say, and your mouth drops open now in mock surprise, and Wanda is flushed and shaking her head.
The elevator dings, and you walk through the main lobby. It’s got giant sculptures of animated characters, and video games, and movie posters. There’s even a small coffee shop with a barista. It’s cozy and has a million hipster bean bag chairs that look like rocks. There’s a giant movie screen that is always showing the fucking Kool-Aid movie. Which is annoying.
Maya is in your ear and has been listening to you talking to Wanda with interest. She tunes in again.
“Gagged, writers and animators are just like everyone else in Hollywood. Everyones fucking everyone. It’s exhausting.” Maya says, and you realize how old she sounds in this moment.
“Baby, you sound like an elderly married man.” You tease, and Maya laughs, and you are surprised she doesn’t disagree with you. You hear her start to yell at her assistant to go to the store and buy drain-o, five ice coffee’s, one cappuccino, one iced strawberry matcha, and super tampons. You remember that your drain was clogged this morning, and Maya swore she’d fix it tonight. But you look down at your calendar to see that Maya is right, like always, your period is starting tomorrow.
Wanda knows you can multitask, so she takes no offense at you on the phone with Maya, looking at your calendar, and talking to her about gossip.
Your combined heels click on the cement as you walk over to the main studio. You don’t want to drive in a golf cart today. Besides Wanda has to explain away from a PA what the fuck she’s talking about.
“I was in love with Natasha, or am in love with Natash- but so is half the writers in this fucking town. Besides, Yelena called me!” Wanda says, and her eyes are sparkling. You eye her and put your phone back in your pocket.
“You are telling me you are going to fuck her sister to get back at her?” You ask, and you only half disapprove. “Can you wait until I’m done with the project, and then you two can go all homicidal Bonnie and Clyde on each other again?” You ask it selfishly.
“Jesus, I’m so glad I’m not dating anymore. Marrying you was the best thing I ever did. Besides these bitches are crazy in L.A! I’m relieved to be a married Daddy now.” Maya says, and you wonder if she’s changing her nickname. Perhaps Mommy was so last season? Or maybe she liked the term ‘Baby Daddy’ more than she was letting on.
“I am not gonna fuck Yelena. I’m going to go into business with her!”
“That’s worse, I think?” You say, and then the realization of it hits you. “You’d go into business with another writer? You swore you’d never go into a production, you said in college it was all about artistic differences and shit. I remember because Viz begged you to open a house. He was upset about the workload and you said-”
“I know I know what I said, but I don’t know it might be nice.” Wanda shrugs and you feel fear now.
“Wanda, am I putting too much on your plate? Because if it’s making home life hard-” You worry about your friend. You were glad she was divorced now from Viz, but you didn’t want to make her life hard.
“Oh my god, you are the sweetest human alive. No matter what they call you. And they call you a lot, honey. Go back to being Mrs. Mason, setting the studio on fire. I’m fine, I promise, I will tell you. I’m just stuck on Ethan Winters decision making, he’s thick as hell. Besides, if anyone should be concerned in our little affair, it’s me! When are you gonna let Maya put a fucking baby in you? I’ve made a Pinterest board years ago for the baby shower!” Wanda asks, and you groan at her. Of course she fucking had.
“Now that’s the question of the hour. I knew I liked your choice of Maid of Honor.” Maya said over your earbud. It was not true, and you both knew it. Maya just wasn’t letting go of the idea that waiting was silly.
“Oh, ya know what, we are going into a tunnel. Babe, I’ll see you in four minutes!” You tell her and you make fake noises as if there is bad reception.
“HEY! DO NOT HANG UP ON M-” She yells and you don’t listen.
You end the call on your wife and Wanda chuckles at your antics.
_______________________
You walk in, and Patty is taking an iced coffee out of Maya’s assistant’s hand. He’s tall and gay and lanky as hell. He looks like he’s a model who’s afraid of everyone, and maybe he’s done a bump of coke in the bathroom. You can’t remember his name, and you aren’t sure Maya knows it either.
Sal and Matt are talking about how they are going to get Scarlett Johansson to call them back about a spy movie. Quinn and Patty are talking about how they really want to make the next Old Guard, and Netflix has the rights.
Wanda cringes at the room and goes next to Patty to get the iced coffee. Patty turns her attention and starts to fluff Wanda up like she’s in a porno. Patty is telling her how amazing her work is and how she can’t believe they haven’t worked together before.
You are looking around for Maya like always, but her assistant eyes you, and you are surprised he’s walking to you. But he walks up to you with his intense eye makeup and hands you the iced strawberry matcha, and you take it. Maya was sweet to know you were trying to cut down on your coffee intake.
You open your mouth to thank him, and then he gets a little weird.
“You are the Mason Da Vinci, I just wanna say…If you ever want to spit on me…Or I could be furniture in your house or-” He leans in and you feel Maya before you see her. Like a cloud falls over the room, something dark and sinister. The little people of Tokyo the second Godzillia makes his first step probably felt similar.
She’s behind you, her heels click to a stop, and the assistant goes paler.
“Get the hell out,” Maya says, and her hand falls on your lower back. You eye the tall boy as he runs out of the office.
“The fuck Maya? Feed the poor boy?” You whisper, and she isn’t laughing, and you turn to see her. Her gorgeous jaw is clenched, and you see the irritation.
“Baby?” You ask and her eyes fall on you, oh shit she didn’t like that. You are confused why, because people say inappropriate things to her all the time. But it was sexual towards you, and she doesn’t like that one bit.
But maybe there’s something else too?
“Matt, I’m firing my assistant after this. Now let’s get this shit started, I ordered lunch because I know we aren’t going to settle this in the allotted hour meeting time. So yay for tacos.” Maya says and you realize she’s really not ok with whatever is going on. Her body is tense, and she’s mad. But she’s keeping a lid on it, which is not very Maya-like. Something is keeping her contained.
“We lost some of the budget, didn’t we?” You say, and Sal looks shocked. Wanda walks back to you and sits down to your right and she eyes you curiously.
“You told her! We said we’d wait!” Sal yells at Maya, who eyes him like he’s a worm, and he plops in the swivel seat.
Everyone starts to sit down except Maya. You defend your wife until the end.
“She didn’t tell me shit. Why are you cutting the budget and moving the date of release? Oh my god, Matt I won’t do AI.”
“What no, no , I learned from Kool-Aid. People are still boycotting me, and the barista keeps spitting in my coffee. Which is why Maya’s creepy Edward Scissorhands assistant got the coffee today. No, um…Guys, can we have the room? Just for a second? Wanda, I’m really excited you are here. I just need to talk to Da Vinci- I mean Y/n for a second.” Matt rambles, and Wanda keeps her face blank, but she stands with her laptop and walks out. But her eyes on you say it all; ‘I’ll walk if you want me to.’
Sal stays, and Patty doesn’t move either. Quinn walks quickly out of the room, and you settle. Dropping your art and computer onto the table. You take a sip of your strawberry matcha as Matt turns and begs Patty to leave in hushed tones. Patty rolls her eyes and argues with him. Matt can’t even get his people to leave the room when he asks.
You feel Maya put her hands on your chair, it’s a power stance if you’ve ever seen it. It’s pretty obvious, Maya isn’t standing on the side of Matt and the rest. She’s standing behind you, and she’s ready to fight. No wonder she didn’t skin her assistant, she’s got bigger fish to fry. She’ll save him for later. The lion’s got a gazelle in her eyeline now.
“Maya, please leave for two secon-” Matt tries.
“No fucking way Matt. You wanna ask my wife a question, I want to hear you say it.”
You don’t turn and look at Maya. You don’t know what this is about, but it doesn’t sound good. Too many layers of tension. And Maya was like a scalpel.
Matt pulled on his fingers as he worked on through his thoughts.
“So, higher-ups don’t want to fund two films. I’m working on that, they want to cut the budget. We’re hoping that with the teaser, we can change their mind. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I think I can fix that, I mean I can, I can fix that. What I need to know is..there’s a rumor going around about you.”
Matt can’t look at your eyes.
“A rumor?” You ask, wondering what HR nightmare you are walking into. Did someone get upset by the noises you and Maya were making when you fucked in her office? Did someone figure out who Billy was related to? No, it was about you? Was it about Maya, too? Did Tony or one of your minions bring a complaint?
“Spit it out, Matty,” Patty says, taking a sip of her drink.
“Did Marvel contact you about a position?” Matt says and it’s rushed out in one breath.
Maya cuts in before you can respond. She leaves a count of four before she snaps at the exec.
“You have no right to ask her that. If Disney comes forward asking about her contract, she has every right Matt. She’s a fucking triple threat artist and you aren’t even giving her full funding for a film. If Disney comes forward for a project with Marvel Studios, my wife has every right to take it.” Maya says cool and calculated and you pause.
Oh god, you see what’s going on.
Oh Maya…
You lick your lips and form your response, calculating what is being set in front of you.
“Matt, you know my contract isn’t up. I can’t work at another studio for another, what was it Maya?” You ask, trying to remembe,r and Maya pretends to think about it.
“Five months I believe?”
Like she didn’t fucking know.
Sal gulps and takes the bait, turning to Matt. They were too easy.
“Matt.. we can’t lose her. She’s fucking got Wanda and Nat on speed dial! She’s got two feature films under her control! No one in animation houses works as fast as she does. If we lose her, these films won’t be made and you know it! We already tweeted the release date! Fix it!” Sal chastised his best friend. Patty eyed Maya before turning to Matt, having made her decision.
“Wanda will walk, and so will Nat. They love her, there’s so many writers who love her. She’s got a network, and you don’t Matt. And if they walk, you have no story. And seventy percent of the animators, concept artists, cgi artists, sculptors, digital fucking effects teams will leave. She’s the fucking bones of that whole lot. Matt I’m not your boss anymore, I won’t tell you what to do. But if I were you, I’d be mighty scared to piss off your head artist and Maya’s fucking wife. So I’d write a check for the films and give her a mighty fine pay bump. Or the nickname Walt’s Monster will become more real than you are ready for.” Patty said and turned to smile at you before she sipped her coffee. Lipstick stain staying on the straw.
Now that was interesting.
Matt got up and walked out to make a call, with Sal on his heels to go help. Patty stood and winked at you and then raised her cup to Maya. She walked out, and you sat in silence with Maya behind you.
The only noise in the conference room was the clicking of the clock on the wall.
“You are the worst.” You whisper and you don’t say more because you aren’t at home. There are eyes and ears everywhere. Maya doesn’t come around, she stays behind you.
“If my assistant, or anyone in this industry, ever says something lewd to you ever again. You don’t wait for me to walk in. You fire them on the spot. Because what I’m going to do to him is worse than what you’ll do. He’ll never work in L.A again, and none of his friends will either. And he may go missing if I am in the mood. I’ll kill his fucking dog sparkie if he ever looks at you again. No one, and I mean no one, disrespects my wife that way.” Maya whispered, and it was almost scary if it didn’t make your cunt drip. Maya knew too many people in L.A. And that didn’t stop at people in the industry; she knew drug smugglers, gangsters, and mafia. Maya wasn’t afraid of jack shit. Her upbringing made her hard and scary. She’d carried a glock strapped to her fucking thigh at the age of seventeen. Maya had a whole fancy drawer at home of butterfly knives.
You didn’t turn to look at her. You sipped your drink, and Maya’s finger brushed against your shoulder from where her hand was still on the chair. Your body responded instantly to her long acrylic fingernails against your shoulder. You wanted her.
“You should have come to my office.” She tells you, and you don’t have time to mull that over as Sal, Patty, and Matt are back.
“I sent over a new contract, I got the green light on the film's funding. Everything is fixed, and I got you a very big pay bump.” Matt says like he’s saved the day.
“Please don’t take the meeting with the big mouse,” Sal says, and Patty slaps his shoulder, and he goes over to the chair with her and they sit.
Matt waves at Quinn through the glass of the conference room, and Wanda and Quinn walk back.
Wanda doesn’t care, she’s a confident fucking writer. She walks over to you and turns her back on the table full of execs. She eyes you and tilts her red hair in question.
You eye the seat to your right, and she smirks and sits. Opening her laptop up as everyone collectively settles. She grabs her iced coffee and starts to explain the plot.
Maya is seated to your left, and her high heel finds the back of your calf. She keeps it there, and you understand her. She needs to touch you, the control. You are heres.
_______
Two hours of talking about Resident Evil and your drawings are spread out, and Ethan’s face is finally picked. Thanks to Sal and Quinn, and no thanks to Matt.
Lunch wrappers are all around the conference room. You and Maya don’t touch the food.
Wanda looks down at her watch and turns to you as Quinn is talking, and you raise an eyebrow at her. But both of your questions are left unanswered.
As Natasha knocks on the door and opens it. Barton isn’t there, but he doesn’t like going out. Most people don’t know that he’s Def, but you do. And you know he hates wearing his hearing aid. You two text on a daily basis. He’s a friend now after a decade of knowing Natasha. He was nicknamed Hawkeye because he had an eye for details and twists and turns.
Natasha looks drop-dead gorgeous in her leather jacket, red lipstick and fuck me heels. She smiled her fake smile, the one she saved for movie execs. You turned in your chair only a little because Maya’s heel stopped you from moving too much.
She needs control, and you want to give it to her.
“Nat, I’m glad you could come, you are early!” You say, and Nat looks confused for a millisecond until she eyes Sal and her face drops.
“Sal has to go to another meeting,” Quinn says, and it has no tac,t but it works. Sal grabs his phone and trips, falling on his face, but scrambles back up and out of the other door. Nat turns and smirks at you, and you both know that she is just giving Sal a hard time because it’s a fun power play.
But she goes over to Wanda and hugs her, which floors your friend. But she hugs back.
“So good to see you, Maximoff. I heard you are working on Res! Sounds like fun, Clint and I just sent over the finished script for the Kratos project. A bummer we couldn’t work together on the Village! Sounds like a juicy story, lots of hot sexy vampires.” She laughs, and it’s fake as hell.
You don’t watch your two friends have their foreplay in front of everyone. You turn to Maya, who’s staring at you as well.
You shake your head at her; anyone else would think it’s because of the two red heads. But Maya understands what you are saying to her, and to her alone. ‘You are really the worst, We are talking after this.’ It’s very clear in your eyes.
You turn your attention to Matt, who’s clapping his hands together in excitement.
“That’s so awesome! Wanda, you won’t have to worry about finishing late now! R&B Productions and Wanda Inc making a fucking script together!”
He’s oblivious for someone who’s been in this business for too long.
You gulp and close your eyes. There it is, like dominoes.
You turn to Wanda, who’s just being civil, and her eyes do not hold the same sentiment. You save your friend, but you aren’t verbalizing writing off the idea of them working together. The two writers collaborating linger in the air.
“Natasha and I can brainstorm and see tonight what Wanda will need from us. Natasha, if you are ready to talk about the God of War script for everyone. I’ll let Wanda get back to it.”
You excuse her from the dinner table, so to speak.
Wanda’s hand finds your knee under the table, and it’s a millisecon,d but you know she’s saying ‘Thank you!’ Because she’s going to go write and fix the script before Natasha can see what she’s missing.
Wanda thanks everyone and lingers on Natasha. Telling her how excited she is to work together. And then she’s gone, and you can almost hear her running out of the building. You are very clear that the script will be done before the meeting is done.
_________
You thank Natasha and tell her that they’ll make her a badge to get into the building and that she’ll text Alice to get her downstairs.
You walk behind Maya for a minute as she talks to a PA for Quinn about sending her a temp. You wait until they are done talking, and you and Maya walk into her office.
It’s a huge fucking office, it’s swanky as hell and she has expensive clothes on racks in a walk in closet. Her own full bathroom with a clawfoot tub and shower. It’s better than your first apartment. Her long plush sofas and large wood desk are menacing in the space. She has a projector always playing classic black and white horror movies that the studio used to make. It’s silent but constant against the wall, comforting.
You walk in and you lean on her desk, putting your stuff in one of the low guest seats. Maya’s desk is higher, as it is always a contest.
Your wife takes off her jacket and throws it onto her big desk chair before she walks between your legs. You open them up for her, and her crotch meets yours like they’re magnets. Maya pushes you so you are fully sitting on her desk. It isn’t unlike how she’s fucked you before.
She isn’t completely hard, but you feel the heat, and you know it’ll only take a second.
“You started a rumor that Disney wanted me on a Marvel project…so that we could get full funding for the film and I could get a raise.” It’s not a question.
“You think I just sit here and twiddle my thumbs? Marketing is a full-time job, hon.”
“You manipulated that conference room to do your bidding, again. What I’m surprised by is that Patty didn’t even blink, not an ounce of a fight. What do you have on her? Is it blackmail? Or is she just that afraid of you?” You push, and it’s like foreplay. The game is a foot and it is thick in the room.
Maya brushes your hair to the side and cups your face.
“Are you sure it’s just me she’s afraid of, baby?” Blue eyes seek yours.
“Maya!” You chastise, but she doesn’t seem phased by your displeasure. She’s smirking but you see the upset still under the surface. Something has your wife furious. But she’s so calculated, she’s waiting. She finally opens up a little about it. Her hand is not leaving your face.
“You aren’t telling me something, and it’s been bothering me, so I had someone do some digging. I had to dig.” Maya starts, and you won’t be easily distracted by this topic. Her other hand comes to your hip.
“Please tell me, Maya, Sweetie, that you did not start a stupid rumor to get me paid higher so that I will agree to get pregnant. Because one of my reasons for us not having a baby right now was-” You try, but Maya shrugs and answers.
“You said I made more than you, I felt like that was silly. I mean, Daddy still makes more, but now you make…really, really, good money. We’ll buy that beach house you were hesitant about last summer- kind of money. Besides pre-schools are fucking expensive, especially for eight children.” Maya muses, and you realize she’s still upset, but the reminder of kids seems to make her smirk a little.
“Maya, you can’t get me a raise and have me decide we are ready for a baby. It doesn’t work like that.” You chastise your wife, knowing that that was one of the reasons she’d done this. Maya understands your thought process and answers your statement in your mind.
“It was a small push, but not the only reason. Now what was really funny in that room was you double booking Natasha and manipulating Wanda.”
You bit your lip and smiled, and Maya laughed fully.
“God, we are meant for each other. I thought I was the only one who brought something for show and tell!” Maya said proudly.
“I couldn’t have you be bored. Besides, why do you get to have all the fun? I know you wanted the teaser out sooner. And besides Wanda and Nat are probably fucking in my office right now. I’m not that bad of a friend.” You shrug your shoulders, but Maya just shakes her head at you. Her face is closer now, and you are both playing the game of ‘who will break and kiss who first.’
“You little minx.” Maya compliments you.
“Takes one to know one, I suppose.” You say sweetly, but Maya isn’t buying it. Her face sours, and her eyes darken.
“You are still in trouble.”
“Maya, it’s not a big deal.” You say, realizing she’s figured it out. But Maya leans in to kiss you, and you try to meet her lips, and then she’s backing up.
She walks over to her office door and flicks the lock.
Before she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a crumpled-up drawing. It’s the one Tony did recently, you think. He’s got his cock hanging out he’s wearing a scream mask but you know its’ him from his other drawings. You are giving him a handjob and wearing another domme latex suit, and a strap on. It’s crude, but it’s clear it’s you.
“What the fuck is this?” She holds the drawing.
“Maya…” You say slowly, and she shakes her head.
“Don’t you dare lie to me. You know better than that, we don’t lie. We surprise each other with fun games. Manipulate a room full of people, not each other. They are all pawns. Not this. This, my love, isn’t a fucking game. So you tell me who did this.” She holds up the drawing in front of her like it’s a cursed fucking artifact.
“Maya.” You say it again instead of saying who did it.
“No, how long have you known about this?” She says, and she’s licking her bottom lip, and you know she wants blood.
“It’s not-” You try.
“Don’t lie. You knew, you knew this was happening. And you didn’t tell me.” Maya’s tone is so betrayed. Her eyes are like razor blades. She’s got venom ready to drip from her teeth.
“How did you even get that?” You ask, and it’s the wrong thing again because Maya’s face turns a darker shade of red.
“Mrs. Mason, you did not just ask me that. You don’t think I can figure stuff out? Tell me right now, who?” Your wife is raising her voice now. She’s using your married name, oh god.
You put your hand out like it’s nothing, and you can brush it off.
“Maya it’s not even-”
You try, but you can’t even get it out before she knows what you are trying to do.
“No, don’t tell me that shit. Don’t downplay what this is. And don’t try and tell me it’s the only one. Because I’ve got these!” Maya walks over to the desk and she pulls the drawer so hard it flies out of the desk, and part of the wood shatters. The desk costs more than your car.
The drawer falls, and she leans down and pulls out four other gross drawings.
They were all crumpled, they were all….bad. None of them had Tony’s face, but you knew who had done it.
“Baby…” You say, but she grabs the broken drawer and she throws it across her office, and you hear people outside running away. The marketing team knew that when Maya was mad, it was best to scatter like Pixar rats.
You aren’t scared of her, she isn’t going to hurt you. Maya would chew off her own arm before laying a hand on you in anger.
Maya threw things and shouted, but never to scare you. And you knew her anger wasn’t towards you. Maya also never learned healthy ways to get angry. So she acted out like a hip, fashionable, angry teenager with a raging boner.
“Who did this? Who drew you like this? I will burn this whole company down. I’ll do extraordinarily terrible things. You know what I’m capable of. Don’t for a second think whoever did this can hide. Don’t you dare protect them. Who was it?” Maya was seeing red, there was no bringing her back from this. Maya needed carnage.
“I’ll handle it.” You say, trying to sound more sure of yourself than you felt in this moment. You had thought about telling Maya. You’d wanted to the second it had started. But how the hell do you tell the person who would do anything for you…that… You are being sexually harassed in a place you both worked? You had downplayed it so hard in your mind perhaps Maya had a point. But before you can try anything, Maya is growling with rage.
“Fuck that! That is complete bullshit. We are a team, have been since the day we met. And you lied to me. You lied to me! You didn’t come to me when this started. The second you saw one of these fucking things you should have got me! I found out about it and I called you. I didn’t wait. I didn’t sit on this. How long have you known?”
It was a trap, and you couldn’t avoid it. You both just looked at each other.
You were silent and you felt ashamed now.
“Exactly, you are my everything. And you didn’t think you could tell me. That’s what hurts the most. But there will be no question about people in this town respecting you when I’m done. You bring me this person. You bring me them now. I don’t care where they are or what they’re working on. I’m going to break each finger, they’ll never pick up a pencil again. They’ll have to use a crayon in their mouth in a padded cell to draw when I’m done.” Maya is baring her teeth. She’s throwing her hands around. Maya is not bluffing.
“It’s my house to clean. It’s my animation studio.” You are gripping at straws and this was going to get really bad, really fast. Tony had no idea what was coming his way. He was a jerk, but you still felt responsible, perhaps that was the part Maya hated the most. That you’d been deluded by the industry she loved into thinking you were somehow to blame in any of this.
Maya laughs and it’s fake and cold.
“It’s your animation studio, that’s nice. It’s my marketing team, it’s Matt’s company. I don’t fucking care. How about this? YOU ARE MY WIFE! How about that?” Maya screams and spit flies and her hands are gesturing towards you in the air. She crumples the drawings and throws them across her office like she can’t touch them one more second.
“Maya, calm down, baby. It’s not that big and it’s not that deep. This person is just butt hurt I got the promotion. Come here, let me hold you.” You tell her, and you know if you can touch her she’ll calm down. But your wife looks at you like you are insulting her intelligence, which is a way she’s never looked at you before. You aren’t trying to manipulate her, you just need the room to make sense again.
“No.” She says, and it’s flat and empty, and you are confused.
“No?” It sounds broken when you say it. Your lip sticking out a little too much. Maya sees it, she sees you.
“I won’t be easily distracted this time. No, Superstar, you tell your Daddy who did this. And we’ll make love right here. I’ll make you feel so good. I’ll burn the images out of our minds. But damn it, if you are going to be a brat I’ll treat you like one.” She said, and her face snarled at the end. Maya was livid, she was rabid. She’d never turned down sex with you, not once. You gulp and you aren’t sure if tears are coming, but you feel like you might throw up.
“Maya, please don’t do this, baby. You are going on a witch hunt. Come here.” You open your knees and put your hands out to grab her. Giving her space to retreat or walk forward, and you see her right heel come out to come closer, but she shakes her head.
“This won’t work this time, Sweetie. You need to look back on the last fourteen years. Because if you think a blow job and a hug is going to distract me from protecting you. Protecting what’s mine. Then I’ve done you a disservice as your wife. This whole studio will go down in flames and ruin. You alone have the ability to stop it. I’m sorry if that feels manipulative for you, but it’s the truth. You have until midnight, just like the teaser trailer. I want the artist in my office. I won’t go home either, we knew I wouldn’t if you worked late on this lot. I’ll wait right here. I’ll be patient until midnight. But once that clock strikes like Cinderella, everything is going to change. You can bet I’ll drag the fuckers carcass through this hallowed lot bloody and bruised when I’m done. You can’t hide him. No one can.”
Her voice is low, and she’s calm, which is terrifying now. Like her anger is cemented in her bones. No longer the hot-headed feeling, now she had a plan. Maya was not to be fucked with.
“Maya, don’t do this, we’re already behind on this movie-” You tried to reason with the business side of her again, but it was no use. Maya loved her job, she loved working in the industry. She was born to do it. But Maya took one thing more serious than; the power, the money, than all of Hollywood. She was your protector, your wife, your safety. And if she needed to be the person who broke down a studio from the inside, she would put this whole town out of business. No one was allowed to do this to you.
“If you think I care about a movie right now…You aren’t thinking straight..You need me to spank the facts into you tonight? I fucking will. Someone disrespected you in my house. And now, heads are gonna roll. Starting with the stupid assistant who spoke to you.” Maya smiles, and it looks a little like how you imagined people thought of the charismatic Ted Bundy.
Maya walked to the door, unlocking it, and you closed your knees as she yelled for the assistant, guess she did know his name after all.
The pale, tall, lanky 90s Johnny Depp assistant looked stoned but walked in. His fear was evident, but Maya didn’t care. She was on a fucking roll.
“What did you say to Mrs. Mason when she walked into the conference room earlier?”
Maya asked, and she walked really close to his face. He was extremely scared now. They were in the doorway, and people were watching. Stopping and staring at them, actually. But Maya was about to give them a Godfather-like theater experience.
“I apologiz-” he mumbled, and it was too late for that.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” She screamed, and he grimaced but started to repeat it. Which had been a trick question if there ever was one.
“I-”
“You are fired. So is your boyfriend over on make-up. I also made an email while I was in my meeting. You’ve been evicted, take your trashy little dog and go back to the Midwest where you crawled from. If you stay another moment here, I’ll take out your eyes with my nails.”
You looked to the floor, you couldn’t watch the rest. But luckily, he ran from the room, so scared you wouldn’t have to.
Maya turned to the floor of terrified people who worked for her.
“LET ME MAKE SOMETHING SO CLEAR. TOUCH THE HEAD ANIMATOR AND YOU WILL NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN! I WILL YEET YOU SO HARD FROM THIS BUILDING YOUR SOUL MAY NEVER RE-ENTER YOUR UNGRATEFUL HOT YOGA LOVING BODY!” Maya screamed to the entire floor and then slammed the door hard.
Turning to look at you, it was a challenge. She’d claimed you and now it was your turn to deliver.
This was Maya Mason.
She just couldn’t do anything half assed.
You ground your teeth at her, but she didn’t budge you bent down to pick up one of the drawings. You grabbed your laptop and your work drawings from the meeting. Maya didn’t stop you as you walked out of her office and out of the studio.
____________________________
You entered the animator level, and no one looked at you. Word traveled fucking fast.
You just repeated the lyrics in your head;
Are you scared of me?
Am I too threatening?
'Cause every time you speak
I'm caught between your teeth
When wine and cyanide
Won't cleanse you of your crimes
Down on your knees and
I won't turn your wrongs to right
Confess your obsession, your wicked intentions
Hide behind lies from your bible
You put me on trial, but you're dead on arrival
But you're fuckin' irrelevant
So, gather 'round and run your mouths
Did you forget you're in my fuckin' house?
You walked past Tony and straight to Bucky’s cubicle.
You repeated it one more time in your mind for good measure.
Did you forget you're in my fuckin' house?
You politely crooked your finger at him and he stood and you turned on your heel and went into your office. You shut the blinds, and Wanda and Nat were in there with Jen, Alice, and Billy.
“We-” Wanda started, but you opened the door and gestured with your hand for them to get out.
Everyone left, and Wanda looked at you for a minute, and you shook your head once, and she left.
You closed the door and sigh.
“Should I be afraid?” Bucky asked, and it was out of character for him, but you figured ‘yeah actually you should.’
His hand went to the covered amputated spot, he massaged it gently when he was nervous, like now.
You drop your stuff at your desk but grab the dirty drawing and hold it up to him, the drawing you swiped off Maya’s floor. This one has a sex swing in it. And it’s got text that is grotesque to say the least.
Bucky takes it, and you see he doesn’t want to look at it. Putting it down on your desk. You don’t need more proof for what you already knew before you even walked into the office.
“How long has Maya been paying you?” You ask him, and he looks momentarily upset at the accusation. “Bucky, don’t even try. I really thought I could trust you. Which is stupid of me in this business to trust anyone, honestly. But you had me going with that Brooklyn accent and the sweet stories about how you grew up. I wanted to trust you. Damn, I even promoted you. So obviously I was hoping to move you up and have you running this fucking thing with Alice and Jen. But I just can’t believe you. You looked me in the eye every day and spied on me? That’s fucking gross.” You say, and you aren’t raising your voice, it’s all very calm. Which is almost scarier to the man. Maya and you could teach classes on how to scare people.
“I can explain.” He tried in vain. His long hair falling loosely out of his ponytail.
“I don’t want you to, actually. I thought I did. I pulled you in here for it. But you are going to be the first of many for me today. You are fired. Pack your equipment and turn in your badge at the door. And you might want to ask Maya for a reference because I won’t be giving you one.” You say, and he looks like a kicked pet now.
There’s part of you that knows he was doing it for you, but the money bit is hard to ignore. Maya had reach everywhere. And the fact that the people closest to you were spies for her made it all feel dirty.
“Please let me explain.” He demands more upset clear in his trembling words. You must smile manically at him. Because his face twitches in displeasure.
“I don’t think there’s anything you have to say that I want to hear.”
Bucky continued knowing it was his only chance.
“Maya is not paying me! I hated the way Tony kept drawing those shitty ass things! I told him to stop! Jen and Alice tried to get him to! Billy is fucking scared of Tony he’s a bully! You kept putting up with it. You let him keep going. And it was wrong. I agree with Jen, you deserve this job. You are amazing at what you do. And I am your good soldier. That’s what they call me! I fuckin am though! I will go to the trenches in this industry for you. I don’t want to work anywhere else. Please don’t leave for Disney! You taught me more in a short time than anyone ever has!” He says at the end and you laugh again.
Oh my god, this day needed to end.
“Bucky, why did you give Maya those drawings? Did you not know what she was capable of?” You ask, contradicting your previous notion that you didn’t want Bucky to say anything.
“I am on your team. I’m on your side. Maya said she’d fix it that we were protecting you from the shit bags! I didn’t do it to hurt you. I wouldn’t do that! You know me better than that!”
He says, and you see he’s not lying. You’d been around enough bad guys to know Bucky just wasn’t one of them. Even though he might try to believe it about himself sometimes. You see him claw at his long hair, upset. He sits down on your sofa, defeated.
You are both silent for a few beats before you ask.
“Did you sleep with Natasha?” You wonder at him now, and he looks at you for a moment before he responds honestly.
“Yeah, I did, Wanda was there too. I have never been more turned on and out of my element.” He admitted, and you laughed fully no,w and it broke the tension for the two of you. He laughed after a few minutes of you dying. You wiped under your eyeliner to get the tears away.
“Oh Bucky, this is all so fucked up.” You admit, and he gives a sad smile.
“You can fire me, I understand. But I just need you to know. I’d go down with the ship, as long as you are the captain.” He says, and he’s serious now, his chin sticks out, and Bucky means it.
You change your mind.
“You are not fired, you have two films to animate asshole.”
“What, really? You aren’t gonna fire me?”
“No, but you aren’t going to ever do this again. If you are upset about something in the office, just come to me. Don’t fucking tattle to my wife. Maya doesn’t just fire people, Bucky, she ends their whole lives.” You tell him, but he doesn’t look guilty at all.
“Da Vinci, I think Tony deserves it.”
You jump at him verbally.
“You got a fucked up sense of justice. I don’t think a few dirty drawings are equivalent to having your hands chopped off with a machete by a guy who owns car dealerships. Tony fucking needs to go into witness protection before midnight or he’s dog food.” You explai,n and Bucky just shrugs. He reaches in his button down pocket and takes out a cigarette, putting it between his lips. He moves for his Zippo lighter with the star on it. He lights it, and you don’t care. But Bucky hesitates and then takes out the pack again and offers it to you.
You lean over, taking a cigarette, and he smiles and lights it.
The two of you smoke, and you rub at your face.
“So what are you going to do, boss?”
“I’m going to make two movies that are going to do well in the box office. And then I’m going to keep going until we are the biggest animation house in all of L.A.” You say firmly.
“Poor Mickey.” Bucky smiles, and you just laugh and take another drag of your cigarette.
____________
Alice and Jen show you all that needs to be done. You work like a fucking boss until ten thirty at night. You don’t eat, you don’t rest. You push and push.
Bucky is your fucking right hand. He doesn’t leave your side, he’s motivated, and not afraid of getting his hands dirty.
You have him knock out the five-second animation of Heisenberg. Buck is bisexual and is able to understand that there needs to be big dick energy. So he makes Heisnburg hot and it fucking works.
You all spread out in the editing room. There’s a wall of eight monitors as you all piece things together. There are two desks with large tables, and Billy and Bucky are drawing quickly on Cintique tablets to get everything seamless.
You have Jen finish the trailer for God of War. Tony still didn’t finish the drawings, he hasn’t been excused to go home by you. He’s waiting in an empty conference room down the hall. You let him sweat.
So you give the character to Billy, and he’s floored. There are plenty of other animators who are more experienced who should do it. But you don’t give it to them. You give Billy the confidence boost he needs, and he knocks it out in under three hours, record time. There’s no longer a hole next to the animation of Kratos. It looks good, it looks clean. You go to Alice, and she works with the Digital team to feed the art of Resident Evil’s more anime look in clean up. No more scratchy lines, and they’re able to overlap the small script that is already recorded for the trailer. It gets dubbed and it’s done.
Alice gets a major point in your book and Billy is sweating but he’s proud, and he should be.
“Go home, Village team. You did it.” You say proud but both Billy and Alice look upset at you. Which is confusing for a moment.
“We aren’t done yet,” Alice says and Jen smiles at her. The two share a long, lingering loo,k and Wanda turns to you from her laptop. She’s been sitting on the floor, she’d fixed the problem hours ago. Just like you’d planned. Natasha is sitting next to her, their thighs are touching. You aren’t even sure why Natasha stayed. Perhaps she just loves the adrenaline of a deadline.
Oh yeah, they’re all gonna bone.
Not you, though. Maya hadn’t called you once. Not a text, nothing. You were in big trouble.
“Ok then, Jen, tell them what you need.” You say.
___________
It’s eleven thirty and it’s all done. Two gorgeous teaser trailers. No one really believed it could be done. This afternoon, it felt like it would never work. But at midnigh,t two trailers would be released.
You lean back in your chair, the room is dark because it’s easier to edit in dim lighting. You turn, and Alice is eating Dorito chips next to Jen. She’s got her barfeet in Jen’s lap, and the two of them aren’t talking. In fact no one is talking.
Everyone is exhausted; you all started at five am. And they hadn’t eaten dinner, besides vending machine snacks you’d bought for everyone. You were going to buy them pizza, but no one took a break to even do that.
Wanda and Natasha were asleep on cuddling on the floor. The laptop still in Wanda’s lap. Billy was sitting next to you, and he had his headphones in. He was re-watching the trailers over and over, looking for any problems. To your left was Bucky, and he was smoking again, it just hung from his bottom lip wetly.
“Boys.” You said, and Bucky turned to you, but Billy couldn’t hear you. You grabbed the headphones off his ears. And he jumped, but turned.
“Go home.” You said, and the two of them didn’t move, too tired to respond. “Don’t come in until eleven tomorrow. Take the morning off. Go to bed, you did great work today.” You told them, and the two of them smiled tiredly.
“You want me to go with you to your…um..meeting?” Bucky asked and you loved him a little more for offering.
“No, I think that there will be enough bloodshed.” You aren’t joking, but Billy chuckles on instinct.
_____________
You and Tony are walking across the quiet lot. He doesn’t ask questions, just follows you. You have your computer bag with your art in it slung over your shoulder.
You walk into the main studio, using your security badge. You’d already taken Tony’s and he was dumb but not that dumb.
It’s so quiet, even though there are still some people working. It’s mostly empty, though. You see Matt, and he motions for you to stop.
“Wait here for a minute.” You tell Tony and then walk over to Matt.
“Maya informed me that someone is being fired from your team. Something about some inappropriate drawings? Whatever it is, she has the green light. You haven’t signed the paperwork yet. For the new contract and raise, that is- But I saw the teasers and they look fantastic. You are really valued at this Studio. And whoever that guy is who did this, he’ll be very sorry.” Matt said, and you wanted to laugh, he didn’t know how sorry Tony would be.
“Thank you, Matt. I look forward to finishing the films and continuing the franchise.” You say, and he’s relieved. You turn on your heel and motion for Tony to follow you.
You knock on Maya’s door, seeing as how she doesn’t have a temp at her front desk yet.
“Come in.” She says calmly, and you open the doo,r and Tony follows. She doesn’t look at Tony. She’s looking at you.
“Maya Mason, this is Tony Stark.” You say, and Maya stands and puts her fingers spread against the desk. She’s still not looking at him.
“My love, I’ll just be a few minutes. Why don’t you meet me in the car?” She says, and you don’t contradict her. She reaches into her broken desk and hands you the keys. You take them, but she grabs your hand, pulling you closer to her. She flips your joined hands and kisses the inside of your wrist. You understand what she is telling you.
She’s proud of you, you brought him. Maya is telling you everything will be ok between the two of you. She loves you more than anything. And she doesn’t want you to see what’s about to happen. Maya isn’t afraid of you seeing the ugly parts of her, but you both know you won’t get any satisfaction on what’s coming. The kiss is love, it’s respect, it’s ownership.
When her lips leave your skin the feeling lingers.
Maya releases you, and you turn on your heel and walk out of the building.
Finding her car in the lot, you turn on her supernova Blue Hummer, and you close your eyes as the cold air blows in the car.
You can try to run me out of town
I'll burn this shit down to the ground
____________________________
After you drive home and get settled, you tell Maya you are going to take a shower. She nods and orders dinner for you both. You get changed into a pair of her flannel pajama pants and a tank top with no bra. Taking your contacts out you put on your glasses. You walk back down into the living room and she isn’t there. She isn’t in the kitchen either. You know Maya wouldn’t be in her office after a day like today. Her phone will be close to watch the media coverage for work, but she won’t be at her desk.
So you walk down your giant L.A mansion until you hear the sound of a movie.
You smile and find Maya in her dark blue designer boxers and boxers only lying on the giant L sofa in front of the giant movie screen. She turns to see you and smiles. You walk over and climb on top of her. Maya happily cuddles you back, hands holding your body, and you lean your head on her chest. Turning to see the film she’d picked.
It’s a black and white movie: 1940, Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell. ‘His Girl Friday,’ it makes complete sense why she’d picked it. Carry Grant is trying to win his girl back. She’s smart as a whip and they’re both reporters. In the same newspaper business, Grant is trying anything her into coming back to the paper, back with him. It fit a little too well with their day, actually.
You don’t ask what she did to Tony. You don’t want to know.
But you lay against your wife and Maya’s nails start to scratch your slightly wet scalp. It’s like she’s petting a cat. It works and your body relaxes more into her.
You got to the point of the film where Cary Grant character says something that makes Maya’s body twitch under you. It’s small but it speaks volumes in the silent room.
‘Walter Burns: When you walk out that door, part of me will go right with you.’
You straddle her hips and sit up. Maya grabs the remote and she mutes the expensive surround sound.
You put both your hands on her stomach. Maya let’s her nails dig into your hips and you can tell she needs your skin, because she moves your flannel pants a little down your hip bones.
“Hey Mr. Grant,” you tease and she smirks.
“Yeah Russell?” She catches your game and you can’t possibly love your wife more but every moment with her surprises you.
“We are a team.” You tell her it and there’s a conviction in your voice that makes Maya look more at ease than she’d been all day.
“You didn’t fire Barnes.” Your wife says and you understand how she’s laying the chess board out tonight.
“He’s a good man in a storm.” You say like it’s the facts, no emotion behind in. Maya’s hands spread across your lower back. You fall forward a little so that your wet hair is hanging over her. Little bits of water fall against her bare breasts. But she doesn’t mind. There is a silent ‘ you are a good man in a storm Maya.’ But you don’t have to say it.
“I’ve heard. You need to close your opening. Resumes and such tomorrow, all that jazz at is were. Deadlines for first looks.” Maya muses though her eyes don’t sparkle and her tone is bored. She doesn’t want to talk shop like this tonight. You nodd and your right hand comes up and cups her jaw. You could respond and remind her she needs an assistant but it’s boring. And she wants to play.
“You got me a raise, defended my honor, got my films completely funded and fired people for me today.” You say like she went shopping and got everything you’d needed to make a pie. Maya nods once like that was her to do list done. Like she was a good partner who painted the fence.
Both of your hands are moving over each others skin like you are reading a secret language with your finger tips. It’s getting faster though, like neither of you can do too much foreplay tonight. You needed each other. Maya is being patient though. She is waiting to use her Knight. So she smiles pleasantly at you, but you know she is yearning for you.
“My wife needed me. I don’t shy away from a challenge, especially not for you. I saw your trailers before you walked in, you did good. But I always knew you would. Time against you, funding against you and trash that needed to be taken out. And you made not one but two animation trailers. They’ve already been liked and retweeted over 150 thousand times. It’s only been out for two hours. Marketing is projecting that they’ll gross over 2.5 billion. That’s not accounting for steaming of course.” She says and you lean forward more, grinding your core against her crotch. Her boxers do little to hide her worsening situation.
Neither of you are in a rush.
You lean your face close to hers and you hear Maya’s breath catch. She doesn’t hide her desire for you, not her style.
“Daddy likes what I made then?” You say with a voice that is submissive and wanton. It’s dirty and Maya licks her bottom lip.
“Daddy is proud, like always. But you do have some apologizing to do. I haven’t forgotten. And if you think I didn’t notice you smoked a cigarette too you are mistaken.”
You rock your clothed cunt up her shaft and back down and you feel her hips jump.
“You do whatever you want to me Daddy. I don’t want to be in trouble anymore. Please teach me better manners? It wasn’t nice what I did. I never lie to you, and I won’t do it again. I’m sorry. But you can make me more sorry. I’ll do whatever you want, just let me touch you” You ask and Maya’s breathing is heavy and her mouth falls open.
You can tell she’s just thrown the chess board across the room in her mind. Because she snaps and grabs your wet hair and pulls you against her mouth. No more games it seems. You kiss and it’s hot and wet. Tongues are pushing painfully against each other. You rock back and forth with little rhythm, just need and animalistic instincts .
So let's play hide and seek
'Cause you can't hide from me
Maya flips you and she pins your arms over your head as she pulls your pajama pants down and cups your wet cunt then the doorbell rings.
“Oh crap.” You shudder out and then moan when you feel the cold air against your cunt. Maya brings her fingers up to her mouth to lick your arousal off her finger. It was like she needed a fix.
You wrap your arm around her neck and she falls forward and you try to hump her again. But Maya keeps you still and kisses your jaw softly.
“I ordered dinner, you didn’t eat hon. No more girl dinner.” Maya whispers against your cheek, you can tell she’s somewhat regretting it now.
“We could eat after?” You offer but your tummy is so empty and Maya groans hearing your half truth and you know she’s not gonna go for it. Your pants are pulled back up.
The two of you lace your fingers together as you go up to your front door. Maya looks through the camera to be sure before she opens the door and grabs the big brown bag. The two of you walk into the giant kitchen.
You grab two forks and knives and some napkins, and Maya is manhandling your hips as she pulls you forward and down the stairs. You aren’t surprised when she pulls you back into the movie room.
Besides your office, which Maya had built for you as a present only a month after you fell love with the house. The two of you had bought it together and you’d been so afraid it was a bad decision to own a mansion in L.A. But it was really fun owning it with Maya. You’d decorated like crazy people. Obsessing over tiles and colors, and rugs. To your surprise Maya loved doing it with you. Decisions became fun, and you’d both almost been disappointed when you were finished.
But the theater was an afterthought, it was the smallest room in the mansion. You wondered if that was part of the appeal for Maya. It was cozy in the craziness of their luxurious life, it was a huge screen and the L sofa, big plush pillows and blankets. You’d fucked in this room more times than you can remember. Maya never let you sleep the night in here, though. She’d even carried you into the master a few times after you’d fallen asleep watching all of the Conjuring movies.
But the theater room was still swanky, it was Maya.
The closet next to the theater was turned into a backlit snack room. It had a ridiculously boujie popcorn machine and cotton candy machine. Every candy you could ever imagine and a few strong L.A edible baked goods for fun. Many shelves of foreign candy too. Stuff that the two of you hadn’t even tried yet was there, including a small freezer with different gourmet gelatos. A few booze infuzed ice creams that you couldn’t even figure out where they’d come from.
You open the brown take-out bag to smirk at Maya’s choice.
“It’s almost morning anyway.” She says at your delight, like she didn’t get you breakfast for dinner.
Maya had, when you’d first started dating, been taught by you how fun pancakes at midnight were. You’d brought her to a sticky diner with tacky checkered floors. An old jukebox in the corner playing Etta James and Johnny Cash.
You’d made her order breakfast with you. She’d told you it was ridiculous and breakfast was for morning. But Maya gave you a smile and caved to your every whim. That signature grin you quickly learned was just for you. It was her ‘I love you for turning my world upside down’ smile. She gave it to you a million more times and she’d given it to you every day since.
Your wife was squinting at the theater, because she probably needed her glasses. You pulled your glasses off your nose and handed them to her. Maya took them wordlessly and could magically see again. Perks of being married, one of you had a pair of glasses on usually.
You didn’t look as she chose a movie. You two had a rule that you took turns picking, and you didn’t mind that she was picking twice tonight. You had been in trouble afterall.
Maya turned to look at you staring at her, and she had a moment of confusion and you told her the truth. The truth that would never not be real to you.
“I love you Maya Mason. I’ll love you until the day I die.”
Maya smiled at you with tenderness she’d never thought she’d feel for someone.
“Eat your pancakes you old married sap. You have a long night of groveling ahead of you.” Maya’s tone may have been teasing but her eyes held such love for you.
The blue light made you squint and broke you from the moment to see Disney on the screen and you groaned. Opening your food container and taking out the strawberry syrup that Maya thought was nasty and you thought was the best.
“You really made the entire studio think I was going to work for Disney today!”
Maya shook her hair out behind her back and snorted.
“It was all so easy Pudd’n. You wouldn’t believe how quick it spread.” She said and you looked up to see her putting on Cinderella. A small reminder of your day and her words.
“You know just because I’m an animator it doesn’t mean I just want to watch animated movies.” You tease, reminding her of an assumption she’d had about animators before you two got together. Maya just rolled her eyes.
“I know that your favorite movies are the slashers. My girl likes a little gruesome shit, like me.” Maya says and opens the food container open and you see she picked an omlette and french toast. You’d trained your wife into liking breakfast for dinner too. It was too cute.
“Maya-” You are about to compliment her again when she cuts you off.
“Eat baby girl, you are gonna need your strength.”
Chapter 3 Don’t test the switchblade in between my legs You wanna gain my trust and earn my respect Who’s to say a woman can’t think with her dick? - L.C
Warnings : Daddy Kink / Daddy Maya Mason G!P / Married Au / Reader Animator Head of Studio AU / Power Kink / Manipulative Kink / Violent Actions Kink / Possesive and Jealousy Kink / Vouyer Kink / Semen talked about a lot / Cum Kink / Impreg Kink / Pregnancy Kink / SMUT / Office Sex / Intimacy in Power Plays / Maya will get what she wants / HR nightmares aka Mason's/BJ G!P/ Oral sex/ Resident Evil Video Game / Biting and Blood mentioned / KNIFE PLAY / BDSM / NSFW/ 18+ MDNI!!
You groaned and erased your drawing for the millionth time. Nothing was getting done today. You had told Maya that you couldn’t fuck this morning. She’d practically begged to, biting that special spot on your shoulder that makes you weak, and you felt so bad, but you had a meeting early. And you couldn’t be late no matter what Maya said. So you both went into work and Maya gripped the steering wheel extra hard and yelled at people in traffic like she was in New York not L.A.
You kissed her cheek, and you saw her veins flex from sexual frustration as you both parted.
Now you both had pent up energy and no where to put it. And your drawings were suffering.
“You know…” Wanda said from the door of your open office. “Father’s Day is coming up..”
“You wanna do something for Ethan Winters for the film?” You said, and your phone vibrates next to your drawing. You know from the text tone, it is Maya. But you can’t possibly talk to her right now, you have to focus.
Wanda shakes her head and looks over her shoulder to see if anyone's paying attention, which is a joke. But you don’t look up as you brush the eraser shavings off your drawing. You just needed to fix this one illustration, and then you could use it in the animation.
“I was just thinking what a gift to your Daddy….to make her a Daddy.”
Your pencil stops, and you drop it and look at Wanda like she’s nuts. You know Wanda doesn’t usually say shit like that, and there’s no way she would come in here like that…
“How much did Maya give you to say that out loud to me?”
Wanda teased Maya calling her baby Daddy but not Daddy. Because Wanda liked taunting Maya, and this was an easy area to do that. Maya wanted to knock you up before you two even got married, and the nickname started then.
“Three hundred dollars, and she gave me this!” Wanda holds up a business card.
“That better be Charlize Theron's phone number, because my best friend for sure didn’t sell me out for three hundred dollars and a coupon to get a Brazilian wax.” You lean back in your chair putting your hands on your stomach and try to keep an angry poker face, but Wanda and you break out in giggles.
“It is so hard to get into get waxed anywhere in this town! You are like weightlisted! I swear it was easier to get into college!”
You snort at the truth in that.
“So am I to assume Natasha likes your pussy smooth and squeaky like a blow up doll.” You say crudely and Wanda giggles like a school girl and walks in closing your door behind her. Figuring that you’d both given the floor enough to gossip about for today.
“Am I to assume that Maya likes you like a jungle, because I’m not buying it.”
You aren’t about to talk to her about this. And she must know that because you tilt your head to the side and glare at her through slited eyelids.
“Will you please tell me what made you sell out to my wife?”
“I’ll take your lack of answer and bring it up later. What is more important is why aren’t you pregnant yet?” Wanda pockets the business card again.
“I don’t think I like you two getting along.” You muse and flip your phone over to see six missed text messages from Maya, four missed calls now.
“Please, the three hundred is for me to take you to lunch. Maya and I are both worried you are working too hard. It’s bad for the baby.” Wanda winks at you, but she keeps her mouth open to stick her tongue out at you, and you roll your eyes.
“So she thinks for fathers day I’m going to go off birth control?” You say once again side stepping her.
“Scratch that, that is an understatement, babe, she is ready to take your IUD out with her teeth if you don’t let her get you pregnant soon. That woman wants to baby you up, she wanted that years ago. And you making her wait is making her like…angry and horny. But more than normal, which is crazy levels on its own. I think Matt is ready to pay you to sleep with your wife. She screamed at someone this morning while she was yelling at me to take you to the bistro a few blocks from here. Something about her doing this big presentation and making sure you eat beforehand.”
The idea of Matt being brave enough to look Maya in the eyes and talk to her about your reproductive organs is hilarious. Though you could imagine him asking Sal to beg you to fuck Maya just so people wouldn’t quit today.
And of course your wife noticed you skipping breakfast.
“She screamed at you?” You furrow your brows. Wanda sits on the chair across from your desk, plopping down and running her hand through her hair to flip it to the other side. But she seems to be touched that you care if your wife is rude to her. Which you’ve proven before.
“Relax, it was a harmless Maya mini tantrum, she didn’t even use her big words. She did the same thing when she was trying to pick out your engagement ring.” Wanda waives her hand at you like you two are gabbing at a nail salon.
“She called you!” You shriek a little too loud.
“We’ve talked about this, now I’m here to talk you into becoming a baby-making machine. I can do that while eating Doritos from a vending machine at your desk and you try to ignore me and work… and pocket all your sugar Daddy’s money. Or we should go get mimosas because Maya said you don’t have another meeting until three pm with her. What’ll it be, boss?” Wanda asks, and you mull it over.
“You know Maya doesn’t know my entire calendar.” It sounds petulant as you say it, and Wanda arches one eyebrow. And you know that she absolutely downloads your calendar without your say so. Because it’s Maya and of course she would. “I’m really busy Wanda.” You add on now.
Wanda waits a beat looking at you, before tilting her head back towards the door.
“SO WHEN ARE YOU OVULATING NEXT?” She shouts, and you curse and throw your pencil at her face and she dodges it easily and laughs.
“Ok! You win, let’s get drunk! Fuck you are annoying.” You grab your cellphone and pocket it without looking at Maya’s messages. Knowing she’d see you on the tracker leaving for lunch. But that didn’t sit right with you. You opened your phone and texted her ‘out with Wanda, be back in an hour.’ It just felt wrong to not at least let her know.
Wanda talks over your inner battle with yourself.
“I was your maid of honor, it’s my job to make sure you two stay together.”
You stop now and look at her, Wanda is divorced with twins, and she looks at you like ‘thats rude.’ But you wonder if you failed her as a friend now. Wanda cuts off your thoughts by grabbing your arm and looping her own in it. She holds your bicep like you two are going steady in seventh grade. You anxiously play with the key at the end of the chain on your neck.
“Not what I meant, and I’m much happier now. And you told me the day of the wedding that you would drive me away and I’d never have to see him again. It was my dumb ass who ignored my gut. Not the same thing at all, annnd you weren’t nervous on your wedding day. You were glowing and vibrating with love. Maya was practically chewing the door to get to you. She tried to pay me fifty thousand dollars that day to see you. To sneak you in when you were getting ready! She also swore to me if you had second thoughts, she would slash every car in the parking lot. What romance!” Wanda teased but you thought it was actually really fucking sweet and so on brand for Maya.
“You turned down fifty thousand dollars?”
Wanda nodded. But opened the door to your office and stayed arm in arm with you as you walked out towards the elevator.
“I’m that good of a friend. I take my maid of honor duties very seriously. Now let’s go get drunk.”
You both walked into the elevator, and your iPhone vibrated in your pocket.
“Is Maya texting you for a quickie right now?” Wanda asks and you ignore her and press the ground floor after swiping your ID on the scanner.
_______________________________
You had two mimosas and Alice called you saying they’d accidently deleted four different key frames and now they couldn’t get it back.
“You can’t leave now! We haven’t even eaten yet!” Wanda doesn’t like this one bit, you shook your head reading your texts. Once again about ten new texts from Maya.
You stand and push in your chair.
“Guess you get to keep my sugar Daddys dough.” You lean over and kiss her cheek and she squeezes your arm.
“I drove you! Wait let me get the-” Wanda looks over to get the attention of the waiter but he’s flirting with another waiter.
“No, stay and enjoy. I gotta go put out a fire. I’ll call an uber.” You tell her knowing it would take forever to get back with Wanda.
“Your baby Daddy is gonna murder me! You can’t do this!” Wanda pointed to your unfinished mimosa.
“Oh my god, Wanda I’m a grown up. I’ll be fine!” You tell her and take out your phone to start the app up.
“God! Operation ‘get you drunk for Maya to talk you into babies’ is a fail!” Wanda shakes her head and you both laugh at the absurdity of it.
“See you later maid of honor.” You call over your shoulder as you walk out of the cute restaurant.
——————————
You fix Alice’s problem and give Billy notes, and still don’t get food. And the little alcohol in your system is no longer fun, just gross in your stomach.
It’s around three pm and you are in one of the big lots that’s being set up for a panel of voice actors for your films.
“Who in the fuck gave your wife a radio,” Patty smirked and handed you one of the waterbottles with the animated Ethan holding baby Rose. You toy with your necklace the key hitting the big spotlights and the light bounces against the floor every now and then.
You both watched Maya as you stood amongst the side stage for a giant presentation. You were all supposed to sit, but that hadn’t happened.
Maya was fucking sexy as hell. She moved in the crowds like she knew everyones secrets and only she could get the shit done. Her hands in the air and her hair whipping over her shoulder. You wanted to fuck her right there.
Maya yelled into the radio with enough anger to make her veins pop in her neck and forearm and you wanted to fucking lick her arms.
She was angry, more than normal.
Someone had fucked up.
You weren’t sure if her reaction was just to incompetence, or her need to be inside of you.
Maya must have felt your gaze, as only she would. Her eyes snapped up to you and you saw them soften, her jaw clench. You knew everything she was saying. ‘Where have you been? I need you baby, come be with me. I’m about to burn this place down if I can’t touch you.’
Maya is about to come to you but someone walks in front of her with a dumb question. And you can practically see smoke come out of her ears.
This was just the re-run through, no one big Continental people were here, no actors or talent.
Maya was screaming at people into a small radio and glaring at the person who just updated her.
You were about to speak to Patty again. But Sal opened his stupid mouth.
“Hey, can you suck your wifeys dick or something? Too many people are crying from her, again.” Sal asked you and you turned to glare at the man. The rest of the posse coming to stand with you and Patty.
“Wow, you wanna walk with me to HR and talk to them, or should I tell Maya what you just said to me?” You threaten, and he pales instantly. Matt slaps his shoulder in upset and starts mumbling to him about ‘not another HR complaint’.
You wouldn’t actually do either of those things to Sal, and you smirk, and Patty laughs at your joke. Proud of you for not taking their shit.
Word of Tony’s disappearance from L.A had become a sort of ghost story surrounding you and Maya. And you couldn’t confirm or deny a thing, and no one had the nerve actually to ask you outright what happened.
“What he means is, the presentation isn’t for another three days. Could you please give Maya some stress release so we can all survive this?” Quinn tried.
And you rolled your eyes.
“Or could you possibly let her knock you up?” Patty said and then sipped her water like she hadn’t just ruined your day.
“YOU GUYS ARE GONNA HAVE A BABY!” Quinn shrieked and both Matt and Sal looked ready to jump for joy.
“No one is having a baby. Patty where the fuck did you hear that?” You turn to the only one you trusted out of this group.
“Oh please, give the Studio a cute little Maya. Oh god she’d be so cute in Burberry. And when she’s old enough to walk she can have a mini stanley cup and a bunch of charcoal smudges on her face!” Patty used an annoying voice and tilted her head back and forth.
“I hate you. And I don’t have charcoal smudges on my face all the time.” You say but Sal is already opening his phone to start a baby registry. Quinn is pointing to things on his screen.
“Could we use the baby on a film?” Matt asked and Patty turned to glare at him now.
“This has been super fun, tell Maya I have to go work on the film.” You start to turn and all of them yell after you.
“DON’T GO!”
“HOW FAR ALONG ARE YOU?”
“Wait, wait, Maya is gonna be pissed if you aren’t here!” Matt shrieks and it cuts all the funny business. You turn and smirk at him.
“She’s busy, she doesn’t even know I’m here. And she’ll be too busy firing your PR interns. Don’t worry Matt.” It’s a lie, a lie even they don’t believe.
“You know that’s not true, she knows the second your heels hit this lot where you are at all times! And she already asked for you!” Quinn corrects and you shrug, knowing she’s right. But not about to stay and be teased for baby reasons.
You walk out and just as you are almost in the clear, Maya’s new front desk gimp walks over and he’s sweating like he’s run an Iron Man. The gay thirty year old stops you like he’s gandalf.
Putting both hands out to stop you from reaching the door. But he’s trying to catch his breath and so he’s gasping for air.
“Hello, nice to meet you new guy, I just need to get around you.” You say all together knowing why he’s stopping you but not about to help him.
“No way, you are Maya’s wife! I can’t let you leave! She’s asked like five people to track you down and bring you to her!” His voice comes out a little too much like kermitt. And if he doesn’t make himself useful and show some intelligence Maya will have him thrown out before the weekend.
“Ok well, I’m actually the head of animations. Not just Maya’s wife. So I have to go work. You can tell her whatever you need to.” You shift to move around him and he blocks you like he plays basketball.
This is why you hadn’t wanted people to know you two were married.
People in the animation studio feared Maya, but they called her Mrs. van Gogh. Which was endlessly infuriating to you. And in the rest of the studio you were given the shitty nicknames yes, but also Maya’s Wife. Which you used to love being called, but now it was like they both saw you two as Bonnie and Clyde. Like one unit, that would kill all of them. Which in this moment you weren’t sure if they were wrong.
Your phone rang and you saw Bucky’s name flash.
“Listen, you tell Maya I had an animation emergency. You tell her whatever you want really, but I am walking through that door. I can do it over you, or around you. Either way I’m leaving this lot.” You tell him cutting through whatever nice you had left today. You really should have let Maya fuck you.
Both of you were being a nightmare.
Kermit gulped and slid to the side, you gave a fake smile and left the lot.
Walking back to the other side of the studio where you finished your water and slide your ID and Bucky was waiting for you by the door.
“What’s going on?”
“I tried to call,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his hair falling out of his ponytail like it always did when times were stressful.You walked quickly and he made sure to keep in pace with you. You liked Bucky a lot, he was smart and loyal. Even after the Tony fiasco he kept showing his allegiance lies with you.
“I needed a minute.” You told him honestly, something you don’t know if you would have even done for Alice or Jen. You are walking across the fancy downstairs with it’s coffee and movies playing.
“Are you ok….is it the baby?” He asked and eyed your stomach and you stop in your heels and turn to him. Your face must have scared him because he looked frightened to say the least.
“Bucky, who the hell told you I was pregnant?”
“I…I was…Wanda may…said to help you be less stressed for…a baby.”
Your phone started to ring with Maya on the front, you ignored it knowing you were already in trouble with your wife. You’d been ignoring her calls all day and she was for sure fuming.
“Bucky, I am not pregnant.”
“Oh shit, um…” He panicked and your phone lit up again with Maya’a call.
“I’ll tell you, if that happens, but I’m being honest. I’m not, now tell me what’s going on.” You say plainly to him and put your phone on do not disturb.
You and Bucky spend the next thirty minutes in your office. Both of your feet are up on your coffee table. You are sitting close together, but it feel easy, like hanging out with a brother.
He’s holding a throw pillow you didn’t order for the office on his lap and scrolling through his phone to fix the issue.
You have your head back and your eyes closed as both of you try to fix it before the rest of the floor knows.
“So…What if we make it clear that Lady D is a lesbian?”
“Bucky I’d love to, but this early on there will be fall out and Matt won’t like it. I’d love for her to be the queer one of the whole thing! And we can’t do a Dumbledoor where we don’t talk it, we have to put it in the script before we talk about it.” You say and he hums in agreement and looks through the smaller characters.
“Duke?”
“So…single tradesman is part of the village people?” You ask and Bucky doesn’t like it either. But it does work but as a queer person you don’t like the cop out.
A knock on your door alerts you but you don’t open your eyes.
“Come in!”
Jen walks in with Alice and they both sound guilty from their footsteps alone. You don’t look but they get to the point.
“We have a concern, and we feel like…well we want to address it.”
“But respectfully!” Alice cuts in and Jen shushes her and you think they must be fucking now.
“Proceed.” You say and feel a headache coming on.
“There’s no fucking queer representation in any of these films!” Jen shouts and Bucky shushes her. You open your eyes now to look at a bashful Jen who feels a little embarrassed by her outburst.
“Come in, close the door.” You say sternly and the both of them do. It clicks behind Alice and you wait a minute.
“We are trying to fix that right now.” You say and both Alice and Jen sigh in relief as their shoulders go down.
“How could we miss this?” Jen directs to you and you shake your head.
“We’ll fix it, we are fixing it, no one needs to know.” Bucky says smoothly and both Alice and Jen glare at him.
“Why the fuck are you in here for this?” Jen says and it’s gatekeeping and you don’t like it.
“Easy there,” you defend and Alice and Jen have the good sense to look a little called out. You were using Bucky more and more lately and you knew both of them were jealous but it was silly. Because you used them just as much.
“I’m a queer man, I have a right to be here don’t you think?” Bucky says outting himself, you’d known because you had gaydar. But evidently they didn’t.
“Oh my god, your whole team is being taken over by the queers.” Alice whispers and you try not to laugh, what a take over it was.
“Focus,” Jen redirects her girlfriend and you are sure now, they are boning.
“Mother Miranda.” You say and all eyes snap to you in surprise. “Let me talk to marketing, don’t say anything to the team. Matt will freak if we don’t give him dollar signs first. Then make Poseidon bisexual.” You rattle off and everyone thinks about it for a minute.
“I mean yes, but why Mother Miranda and not Lady D?” Jen asks and Bucky answers for you.
“Because Lady D doesn’t have enough screen time…Mother Miranda is powerful and therefore would bigger deal. If we do any of the other houses, it’ll be a side character. It’s risky.” Bucky says and you nod.
“Fuck yeah!” Alice says and she walks out with new excitement and Jen stays.
“I’m not being replaced right?” Jen asks and points to the man sitting next to you.
“No Jen, there’s more than enough art to go around.”
“I think she means you.” Bucky says, and you realize Jen doesn’t think there’s more than enough you to go around.
“We are good Jen, finish my first act.” You tell her and she seems to feel confidence at your trust in her to push the story forward. And she leaves the office and the door closes.
“What are you gonna name the baby?” Bucky asks but you hear the teasing in his voice.
“Bucky.” You tease and he giggles and puts pushes your shoulder with his just as the door flies open once more.
Both you and Bucky jump a little at the sight of Maya standing there.
Her hair is long and gorgeous and she’s just come from arguing with Matt and Sal it looks like.
“Barnes, why are you sitting close to my wife with the door closed?” Maya asks first and she eyes the smallest of distances between you and him. You could roll your eyes but it wouldn’t be a good idea.
Bucky jumps off of the spot next to you like he’s been burned. His one arm goes behind his back and it doesn’t work on Maya, she’s not charmed at all.
“We were just- We had a..I’m gonna go.” He points to the door that Maya is still standing in.
He walks up and she’s wearing combat boots, but she’s still menacing enough that they aren’t too different in length, especially with Bucky hunched over like he’s trying to make himself small.
Maya doesn’t move out of the doorway but she stares at him in the eyes like she’s reminding him who the alpha of the room is.
“Maya.” You say to break her from her obvious power play.
And Maya smiles manically as if she would only listen to you, and steps to the side just enough. Bucky still has to slide to the side and squeeze between her and the open door.
When he leaves, Maya walks forward and slams the office door and you flinch. Not because you are scared of her, but because your headache hasn’t lessened.
Maya goes to your office blinds, and she closes them both, so no one can see in. Then she turns to look at you for a moment before going to flip the overhead lights off and you don’t mean to sigh but you do.
Maya knows the little muscles in your face that tense when you are having a headache, and she knows that the light off always helps.
Then she saunters over to the sofa and sits next to you. You kick off your heels and tuck your feet under your butt and quickly put your head on her chest, Maya wraps her arm around you so that you can be close.
You sit in silence, Maya waits, and after at least five minutes of comfortable silence in the dark your head doesn’t hurt as much.
You aren’t sure if it’s the light, the lack of work in front of you, or one less issue on your plate.
But you know that the smell of Maya always helps ease all the tension in your body, and she was holding you, and nothing was better.
“I’m ready.” You whisper, and Maya takes a deep breath before starting.
“If I were unclear on who we are together, I could be very upset right now.”
You turned to look at her, and she arched an eyebrow as if asking you to disagree with her. But Maya says it out loud because she knows you are exhausted and in the depths of work.
“I ask to start our family and you say no, you don’t let me make love to you this morning, you ignore all my messages all day, and you slink out of the lot after I try to get you to come see me, and then I walk in to see you with him. If this was our first year of marriage I’d have recklessly spent money, set fire to his car, and fucked you for the rest of the week. Not letting you leave the bed once. ” Maya said, and you smiled at the memories of a younger Maya unable to talk to you about her feelings well yet.
“Good times.” You mumble and put your lips on her throat and kiss gently. Her body eases just a little and you know she understands.
“If you’d like, I can make all of those things happen?” Maya said seriously and you got up and straddled her lap and she quickly grabbed your ass to hold you in place.
“I need to talk to Marketing Maya for a minute.” You told her, but she shook her head.
“No, she’s of no use to you right now.”
“No?” You say sadly letting your bottom lip drop.
“No, you see, Marketing isn’t in right now. I didn’t get to cum inside of you this morning, so I’m of no use to anyone for anything right now.” Maya says, and you cup her cheek, and she leans in to kiss your palm.
“I missed you, I love when you cum inside of me in the mornings and I have to wear it all day.” You say, and you hear Maya moan, and you turn to eye the door, but she grabs your chin and turns your face.
Uh-oh.
“You missed me? Funny, didn’t seem like you missed me when you ignored me all day and sat cozy with your little Winter Soldier.” Maya was the one who gave him the nickname that spread across the office. You wondered if he still told her things. Or if she was mad that he was more loyal to you now. Either way her words make you feel even more needy.
“Maya, I’ve been just as bad today. You know I wanted you this morning.” You let your crotch gind down onto her semi hard cock. Maya groans at the feeling, even through the clothes, and her nails dig into your hips now.
“You’ve been very naughty today. And Daddy can’t let this slide, I can’t let this happen again. We can’t make movies like this, we can’t do our jobs, and I certainly won’t sit across the lot and think of Barnes pleasing you instead of me.” Maya’s stern voice does things to you. And you try to ride her lap again and she stops you once more.
“If I had any self control, I’d tell you that I’m not going to cum inside of your tight pussy until you get rid of that IUD,” Maya tells you and your body shivers at the very idea. That would be hell for you.
“Please no, I can’t not-Maya don’t.” You actually panic and she shushes you and puts her hand in your hair and tilts your face down to rest on her forehead.
“I couldn’t do it either, though it was a sexy fantasy I had while I fired Matt’s interns. Imagine you begging and only allowed to swallow my seed. It would have been fun, but I just can’t do it either. But I can deprive you today.”
You whimper and grip Maya’s shirt and grind fast and hard practically humping her with the speed of a dog in heat.
She cackles in your office.
Then you remember where you are and you turn to the door.
“Maya…we can’t here.” You say knowing there is no soundproofing. Maya grabs your necklace with the key and then closes the metal into her fist and pulls the chain so that your mouth falls into hers.
Maya kisses you with a dirty desire that makes your nipples harden in your bra. She whispers against your mouth now.
“I know, and I would have kept your rule. But you broke one of my rules. So It’s only fair. But I’m nothing if not a good Daddy. So I’ll give you a choice,” Maya stops and leans close to your neck, she drags her tongue from the bottom of your neck all the way up to behind your ear.
You moan and bite your lip, sure that everyone can hear you outside the door.
“Option one, you agree to take the IUD out. I get you in today. We take a break and I take you down to the nice hotel only a few blocks away. We come back and finish the work day.”
You’d done that before, gone to a hotel in the middle of the day. Maya loved to fuck in her office and you always got nervous because Maya wasn’t quiet and neither were you. So Maya started taking you to a hotel twice a week because both of your libidos were just that high.
But you knew Maya would only do that if you agreed to go off birth control.
And your older wife smiles, seeing you understand that.
“Option two, we go to my office right now. But if we do that, I’m going to use you for the rest of the day, and you won’t get to cum. I’ll cum on your face and fuck you over and over, but you don’t get anything.” Maya tells you, and you can’t believe how wet the idea makes you.
“Option three?” You ask, and Maya smiles, knowing this will be the one you choose, to her dismay.
“I fuck you in here, with no lock on your door, with everyone able to hear us. You’ll try to be quiet, but I won’t. And tonight, I get you all night, no interruptions, and you have to be a very good girl for me. For whatever I want, so what’ll it be, baby?” Maya ask,s and she strokes your spine like she owns you, because she does.
“Option four?” You ask meekly.
“Option four left when you left the presentation and didn’t let Kermit bring you to me.”
You giggle and you love that you and Maya can go from manipulating the Studio, to making jokes, to making love, so quickly and then back again. It was like your brains were wired the same. Maya looks delighted that you enjoyed her joke.
“You do think he sounds like Kermitt.” You said with a smile, and Maya looked amused.
“No, the second he spoke I knew that’s what you would think.”
“Sounds like we’ve been married too long, you think like me and I think like you.”
Maya’s voice may have stayed stern, but her face said she loved that that was the truth. But her flirting wouldn’t give in yet.
“If that were true, you would have behaved and come to me when I called for you,” Maya said, and you felt like being a bigger brat now.
“I am not a dog. I am the head of the animation studio.”
Maya’s hand came to your throat and squeezed harder than necessary and you humped her lap again.
“Not a dog?” Maya tilted one eyebrow up, and you knew you’d ruined your underwear.
“Maya..” You squirmed in her lap.
“You have ten seconds, and then I’ll pick for you. I found an OBGYN, and I called ahead to make sure all I need to do is text her front desk. I told her I’d put her son through college for her to drop everything and take us in.” Maya said and you cried out at how fucking hot that was.
“Maya..” Your brain was short-circuiting. You were losing your resolve, why didn’t you want to get pregnant yet again? You had a list, and you tried to remember the list.
“Ten.” Maya started to count and your hands fell to her cock through her pants and you unbuckled her belt.
“Nine, you can’t distract me.” Maya shook her head, and you realized she was right, she was on a mission. But that didn’t mean she was going to stop you from touching her, from touching what she promised was all yours.
But you had to try and distract, so you reached down her pants and stroked her cock once and Maya’s eyes rolled back and her jaw set to the side. In that needy way you love so much. Maya seems to be at a loss for a second.
“Your sweet, warm hand, it was made for me, wasn’t it? It’s good-d. I’ll give you that baby. But you can’t cheat.” Maya says through little gasps coming out as you touch her.
“Seven.” Maya said, and you squeaked. Opening your mouth to disagree with her, but her eyes open and her face meets yours now, as if to see if you’ll challenge her more. You were already in trouble, Maya was curious how deep you’d dig yourself into the hole.
“Play dirty I’ll treat you dirty, pretty girl,” Maya said, and you groaned and stroked her shaft harder, and her body shuddered at your intensity.
“Five.” Maya skips again.
“Fine! I pick three!” You shout too loudly from your office.
Maya’s gaze focus on you, and your hand stops and she smiles like a shark.
“Oh, honey, wrong choice.”
Maya stands and you scramble back, and she kicks off her pants and boxers, and she grabs you by the back of your hair, and your hand reaches back to her hand. As if she’d lessen her grip, it doesn’t help you.
“On the desk, come on, baby girl. I have all day.”
Maya helps you, more like shoves you, onto the desk. But she faces you so that you are staring at the door, aware that it doesn’t lock. Aware of your punishment, you get to anxiously watch the door for your employees.
“Maya fuck.” You whisper at her game, but she just pushes your nice pants down to the floor, and then she twists your thong in her hand, and you know she’s about to snap it. “No, no! I like these! They’re my favorite!”
Maya’s forehead vein twitches in her self-control, the one she doesn’t have, but she tries to, for you.
You take her moment of slowing down and raises up off the desk so you can pull them off and put them on the desk away from Maya’s angry hands.
Maya positions her cock so that it’s sliding through your folds but not inside. You can feel how hot her cock is, but not get the relief of feeling her inside of you.
“Maya.” You whine and bite your lip, but she just makes sure neither of you are getting your gratification.
“What were you thinking, pretty girl? When you ignored Daddy’s texts and calls? What am I supposed to think? My wife could be in trouble, well, now you are in trouble, aren’t you?” Maya says, and she’s the perfect display of self-control now. She’s in her element. She’s got your hips pinned on the desk as she angles her own hips just right to slide against all your arousal.
Maya can’t keep this up, that’s your only saving grace, right?
“Daddy please, I’ll be good.” You whimper as the head of her cock hits your clit before retreating down again.
“Now I’m Daddy? Now you want to be good? Now that you are in trouble, you mean. I think you have some apologizing to do, you didn’t act nicely to Daddy today.” Maya’s face is turning red with intensity.
You reach out to grab her face and she pulls back.
“Arms behind your back, pretty girl.”
“Maya!” You shrieked too loudly once again in the office. Eyeing the door once more and wondering how much can be heard. But Maya interrupts your thoughts.
“You can put them behind you, or I can flip you onto the desk and hold you down. The option is yours.” Her voice is deeper now.
You put both your wrists behind your back with an invisible binding, and Maya smirks. This was her favorite kind of binding, really, the mental kind. The one where if you forgot the rule, she could sexually torture you for the next two hours for it.
But you were already in trouble, and you didn’t want more. So you tried to remember to keep your palms on the cold desk.
“Where was I? Oh yes.” Maya moves her cock again up and down your folds, trying to get as much arousal around her shaft as possible.
You felt her twitch against you, getting impossibly harder from the warmth and slick of your pussy lips.
“Daddy please, I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your texts. I wanted you all day, I should have just been late this morning.” You try and Maya just ignores your face and stares at your pussy trying to swallow her cock.
“That’s almost a good apology, but not what I’m looking for, baby girl.” Maya looks at your chest now and reaches to your button down and she pulls hard and the buttons all snap off.
You should have known better than to keep your shirt on, not with Maya around. Maya reaches over your body to your desk, and you know what she’s going for. You push your shirt off your shoulders. You know what’s coming.
But even in the dark of the room, you find the letter opener shines.
One hand on your hip and the other on the letter opener.
The silvery of the metal and the contrast of your soft skin. The gold chain with the key matches Maya’s gold chain with the lock. Like everything here fits together.
Maya twirls the blade like she’s always held it.
“Keep still my little Rembrandt, we don’t wanna make a mess.” Maya teases and goes to your bra, and she tucks the cold blade against your skin. Right where the bra clasp is.
You are holding your breath.
She tilts the blade back and forth so you can feel the edge, but not enough for it to make you bleed. Maya gives you a punishing gaze to remind you, you did this.
Maya could have lovingly fucked you this morning.
You did this.
You made her feral.
You made her scream and fire people today, and you made her scare Bucky.
You made her this animal.
And now you would give Maya whatever she wanted, or more would pay the price.
Fuck if it wasn’t making you even wetter.
The cool blade in between your breasts. The people walking outside the door making office noises.
Your wifes cock pressing against your pussy, but not inside yet.
The glint in Maya’s unhinged eyes. The reminder that she’d burn the whole studio down if anyone interrupted her from this moment with you, her pretty wife.
And that’s when it clicks, what Maya needs now.
“Daddy, I’m sorry. You own me, my body is yours, and I didn’t let you cum inside of me this morning. Fuck the Studio. You own me, you can take me whenever you want, even with the door opened in my office.”
You say it, and Maya’s face changes instantly.
Bingo.
She yanks the letter opened up quickly and your bra snaps and breaks.
Maya’s mouth is fast as it descends on the top of your breast and she’s sucking and bitting so hard you are sure she must taste blood.
You moan loudly, knowing that is what Maya wants, that is what you want.
You belong to Maya Mason.
Fuck everything else.
Maya’s hips are fast as her cock rubs against your clit over and over, still not inside.
But agonizingly delicious against you, and you keep your hands behind you, but your mouth is open in ecstasy as you feel your orgasm approaching.
You aren’t sure if you are allowed to have one.
That’s when the radio on the floor beeps, and they ask for Maya.
You bite your lip and wonder if she’s gonna take it. Maya stops and reaches down, and clicks it on.
You don’t have time to yell at her to keep going or stop or something.
“WHAT?” She snaps and continues her pace fucking you, but not inside, not where you both want it.
“Maya we need you and your wife for a question or two,” Matt says now into the radio.
Maya smiles and grabs one of your hands and puts it on the radio. Then she fists the desk and jakchammers her hips. Chasing her own orgasm.
“M-matt I’m h-here.” You get out barely as you know you are gonna cum.
Maya smiles, knowing that you won’t stop, you know better. You wouldn’t break another rule. You wouldn’t make the same mistake.
Maya’s orgasm face always pushes you over, to see her so lost in you. And you don’t mean to hold down the button. But Maya doesn’t tell you it’s happening as you both cry out.
“DADDY FUCK ME OH GOD! FUCK PLEASE CUM INSIDE ME!” You shout and Maya doesn’t, she grabs the thong, she continues fucking her warm spot in your pussy lips, but she shoots her load into your underwear.
When she’s done, you are just about to tip all the way over into your orgasm and she backs away and grabs the radio. You let out an angry noise to your wife.
“Mrs. Mason is otherwise disposed. How can I help Matt?” Maya cackles as she turns the radio down as Matt starts in on ‘HR and EVERYONE HEARD YOU GUYS!.’
You don’t have time to think about it.
You drop to the floor, mouth open. And Maya likes it so much, you see her looking for her pants to get a photo.
“Daddy fuck please, let me cum!” You beg and Maya walks forward to grab her pants but you reach out and cup her balls and she humps the air. You kiss the inside of her thighs and let your lips drag against her shaft as blood starts to pump to it again. Unable to not get hard at the touch of your mouth on her. You smell your combined cum on her.
“Put your thong on baby, it was your favorite,” Maya instructs you and you nodd, stand, and grab the cum soaked lace and pull it against your pussy. It sticks to your lips, and you moan at the feeling. Maya cups your sex through the lacey, soaked, material.
“Tomorrow morning, when I get hard. When Daddy needs you, because your naked in our bed. All pressed against me all night, and I need to fill your womb with my seed. What are you going to do, pretty girl?” Maya growls and she plays with your clit through the semen soaked underwear.
“Whatever you want Daddy, fuck, fuck, fuck. Please, I can’t.” You whine, and Maya kisses your neck so soft and tender your knees buckle.
That was Maya.
She’d bring you to your edge with rough sex and sharp teeth biting into your skin. And then she’d whisper declarations of love and touch you slow and sweet.
You felt tears threaten now, so in need of her.
“I’ll remind you, you are all mine tonight, Mrs. Mason. I’ll give you what your body needs from me. But just remember, you are all mine tonight. You are going to beg me to stop touching you, and I fucking won’t.” Maya tells you gently, letting her tongue lick the shell of your ear, and you can’t stand. Maya wraps her strong arm around you, knowing how to break you.
Maya kicks one of the guest chairs and then sits down and guides you so you are straddling her thighs. But your wife doesn’t fuck you with her cock like you hope.
She keeps your thong on and reaches into your underwear, collecting some of her sperm before pushing three fingers inside you.
“Ride my fingers like my good whore.” Maya says and she leans back, as you ride her fingers like you are being paid to do it. Like this is your profession. Like chasing your orgasm, and making Maya proud, is the only thing you ever need to be good at.
Maya smiles and licks her lips as she leans against the back of the chair, one hand goes to grip your throat and jaw hard as you move up and down.
“Daddy’s girl, you are so fucking beautiful, I want to marry you all over again, all mine baby girl,” Maya tells you and your mouth opens and your wife growls at how pornographicly sexy you are. How slutty you turn at her touch.
Maya was on a high better than any drug in all of Hollywood.
Your pussy makes wet suction noises as you hump and move as fast as you can up and down on her fingers. Maya’s cock is already painfully hardening against your thigh and you want it inside, but won’t let Maya’s fingers leave your body either.
There’s a knock on the door and you stop and Maya doesn’t waste a second to slap your ass and you move again.
“SHE’S BUSY FUCKERS! GO BUG ALICE OR JEN! SHE CAN’T CLEAN UP YOUR MESS RIGHT NOW! GROW UP AND FIGURE IT OUT!” Maya yells, and you can’t even think to tell her that you must stop, must help them, this is your job.
No all you can think is how Maya’s fingers are curling on your g-spot. And you ask her with your whimper, and she nods her permission and you gush around her hand as you cum, and Maya loves every second of it. As you grind down on her hand and then fall forward against her neck.
Maya’s arms wrap around you and you wince as her fingers leave you. But she holds you tight and the wet underwear clings with both of your cum. It’s uncomfortable as it presses against your clit. Your body shakes from aftershocks of your orgasm.
But Maya just holds you tightly, not letting you go, not for a second.
You feel panic rising at the world outside of that office door. Your chin turns to look at it, but your wife reads your mind so fast.
“You aren’t the head of the animation studio right now pretty girl. You are all mine. Stay with me.” Maya whispers and kisses your messy hair, and you sink into her hold. The feeling of her golden chains against your warm chest feels so good right now. The reminder of your promises.
You see your own golden key tangle in her chain and it’s like they’re lovers meeting again.
You want to go home now.
You just want Maya.
She seems to feel the same because Maya isn’t moving at all, and her cock is pressing against your leg.
“Maya?”
“Hmm?” She says and you can hear the tension returning to her body, she needs to cum again.
“Why did you stop calling yourself Mommy? Why are you Daddy now?” You whispered, afraid of breaking the moment.
Maya thought about this for a second, and you pull back to look at her face. She had that look, the one where she was vulnerable and unsure how to express the words. Like she wanted to do it for you, but it was hard for her to figure out the vocabulary to say what she felt. It was a learned skill that you’d helped her get to.
“I think I like the old school gendered notion of taking care of you and our family. It’s stupid, I mean we’re queer. But…I’m your Daddy, I’ll protect you and our kids. I’ll be damn violent and manipulate and make us safe. I’ll do whatever needs to be done. I’m not afraid of getting dirty… I don’t think of it like a dude thing…but like…a Daddy thing…Does that make sense?” She says carefully, like there is a little fear you don’t enjoy the change.
You nod and cup her face, and she leans into your hold.
“I like it.”
“Not too gross and gendered?”
“I think it’s cute. And it makes me wet” You lean forward and kiss Maya hard and her hand goes out to your lace covered pussy again to play with you. You lose your battle in the kiss and gasp but your hand goes down to her cock.
“Oh darling, you touch Daddy so sweet.” Maya tells you, and you stroke her so gently that her thighs start to shake from need.
“I think we may need to go home.” You tell her, and Maya’s face lights up in excitement.
“I think I may have fired enough people, HR should make an example out of me. Disciplinary actions and all.” Maya says, and you cackle now. But you get off of her, and Maya’s hands go to grab you and bring you back, you move fast, and drop to the floor and rest your head on her thigh.
She sees that need in you, you want to swallow her whole. “Oh fuck.” Maya curses, and you kiss just under her shaft and let your tongue start little licks around her base. Your cum and hers tasting like they were made to mix.
“I do have some apologizing to do, right?” You open your mouth, letting the heat of your breath tease her skin. Maya’s gripping your hair now with so much desire, it’s enough to make you orgasm again in your cum marked panties.
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.
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: 18+ only! smut with storyline, enchanted strap, edging, choking (if you squint), cunnilingus, cussing, teasing, fingering, switch!wanda, switch!reader (r is more dom in this chapter), dub-con (enchanted), bit of angst, aggressive behaviour. If I’ve missed anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.
A/N: Things are getting heated! Thanks for joining me in my first ever fic series. Part Three sneak peak: reader is bottommm.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three (to come)
Do not copy, translate or publish my work as your own.
𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁
It has been a few days since you were first called into Wanda’s office and you have both settled into a routine– she sends you a meeting invite, you attend. Wanda had put in place a ‘performance plan’ to your diary to assist in getting you back on your feet at work, though only the two of you know that isn’t exactly the case.
This afternoon is no different, you find yourself in Wanda’s chair again with her straddling you, smiling with a hint of mischief in her eyes.
“I have something for you,” she twists her body around to open the drawer next to you, revealing the strap she bought for you as a gift. A smirk pulls at your lips before biting them in excitement. Wanda looks back at you expectantly and you answer fast, maybe too fast, “Yes. Please.” You were nodding your head almost pathetically as the idea of using a strap on Wanda is what anyone’s dreams are made of.
She grabs it from the drawer and helps you adjust it to your waist and places a soft kiss to your lips– her breath on them delicate as she speaks, soft yet commanding, “Close your eyes.”
You obey, you always obey Wanda. You can feel her positioning her legs on either side of yours once more, curling her fingers around the strap– you thought she might just be adjusting it, but that’s when you feel it.
Your eyes shot up at Wanda with a gasp.
You feel everything. “Wh–”
“Shh,” her lips are on yours forbidding you from finishing your words as she lowers herself on the strap, on.. you.
Wanda begins to ride you, rolling her hips back and forth on top of you at a dangerously slow pace as she watches your face contort in pleasure in more ways than one. This new sensation has you gripping onto Wanda’s waist for dear life. Being able to feel all of her like this is a certain kind of ecstasy beyond comparison. Every roll of her hips ignites fireworks through your body and clouds every corner of your mind.
Worried she may be losing you to your overwhelmed senses, Wanda cups your chin to draw you back to her. She holds your gaze with a calm dominance, eliciting staggered whimpers from your lips at the intense vulnerability you feel when looking into those alluring green eyes.
Wanda changes her technique, raising and lowering her body over and over again, bouncing on you with a hunger she could no longer restrain. You guide her hips up and down, thrusting your own in perfect timing with hers causing the electricity to vibrate through your core.
Your gaze stays fixed on her, tracing the way her hair spills over her shoulders framing her figure– the toned curves of her abdomen, the graceful curves of her body. Every move she makes carries an effortless kind of perfection.
Wanda leans forward to connect your lips, your mouths run hot together in a panting mess, tongues dancing while you exchange moans into each other’s mouths until her lips part from yours– losing the control of the kiss as pleasure courses through her body.
The need to take complete control overcomes you, any coherent thought ceases to exist as you tear yourself from the chair, swiftly lifting Wanda back up onto the desk. Keeping her upright with her legs wrapped around your hips, you hold on to her waist thrusting into her over and over.
Wanda has her hands laced around the nape of your neck. The heavenly sounds and sighing breaths from Wanda does something to you, her breath quickens and she’s clenching around you– your grip on Wanda tightens, you think you’re going to cum so you slow your movements momentarily, “W-Wanda… fuck, am I..?”
Her legs pull you in harder, frantically holding you tighter, demanding you not to stop. At that motion you cum inside her, your hot breath moaning at her ear leading Wanda to throw her head back, lips parting with a cry of pleasure.
You’re out of breath and your movements come to a stop, however, your eyes widen in shock– flicking up at Wanda in panic. Wanda chuckles, “Relax!” she exclaims, taking hold of your jaw between her fingers, giving you a light peck on the lips.
────
“Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.” You look over to Natasha grabbing her laptop and notepad and you follow suit. This morning you have your weekly team project meeting. There’s always a lot to get through and Nat knows how much you dread these meetings, thankfully getting you a coffee prior.
“I wonder,” Natasha’s voice is low as you both walk down the corridor, “will we spend another 30 minutes talking about the colour blue today or actually get these proposals over the line.” You scoff, smiling at Natasha, “with ten know-it-alls needing to approve minor details and differing opinions, highly unlikely.”
Your team is relatively large, twenty of you in one room discussing your projects and everyone’s roles and progress to date.
You are just getting around to the third person in the room when you freeze.
You feel something, something that feels... too good.
You suck in a sharp breath, a small sound escaping your mouth, loud enough to draw the attention of a couple of your colleagues.
The sensation is getting too intense and Natasha notices the colour drain from your face, giving you a questionable yet concerned look. You close your eyes trying to take a deep breath but it’s no use.
You have little control left when you excuse yourself from the meeting, heading straight for the privacy of the ambulant restroom.
Closing the door with urgency, you slam back against it, fighting to steady your breathing.
What the fuck?
There is an overwhelming, intoxicating sensation building between your legs, the same you felt when you used the enchanted strap with Wanda.
Wanda.
Fuck– her little witchy powers have somehow made you feel everything when it’s not even attached to you.
“Oh fuck,” you double over with one hand holding onto the bathroom sink, the other onto the wall in front of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as the rush of your orgasm builds, having little to no self control left. Wanda doesn’t stop– and you let out a cry of pleasure as the intensity of your orgasm washes over you.
Fucking hell Wanda.
You had barely swallowed your moans when your phone vibrates– Natasha:
Everything alright?
Shit.
You pull yourself together, replying to Nat as you step out of the restroom:
Just felt unwell, coming back now.
You sit yourself back in your chair, earning a few glances from around the room as you try your best to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. Wanda didn’t stop with her little stunt in the restroom, instead you suffer through the next 30 minutes of her relentless tantalising.
Wanda has access to your planner so she knows exactly where you are and the meeting you are currently in, and she knows exactly what she is doing to you. And as soon as your meeting wrapped up, you wasted no time in heading straight for the office of Wanda Maximoff.
────
Wanda is leaning against the east wall of her office, scanning over the report which was handed to her only a moment ago, not entirely surprised to see you barging through the door heading straight for her.
The smug fucking look on her face made your blood boil yet turned you on at the same time. She takes a step forward to approach you, “How was your meet–“ you slammed Wanda hard up against the wall, a squeak of surprise escaping her lips.
“What the fuck was that?!” Both your hands planted against the wall on either side of her head, your body flush against hers. A shit eating grin tugged from Wanda’s lips, “Just a little enchantment I may have made the last time you used it.”
“In the team meeting?!” You bite back. Your hand went up to her jaw as you pushed your knee up hard between her legs, earning a gasp from the woman looking up at you. “You should be thanking me for the end result,” Wanda speaks in a low, sultry tone. You scoff in response as she continues, “Careful, Y/N. Your boss might not accept this kind of attitude from an employee.”
You trail your fingertips from her jaw to snake around her throat. “My boss needs to be taught a lesson in acceptable behaviour,” you growl. Wanda bites her lip, relishing in the way you are handling her right now, “Wanda, do you think this kind of behaviour deserves punishment… or do you think you can make it up to me?” You repeat the words she said to you that first day in her office. She smirks, then lowers her gaze, trying to hide the effect it had on her.
You notice Wanda trying to get more friction from your leg pressed between her and you take the opportunity to teach her that lesson. You quickly remove your leg and step back from her and watch as her face falters, letting out a whimper in search of you. You took her in. She looked cute like this. You watch as she squirms a little in desperation, and tilt your head in recognition– she likes this.
Closing the distance, your lips meet Wanda’s in a desperate kiss once more. Your fingers make quick work to slide up her thigh, then sink two deep into her soaked center. Both of you moan in tandem as you pick up the intensity, pumping your fingers vigorously. You feel Wanda starting to clench around them, her quickened breaths in your mouth, signalling you’re about to lead her to her orgasm.
You pull out.
A surprised, whine-laced gasp slipped from Wanda at the absence of you, a small, wounded look crossing her face. Her eyes widen in realisation of the game you are about to play with her when she spots the smirk growing in your expression as you bite your bottom lip.
Her cheeks flush lightly and you adore her neediness on display. Wanda is doing her best to avoid showing how desperately she needs you. Your mouth meets hers again in a bruising kiss and you tug at her bottom lip with your teeth. Wanda is clutching at your collar, insisting on getting what she wants.
Grabbing her hands, you slam them back against the wall, above her head. “No,” is all you say. You drop to your knees and lift her skirt, trailing kisses up her thighs and teasing the presence of your hot mouth over her needy pussy, making Wanda buck her hips towards you.
“Do not test me,” her voice is firm, trying to reassert her dominance.
You’ll give her that.
You slide your tongue through her folds moaning at the way she tastes. Licking upward to find her clit and you flick your tongue up and down at quick speed. You feel her hands in your hair pulling you in closer, and the vibrations of your moans have her legs already shaking. You suck on her clit before going back to your regular rhythm– the coil inside her tightening. She’s rolling her hips and making a mess of your face in reach of her orgasm.
“Don’t stop,” she cries out and Wanda freezes, eyes flashing open– realising what she has done.
You chuckle, giving a few more flicks of your tongue and pull away.
“No,” she gasps. “Y/N.”
You pull yourself up with a wicked grin planted on your face and grab her by the hand, leading her over to the lounge in the corner of her office. You walk her backward until her knees bump against it, then guide her onto her back. You press a soft kiss to her neck before crossing to her desk and sliding open the drawer to find the strap. Your strap– the one that has a magically enhanced connection to you.
Wanda bites down on her lip as you make your way back over to her, unsure if she’s really going to receive what she wants. She is ready for you, if her arousal on display is anything to go by. You’ve driven her to such a needy state that she is laying there waiting, spread out for you. The thirst burning behind her eyes almost has you giving in right here and now– but the lesson isn’t over.
Hooking Wanda’s ankle over your shoulder in one swift motion, you thrust into her, quick and hard– stretching Wanda’s walls without giving her the time to adjust. Her sharp cry of pleasure only pushes you further.
You are pounding into her at vigorous speed before suddenly, you pull out– earning cries of frustration from the woman beneath you. You do this repeatedly, fully aware that Wanda’s powers could put an end to this at any moment, making it clear she’s enjoying this without revealing too much.
Wanda is getting increasingly worked up, the frustration written all over her face as you praise how good she looks spread out for you like this and she grabs at you with a fierce, almost desperate grip. After minutes of your relentless teasing and edging her to breaking point, she doesn’t hold back in using her powers on you again.
She forces your hips to meet hers, bottoming out and holding you in place. “Fuck me now, Y/N or we’ll have to revisit your performance review.”
You oblige. Hearing her say those words to you have you at her mercy.
You place light pressure on her lower abdomen with one hand and use your other to play with her clit as you continue to thrust inside her, feeling her tighten around you, arching her back– a silent scream escapes her lips as her legs begin to shake, and that’s when the guttural moan tears from her throat and rips through the room, eliciting a satisfactory sigh from your lips as she makes a mess all over you.
────
“Y/N… I’m hungry.”
You flick your eyes toward Natasha after hearing her whine at you. You promised her to go to lunch at your favourite cafe today but your looming deadline has had you stuck finalising the latest edits to your strategy report.
“Give me 5 minutes, Nat.”
She lets out an exasperated huff and pouts at you, “I’m withering away here, my stomach is eating itself, listen to it.”
“Stop being so dramatic.”
“For the love of god, hurry up.”
“Keep distracting me and it will take longer.” Nat frowns at you, muttering something in Russian under her breath but gives you the space to finish.
The two of you step out of the building, crossing the street, slipping into the quiet city alleyway to find Olive & Vine, an adorable hidden garden cafe you’d once stumbled upon together by chance. The entrance is lined with overflowing terracotta pots, climbing ivy, hanging ferns, and natural timber tables while sunlight glows against the exposed brick.
The menu is known for its colourful, beautifully plated food and extravagant signature drinks, however, you and Nat are particularly fond of the all-day-breakfast and their specialty coffee served in their handmade ceramic cups delicately etched with winding vines.
You have a great friendship with Nat, you always try to make the time to do lunch together at least once a week, even though you already see each other plenty outside the office.
You settle into your usual spot outside by the back entrance where the sunlight falls and a waitress comes over with a smile, pouring water into your glasses and took your orders.
“He’s just an idiot,” Nat begins, needing some time to vent about her work-related drama and the colleague she absolutely cannot stand. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, this is not his area of expertise, like step aside… and quite frankly he’s just a strange human.”
After some time spent listening to Nat vent her frustrations, the waitress returns with your order and sets your plate down first. When she turns to hand Nat hers, Nat takes the plate directly from her, lightly caressing her hand in the process.
“Thank you, beautiful.” You look up to witness the waitress turn pink under Nat’s touch and the endearment. “Are you new?”
“I-it’s my second shift”, she stumbles under Nat’s gaze.
Nat shifts in her seat to lean in closer, invading her personal space, “Welcome, sweetheart.”
You watch in amusement, though you felt bad for the girl as her cheeks deepen to a vivid hue of red. She mumbles a quiet thank you before quickly walking away.
Your amusement is still clearly showing on your face as Nat’s gaze flicks back to you.
“What?” she accuses.
You raise both hands in a mock surrender, a playful smirk on your face suggesting there’s no judgement at all.
“You know, you gotta get back on the horse,” she says glancing back at the waitress. “Cute– long brown hair, tattoos.” Her grin turns suggestive, “Get under someone to get over that good-for-nothing ex of yours.”
You scoff in response but Nat doesn’t push.
“So how was your meeting with Miss tight-ass-micromanager?” Natasha asks, referring to your direct manager after your 1:1 earlier this morning.
“It was fine, she actually complimented me for once and told me she was happy to see my improvements at work and to ‘keep doing what I’m doing’ because it’s working,” you shrug.
Nat eyes you curiously.
“Mm... well, what are you doing to be so awfully chipper at work these days?” She arches her brow suggestively and you nearly choke on your food, scrambling for your glass of water to wash it down.
Nat chuckles, “Alright, keep your secrets then.”
You only shake your head, unable to stop your thoughts drifting to Wanda. The visuals of her rutting her hips against you, the sounds of her breathy moans and your name falling from her lips as she screa–
“Hello..?” Nat’s snapping her fingers in your line of sight, “What’s gotten into you?”
You mutter an apology, shifting in your chair in a weak attempt to ease the throbbing between your thighs.
You finish your meals, and the cute waitress returns to clear your plates, advising you to pay at the counter when you’re ready. You both thank her, though Natasha’s carries a little more intent.
“Alright fine,” Nat says, as though coming to a decision. “If you won’t, I will.”
She pushes back from her chair, lightly scraping the floor as she stands to cross the cafe, all confidence and full of mischief. A moment later she’s at the counter, asking the waitress for her number, and while the girl types it into her phone, Nat glances back over her shoulder and throws you a playful wink.
You roll your eyes at her antics, though you can’t help grinning anyway, Nat has never been one to turn down a good time.
────
Being on the same level as Wanda, you have grown used to the occasional run-in and the fleeting, knowing glances exchanged between you. But after today’s lunch with Nat, the thoughts of Wanda have been swirling through your mind ever since, and the needy pulse between your legs refuses to give you any reprieve. You want–no, you need–to see Wanda.
Your attention is fixed on one of the other major projects you are working through when your vision suddenly becomes clouded by a red hue, followed by a voice– her voice– clear as day in your head. “Meet me in the kitchen, make a tea for yourself.”
That’s new.
You walk to the kitchen, mug in hand, and encounter Wanda making tea for herself as she greets you.
“Afternoon, Y/N.”
“Afternoon,” you try to hide the smile forming on your lips.
Wanda looks incredible in the light brown and white checkered pantsuit, her blazer draped elegantly over her shoulders. Her lips curl in knowing acknowledgement of the way you’re looking at her.
“How is the refresh project coming along?”
“It’s…” you start, but your breath hitches when Wanda’s fingers brush yours as she passes you one of the new tea flavours the team brought in that morning. “It’s surprisingly moving along well, we have a couple of concepts to work through which we are now requiring feedback on.”
“That’s good news. I was thinking...” Wanda pauses, and you catch her glancing over your shoulder. She then lowers her voice as she turns her body to face you. “I have a few ideas for the refresh project which will assist in moving it along– and bypass all the morons trying to force their input and take credit for what you and your team have designed and implemented.”
A soft giggle leaves your lips. As the company’s CEO, there’s no one better to help you. “Please. I can take all the help I can get.”
Wanda lets out a light laugh but looks around once more before meeting your eyes. “How do you feel about coming around to my place tonight? We can have dinner and smash out some brainstorming without all the distractions the office brings. My schedule’s been busy, but I want to help you out.”
“I appreciate that,” you nod. You’re not sure if her words had any hidden meaning behind them but you’re looking forward to spending the time with her.
“Great. I’ll text you the address– come around any time after six.”
You are then left with a cheeky wink and a heart that is beating too fast.
𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁
Part One | Part Two | Part Three (to come)
A/N: Thanks for reading part two! I hope you enjoyed it x
Summary: You decide to let Isadora braid your hair.
WC: 1108
Written: April 4th 2026
A/N: This is so self indulgent, I wrote it while I was really tired and about to fall asleep, apologies if there’s typos.
The room was painted a golden orange, a bright fire and plenty of fluorescent lamps lighting the room that gave it an almost too warm atomosphere. There was the faintest smell of vanilla in the air from a candle that had ran out of wick to burn hours ago, and the television casted blue shadows over the vintage furniture in the living room.
Isadora sat on the edge of the pull out bed, mouth open as she watched the action movie that was originally supposed to be background noise. You sat on the floor, head resting on her thigh while your nails trailed up and down her ankles and calves.
The plan you had in your head had been different than this, you wanted to make cookies together with her, and then watch some kind of romantic movie that was so over the top it would give you both second hand embarrassment.
But instead, you had gotten home late, discovering that Isadora wasn’t home yet herself. It was already past eight by then, so you’d made the decision to shower and just turn in for the night — It could’ve been hours before Isadora was even on her way back from wherever she was. However, that wasn’t the case, because while you were in the middle of your ritual — Sitting eyes closed on the floor infront of your body mirror, attentively lathering oil onto the ends of your hair while you hummed — Isadora ended up returning.
You’d been so excited you hadn’t even bothered to finish your routine, which you later discovered would be a grave mistake. You had shot up off the floor, rushing and greeting her at the door before she even had her shoes off.
Thats how you both ended up here, one of you invested in the movie playing, the other fighting to keep themselves awake so they wouldn’t upset the one watching the movie.
You’d been sitting between isadoras legs for atleast half an hour at this point, choosing the floor so that when your butt eventually got sore, you would have to get up — and then, you would magically have just enough energy and motivation to take yourself back to the body mirror in the bathroom long enough to put your hair in braids.
But that had been proven futile, because now your ass was asleep and you were about to be too. You’d been warring with yourself on the matter — You needed to braid your hair before even suggesting bedtime, and you couldn’t— no, wouldn’t get Isadora to do it for you. You never know what kind of intentions people could attach onto such a sacred part of you, not even your closest people.
Then again, you are exhausted and probably not going to do it yourself, and Isadora has been your girlfriend for over six months and has been begging to play with your hair since the beginning of your relationship…
“Baby?” You asked softly, nuzziling your nose into the warm skin of her inner thigh.
“hm?” She replied distantly, lost in the explosions and fighting flashing across the TV.
You didn’t respond right away, busy deciphering if the flutter in your chest was from anticipation and excitement, or if it was your body telling you that this wasn’t going to end well…
“Can you braid my hair for me?” You finally get out, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for her answer.
Though it never came. A minute of silence between you passed, and still nothing. You cleared your throat, shifting yourself on the floor in hopes to break her out of her trance.
“Isa” You called again, firm enough to get her attention.
“Hm— Oh, what is it my love, i’m listening” She said, peeling her eyes from the TV and looking down at you.
You sighed, rubbing at your eye sleepily. “Can you braid my hair for me?” You asked again, craning your body to meet her gaze. “I’m too tired”
Isadora seemed to freeze at that, green eyes going wide as she stared at you. You were so protective of your hair, at times not even letting yourself touch it. She didn’t know how to react, she even found herself anxious at the request — What if she messed it up?
“You want me to braid your hair?” She repeated.
You furrowed your eyebrows, not out of anger or annoyance — you were just over tired and ready for bed. hastily, you tugged a hair tie from your wrist, holding it up for her to take.
“Yes, here”
Isadora wasted no time in taking the tie, slipping it onto her own wrist. “Okay” she breathed out.
You turned your back to her again, flipping all your hair over your shoulders, straightening your back. “Don’t pull, please” you murmured as you felt her fingers tangle into your ends, nails scraping softly at the nape of your neck.
“I’ll try” Isadora replied, parting your hair into three sections and beginning to carefully entwine them together.
You closed your eyes, tilting your head back slightly as you relaxed into the gentle tugs and feeling of warm hands brushing down the center of your back. The anxiety you had about allowing Isadora to touch your hair slowly drained away as you realized she was the last person who would weave bad intentions into something that meant so much to you.
As she twisted the tie around the ends of your hair, you let your head rest against her inner thigh again, pressing a chaste kiss before croaking out a thank you.
She said something back that you didn’t quite catch, rubbing her thumbs over your shoulders. You mumbled back — nothing in particular, exhaustion was taking over your body, leaving you with one opinion and need. Sleep.
You crawled onto the pullout couch, guiding Isadora back until she was where you wanted her. Without wasting a second you plopped yourself down ontop of her, slipping your hands underneath her and snuggling your face into the crook of her neck.
“Someones tired” Isadora said, a wide smile spread across her face as she brought her hand up to rest on your back.
You hummed in response, nuzzling into her as if you could get closer. She huffed out a laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “Goodnight, my love”.
There was silence after that, Isadora had muted the TV and focused all her attention on you. Your breaths synced together — Slow, calm — and Isadoras nails scraped up and down the skin of your back, avoiding touching the precious braid that layed atop it.
Am I psychologically torturing myself by putting pen to paper or in this case finger to keyboard¿ ugh
By writing in great detail why I'm an avoidant creature cruelly incapable of loving someone without the innate fear of the relationship ending in the most gut wrenching way that I end up pushing them away and committing emotionally compromising crimes against myself that would suck out the soul of a lost victorian child and would mentally ruin and remove the belief of true love, forever.
Yesn't...
(well that's bold, assuming the victorian child actually fantasized about love before it would gain consciousness)
The briefing room at the Avengers Compound was unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
You leaned back in your chair beside Wanda Maximoff, lazily spinning a pen between your fingers while Fury stood at the front of the room with his arms crossed. Across from you, Bucky Barnes looked about as thrilled to be awake as he usually did at 8 a.m.
“This mission requires subtlety,” Fury said flatly. “Which means no flashy entrances, no explosions, and no magic unless absolutely necessary.”
You glanced sideways at Wanda.
She innocently raised her hands. “What? Last time was technically an accident.”
“Three floors collapsed,” Sam muttered from the back.
“Still standing, aren’t they?”
You snorted.
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. “Target is a Hydra weapons broker operating in Madripoor. We’ve got intel he only deals with married couples staying at the hotel hosting the auction.”
You already didn’t like where this was going.
“So,” Fury continued, “Barnes and Y/N will pose as newlyweds.”
Silence.
Then—
“No.”
Everyone turned toward Wanda.
She sat upright now, arms crossed tightly over her chest, green eyes narrowed directly at Fury.
“No?” Fury repeated.
“No,” Wanda said again, firmer this time. “Absolutely not.”
A grin immediately spread across your face.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
You slowly turned toward her, resting your chin on your palm. “Aww,” you cooed softly. “Baby, why not?”
Several people in the room immediately looked away, already sensing danger.
Wanda’s head tilted slowly toward you.
That dangerous tilt.
The one that usually preceded chaos.
You only smiled wider.
“Don’t,” she warned quietly.
“What?” you asked innocently. “It’s just undercover. Bucky and I pretending to be married. Sharing a hotel room. Maybe holding hands—”
Red chaos magic flickered around Wanda’s fingers.
Bucky immediately raised a hand. “I’d like to officially state I want no part in whatever this is.”
“Oh come on,” you continued teasing, unable to stop yourself now. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Wanda stared at you.
Long.
Hard.
Then she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I trust you,” she said calmly.
Your grin widened.
“And Barnes?”
Bucky blinked. “I’m suddenly uncomfortable.”
Wanda ignored him completely, eyes never leaving yours. “I trust him less.”
Sam burst out laughing.
Even Natasha smirked from the corner.
“Wow,” you said dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The murder stare.”
“I always look at Barnes like this.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
Bucky sighed deeply. “Can I be reassigned?
“No,” Fury said immediately.
You leaned closer to Wanda, voice teasingly soft. “Baby, you know you’re my favorite wife.”
“We’re not married yet.”
“Details.”
Her jaw tightened as you flashed her that sweet smile you knew she could never resist for long.
“You enjoy this too much,” she muttered.
“Your reactions are adorable.”
“I could hex you into the wall.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
A faint blush appeared on Wanda’s cheeks despite her glare.
Victory.
Natasha looked entirely entertained now. “Actually, this might help the mission. Wanda’s possessiveness looks real.”
“I am not possessive,” Wanda snapped.
You raised an eyebrow. “You threatened to rewrite reality because a waitress flirted with me last month.”
“She touched your arm.”
“It was Olive Garden.”
“She knew what she was doing.”
Sam nearly choked laughing.
Bucky looked ready to walk directly out the window.
Fury cleared his throat loudly. “Can we focus?”
“No,” Wanda answered instantly.
You couldn’t help laughing at that.
Fury gave you both an exhausted look that screamed he regretted every life choice leading up to this moment.
“The mission stands,” he said firmly. “Barnes and Y/N leave tomorrow morning.”
Wanda’s eyes narrowed again.
You reached over and gently took her hand before she could start an argument with Fury himself.
Her fingers immediately intertwined with yours automatically.
Cute.
You rubbed your thumb across her knuckles. “Hey,” you said softly this time. “It’s undercover work. Nothing’s gonna happen.”
Wanda looked at you for a moment before sighing quietly.
“I know,” she admitted. “I just don’t like it.”
The teasing faded slightly from your expression at the honesty in her voice.
“You know I love you, right?”
Her eyes softened instantly.
“Yes.”
“And you know Bucky is basically an eighty-year-old grump with knives?”
“Hey,” Bucky muttered.
Wanda huffed out a reluctant laugh.
“There it is,” you said triumphantly. “My pretty girl smiled.”
Wanda rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips betrayed her.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet you’re obsessed with me.”
She leaned closer suddenly, green eyes glowing faintly.
“Be careful,” she murmured.
Your heartbeat skipped for exactly one second.
Not because of the threat.
Because Wanda looking at you like that should honestly be illegal.
You smirked softly. “You worried I’ll fall for my fake husband?”
Bucky made a disgusted sound. “Please stop saying that.”
Wanda’s gaze flicked toward him briefly before returning to you.
“No,” she said smoothly. “I’m worried he’ll fall for you.”
The room immediately went silent.
You blinked.
Bucky blinked harder.
Sam whispered, “Damn.”
Heat rushed to your face as Wanda finally smirked, clearly pleased she’d managed to fluster you for once.
“Oh, now you’re teasing me?”
“You started it, detka.”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Dangerous game.”
Wanda leaned in close enough for only you to hear her next words.
“Come back from the mission,” she whispered, “and I’ll remind you exactly who your wife is supposed to be.”
Your brain stopped functioning immediately.
Across the table, Natasha quietly said, “And there she is.”
Bucky stood up abruptly. “I’m requesting combat instead.”
The ballroom of the Black Crest Hotel glittered with gold chandeliers, expensive champagne, and some of the worst people you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Hydra agents disguised as businessmen mingled around the auction floor while string music played softly in the background.
And somehow, despite all of that, your main source of entertainment tonight was annoying your fiancée from several countries away.
“Focus,” Bucky muttered beside you as he adjusted the cuff of his suit.
You barely suppressed a grin.
“Oh, I am focused.”
“You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that means you’re about to become a problem.”
You gasped dramatically. “James Buchanan Barnes, I would never.”
He deadpanned at you. “You once flirted with a guard to steal his fingerprints.”
“And it worked.”
“You got his number afterward.”
“He seemed nice.”
Bucky sighed deeply, already exhausted.
Hidden in the diamond necklace around your throat was a tiny comm device feeding directly back to the Avengers Compound. Natasha and Sam were monitoring surveillance while Fury coordinated extraction.
And Wanda—
Wanda was absolutely listening.
Which made this infinitely more fun.
You casually looped your arm through Bucky’s as the two of you crossed the ballroom floor toward the auction host.
Immediately, your earpiece crackled.
“You’re laying it on thick,” Natasha’s amused voice said.
You smiled into your champagne glass.
“That’s the assignment.”
A different voice came through next.
Quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
“Y/N.”
There she was.
You bit back a grin.
“Yes, baby?”
There was a pause.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
Bucky muttered under his breath, “I told you.”
You ignored him completely, eyes sparkling as you continued walking. “Jealous?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Static.
Then Sam’s voice whispered loudly through comms, “She’s glaring at the monitor.”
“I can hear you,” Wanda snapped.
“Worth it,” Sam replied instantly.
You nearly laughed out loud.
The mission itself was embarrassingly easy. The broker practically handed over the encrypted drive once Bucky intimidated him with one stare and you distracted his security detail.
Hydra really needed higher standards.
Within two hours, you already had everything Fury wanted.
Which meant—
You could start causing problems.
“You have the drive,” Natasha said through comms. “You can leave now.”
You glanced sideways at Bucky.
Then slowly smiled.
“No,” Bucky said immediately, recognizing that smile. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh come on,” you murmured.
“I know that tone.”
“We should sell the married couple act a little more.”
“We already sold it.”
“Not enough.”
“You’re terrifying.”
Ignoring him, you turned toward a nearby balcony overlooking the city skyline. Music drifted softly from inside as couples danced under warm lights.
Perfect.
You gently fixed Bucky’s tie, playing up the affectionate act while cameras around the room captured everything.
Back at the Compound, you knew Wanda was watching every second.
“Y/N,” Wanda warned through the comm.
You looked directly toward one of the hidden cameras with the most innocent expression possible.
“Yes, my love?”
“You are pushing your luck.”
“You said you weren’t jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“Mmhm.”
Bucky looked between you and the camera like a man witnessing his own funeral.
“You know,” you continued sweetly, “Bucky’s actually being a very good husband.”
“Oh my God,” Sam wheezed somewhere through comms.
Wanda went silent again.
Which honestly made this even better.
You turned toward Bucky, reaching up to smooth a strand of hair away from his face.
His eyes widened slightly.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispered.
Too late.
With a mischievous grin, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
The entire comm channel exploded.
“OH SHE MAD MAD—” Sam shouted before suddenly cutting off.
“Sam Wilson,” Natasha laughed.
A loud cracking sound echoed through the comm.
Bucky froze. “Was that glass?”
Natasha sounded delighted. “Wanda just shattered Fury’s coffee mug.”
“Again?” Fury barked in the background.
You were trying so hard not to laugh now.
“Oh no,” you said dramatically into the comm. “Baby, are you upset?”
Silence.
Then—
“Barnes.”
Bucky straightened immediately. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You let her.”
“I’m literally being harassed.”
You could practically feel Wanda’s glare through the earpiece.
Honestly?
Worth it.
You leaned casually against Bucky’s shoulder just to make it worse.
The reaction was immediate.
Red static flickered through your comm for half a second.
Natasha burst into laughter.
“Wanda,” Steve’s voice suddenly cut in, sounding tired already, “please stop accidentally using your powers on the electronics.”
“It wasn’t accidental.”
Bucky looked horrified. “Can she kill me through the comm?”
“Yes,” Sam answered instantly.
“Probably,” Natasha added.
You were absolutely glowing with amusement now.
“Baby,” you teased softly, “you know you’re still my favorite.”
Wanda finally spoke again.
Her voice was calm.
Way too calm.
“You have ten seconds to stop touching him.”
Bucky immediately took a large step away from you.
Traitor.
You laughed quietly. “Or what?”
Another pause.
Then Wanda spoke in that low, dangerous tone that always made your stomach flip.
“Or when you come home,” she said slowly, “I’m reminding you exactly who you belong to.”
Your confidence cracked immediately.
Bucky noticed.
And for the first time all mission—
He smirked.
“Oh,” he said. “Now she got you.”
Heat rushed to your face.
Through the comm, Wanda sounded entirely too pleased with herself now.
“That’s what I thought.”
You narrowed your eyes at absolutely nobody.
“This isn’t over.”
Wanda’s soft laugh crackled through the earpiece, warm and smug and completely unfair.
The quinjet ride back to the Compound was painfully quiet.
Not because the mission had gone badly.
The mission had actually gone perfectly.
You got the intel. Fury was happy. Nobody died.
Technically.
No, the silence came from the fact that Bucky Barnes had spent the entire flight mentally preparing for whatever Wanda Maximoff had planned.
He sat across from you with his arms crossed tightly, staring at nothing.
“You look stressed,” you said casually.
“I’ve seen Wanda tear apart a tank with her mind.”
“She’s not gonna hurt you.”
“She looked at me like I personally betrayed her.”
“You did survive fake marriage.”
“I survived Hydra too. Doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”
You snorted.
The quinjet landed with a loud hiss, and the second the ramp began lowering, Bucky visibly tensed.
“Oh my God,” you laughed. “Relax.”
“She’s waiting out there, isn’t she?”
You didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
Bucky muttered several swear words under his breath before standing.
The cool evening air hit your face as the two of you stepped off the jet and onto the landing platform.
And there she was.
Wanda stood near the entrance to the Compound in a dark red jacket, arms crossed loosely over her chest. The wind moved strands of her auburn hair around her face as green eyes locked onto you instantly.
Then shifted slowly toward Bucky.
Bucky physically stopped walking.
“Nope,” he whispered.
You immediately smirked.
Because Wanda looked gorgeous.
And because you knew exactly what you were about to do.
Slowly, deliberately, you walked toward her with that same teasing smile that had caused all the problems in the first place.
Wanda’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You look very pleased with yourself,” she said as you stopped in front of her.
“I missed you too, baby.”
“You kissed Barnes.”
Behind you, Bucky made a noise of distress. “Please don’t say it like that.”
You ignored him completely, eyes fixed on Wanda’s.
“It was undercover.”
“You touched his stomach.”
“That was for dramatic effect.”
“It was unnecessary.”
You tilted your head innocently. “Were you jealous?”
Wanda stepped closer immediately.
Close enough that you could feel her warmth.
Close enough that your smirk faltered just slightly.
“Very,” she admitted softly.
Well.
That was unfairly attractive.
Behind you, Bucky quietly started backing away.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Sam suddenly called from somewhere nearby.
Bucky pointed at Wanda without looking away from her. “Survival.”
Natasha laughed from the doorway where several Avengers had apparently gathered specifically to witness this reunion.
Steve looked confused. “Why are we all outside?”
“Because this is entertaining,” Sam answered.
Wanda didn’t take her eyes off you once.
“You had fun teasing me.”
“A little.”
“A little?”
You grinned. “Maybe a lot.”
Her eyebrow lifted slowly.
Dangerous.
You knew that look.
Still, you leaned in just enough to whisper, “You were cute when you were jealous.”
Several things happened at once.
Sam loudly yelled, “OH SHE BLUSHING—”
A burst of red energy flew behind Wanda without her even looking and slammed the door shut in his face.
“Worth it!” Sam shouted from inside.
You laughed softly.
God, you loved her.
Wanda shook her head slightly, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the tiniest smile.
“You are impossible.”
“And yet you’re obsessed with me.”
“I wouldn’t say obsessed.”
“You threatened to remove Bucky’s arm.”
“He was touching what’s mine.”
Bucky, now halfway across the landing pad, looked horrified. “I WASN’T TOUCHING ANYTHING.”
You burst out laughing again.
Wanda finally reached up and grabbed the front of your jacket, pulling you flush against her.
Your breath caught immediately.
There it was.
That shift.
From playful to intense in half a second.
“You think you’re funny,” she murmured
“I’m hilarious.”
“You kept teasing me for two days straight.”
“You liked it.”
Her eyes darkened slightly.
“That doesn’t mean you’re not in trouble.”
Your smirk returned instantly. “Oh?”
Wanda tilted her head slowly, studying your expression.
Then, without warning, she kissed you.
Hard enough to completely shut down every smart remark in your brain.
The cheering behind you was immediate.
“FINALLY,” Sam yelled through the closed door.
Natasha sounded smug. “Told you she’d crack first.”
Bucky looked deeply relieved now that Wanda was no longer looking at him like prey.
When Wanda finally pulled back, your head was spinning slightly.
You blinked at her.
She smiled sweetly.
“You done playing married with Barnes now?”
You stared at her for a second before grinning again.
“Depends.”
Wanda’s eyes narrowed.
You immediately laughed and wrapped your arms around her waist before she could retaliate.
“Kidding. Completely kidding.”
“Mhm.”
“I only want you.”
That softened her instantly.
Her hands slid up your arms as she exhaled quietly, some of the tension finally leaving her shoulders now that you were actually home.
“I missed you,” she admitted softly.
Your teasing faded for a moment as you rested your forehead against hers.
“I missed you too.”
Behind you, Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly.
“So… are we done?”
Wanda looked over your shoulder toward him.
Bucky straightened nervously.
Then Wanda smiled politely.
Which somehow scared him more.
“Yes,” she said calmly. “For now.”
Bucky immediately turned and walked away at full speed.
You watched him go before looking back at Wanda with another grin.
“You traumatized him.”
“He’ll recover.”
“Probably not.”
Wanda shrugged lightly before pulling you toward the Compound entrance.
“You can make it up to me inside.”
Your eyebrows lifted.
“Oh yeah?”
She glanced sideways at you, finally smirking back.
“You wanted my attention so badly during the mission.”
Wanda’s hand stayed intertwined with yours the entire walk through the Compound.
Not that you were complaining.
The halls were quieter now, most of the team either back to work or pretending not to eavesdrop anymore. Though as you passed the common room, Sam immediately leaned over the back of the couch with the biggest grin imaginable.
“So,” he said, “who won the divorce?”
Wanda didn’t even slow down.
A flick of red magic sent a pillow flying directly into his face.
“Ow! Assault!”
“You’re alive,” Wanda replied calmly.
You snorted beside her.
Sam pointed dramatically at the two of you. “See? This is why I was rooting for Bucky.”
From somewhere deeper in the room, Bucky shouted, “Leave me out of this!”
You laughed harder as Wanda guided you down the hallway toward your shared room.
“You know,” you teased quietly, “I think he’s genuinely scared of you now.”
Wanda glanced sideways at you. “Good.”
“You’re evil.”
“You kissed him.”
“On the cheek.”
“You touched his stomach.”
You grinned immediately. “You were watching closely.”
Her narrowed eyes told you everything.
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and the second the two of you stepped inside alone, the atmosphere shifted again.
Quieter.
Closer.
Wanda leaned back against the wall as the doors slid shut, green eyes fixed entirely on you now without distractions.
Your heartbeat picked up slightly.
“You’re staring,” you murmured.
“You’re smug.”
“You like smug.”
“Sometimes.”
The elevator continued upward slowly while tension curled warm and heavy between you.
You stepped closer.
“So,” you said softly, “am I forgiven?”
Wanda tilted her head slightly, considering you.
“No.”
You placed a dramatic hand over your heart. “Cruel.”
“But,” she added, eyes flicking briefly to your lips, “I did miss you.”
That smile of yours softened immediately.
You reached for her waist carefully, giving her enough time to pull away if she wanted.
She didn’t.
Instead, Wanda stepped closer until there was barely any space left between you.
“You know,” she murmured, “watching you flirt with Barnes for two days was incredibly irritating.”
“You were jealous.”
“I was murderous.”
You laughed quietly. “Baby—”
“And then,” she continued over you, “you kept looking directly into the cameras after doing it.”
“Maybe I wanted your attention.”
“You always have my attention.”
That warmth in her voice hit harder than you expected.
The elevator doors opened onto your floor, but neither of you moved immediately.
Wanda’s fingers slid up your arm slowly before she finally took your hand again and pulled you out into the hallway.
The walk to your room suddenly felt much shorter.
The second the door shut behind you, Wanda turned toward you fully.
And there it was again.
That look.
The one that always made your thoughts disappear for a second.
You leaned back against the closed door with a small smirk. “You’re still doing the scary stare.”
“And you’re still teasing me.”
“It’s affectionate teasing.”
“You called Barnes your husband.”
“Fake husband.”
Wanda stepped closer.
“So you admit he was your husband.”
You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you are never letting that go.”
“No.”
She was close enough now that you could smell her perfume again, subtle and warm and entirely distracting.
Your hands settled on her waist automatically.
“You know,” you said softly, “you’re very pretty when you’re jealous.”
Wanda rolled her eyes, but a faint blush appeared anyway.
“You enjoy making me jealous far too much.”
“Only because your reactions are cute.”
“They are not cute.”
“You shattered Fury’s mug.”
“He was irritating me.”
“You threatened Bucky’s arm.”
“He was irritating me too.”
You laughed under your breath before gently pulling her closer.
“And what if I say I only wanted you paying attention to me?”
Wanda’s expression softened almost instantly.
“You could’ve just asked.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
A quiet laugh escaped her then, and honestly, you thought you’d missed that sound most during the mission.
Her hands slid up your shoulders before resting behind your neck.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she whispered.
You smiled immediately. “Very.”
Wanda kissed you again then — slower this time, less heated teasing and more relief.
Relief that you were home.
Relief that she could finally touch you instead of glaring at surveillance footage.
You melted into her without hesitation, your arms tightening around her waist as she smiled softly against your lips.
When she pulled back slightly, her forehead rested against yours.
“No more fake marriages for a while,” she murmured.
You grinned. “Aw, baby, are you worried someone else might fall in love with me?”
Wanda’s eyes flickered red briefly.
“I’m worried you enjoy being a menace.”
“That too.”
She shook her head fondly before taking your hand and leading you farther into the room.
And this time, neither of you were interrupted by comms, missions, or terrified super soldiers.
The second you finished speaking, Wanda’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Aww,” you teased with a grin as she walked toward you slowly, “am I gonna get punished, mami?”
That was absolutely the wrong thing to say.
Red chaos magic immediately wrapped around your waist before you could even pretend to escape.
“Oh—”
You barely had time to laugh before Wanda tossed you backward onto the bed.
You landed against the mattress with a surprised gasp, still grinning like an idiot while Wanda stood at the edge of the bed staring down at you.
Completely unimpressed.
Completely gorgeous.
“You think you’re very funny,” she said calmly.
“I know I’m funny.”
“You spent two days tormenting me.”
“You were cute when you were jealous.”
Wanda climbed onto the bed slowly, one knee settling beside your thigh as she leaned over you.
Your smirk only widened.
“Still jealous?” you asked innocently.
Her hands planted on either side of your head.
“Maybe.”
You looked up at her through your lashes. “You know,” you murmured teasingly, “watching you threaten Bucky was incredibly attractive.”
A reluctant laugh escaped her despite herself.
“He looked terrified.”
“He was terrified.”
“And you liked that too.”
You bit your lip, pretending to think about it. “Maybe a little.”
Wanda shook her head slowly, amusement finally starting to break through her stern expression.
“You’re impossible to discipline.”
“Oh?” you teased softly. “You saying you’ve tried?”
That blush creeping onto Wanda’s cheeks was immediate.
Victory.
“There it is,” you whispered proudly. “My pretty girl.”
“You need to stop talking.”
“Make me.”
Wanda stared at you for exactly two seconds before grabbing your wrists and pinning them gently above your head.
Your breath caught immediately.
Well.
That escalated quickly.
Her green eyes locked onto yours, glowing faintly red around the edges now.
“You’re trouble,” she murmured.
“And you love it.”
“I really do.”
Something in your expression softened at that.
Underneath all the teasing and flirting and chaos, moments like this always got to you — when Wanda looked at you like you were the center of her universe.
Because somehow, unbelievably, you were.
You tugged lightly against her grip just enough to make her raise an eyebrow.
“What?” she asked.
“You missed me.”
“So much.”
Your grin returned instantly. “Obsessed.”
Wanda rolled her eyes before leaning down close enough for her nose to brush yours.
“You kissed another woman’s wife.”
You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, we are still on that?”
“You called him your husband multiple times.”
“It was commitment to the role.”
“You stroked his stomach.”
“You were spying on me.”
“I was monitoring the mission.”
“Mhm.”
Wanda narrowed her eyes again.
Then suddenly her expression turned thoughtful.
Dangerous.
“What?” you asked immediately.
“You know,” she said slowly, “I think next mission I should go undercover with Natasha.”
Your jaw dropped.
“Oh absolutely not.”
Now it was Wanda’s turn to smirk.
“You jealous?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“She flirts with everybody!”
“And you flirt with Barnes.”
“That was tactical flirting.”
Wanda laughed softly at your outrage, clearly pleased she’d finally managed to flip the situation on you.
You pointed accusingly at her. “You’re evil.”
“And you love me.”
Unfortunately for you—
She was completely right.
Your dramatic glare lasted about three seconds before Wanda leaned down and kissed you again, effectively ending the argument.
Not that either of you really wanted it to end anyway.
After that night, the teasing between you and Wanda never really stopped.
If anything, it got worse.
Bucky learned very quickly never to volunteer for undercover couple missions with you ever again.
The second Fury even suggested it during a later briefing, Bucky stood up immediately.
“No.”
Fury blinked. “I didn’t even finish the sentence.”
“Still no.”
Sam nearly fell out of his chair laughing while you hid your grin behind Wanda’s shoulder.
Wanda, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with herself.
And maybe a little smug.
Okay, definitely smug.
But despite all the jealousy, teasing, and chaos, one thing changed after that mission.
Wanda got softer with you afterward.
Not in private — she’d always been soft with you when nobody else was around.
No, now she stopped pretending not to be affectionate in front of everyone else too.
It started small.
A kiss against your temple while passing you coffee in the kitchen.
Her fingers brushing yours during meetings.
Pulling you close by your jacket just to press a quick kiss to your lips before missions.
Then it escalated.
“You’re staring again,” Natasha commented one afternoon from the couch.
Across the room, Wanda was indeed staring at you while you talked with Steve.
Not subtle at all.
Wanda ignored Natasha completely.
The second you glanced her way and smiled, she immediately walked over, took your face in both hands, and kissed you right in front of everyone.
Sam made a loud gagging noise.
“Oh my God, enough.”
“You’re single,” Wanda replied without even looking at him.
You burst out laughing while Sam looked personally attacked.
It became normal after that.
Wanda kissing you whenever she walked past you in the hallways.
Kissing your cheek while you cooked together.
Kissing your forehead when you fell asleep on the common room couch.
Kissing you just because she could.
And every single time, she’d look at you afterward with that same soft expression that still made your chest ache.
Like she still couldn’t quite believe you were hers.
One evening, you were sitting together on the balcony outside your room, your legs draped over Wanda’s lap while the sunset painted the Compound gold and orange.
Peaceful.
Rare.
You looked over from your book just in time to catch Wanda already staring at you again.
You smirked immediately. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The obsessed thing.”
Wanda rolled her eyes fondly before leaning forward and kissing you once more.
Slow.
Sweet.
Completely unfair to your heartbeat.
When she pulled back, you smiled softly against her lips.
“You know,” you murmured, “for someone who got jealous over one fake mission husband…”
Wanda narrowed her eyes immediately.
You laughed before she could interrupt.
“…you’re actually very cute about it now.”
Her expression softened again almost instantly.
“I just like reminding you.”
“Reminding me of what?”
Wanda brushed her nose gently against yours.
“That you’re loved.”
And honestly?
You’d let her kiss you a thousand times a day if it meant hearing her say things like that forever.
You and natasha are sent in as a couple to work a weapons broker at an upscale gala. the cover is airtight. you're both professionals. you've done this before. The problem is you haven't done it with her. and natasha romanoff touching you like you're hers and whispering mission updates against your ear is a lot harder to be professional about than anyone briefed you on.
Written May 16, 2026 —May 18, 2026
----------------------------
You take longer in the bathroom than you mean to.
It's not nerves. You don't get nervous, or you do, and you've spent enough years training the evidence out of your body that the difference stopped mattering a long time ago. It's something else. Something quieter and more inconvenient than nerves, which is the fact that on the other side of this door is Natasha Romanoff, and tonight you have to stand next to her in a room full of people and pretend you're in love with her.
The pretending isn't the problem.
The problem is that you're starting to forget what the pretending feels like.
You check yourself in the mirror one last time. The dress is black, sleek, fitted, cut just low enough to be intentional. Your hair is done. Your earrings catch the light. You look, objectively, like a woman who has her life completely together, which is an excellent lie and you're grateful for it.
You open the door.
Natasha is at the vanity mirror across the room, fingers raised to her ear, working in an earring and she stops. Not gradually. Not the slow trailing off of someone distracted. She just stops, earring half in, hand suspended, and she looks at you in the mirror.
You watch her look at you.
It lasts three seconds. Maybe four. Long enough that you feel it move over you like something physical, her gaze, unhurried, taking in the dress and then up, your face, and then something happens in her expression that she almost immediately collects and puts away. Something that had no business being there on the face of a woman who is supposed to be a professional.
She finishes putting in the earring.
Looks back at the mirror. Adjusts it once though it didn't need adjusting.
"You're ready," she says. Not a question. Her voice is even and unbothered and tells you absolutely nothing.
"I'm ready," you confirm.
You don't smile. You do what you always do, you take it, fold it small, add it to the collection of things you keep about her that you don't examine too closely. The two hours on the extraction flight where she slept against your shoulder and you didn't move. The way she always knows where your hand is in a crowded room. The fact that she put your name in the request form for this op and told Fury it was because you were qualified, and Fury had looked at her for a moment too long before he agreed.
You're very good at collecting things and not examining them.
You cross the room to get your clutch off the bed.
That's when you see her dress properly, deep green, and devastating in the specific quiet way that Natasha does everything, not loud about it, just irrefutably true. It's doing something deeply unfair to her shoulders and you know for a fact she chose it and you know for a fact she knew exactly what it would do and you look at your clutch.
"You look good," you say, because you are a professional and professionals make neutral observations.
She glances at you in the mirror again. One corner of her mouth moves.
"I know," she says.
There it is. You almost laugh. Eight months of working next to the most self-possessed woman you've ever met and she can still catch you off guard with the sheer unbothered certainty of her. I know. No thank you, no deflection. Just the flat acknowledgment of fact from a woman who has never needed your confirmation and doesn't intend to start.
It should be annoying.
It is annoying.
It's also, and this is the part you don't examine, sort of the most attractive thing you've ever heard.
She picks up her clutch from the vanity. Inside it, you happen to know: one lipstick, one knife, one comm unit. Very Natasha.
"Let's go over parameters," she says, turning for the door.
"I know the parameters."
"Humor me."
You don't argue. Arguing with Natasha about mission prep is like arguing with weather, technically possible, completely pointless, and you'll end up doing what the weather wants anyway. You follow her out.
The car is a black SUV with tinted windows and Hill's voice already waiting in the earpiece when you climb in.
Natasha takes off her coat.
She crosses her legs and looks out the window.
You look out yours.
You get a two-minute debrief you already have memorized: Aldric Voss, weapons broker, mid-level but climbing. Known associates, exit points, your cover ID, a couple, eighteen months together, met through work, vague enough to be waterproof.
The city slides past in amber and dark. She's close enough that you can smell whatever she's wearing tonight, something warm, something that cost more than your first apartment, and you look at the window on your side very deliberately and think about the mission.
"You nervous?" she asks.
"No."
"You're doing the thing with your hands."
You look down. Your fingers are doing a slow press against your knee, one-two-three, one-two-three. Stress habit. You've had it since you were twenty-two and you've never successfully hidden it from her.
"I'm focused," you say.
"Mm." She's still looking out the window. "You need to be relaxed tonight. Couples are relaxed."
"I'm relaxed."
"Y/n."
"Natasha."
She finally looks at you and the city light through the window catches her eyes at an angle that's really unfair, is what it is. "I'm good at this," she says simply. "Cover. Persona. I've been doing it longer than you've been an agent. Just follow my lead and it'll read."
"I know you're good at it," you say. "That's not what I'm nervous about."
A beat. You realize half a second too late that you've said too muc, left the door open, and you watch her clock it, watch the small shift in her expression that means she filed it.
She doesn't push. She looks back out the window.
"Follow my lead," she says again, quieter.
You look back at yours.
One-two-three. One-two-three.
The gala is exactly what the briefing photos promised: too much money in one room, everyone dressed like they're auditioning for something, a string quartet earning their pay in the corner. The kind of event where the champagne is real and so is the danger and the two things coexist with a smoothness that always makes you feel slightly ill.
Natasha takes your arm at the door.
Just, takes it. Slides her hand into the crook of your elbow like she's done it a thousand times, which she hasn't, which your nervous system clocks immediately and thoroughly. Her grip is light. Her posture shifts, shoulders drop a fraction, chin lifts, the set of her mouth changes. She becomes someone softer. Someone with nothing to hide.
It's the most unsettling thing you've ever watched.
"Smile," she says from the side of her mouth, still looking forward. "We're happy."
"We're happy," you repeat, and smile, and hate that it doesn't feel entirely like acting.
You walk in.
The first twenty minutes are choreography.
You work the room the way you were trained, slow circuit, no urgency, let the crowd bring the target to you rather than hunting him directly. Natasha is extraordinary at this. You've worked with her before, field ops, extractions, twice in situations where both of you probably should have died and didn't purely out of stubbornness, but you've never watched her do this. The social work. The performance.
She laughs at something a man in a grey suit says and the laugh is perfect, warm, just shy of flattered, the exact sound of a woman who is charmed but not available. Her hand stays on your arm the whole time. Anchored there. When the man in the grey suit looks at you she angles slightly, just slightly, and the body language is so clean you almost don't catch it.
Almost.
She's pulling you in. Closing the gap between you without making it a thing, just leaning into your space until you're close enough that anyone looking would see a couple, would see someone who doesn't want distance between herself and her woman
You redirect your thoughts aggressively.
"Voss is at the bar," you say quietly, mouth barely moving.
"I know." Her fingers press briefly against your arm. "Don't look."
"I wasn't going to look."
"You were calculating an angle."
"That's not the same as—"
"He's not going anywhere. Relax."
You exhale slowly through your nose. Fine. Relaxed. You're the picture of a person enjoying a gala with someone they're absolutely not in love with, everything is completely normal.
A waiter passes with a tray. Natasha plucks two glasses off it without breaking the conversation she's half having with a woman in pearls and hands one back to you without looking, just, reaches back, finds your hand, presses the stem into it with the kind of easy intimacy that comes from time and attention and knowing someone.
You stare at the glass.
She knew where your hand was. She always knows where you are in a room, tactical awareness, you've told yourself, she's built that way, but that wasn't tactical. That was something else. That was the muscle memory of a person who reaches for someone because reaching for them is just what you do.
You drink the champagne. It's very good. It does nothing helpful.
Forty minutes in, she dances with you.
You'd like to say it was for the mission. You'd like to say Voss was watching or the angle required it or there was some clean operational reason that Natasha Romanoff took your hand and led you toward the floor without asking. Without explaining. Just a slight pressure at the small of your back and an expectation that you'd follow.
You followed.
If there was a reason, she doesn't share it.
She turns to face you and puts one hand at your waist and you put yours at her shoulder and you start to move and the thing is, the thing is, she's warm. You knew that in the abstract. You've been close to her before, in the field, in debrief rooms, once on a six hour extraction flight where she fell asleep against your shoulder and you stayed completely still for two hours because you didn't want to wake her. You know she's warm.
But her hand at your waist, steady and certain and not going anywhere, is a different kind of knowing entirely.
"Voss's contact is late," she says.
Her mouth is at your ear. Not quite touching, just close enough that her voice arrives before her breath does, low and even, meant only for you. A tactical update delivered at a register that does things to your concentration that are deeply inconvenient on an active op.
"How late?" you manage.
"Fifteen minutes." A pause. You turn with the music. Her grip at your waist tightens, not dramatically, just enough to guide, just enough to feel. "He's nervous. That's useful."
"Copy," you say, which is a completely normal thing to say and not at all the voice of someone whose higher functions are running at approximately forty percent.
She pulls back just far enough to look at you. Checks your face the way she checks everything, quickly, thoroughly, filing. Whatever she finds there she keeps to herself.
"You're doing well," she says.
"We established I'm good at this."
"I'm acknowledging it."
"Natasha Romanoff acknowledging someone else did something well." You let the pause breathe. "Should I be worried? Are you dying?"
Something moves across her face. Not quite a smile, she doesn't smile easily, and you've spent eight months learning to catch the things that happen instead. The slight softening. The fractional shift in her eyes.
"Focus," she says.
"I am focused."
"On the op."
"Obviously."
She exhales through her nose. You count that as a win.
You turn again with the music and that's when you feel it, the quality of her attention shifting. Still moving, still perfectly composed, but something underneath changes. A new kind of stillness. You keep your eyes on her and say nothing.
She sees him before she means to.
He's at the edge of the room, drink in hand, shoulders loose, the easy posture of a man who has never once in his life had to make himself smaller, and he is looking at you.
Not a threat. She'd already know. She's had the full room mapped since the moment you walked in together, every exit and variable catalogued and filed, and he is nobody. Soft hands. No tells. He is absolutely nobody and he is standing there looking at you in that dress with the specific expression of a man who has decided he'd like to do something about that, and something in Natasha's chest goes very, very still.
She keeps dancing.
Her hand stays at your waist. Her face stays composed. She gives him exactly three seconds of her peripheral vision and then she makes a decision, not consciously, not with any particular deliberation, she simply decides, and lets her eyes move.
She looks at him.
The full weight of it lands across the room like a hand around a throat. Her jaw sets, the line of it going sharp and certain beneath her skin. Her chin tilts up, barely, just the fraction of an inch that means she has assessed something and found it lacking. Her eyes, green and flat and depthless, the particular green of water that goes down further than you'd expect, settle on him with the unhurried patience of a woman who has never once needed to hurry.
Her brow lifts. One increment. The period at the end of a sentence that requires no words.
She has done this in dark rooms in six different countries. She has done this to men with weapons and men with power and men who thought they were untouchable, and every single one of them has made the correct decision. This man, with his soft hands and his expensive watch, is not going to be the exception.
But here is the thing, here is the thing she is fully, lucidly, uncomfortably aware of as she holds his gaze across a crowded room, this is not the same. This is not a threat assessment. This is not operational. There is no version of tonight's debrief where she writes down redirected civilian attention via sustained eye contact and means what she actually means, which is something rawer and more inconvenient than anything she'd put in a report.
She's mine.
Not performed. Not tactical. Just, true, in the quiet way that things are true when you stop arguing with them. True in the way that has been accumulating for eight months in the space between her professionalism and something she hasn't named yet and has no intention of naming tonight.
He looks away.
Good.
She looks back at you. You're watching her, you're always watching her, those eyes that take everything in like they're cataloguing her the same way she catalogues everything else, patient and thorough and giving nothing back. She doesn't know exactly what you saw. She knows you saw something.
She doesn't adjust her expression. She doesn't reach for an explanation.
Instead she moves.
Her arm slides around you, slow, smooth, the way she does everything, with the efficiency of someone who has decided and is simply following through, and her hand presses flat against the small of your back. Drawing you in. Closing whatever distance was left between your body and hers until there is very little of it, until you're held against her, encompassed by the line of her arms, her warmth wrapping around you with a completeness that has nothing to do with cover and everything to do with the thing she is not calling what it is.
She is aware she is doing this. She is fully, consciously aware.
She does it anyway.
Her red hair falls forward as she dips her head, one curtain of it brushing your cheek, warm and deliberate, the scent of it close enough to be a thing you'd remember, and she brings her mouth to your ear. Not touching. Just the proximity. Just her lips a breath away from your skin, close enough that the warmth of them would reach you, close enough that if she spoke it would arrive like a secret.
She doesn't speak.
She just stays there. Her jaw near your temple. Her lips at the curve of your ear. One hand flat at the small of your back and the other at your waist and her whole body a quiet wall between you and the rest of the room, between you and him, between you and anyone who might be under the impression that you are something available to be looked at without consequence.
She knows he's still watching. She can feel it, the way she feels everything she isn't looking at directly. And she knows, she knows, that what he sees right now is not a cover. Is not a performance. Is not two agents running a gala op in a city that doesn't care about either of them.
What he sees is a woman who has made something abundantly, irrevocably clear.
And she lets him see it.
She stays exactly where she is, lips at your ear, red hair falling soft between you, and she breathes out once, slow, controlled, the only concession she makes to the fact that her heart is doing something she would not put in a report, and lets the silence say everything she won't.
Then she straightens.
The red hair settles. Her hand moves back to your waist, one hand, appropriate, professional. Her face reassembles itself into something even and unreadable and composed, the mask back on so smoothly it would be invisible to anyone who didn't know where to look for the seams.
She is, she reminds herself, very good at this.
She is also, and this she acknowledges only briefly, only in the space between one breath and the next before she closes the door on it, completely aware that she stopped running cover a long time ago.
When she pulls back she's composed again. Completely. The mask is on and the op is running and her hand is at your waist and her expression gives you nothing.
Except.
You were watching. You caught the tail end of whatever that was, the quality of her gaze before it came back to you, the extra second at your ear where she said nothing at all. You've run enough ops to know what performing looks like. You know every tell of a woman pretending something is fine.
You say nothing. You add it to the collection, fold it careful and small, tuck it somewhere you won't examine until later, much later, when you're alone and she can't see you figuring her out.
Her hand at your waist does not move.
The man at the bar does not look back.
The music plays on, and you let yourself be held, and neither of you say a single word about any of it.
It's after the dance, during the slow drift back into the room, when she does the thing with the dress.
You've stopped near a tall window, good sightline to the bar, natural place to stand, and she's beside you, close, her arm just brushing yours. She glances down. Frowns, very slightly. Reaches out and adjusts something at your shoulder, a strap that had shifted maybe two millimeters out of place, and her fingers are careful and light and she's looking at what she's doing instead of at you.
"Just selling it," she says.
"Right," you say.
She smooths the strap once. Doesn't move her hand immediately.
"You know," you say, because apparently you've lost your self-preservation instincts somewhere between the car and the champagne, "most people don't have to remind themselves they're acting when they're acting."
Her hand stills.
"I don't know what that means," she says.
"Yeah you do."
She looks up. And this, this is the thing about Natasha, the thing that you have spent eight months carefully not examining, when she drops it, when the performance falls away and it's just her, just the actual her underneath all that careful control, she looks at you like you're the only solid thing in the room.
She looks at you like that now. Just for a second.
Then she looks back at the bar.
"Voss is moving," she says.
He is. You both straighten. The op reasserts itself, clean and welcome, something to do with your hands, a reason to be standing this close that has nothing to do with anything.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Always," you say.
She takes your arm again. You walk toward the bar. Her grip is just slightly tighter than before and you don't say anything about it and she doesn't either.
The system, holding.
For now.
It happens naturally, the way professional things do, Voss's contact finally arrives and the op requires coverage on two sides of the room at once. Natasha clocks it first, the way she clocks everything first, and she leans in close enough that her mouth brushes your ear when she speaks.
"Split up. You take the east side, draw out the associate by the column. I'll stay on Voss."
"Copy," you say.
She pulls back. Looks at you for just a half second longer than the mission requires.
Then you separate
You are focused, present, professional, and entirely on task, and you do not look for Natasha once.
What you do, approximately four minutes in, is hear her.
Her voice arrives in your earpiece low and warm and completely unhurried, the cover voice, the one that's softer than her real one, the one she puts on like a second skin, and she's talking to Voss.
"I've heard about your work in Vienna. My associate mentioned it actually, she has excellent taste."
A pause. Voss says something you don't catch.
"Oh, she's very selective." A small laugh, warm and practiced. "That's what I've always loved about her."
You become very focused on your associate's left cufflink.
Because that, the ease of it, the way she says loved like it costs her nothing, like it's just cover, like it's just words, is doing something to your concentration that you are not going to examine while you are actively on an op. You ask your associate a perfectly calibrated question about his employer's shipping routes and you do not think about Natasha Romanoff's voice saying that word in your ear.
You think about it for the next twenty minutes.
Across the room, Natasha finds you.
The first time is almost involuntary. She's mid-sentence with Voss, something charming, something that makes him laugh, the warm practiced ease of a woman who has made men feel interesting in four different languages, and her eyes move. Just for a second. Just long enough to find you across the crowd, to confirm you're there, to take in the easy angle of your shoulders and the way you've got the associate exactly where you want him.
She looks back at Voss.
Files it. Moves on.
Tells herself it was a tactical check.
The second time she's at the bar, waiting on a refresh, and the room has shifted enough that you're visible through a gap in the crowd. You're laughing at something the associate said, not a real laugh, she can tell the difference, she's always been able to tell the difference with you, and the line of your profile is caught in the warm overhead light and she watches for two seconds longer than any tactical check has ever required.
The bartender puts a glass in front of her.
She picks it up without looking at it.
The third time she's not even trying to justify it.
She's wrapped up a conversation, Voss circling back to the contact, the op running clean and smooth in the background the way good ops do, and she lets her eyes find you across the room because she wants to and she has apparently stopped arguing with herself about that.
You're there. Of course you're there. Working the room with that particular ease that she has spent eight months quietly cataloguing, the way you move through a crowd like you belong in it, the way you make people feel like the most interesting thing in the room without ever quite letting them have you.
She raises her glass and takes a slow sip.
And you look up.
Right at her.
Like you felt it. Like you knew.
She doesn't move. Doesn't adjust. Keeps the glass raised and her eyes on yours and lets the moment sit there between you, twenty feet of crowded room and a string quartet and the whole careful architecture of the last eight months, and she does not look away.
Neither do you.
Three seconds. Four. Five. Long enough that it stops being accidental on either side, long enough that something passes between you that has no tactical classification, long enough that she is aware, fully, uncomfortably, with complete clarity, that she is not performing anything right now.
Then someone steps between you, a body crossing the sight line, and the moment closes.
She lowers her glass.
Goes back to work.
Does not examine what just happened. Does not examine the fact that her pulse has done something she would not put in a report. Does not examine the way you looked at her like you already knew, like you've always known, like you've been waiting for her to stop pretending long enough to just
Voss moves toward his contact. She follows.
The fourth time she finds you she's already on her way back across the room, op nearly wrapped, Voss handled and filed. She's not looking for you. She doesn't have to look for you.
She just knows.
Her eyes find you through the crowd without searching, the way they always do, the way they have been doing all night, all eight months, if she's being honest, which she isn't, not yet, and you're there, exactly where she knew you'd be, and she lets herself watch you for just one unguarded moment before she schools her face and moves through the crowd toward you.
Her arm finds yours when she arrives. Slides in easy and warm, like it never left. Like this is simply where she ends up.
Because it is. That's the part she's been not examining. This is just where she ends up.
"Voss is clean," she says quietly. "Associate?"
"Account manager. Name and location. Hill's going to want it."
The corner of her mouth moves. Not a smile, the thing she does instead. "Good."
"I know," you say.
She glances at you sidelong. Something in your voice. Something dry and certain that catches in her chest the way you've always caught in her chest and she looks back at the room and says nothing about it.
The silence holds.
Then Voss moves.
Her eyes cut across the room. Mission, clean and immediate, the mask back in place between one breath and the next.
"He's going for the east exit," she says. "That's not on the brief."
"No," you say. "It isn't."
Her hand finds your arm. And you move, together, no words, no briefing, the kind of sync that only comes from time and attention and knowing someone down to the way they breathe in a tense room. Her hand steering slightly, you adjusting without being asked, cutting through the crowd like one thing, not two.
She has spent eight months telling herself that this, this particular feeling, this specific ease, is professionalism. Training. Field familiarity.
She is no longer telling herself that.
You reach the corridor just as Voss slips through the east exit.
Her hand tightens on your arm.
"Ready?" she murmurs.
You look at her. The mission in her eyes, and underneath it, still there, not put away, not this time, the other thing. The real thing. Looking right back at her.
"Always," you say.
And you go in.
The corridor is narrow and dim and smells like old carpet and money, the kind of back hallway that exists in every building like this, the one the staff uses, the one that connects the public rooms to the private ones, the one that Voss just slipped into with the quiet purposefulness of a man who doesn't want to be followed.
You follow him anyway. Natasha three steps behind you, silent.
Voss stops at a door near the end of the corridor. Produces a key card. Your hand moves to the comm unit, ready to relay to Hill. And that's when you hear it.
Not from the corridor. From the earpiece. A voice, young, female, clipped with the particular tension of someone trying very hard to sound calm "
This is Reyes, I have eyes on the asset, I'm moving to make contact—"
You and Natasha go still at exactly the same moment.
"Reyes, stand down." Hill's voice, sharp. "Do not make contact, I repeat—"
"I have a clear window, I'm taking it—"
"Agent Reyes, that is a direct order—"
And then another voice, male, younger, with the breathless energy of someone who has already made a decision "Cole in position, I've got the east side covered, Reyes go—"
"Cole, stand DOWN—"
You look at Natasha.
Natasha is already looking at the end of the corridor, where it opens back into the main gala room, and her expression is the specific expression of a woman who has just watched two people set something on fire and is calculating exactly how fast it's going to spread.
It spreads fast.
Through the corridor entrance you can see it unfold in real time, Reyes, young and dark-haired and moving with the misplaced confidence of someone who thought they saw an opening, crossing the room toward the SHIELD asset with all the subtlety of a person who has trained for six months and believes that is enough.
And Cole, flanking from the east side, doing exactly what a panicking rookie does when they realize too late that the plan is already wrong, overcorrecting, moving too fast, drawing the eye of every person in a thirty foot radius.
Voss hears it before he sees it.
Some shift in the room's atmosphere, the specific change in energy that a man who has survived this long learns to read, and he turns. Slowly. His eyes move to Reyes, to Cole, to the asset between them, and you watch the calculation happen behind his eyes, clean and fast and professional.
Then his eyes move to the corridor.
"Abort." Natasha's voice in the earpiece is flat and final. "Hill, we're pulling out."
"Confirmed, Romanoff. Reyes, Cole — you are blown, extract immediately—"
"Wait—" Reyes, realizing. "Wait, I can still—"
"You are done," Natasha says, and there is something in her voice that closes the conversation like a door being shut. "Both of you. Out."
She doesn't wait for the response.
She steps forward, in front of you, between you and the corridor entrance, between you and Voss's eyeline, and her hand closes around your arm.
"We're leaving," she says. Not loud. Not urgent. The tone of a woman who has already made every calculation and doesn't need to hurry because she's already three steps ahead of whatever happens next.
She steers you back down the corridor, away from Voss, away from Reyes and Cole and the mess they've made of the east room. Her hand is on your arm and her body is angled slightly in front of yours and she moves with the unhurried certainty of someone running a controlled exit, not a retreat.
It works because it always works. Because she's Natasha Romanoff and this is what she does.
You reach the side exit without a single person looking twice.
The car is waiting exactly where it should be. She opens the door and her hand is at your back and you're inside before you've finished processing what just happened and she slides in beside you and the door closes and the city starts moving past the windows.
She doesn't look at you.
In your earpiece Hill's voice comes through tight and clipped "intel is secure, cover held, Reyes and Cole are being extracted, debrief tomorrow oh-seven-hundred" and then the channel goes quiet and it's just the two of you and the city and twelve minutes of silence that has a specific weight to it.
You watch her in your peripheral vision. The straight line of her shoulders. The set of her jaw. Her hand on the inside door handle, gripping it in a way that has nothing to do with the car moving.
She doesn't look at you once.
Not for twelve minutes.
You don't say anything either. You think about the corridor, her stepping forward, placing herself between you and Voss's eyeline before you'd even registered the threat. The way it happened before it was a decision. The way she hasn't looked at you since.
You file it.
For now.
The hotel room door closes behind you.
You set your clutch on the nightstand. She sets hers on the vanity. You reach back to unclasp your earring and she moves to the window and looks out at the city and the silence in the room has weight to it now, the kind that accumulates over twelve minutes of nothing and lands all at once.
You take out the second earring.
"Reyes and Cole," you say. Neutral. Conversational.
"Yes," she says. Still at the window.
"First field op?"
"Second." A beat. "Which somehow makes it worse."
"The intel's still clean. Cover held. Hill has everything she needs."
"I know."
"So." You set the earrings down. "We're fine."
She turns from the window.
"You were out of position," she says.
You look at her. "I was exactly where you put me."
"When the contact arrived you should have pulled back to the secondary—"
"If I'd pulled back Voss would have had a clear corridor and we'd have lost him entirely—"
"That wasn't your call to make—"
"It absolutely was, I was the one standing there with eyes on—"
"We had protocols, Y/n—"
"Natasha." You face her fully. "It worked. All of it. The only thing that didn't work tonight was Reyes and Cole and that has nothing to do with me—"
"It could have." Her voice drops. Gets quieter. That's the tell, you know that by now, the way her volume decreases as the thing she's actually saying increases.
"If they'd moved thirty seconds earlier you would have been in that corridor without cover and Voss would have had eyes on you and I was—"
She stops.
You go still.
I was. The sentence trailing off into the room like smoke.
"You were what?" you ask. Quiet.
"Nothing." She looks back at the window. "Get some sleep. Debrief is—"
"Natasha."
"—oh-seven-hundred—"
"Natasha."
"Drop it."
"You were what." Not a question this time. Something steadier than a question.
A long pause. The city outside is indifferent and glittering and she stares at it like it owes her something.
"You stepped in front of me," you say. "In the corridor. Voss didn't even have eyes on us yet and you stepped in front of me."
Nothing.
"That wasn't tactical," you say. "That was—"
"I said drop it—"
"You were scared," you say. "You were scared and you won't say it and now you're standing at a window picking a fight about protocol because it's easier than—"
She turns.
And crosses the room.
And her hand finds the back of your neck, certain and warm and without a single moment of hesitation, fingers pressing up into your hair, and she kisses you.
Not soft. Not careful. Not the measured thing of a woman who is uncertain. This is eight months arriving all at once, her hand firm at the back of your neck like she's been waiting to put it there, like she decided somewhere between the window and here and didn't once stop to argue with herself about it.
You melt into it.
That's the only word for it, the argument dissolving out of your chest like it was never there, your hands finding her without instruction, your body making a decision your brain is still catching up to. You kiss her back and it's nothing like you imagined. It's better.
It's eight months of careful distance collapsing all at once and the specific relief of it moves through you like a current, warm and total, and you make a sound against her mouth that you don't plan and don't take back.
Her hand tightens at the back of your neck.
The kiss deepens, not gradually, not carefully, but with the particular certainty of two people who have been waiting too long and have simply stopped being careful. Her mouth is warm and deliberate and she kisses you the way she does everything, like she's already decided, like she knows exactly what she wants and the only thing that was ever stopping her was the thing neither of you were naming.
You give it back.
Your hand finds her jaw and you tilt into her, angle shifting, matching everything she's giving and then some, and you feel the small catch in her breath, feel the way her whole body reacts to it, the subtle arch toward you, the grip at the back of your neck going from certain to something that borders on desperate, and that undoes you a little. More than a little. You press closer, eliminate the last fraction of space between your bodies, and she makes a sound low in her throat that you are going to be thinking about for a very long time.
Her other hand finds your waist.
Pulls.
Like she's been wanting to do it all night, like every careful professional touch, every tactical adjustment, every time her hand found you and had to have a reason, was building to this, to her hands on you with no reason required, no cover to maintain, nothing to perform for anyone. Just want. Just her wanting you and not doing anything about it except pulling you closer and kissing you like the argument was foreplay and eight months was foreplay and the entire evening was foreplay and she is done, she is so done, being patient about this.
You walk her back. Or she walks you back, honestly you're not sure, it's collaborative, two people moving in the same direction with the same urgency, until something meets your back and you don't care what it is.
Her body is against yours and her mouth is on yours and her hand has moved from your jaw into your hair and the grip of it sends something down your spine that makes your breath stutter.
She pulls back.
Just enough to look at you.
Her lipstick is still perfect. Her red hair has come loose on one side, falling forward, and she doesn't fix it. Her eyes are dark and close and the mask isn't just gone it's nowhere, there's no trace of it, there's nothing between you and the real her, the actual her, the one she keeps underneath everything, and she's looking at you like she's been hungry for a long time and has finally decided to do something about it.
Her chest rises and falls. Once.
Her thumb traces the line of your jaw, slow, unhurried, like she's been wanting to do it for months and is taking her time now that no one can stop her, and her eyes follow the movement and come back to yours and what's in them makes your stomach drop in the best possible way.
movement and come back to yours and stay there.
The silence holds for exactly one more second.
Then her eyes drop. Your mouth. Back up. And when she speaks her voice is low and unhurried and completely certain, the voice of a woman who has made a decision and is done negotiating with herself about it.
"I want to take this dress off you," she says. "I've wanted to since I saw you walk out of that bathroom."
"Then take it off," you say.
She kisses you.
Deep and deliberate, her hand sliding from your jaw into your hair, and when she pulls back you're both breathing differently and her eyes are darker than they were a second ago.
"I've been thinking about what's underneath it," she says, low, right against your mouth. "All night."
Something pulls tight in your stomach. "All night," you repeat. "And you said nothing."
"I'm saying it now."
Her fingers find the zipper at your back, slow, deliberate, not rushing, like she wants you to feel every second of it, and you reach for her too, hands finding the fabric at her waist, pulling the green dress taut.
"You're not the only one," you say. "Who was thinking."
She pauses. Looks at you. Something shifts in her expression, darker, more interested, the look of a woman who has just been handed something she intends to do something about.
"No?" she says.
"No."
Her mouth curves. Not a smile, something better than a smile, something with teeth in it.
"Tell me," she says, and her fingers resume their work, and yours do too, and the green dress and the black dress and the whole long evening are all running out of time simultaneously.
You feel the zipper give. Her fingers trail the newly exposed skin of your back and you breathe out.
"I was thinking," you say, "about your mouth."
Her fingers pause.
"All night," you continue, steady, holding her gaze. "Every time you put it near my ear. Every time you smiled at something Voss said and I had to stand there and watch and do nothing about it."
She looks at you for a moment. Something shifts in her expression, darker, more focused, the look of a woman recalibrating.
"What about my mouth," she says. Low. Not a question, a pull.
"What I wanted it to do," you say. "Where I wanted it."
The silence lasts exactly one second.
Then her hands are moving again, more purposeful now, less patient,and she steps closer and her mouth finds your jaw, your throat, and she says against your skin: "Show me."
Your breath catches.
"Natasha—"
"Show me," she says again, quieter, right at your pulse point, and you feel her smile there. "Where."
Your hand finds her hair. Guides her. And she goes, willingly, without hesitation, like she's been waiting to be told, and the sound she makes when she gets there is
Her zipper gives completely under your other hand. The green dress falls.
She pulls back just long enough to look at you. Flushed, hair loose, eyes so dark they've swallowed the green entirely, and she looks at you like you are something she intends to take her time with.
"Bed," she says. One word. The voice that closes rooms.
You go.
The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you go down without breaking eye contact.
The sheets are cool against your overheated skin, a sharp contrast to the way Natasha crawls over you, predatory and graceful. The green silk is a forgotten puddle on the floor, leaving her bare in the dim light, stunning and terrifyingly focused.
She settles between your legs, her hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in. Her hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out everything but her. She's so close you can feel her breath against your lips, see the way her pupils swallow the green of her eyes.
You lift a hand, tracing the sharp curve of her jaw before your palm settles against her cheek. Her skin is impossibly soft, burning hot beneath your touch. She leans into it instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a fleeting second as her expression softens from predator to something much tenderer.
"You're so beautiful," you whisper, watching the admission shatter her composure.
With careful, deliberate movements, Natasha finishes unhooking your dress, sliding the fabric down your body to reveal your bare skin. Her eyes drink in the sight of you, her pupils dilating as she takes in every curve and detail.
She runs her hands over your newly exposed flesh, worshipping your form with her touch.
Her touch skims over your collarbone, down between your breasts, tracing the curve of your waist before her palms spread flat across your stomach.
A shuddering breath escapes her as she leans down, pressing her forehead to yours.
"Absolutely breathtaking," she murmurs against your lips, her voice thick with something far deeper than lust. Her thumbs brush your lower lip, gentle and reverent.
You surge forward, crashing your lips against hers in a deep, hungry kiss that steals the air from your lungs.
Mid-kiss, she captures your hand, guiding it down the front of her torso until she slips it firmly between her thighs. The sensation makes you gasp sharply against her mouth, you can feel exactly how hard she is for you, throbbing and desperate beneath your fingertips.
"Feel that?" she breathes against your mouth, hips shifting to press more firmly into your touch. "That's what you do to me. One look, one touch, and I'm harder than I've ever been in my life."
"God, Natasha..." You whisper, your voice shaking with desire. You can feel her length pulsing against your palm, and you can't help but squeeze gently, making her suck in a sharp breath. "You have no idea what you do to me."
She lets out a ragged moan, her forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder as your fingers tighten around her. "I think I have some idea," she pants, her hips bucking instinctively into your grip. "You're destroying my control, sweetheart. Every single inch of me is screaming for you."
"Then don't hold back," you murmur, your thumb tracing slow circles over the leaking tip, feeling her shudder and drip in your palm.
"Fuck," she groans, her composure finally shattering as she grinds herself desperately against your hand. "I want to fuck you so bad it hurts. I want to be deep inside you, feel you clench around me, hear you scream my name until you're hoarse." Her words come out in a heated rush, raw and unrestrained.
"God, yes," you whimper, your legs spreading wider as you imagine her thick length filling you completely. Your own arousal drips down your inner thighs, and you can feel yourself growing increasingly wet and needy. "Natasha, please," you beg, squeezing her hard length again. "Fuck me."
"Not yet," she grits out, wrenching her hips back just enough to escape your grasp. Before you can protest, she's moving down your body, kissing and biting at your skin until her face is level with your dripping core. Her eyes rolling back at the sight of you.
"Natasha," you gasp, lifting your head to look down at her.
Her expression is one of pure hunger, her gaze locked onto your glistening folds like a starving woman presented with a feast. Without a word, she leans in and drags her tongue through your wetness, tasting you deeply.
Your back bows instantly off the mattress, a sharp moan tearing from your throat as her tongue flattens against your clit. She eats you with a terrifying intensity, alternating between broad, heavy strokes and pinpoint flicks that make your toes curl.
Your hands fly to her hair, tangling in the red strands to anchor yourself against the overwhelming pleasure.
"Natasha, oh god."
"Mmm," she hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your system.
She spreads your legs wider, burying her face deeper between your trembling thighs. Her hands grip your hips, lifting them slightly to change the angle and expose you even more to her merciless mouth.
You moan out, your thighs trembling as her tongue finds that perfect spot inside you and circles it relentlessly.
Pleasure builds like a storm behind your navel, your nails scraping against her scalp as you hold her tight against your soaking core.
"I'm close," you warn in a broken voice. "Natasha, I'm gonna—"
She doesn't slow down.
Your eyes roll back in your head as she sucks your clit into her mouth and flattens her tongue against it. You scream, your entire body convulsing as your orgasm hits you like a truck.
She swallows every drop of your arousal, lapping at your folds like a woman possessed.
Only when your trembling begins to subside does she pull back, her chin and lips glistening with your release. She crawls up your body, pressing her wet face into your neck with a satisfied groan.
"Still want me to fuck you?" she asks, her breath hot against your ear, her hard length dragging against your overstimulated folds.
"Yes," you whimper desperately.
Without hesitation, she slips between your thighs, her thick head pushing against your sensitive entrance. You spread wider, pulling your knees back to give her better access.
She grabs your legs, spreading them even wider and hooking them over her shoulders for leverage.
"Fuck," she groans, pushing in slowly despite her obvious desperation.
You're so wet and sensitive from your orgasm that she slips in easier than expected, but you're still tight enough to make her see stars.
Natasha's jaw tightens as she pulls out slowly, watching her wet, shiny length slide out of you. She pushes back in with equal slowness, her eyes fluttering at the incredible sensation of your tightness surrounding her. Out, then in, out...
"Natasha," you moan, your walls fluttering around her despite her agonizingly slow pace.
You grip the sheets, needing something more to anchor yourself as she rocks back and forth at this torturous rate.
"You're so tight," she grits out, her hips stuttering as she watches herself disappear inside you. "You feel so good," she admits, her voice strained with effort.
She pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, her eyes rolling back at how perfectly you squeeze her.
"Fuck," you whimper, your nails digging into her arms as she continues that slow, deep thrusting. Each withdrawal leaves you feeling empty, each push back in hits that perfect spot inside you.
"Natasha... please..." You're begging without even knowing what for....more speed? Deeper?
"Please what, sweetheart?" she whispers, her voice dangerously low as she leans down to nip at your bottom lip.
She pulls out slowly, her length sliding out until only the tip remains inside you. She holds still, teasing you with that shallow penetration.
"More," you pant, trying to lift your hips to take her back in. "Fuck, Natasha, give me more." You need her deeper, faster anything but this agonizing slow pace that's driving you mad.
"Deeper?" she asks softly, pushing back in slightly slower than before, watching as her length disappears into your tight heat. "Like this?" She pulls out again, leaving just the tip inside, making you whimper. "Or do you want it faster?"
"Yes, like that," you gasp, your head falling back against the pillow as she bottoms out inside you. "And faster, please Natasha, fuck me faster."
Your legs tighten around her waist, heels digging into her ass to encourage her.
With a low moan, Natasha starts moving faster, her hips snapping forward with more force. The slow torture is replaced by deep, quick thrusts that make the bed shake and your breasts bounce.
She hooks your legs higher over her shoulders, changing the angle to hit deeper inside you.
"Oh god, just like that!" you moan out, your back arching beautifully off the mattress as she hits that perfect spot inside you. The new angle is devastating, allowing her to plunge so deep you see stars with every thrust. "Don't stop, Natasha, please don't stop."
Natasha's composure finally shatters. Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat as a loud, broken moan tears from her lips. Her eyes roll back, lost in the overwhelming sensation of your heat gripping her tightly.
"Fuck—oh god, you feel so good," she pants breathlessly, her rhythm faltering slightly as pure pleasure washes over her.
She's reduced to incoherent moans and curses, her hips moving wildly as she loses herself in the feeling of being buried deep inside you. One hand grips your thigh tightly while the other reaches down to spread you wider, giving herself better access.
"Natasha..." You whimper her name like a prayer, your voice breaking on a high note as she hits that perfect spot inside you again.
Your hands fly to her bouncing breasts, squeezing the soft mounds desperately as pleasure overwhelms you both.
Natasha leans down, capturing your mouth in a messy, passionate kiss that steals your breath. You pant into each other's mouths, tongues tangling as she continues thrusting hard and deep.
The kiss is sloppy and needy, a perfect reflection of how desperately she's fucking you.
With a low groan, Natasha pulls out slowly, her wet length slipping free of your dripping core. You both watch, panting heavily, as she brings the tip to your mouth.
"Taste how wet you are," she pants, rubbing her slick head against your lips.
You open your mouth obediently, your tongue darting out to lick along the tip, tasting yourself mixed with her. Natasha moans, thrusting slightly deeper between your lips.
"Good girl... Suck," she commands breathlessly, gripping your hair. You wrap your lips around her and take her into your mouth, bobbing your head as she slowly thrusts down your throat.
Natasha's eyes roll back into her head as your mouth works her wet length, your tongue swirling around the tip while you suck eagerly.
A moan rips from her throat, her thighs trembling as pleasure rockets through her.
She grips your hair tighter, fucking your mouth with shallow, desperate strokes while her head falls back, completely lost to the sensation.
Her red hair falls wildly around her face and shoulders, green eyes squeezed shut as she rocks her hips forward, feeding you more of her length.
Your own hair is messy from her fingers, face flushed and dripping with saliva as you enthusiastically take her, cheeks hollowing out with each suck.
Natasha's large, round breasts bounce freely with each thrust into your mouth. Yours heave with every breath you take around her length.
Natasha's thick, veiny length glistens with a mix of spit and precum, stretching your lips wide as you suck her. Her green eyes are still rolled back, mouth open in a silent moan.
Your jaw works overtime, tongue flattened against her shaft while you bob your head eagerly, cheeks caving with each greedy suck as a string of saliva connects with each suck.
Natasha's green eyes flutter open, half-lidded and glassy with pleasure as she looks down at you. Her gaze is fixated on her length disappearing between your stretched lips, a low groan rumbling in her chest at the sight.
She watches, transfixed, as your mouth works her over eagerly, the wet sounds of your sucking filling the room.
With a pop, Natasha pulls her length out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip.
She drags the wet head down your between the valley of your breasts, coating each before moving lower.
She presses the tip against your clit, rubbing it in slow circles that make your whole body shudder.
"I need to come so bad..." Natasha moans, her voice trembling with desperation.
She rubs her wet tip against your clit, teasing you both mercilessly.
You respond by spreading your legs wider and arching your back, wordlessly begging for her to fill you again.
"Then fuck me," you whisper breathlessly, your hips lifting toward her.
Natasha groans, sinking her length deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
"Fuck—" she gasps, her forehead dropping to your shoulder as she starts moving, chasing her release with every deep stroke. Her pace quickens, chasing that edge.
Your eyes roll back, a desperate moan escaping your lips as you grip the sheets beneath you.
"I'm— I'm close," you gasp, your walls tightening around her in warning.
Natasha pushes deeper, her hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, two fingers pressing against it as she thrusts harder.
"Come on my dick," she demands it, her fingers rubbing tight circles against your sensitive bud as she drives into you relentlessly.
The pressure snaps instantly, your back bowing off the mattress as a scream tears from your throat. Your vision whites out, your entire body shaking violently as you clamp down around her, dragging her over the edge with you.
"That's it, baby," she grits out, pounding you through it. "Fuck!"
Natasha's entire body goes rigid above you, her length pulsing deeply inside you as she comes with a strangled cry. Her hips stutter, losing rhythm as she spills into you, painting your tight walls white with her thick release.
Her head drops to your shoulder, teeth grazing your collarbone as aftershocks wrack through her.
A broken moan vibrates against your skin, her fingers still pressed to your clit as she rides out every pulse inside you.
"You feel— fuck— can't stop—" She's trembling, entire body locked in the aftermath, completely undone beneath her usually composed exterior.
"Natasha..." you moan softly, your hands sliding up her trembling arms to hold onto her as your own orgasm fades.
Your body feels like jelly, completely spent and utterly satisfied. You nuzzle into the side of her neck, placing gentle kisses along her jaw as she catches her breath against you.
Natasha presses lingering, open mouthed kisses against your collarbone, her lips trembling against your skin.
It's a reverent, grounding touch, the final release of months upon months of tightly wound control finally snapping. She holds you impossibly close, burying her face in the crook of your neck as if anchoring herself to reality.
"I've needed this," she whispers hoarsely, her voice thick with emotion. "Needed you—so fucking badly."
Her arms tighten around you practically painfully, 8 months of suppressed desire pouring out in every tender kiss she presses against your neck.
"You have no idea...How much I've craved your touch... your voice... your smile," she murmurs roughly, trailing kisses down to your chest. "Being with you—it's heaven. Pure, perfect heaven after so long in hell."
"I'm right here," you whisper softly, running your fingers through her hair gently. "I'm not going anywhere." You tilt your head up to press a tender kiss on her lips, pouring all of your love and dedication into it. "I've been waiting for you, too."
Natasha's eyes flutter shut at your words, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she leans into your touch. She presses her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours as she just... exists in the moment with you.
For the first time in a long time, she feels at peace. At home.
Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader
Link to Part One [x]
[A/N] Okay so a few of you weren't happy with Part One's ending 😂 Including my bestie who came to see me that night and was like 'you can't just end it like that!?' So I've written a Part Two, hope you all enjoy 😘
It doesn’t take long for the other Avengers to realise that something happened between you and Yelena. Both of you avoid each other like the plague. If Yelena comes into the gym and finds you’ve already begun your workout she quickly leaves, even if it means she can’t start her own workout until far later in the day. If you’re hungry and find Yelena in the kitchen, you head back to your room and try to ignore your rumbling stomach until you’re sure the coast is clear. One night you even thought ‘fuck it’ and went out for food because you were too hungry to wait.
Ava despairs, “Will you two just kiss and get it over with already? Y/N joined the team months ago and I still haven’t had my girl’s night.”
“Not everything is about you and what you want,” Yelena snaps. “Besides, she doesn’t like me like that.”
“How do you know though? Did she tell you that?”
“Yes.”
Well, you hadn’t exactly said that you didn’t like her but then you hadn’t needed to. Yelena had been able to fill in the blanks. It wasn’t like she blamed you – she often didn’t like herself either. Why would anyone as kind and bubbly as you be interested in someone like her? Besides, you wouldn’t have worked out in the long run. Your sunny personality would begin to irritate Yelena. That’s what she told herself in any case.
Ava raises her eyebrows, not taking Yelena at her word. It had taken her a while to get used to Yelena’s half-truths, and she wasn’t convinced. If you genuinely weren’t interested then Ava knows you would’ve been kind about it, and that you would’ve still wanted to be Yelena’s friend. There was no reason the two of you should be avoiding each other so diligently. It was starting to get on her nerves.
“Why don’t we do something tonight? Just you and me?” Ava suggests.
Yelena agrees without hesitation. She’d known how much Ava had been longing for those ‘girl’s nights’ – Yelena understood better than anyone how it felt to crave normalcy. Although Yelena had spent every night falling asleep in a dormitory filled with other girls, she couldn’t exactly say that she’d ever been to a sleepover or a slumber party as other young girls had done. Instead of popcorn and giggling, there’d been handcuffs and suppressed tears. Not quite the same.
Ava’s experiences hadn’t been quite that bad, but she’d never had a sleepover either. All she wanted was to sit with other girls, apply face masks, paint each other nails, discuss boys – all things Ava probably wouldn't normally do in a million years but did it hurt to want to be a typical teenager for just one night? You could all watch a chick flick; Ava has a list a mile long of movies she wants to watch. And Yelena’s all too aware that she’s the one barring her from making that dream a reality.
“What were you thinking?” Yelena asks. “We could go out-”
“No, I was thinking a night in could be fun. Meet me in my room at seven.”
At seven on the dot Yelena turns up at Ava’s bedroom, wanting to show the other woman that she is still her friend, even if things are strange between you and Yelena right now. Ava answers, running a brush absentmindedly through her hair, “Hey! I’ve picked out a movie. I think I saw some wine in the storage cupboard on the seventh floor. Do you mind grabbing a bottle? I’m nearly ready.”
Yelena nods readily, heading down to the seventh floor. The storage ‘cupboard’ on seventh is like a small room, filled with shelves. Valentina had hired all sorts of people to work within the Avengers Tower, so it was always readily stocked up. Usually with supplies, like first aid or canned food in case of any type of emergency but Yelena supposes there could be a wine bottle down there.
It takes Yelena longer than it should have to figure out what was going on. Perhaps living with people she’d begun to consider family had made her less prone to putting her guard up. Her eyebrows raise when she finds you in the storage cupboard, bent over and shifting through the lower shelves. “What are you doing in here?”
The question comes out of her mouth before she can stop herself. You look up, surprised to see her. “Ava sent me down here.”
Of course. Just as Yelena is about to turn to leave, she feels someone shove her into the cupboard and the door is slammed shut behind her. Both of you hear the click of the lock and you jump to your feet. Before either of you can react, Ava appears in the room, having phased through the door. “Very funny,” Yelena says dryly. “Let us out.”
“No, not until the two of you stop acting weird around each other,” Ava insists. “It’s up to you when you come out. You can stay in here an hour or all night, makes no difference to me.”
“Ava, come on, just let us out,” You say. “This is stupid-”
“No what’s stupid is you two avoiding each other like you’re infectious. Sort it out and I’ll let you out.”
Before either of you can protest further Ava vanishes and Yelena groans, punching the door with a clenched fist. It hurts like Hell given the door is made of steel, but Yelena doesn’t let on. “Can we get out?” You ask anxiously.
“What do you think?” Yelena snaps.
It hadn’t taken Yelena long to do a quick scan of the room. Getting the door open was a non-starter, it locked from the outside with no mechanism to unlock it from the inside – a major safety issue, in hindsight, that she’d have to bring to someone’s attention later on. Even if Yelena had a hairpin on her, there was no way to pick the lock. There was no other exit from the room. You were both stuck here until Ava decided to let you out.
You bang on the door, calling out, “Ava! Let us out! Anyone, let us out!”
“There’s no reason for anyone else to be on the seventh floor,” Yelena says in an infuriatingly calm voice. “No one’s going to hear us. Ava’s probably gone. She’ll be back to check on us later, make sure we’ve… Talked or whatever the Hell it is that she wants.”
“What if something happens to her and no one knows we’re in here? We could be stuck in here for-”
“If something happened to Ava and they realised we were missing; they’d check the cameras. We’re not going to die in here so will you relax?”
An awkward silence falls over the two of you, like a thick fog. Yelena stares at you, her mouth set in a stubborn line. If Ava’s goal is to get you both to talk, then she’s not going to cave first. You’d already heard too much from her, things that you weren’t meant to. It makes Yelena’s cheeks burn as she imagines you overhearing her telling Ava that she has feelings for you. She’s not sure how much you heard but clearly, you’d heard enough. It made Yelena feel too bare, naked, every time she thought about it.
You don’t say anything either which surprises her though she carefully hides it. Even though she’s been avoiding you, Yelena feels like she always hears your voice drifting down the corridors of the Avengers Tower. You’re always laughing and joking with someone, everyone loves you. Now that you’re alone with Yelena, you have nothing to say.
Slowly you sink to the floor and bury your face in your hands. Yelena watches you for a moment before taking a seat herself. The cupboard is small but there’s enough room for you to both comfortably sit without touching.
“If only Ava hadn’t been lying about the wine,” Yelena eventually offers, unsure on why she caved first and spoke.
You look up, glancing at her before giving a tired smile, “I know. If I’d known I could’ve packed us a picnic.”
“Would’ve picked something warmer to wear too.”
Yelena notices that she’s not the only one in her pyjamas – clearly, you’d been taken in by Ava’s suggestion of a night in, just the two of you as well. At least Yelena isn’t the only one who’d been tricked, not that that made her any happier. That awkward silence makes a reappearance as you both look around the small storage unit. It’s been a while since the last stock up. Most things had been cleared out after that mission last week.
“I don’t even really like wine,” You say after a few minutes.
“Honestly? Me neither. I prefer vodka. Though technically I’m trying to stop-” Yelena cuts herself off. She doesn’t want to get into her struggles with alcohol right now. Things are awkward enough as it is.
“I probably shouldn’t drink either; I only end up regretting it the next day.” You glance at her, wringing your hands nervously. “I miss being your friend, Yelena.”
She rolls her eyes, “Don’t say that.”
“Well, I do. I don’t know what I did but-”
“You didn’t do anything. You’re just perfect, aren’t you? You came in here and charmed everyone-”
“Apart from you, apparently.”
Yelena scoffs, mumbling something in Russian. “I just… Fine. This is so dumb, and I’m going to kill Ava later but… I’m embarrassed about what you heard in the gym, okay?”
“I thought you said I didn’t hear anything.”
“Well obviously you did. I don’t know how much or what exactly- But clearly you heard me say something which you weren’t meant to.”
“I know, I felt awful about it,” You say. “For what it’s worth, I left immediately. Once I realised what you were talking about. I didn’t linger; I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hear anything. I’m sorry.”
Your apology only makes her feel worse and she looks up at the ceiling, wishing there was some kind of hatch so she could crawl out of this cupboard, and away from this conversation. Her fingers tap against her knee and she mumbles, “Well, I’m sorry. For making you uncomfortable.”
Your eye-brows furrow. “I never said I was uncomfortable.”
“Well, clearly you were given you came to tell me you weren’t interested and now you avoid me-”
“What are you talking about?”
Yelena is momentarily taken aback at the sheer astonishment in your voice. “When… You came to find me in my room-”
“You really thought- I came to ask you on a date! And then you went all weird, getting snippy with me and telling me that I hadn’t heard anything. Or that if I had it was wrong. And you- Well, you’re scary Yelena! I just decided to leave you to it.”
The cupboard goes quiet again. Yelena avoids your gaze, as she looks back towards the ceiling. “I didn’t want to like girls,” She quietly offers. “Maybe that’s not right but I… In the Red Room, I remember being so ashamed. There weren’t really any men for the girls to fall for and we were taught not to have such feelings but there was this one girl. Older than me, I didn’t see her very often. I would think about her at night-” Yelena cuts herself off quickly, glancing at you out of the corner of your eye.
“Sometimes I don’t feel like I belong when people share stories like that,” You say. “Not that I’m saying- I’m glad you shared that with me, really I am. But being gay wasn’t something I ever tried to push out of my mind or that I ran from. I don’t even really have a coming out story. My Mom asked me when I was going to bring a boy home, I told her if I brought anyone home it would be a girl and she just said okay. Sometimes I forget it’s not the same for everyone else. Then I feel like an imposter because it was so easy for me. Which I know is a privileged position to be in.”
“Did you ever bring a girl home?”
You shake your head, “No. I’ve never dated anyone, boy or girl. I’ve felt attraction obviously. Mostly for celebrities. It’s hard enough, not knowing if people you meet will feel the same way. But realising they might hate me for my feelings… That does make it hard.”
“I never dated either. Even when I… When I was able to confront my feelings and I realised I like girls, and accepted it. I just figured I was too broken to love.”
“We all love you Yelena,” You say. “Alexei, Ava, Bob… Me. We all love you.” Yelena scoffs again, looking away. You wring your hands again before sighing, “I really did come to ask you on a date, Yelena. And even if you don’t want to date me, I don’t want us to avoid each other anymore.”
“I don’t want that either,” Yelena admits.
“Can we start again then?” You ask. “I’d like to take you out. On a proper date.”
Yelena looks at you, meeting your gaze. You’re kind, probably the kindest person that she’s ever met. You shouldn’t get involved with someone like her. Yelena can’t bear this anymore though – avoiding you has been too difficult, and she can’t deny her feelings anymore. “Yeah,” She mumbles. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
You reach out and Yelena’s eye-brows furrow as you take her hand in yours. It feels nice, even though Yelena’s not entirely sure what to do. After a long moment she moves, positioning herself next to you and you both lean your backs against the door, holding onto each other’s hand. “Where are you going to take me?” Yelena asks. “On our date?”
“Coney Island,” You reply without hesitation. “We’re gonna go on the ferris wheel, and I’m gonna hold your hand again.”
Yelena can't help smiling as she imagines it. Had she ever been on a ferris wheel before? She’s not sure that she has. Going on one with you for the first time seems like a good idea and for the first time in a long time, she feels excited. Nervous but very excited. You lean your head on Yelena’s shoulder and she leans her head on yours as you both wait for Ava to come back and let you out, the silence now warm and comfortable. Maybe Yelena will have to buy Ava a drink sometime. Or at the very least, finally give her that girl’s night she’s been longing for.
Hellooooo dear author! It is i(again), heheheeee🤭...onnnnn with the request:
Natasha x secret wife.. she has tattoos that are her weapons, like a snake on her arm and when she fights or just wanna scare people she just puts her arm out and the snake comes alive, or she has a tattoo of a gun on the side of her thigh where a holster would be at and she just takes it off as if it wasn't a tattoo, or maybe even a black widow spider(for nat) and everyone is just astonished and appalled by it(literally any weapon/animal is fine these were just examples). She's a shield agent but only works when fury really needs it. So maybe the avengers were in a pickle and fury decides to send her and thats when she shows how badssa she is🤣.. so please dear author that is my request.. I literally thought of this when I was falling asleep but was too tired to get up and type it out then took me the whole day tryna remember it and when I finally did i opened my phone so fast and started typing everything out before I forget again😭
Secret Wife
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
[A/N] I love this request so much, the power idea is so cool! ❤️ Late update today guys, I'm sooooooorry! Hopefully you all enjoy this one 😘 Especially you lovely @leenlynn - hope you're doing okay!
“-He’d probably be interested-”
“I know he would be.”
“So ask him out! What, are you scared?”
Natasha rolls her eyes, “Scared of what?”
“Intimacy,” Steve immediately retorts. “You tried to set me up multiple times but now the moment I try and do it for you-”
“I don’t need you to set me up, Steve. Besides,” Natasha flashes him a smirk. “Your taste sucks. I’m not even interested in men.”
Steve’s eye-brows shoot up and he nods, “I guess I should’ve- Maybe- I should’ve-”
“Known? Asked? Don’t worry about it. It’s not really something I advertise.”
Steve grins, “But you told me ‘cos… We’re such good friends?”
Natasha rolls her eyes and smiles as she grabs her duffle bag, and heads out of the gym, “If you say so. Night Steve.”
The two of them were the last ones still training. Natasha didn’t mind working late, and Steve had been having trouble sleeping lately. When she’d heard, she’d offered to have a late night sparring session with him in the hopes it would clear his head a little. Because, as he said, they are good friends. If she’d realised he was going to spend the whole time trying to convince her to ask random men out on dates, she might not have been so forthcoming.
By the time Natasha’s made it back to her apartment she’s thrilled to see your shoes in the hallway. Natasha had only agreed to stay late because she knew you were also working late, otherwise she would’ve been straight home. There’s nothing Natasha loves more after a long day than crashing on the couch with you and watching the latest episode of whatever TV show you’ve told her she just ‘has to watch’. Recently you’ve been watching ‘Lost’ after Natasha confessed she’d never seen it – you’d been gobsmacked.
Natasha finds you in the kitchen and wraps her arms around your waist, “Late night snack?”
You smile, putting your hand over hers, “So busy today that I didn’t even get chance to have lunch. I got takeout if you want some.”
“From our favourite place?”
“Of course.”
Natasha isn’t really sure why she hasn’t just told the rest of the team that she’s married. Clint knew, obviously. It had been a small ceremony with just Clint and Maria in attendance, both of whom had been sworn to secrecy. Just like Clint had a secret family, Natasha had you. You’d met when Natasha was also a SHIELD agent – she’d known she was attracted to you immediately but had taken forever to act upon it. It was a bit pathetic really, Natasha had been pining for you like crazy. After the Red Room it had taken a lot of convincing from Maria for Natasha to even consider she was worthy of your time and affection. After dating for two years, it was you who had proposed.
After the Battle of New York Natasha had devoted her time to being an Avenger, whilst you’d continued at SHIELD, mostly behind a desk these days, only going on missions when Fury was absolutely desperate – which seemed to be happening more often these days. Due to the nature of both your jobs, neither of you wears your wedding rings on your fingers, each opting to wear them on a necklace around your neck instead. Nobody had ever asked Natasha about the ring on her necklace, and nobody had asked if she was seeing anyone. They’d just assumed she was single.
“Fury got you working hard?”
“No more than usual. There’s just a lot going on.” You finish plating up the food, your movement limited by Natasha’s arms around you, but you’re not about to complain. “How was training with Steve?”
“He kept trying to set me up with random men,” Natasha murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “He said me and Grant Ward were both pretty evasive, and that we’d probably be well suited.”
You laugh, “He met Ward, what, like once? He’s so not your type.”
“Thank you!” Natasha follows you through to the living room, sitting down and taking a bite of the noodles from her plate. “I told him I preferred girls so now tomorrow he’ll probably be trying to set me up with Maria.”
You laugh again, taking a bite of your own food, “I hope so. She’ll have an absolute field day with that.”
Natasha rolls her eyes, nudging you with her foot and you grin, nudging her back before starting the next episode of ‘Lost’. It’s late but Natasha doesn’t care, she’s not going to bed until she’s spent some time with you. Once you’re both done eating, she wraps her arms around you, her fingers running over the tattoos on your arms. Your most recent one is finally healed, and it’s Natasha’s favourite so far – a Black Widow spider, in honour of her. You feel her fingers dancing over it and you reach over, using your power to release the spider from your arm. It scuttles up Natasha’s arm, making her laugh before crawling back onto your arm and turning into a tattoo again.
Natasha kisses your cheek, so in love with you that it’s almost ridiculous. Your power had surprised her at first, but she was pretty much used to it now. “How did you even find out your tattoos did that though?” Natasha had asked.
You’d shrugged, pulling your gun tattoo from your thigh to show her, “I just knew. Then I had to think carefully about what tattoos to get.”
“So, what would happen if you lost the gun?”
“I did once. It ends up back on my skin if someone else tries to pick it up.” You’d shrugged. “I don’t know the exact Science. Ask Bruce if you want, he might be able to explain it.”
Natasha hadn’t, but she always assumed there was more to it than you were letting on. She didn’t push you, though your tattoos fascinated her. One year at the SHIELD Christmas party, when you and Natasha were still just dating, it had been held in a fancy hotel. This one guy had kept hitting on you, refusing to leave you alone, even though you were clearly there with Natasha. It was making her blood boil but you’d just wriggled your eye-brows at her until eventually the guy overstepped the mark, putting an arm around you. You’d pulled your snake tattoo off, placing the now live snake on his shoulder. He’d screamed, leaping back in surprise and swiping at the snake which had immediately slithered into his shirt. The guy had practically fallen to the floor, squirming desperately to try and get the snake out. When you finally turned the snake back into your tattoo, he’d cursed at you, and then stormed off. You and Natasha had laughed so hard that tears had streamed down your cheeks.
Natasha wraps her arm around your waist, kissing your cheek again. “What would happen if you got a grenade tattooed? If you threw it and it exploded, would it still end up back on your skin again?”
You think for a moment, “I don’t know actually. Probably, right? Maybe I should get one, see what happens.”
“What if you got a tattoo of my face? Would you be able to pull out a mini version of me?”
“I’d rather not find out, the normal version of you is irritating enough.”
You squeal with laughter as Natasha tickles your stomach, squirming away from her. Natasha wraps her arms around you, pulling you into her lap and kissing your forehead. You grin, leaning your head against her shoulder, and Natasha leans her head against yours. “I love you so much.”
“More than you love Grant Ward, your perfect man?”
“God, shut up.”
You giggle, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Love you too and you know it.”
Natasha kisses the top of your head, before turning her attention back to the TV. This is her idea of a perfect night – just you, good food, and good TV. Every time Natasha’s with you, she wishes she could freeze the moment and stay there forever.
Of course, reality always comes crashing down eventually. Both of you go to bed late, and are woken by the sound of Natasha’s phone ringing before the sun has even risen. She reaches for it blindly, holding to her ear and mumbling sleepily, “What? What do you want?”
A few minutes later she hangs up and you wrap an arm lazily around her waist, “Who was that?”
“Steve,” Natasha mumbles, kissing your forehead. “Big emergency. I gotta go.”
“But you’re so warm.”
“I know. Sooner the job is done though the sooner I can come back and cuddle you.”
“One more kiss. Or you can’t go.”
Natasha smiles, still irritated by the early wake up call, but more than happy to oblige to your demand. She leans forward and presses a gentle, loving kiss to your lips. For a moment she’s tempted to just ignore whatever catastrophe is going on, so she can stay here with you. You’re warm too, and she always feels best when she’s with you. You’re the only person who makes her feel safe, like she can truly relax. The only person she fully trusts. The Avengers will be fine… Right?
Reluctantly, Natasha pulls herself out of bed and gets changed. You prop yourself up onto your elbow, “You always look so good in that outfit.”
“Oh, are you sexualising me now?”
Natasha grins when you throw a pillow at her. Just as she’s about to leave, she bends down and presses a kiss to your lips, “Love you.”
“Love you more. Don’t get killed or I’ll come looking for you in the afterlife and kick your ass.”
Natasha rolls her eyes, unable to resist giving you one more kiss before reluctantly leaving. You always warn her not to die whenever she goes on a mission – she would love to know how you’d react if she ever got seriously hurt one day. Natasha had thought she was protective, but you took it to a whole new level. It was something that Natasha loved about you. It was sweet to know that someone did care about her wellbeing. Sure, the Avengers care to an extent but not like you do. No one has ever cared about her the way you do, and it always warms Natasha’s heart when you warn her not to die or not to get hurt.
It’s a long fight, with no end in sight. At one point Natasha is pretty certain it even looks like they’re going to lose. She hears Steve over the comms calling for yet more back-up – he’d already called out all the Young Avengers who weren’t even technically signed off yet. Everyone’s doing their best but it’s still not enough. Fury’s going to send over some SHIELD agents.
Natasha isn’t surprised that you’re one of the agents that they send – not only are you enhanced, but you’re also one of their best fighters. Fury had been practically heartbroken when you’d told him you wanted to take on a more administrative role rather than field work. You’d had to promise to cover in emergencies, as today was. Another alien invasion – just another day in New York City these days. Truthfully, any opportunity Nick had to send you out, he took it.
You’re sent along with Maria and several other SHIELD agents. Natasha can’t help glancing at you as you pull your gun tattoo from your thigh, firing at the aliens – the benefit of your unique gift is that your weapons never run out of ammo. Natasha would love to learn the Science behind it one day. When an alien gets too close, you pull a shuriken from your other thigh, throwing it at the alien and striking them right in the head. The alien falls down dead, and the shuriken disappears, appearing as a tattoo on your skin once again. You don’t even have to fetch your weapons! You can always rely on them to come back, never getting caught empty-handed. Natasha’s a little jealous.
It’s not like Natasha to get distracted but she’s so fascinated by your power and the way you’re fighting, that for a moment she’s caught off guard. That’s all it takes to get hit by one of the alien’s laser guns and she hits the floor, crying out in pain. It’s not like Natasha hasn’t taken a punch before but that alien technology really packs a hit. It knocks the wind out of her and she’s too stunned to immediately react. An alien approaches her and she braces for impact, when the alien is suddenly taken down. Natasha isn’t too surprised to find that it was you.
You push your gun back into its tattoo form and kneel down next to her, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Natasha says, managing to catch her breath. “I’m fine, we should-”
“No, no, the battles over. We’re okay, it’s okay.”
“Yeah, it’s over,” Steve says, holding out a hand for Natasha. “These SHIELD recruits were a God send.”
You snort and grin, “Understatement. We totally saved your sorry asses.”
Natasha takes his hand, letting him pull her up. Your arms go around her immediately, holding her tightly and kissing her forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?”
Natasha nods, her arms going around your waist. “I’m fine. More importantly, are you okay?”
“’More importantly?’ You always do this Nat, I swear to God-”
Steve looks between you both with raised eye-brows, and Natasha smiles, “Steve, this is Y/N. She’s… My wife.”
“You’re married?” Steve asks, gobsmacked. “I- So- When you said you like girls-”
“I meant one specific girl. My beautiful Y/N.” Natasha kisses your cheek proudly. “And she was a real badass out there, wasn’t she?”
“Oh for sure,” Tony says, as the rest of the team approaches. “We could use someone like Y/N on our team.”
“Yeah,” Steve says. “You were incredible out there. Those tattoos are- Wow.”
“Yeah! Join our team, Y/N!” Wanda says. “You have such cool powers. And it would be so cool to work with Nat’s wife!”
You grin, leaning your head against Natasha’s shoulder, “I don’t know. I kinda like my desk job-”
“Besides, we’d drive each other crazy if we worked together all the time,” Natasha teases, though she’s not sure that’s true. Part of her almost wishes that you would agree to become an Avenger – she would love to see you training with the others, and let you show off your awesome powers in front of everyone. You could get lunch together, and walk around the grounds in your breaks… Natasha’s not so sure it would be all that bad.
“Come on,” Tony says. “What are SHIELD paying you? I’ll match it. No, I’ll double it.”
“I appreciate the offer but it’s not about the money. I’m kind of looking for a quieter life now.”
“Married to Natasha? I doubt you get that,” Wanda teases.
Natasha grins, pressing another kiss to your cheek, so pleased and proud that everyone thinks you’re cool. Obviously Natasha’s always known that you’re cool, but seeing her colleagues so impressed by you makes her even prouder. She’s not even upset that the others know she’s married now – if anything, Natasha’s glad she can finally show you off. Invite you to Avengers events; give you a proper tour of the compound and the tower…
Natasha can’t help kissing your cheek again and the other Avengers exchange glances, none of them used to seeing her so affectionate. Everyone shakes your hand, interested to hear about your power, and they’re all delighted when you take the snake tattoo of your body, letting it slither up their arms. Natasha beams proudly, an arm around your waist the entire time, her fingers tracing over the tattoo you’d got in her honour. She loves you so much – her no longer secret, but always badass wife.
Summary: You have no idea how to physically, mentally, or emotionally handle when Natasha Romanoff flirts with you—you’re just a records technician. Well, at least she seems to enjoy your fluster.
Tumblr glitched and the ask disappeared. 😭 But I happened to have the request written down, so here it is: “You are probably very busy and have already a lot of stories in mind but I was wondering if you could write a story with avenger Natasha (older and very audacious, sensual and flirty) and very shy reader (working as either secretary or other office job in avenger tower)”
You’ve worked in the Avengers’ records room for a while now, largely left alone, unbothered by and uninvolved with the chaotic day to day that takes place outside of your small bubble. It’s quiet there, with just your filing system to keep you company.
And you like it that way.
You’re not an agent, not a superhero, not a fighter. You’re not built to withstand bullets or knives or pain… and it seems that you’re not built to withstand Natasha Romanoff either.
Records requests are online now—everything’s digitalized in this day and age, and especially so in the Avengers Tower—so when the Black Widow walks into your records office one morning to get a file in person rather than submitting a formal request, you’re already confused.
At first, you don’t realize anyone is there, too preoccupied with reorganizing your already organized archive, always trying to further optimize the system, and Natasha’s footsteps are almost completely silent on the polished concrete floor anyway.
But she makes herself known, an echoing “Hello?” called out into the seemingly empty room.
You frown from your position between the large shelves and filing cabinets when you hear someone’s voice. Who could possibly be here? No one’s ever here but you.
You make your way to the front counter, emerging from the labyrinth that is the records room, your eyes widening in surprise when you see Natasha standing there patiently waiting. One of her eyebrows is raised when you finally appear out of the depths.
“Can…” you trail off for a moment, brows furrowed as you just stare at her—a physical, tangible person—in front of you. “Can I help you?” you try again, this time finishing your sentence.
“I need subfile AVN-2208-B,” Natasha says, straight to the point.
“Okay,” you answer her, mentally running through all the possible locations that record could be in given the Avengers’ extensive archives. You easily track it down in your mind, but for some reason, you make no move to go retrieve it, your feet remaining firmly planted as if you can’t walk anymore, still just looking at her with open confusion.
“Are you… going to go get it for me?” Natasha asks, smirking.
The small pull of her lips only makes you want to freeze up more.
“Oh- oh! Be right back,” you reply, and then you’re quickly running off to the designated shelf, partially to grab the file, partially to flee. You return not long after rushing away, having tracked it down easily, and you jerkily offer the manila folder over to her.
“Here you are.” Your fingers brush on the pass off, and you practically recoil back away from her, the action heavily exaggerated in your panic.
Natasha’s smirk widens. “That was quick,” she remarks, and her eyes jump up from the dossier now in her hands to meet your own.
You can only hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, her intense gaze causing you to glance back at the floor, at the wall, at the file she’s now got in her grasp… anywhere but her. You begin straightening up some papers on the counter, attempting to give yourself something to do, something to distract yourself with instead of the redhead who you can feel still staring at you.
The way your fingers touched when you handed her the folder was purposeful on her part. What can she say? You’re cute, and she’s enjoying the nervous way you’re reacting to her. She hasn’t even said anything that brazen to you yet but look at you.
“Are you always like this when someone comes in?”
“Like what?”
“Jumpy,” she throws back simply.
You mouth opens and closes; you can’t answer. The small counter between you two right now doesn’t feel like enough.
If Natasha notices you short-circuiting, which she obviously does, she takes it in stride, not minding or commenting on your inability to speak when you remain silent. “Well, this was fun. See you soon,” she tosses over her shoulder as she heads toward the exit of the room.
‘Soon’? She’s coming back? Again? In person? How soon is ‘soon’? You’re fucked.
Apparently, ‘soon’ meant soon.
Natasha strolls back into your records room seven days later, seeking another classified report. You fumble through helping her yet again.
“I need AVN-0033 today.”
Your lips purse as you think. That’s an older number, not a file that you have readily available. For once, you’re not quite sure where to find something off the top of your head. So, you type the reference number into the computer database, fingers clacking wildly on the keyboard as you miss the correct keys and hit the incorrect ones, backspacing and typing over and over again. You enter the wrong case number twice.
“That’s… going to require some digging,” you tell her after you finally manage to successfully look up the documents’ whereabouts.
“No rush,” Natasha replies, smirking, “I like watching you work.”
You stand up abruptly from your desk chair when she says that, somehow managing to knock both it over and the cup of pens and pencils on the counter at the same time.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that.”
She returns once every week, sometimes more.
And the requests start getting more elaborate. Older mission files, cross-referenced documents, long-term archived reports that haven’t seen the light of day in years. Honestly, you’re beginning to suspect that some of the records don’t even exist, and when they do, they absolutely could’ve been requested online.
But still, there she is, standing in your office, all the time.
Despite her constant visits, you never get accustomed to her presence. You’re still a mess, bumping your head into open file cabinet drawers when you’re bent down looking for something, hitting your hip on the corner of the desk because you weren’t watching where you were going, walking in the completely wrong direction at first to collect a file that you should know is on the other side of the room.
Natasha never helps.
“That was almost a full sentence. Progress.”
“You’ve almost dropped that three times. Am I that distracting?”
“I’ve gotten faster responses in interrogations.”
And the worst one of all: “Relax. I already like you.”
One day, after multiple occasions filled with Natasha’s teasing and playful flirting, she comes in and, this time, doesn’t ask you for anything.
“Did you need another file?” you question when you see her leaning against the counter.
“Nope,” Natasha responds casually, “Just returning this.” She hands you the folder that she checked out last week.
“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from her. You may not be surprised when your hands graze again, but that certainly doesn’t make the contact any easier to cope with.
“No problem,” she replies, and then she’s walking out of the room with no other words spoken to you.
Which is… weird. Usually Natasha always hangs around, always stalls, always delays her departure, wanting to draw out her time with you for as long as she can. It seems like it’s a fun little game to her: seeing how many times she can get you to stutter or fluster or make a fool of yourself in one visit, and she’s always trying to beat her high score.
This prompt exit is a bewildering break in the pattern you’ve come to know.
When you look down at the folder though, you see something scrawled on the top right corner.
Your face heats up when you notice the 10 digits and a “If you ever want to be nervous somewhere other than your office, call me.” with a happy face waiting for you.
a/n: HELLOOOO i’m back with sachston <33 guy s i am so sorreigh if this seems rushed I can’t explain how difficult it is to write a ballet au sometimes but. I CHOSE THIS!! i hope u like annoyed and angry emily as much as i do <3
word count: 2k
emilys perfectly manicured nails grazed the barre lazily as they trained their arabesques high. with everything she had inside of her, emily held her breath, not daring to make a sound at any time of the lesson.
emily charlton was one of the best dancers at the studio, even claimed true by most of the directors who taught her along the many years of her career. emily was disciplined, cold and very striking on the stage. emily taught herself that friends were distractions, and didn’t allow herself to have any inside the studio, and even less outside it. these thoughts coursed through emily’s head every day, the need for approval crucial to her whole existence.
emily longed for the praise that came by from her director by the end of the daily two and a half hours of class, words of endorsement that encouraged her to stay alive. without her dance, without that rush of energy that is turning, spinning, running and performing she’d consider herself useless.
class was dismissed for two minutes for exactly two reasons; water and air. emily caught her breath, regulating herself before stepping silently to the bathrooms.
emily locks the door behind her before slamming her hands against the wet ish sink, a growl of anger leaving her mouth. she looked herself in the mirror, eyes slightly welled up with tears of bitterness.
for the past month a new student, andrea sachs, had joined the company. she claimed to never have done ballet in her life, but every conversation she has with the girls in class consists of her history as a kid with ballet. that already explains everything.
andrea sachs knew what she was doing. that’s what bothered emily charlton. how andrea waltzed in, insisting that she didn’t know anything, yet absolutely tearing year long students to shreds when it’s time for a choreography.
that infuriated emily. she couldn’t stand even looking at her through the mirror when they’re in class together. and what got emily going even more now was the incline her current and favorite director, miranda priestly, with andrea sachs.
the thing was, up until the very day andrea stepped inside the studio, miranda adored emily. in almost every exercise the classes do, emily was the example. emily had the three most important leads in three different ballets.
everything emily did, miranda was there fawning over her. until the unfaithful day andrea walked inside and turned emily’s life upside down.
emily grumbled before splashing cold water from the steel sink on her face and unlocked the bathroom door, leaving as if nothing ever bothered her.
she stumbled carefully back to her designated spot by the barre only to halt completely just two steps away. andrea was standing right next to where she does. emily could feel her blood boil in that exact moment. her jaw tightened as she took in a deep breath, deciding the studio wasn’t a place to cause a scene.
emily had her classic cold expression on her face and simply walked past andrea like she didn’t exist.
andrea knew something was off about the way emily acted around her, the woman did everything to try to avoid her. andrea wasn’t sure why, however. she still decided to try and push her luck to befriend emily, no matter hard that may be. andrea admired emilys posture.
the next exercise came in quick, all students set their right hands upon the barre. the typical situation where the director comes to check if all dancers are following the movements correctly.
emily was undoubtedly the most flexible in class, doing entirely flawless battements perfectly on beat to the classic piano playing, surrrounding the classroom.
her cold demeanor iced up more as it was when she noticed her director approaching her section of the barre. emily kept up her sequence, using all of her strength. she was ready to hear miranda’s words of praise, ones she dreamt of all bloody day long.
emily watched as miranda stepped near andrea, her ears perking up to listen close to every word. she could physically feel her blood boiling with what she heard.
“good, andrea. i see you’ve been practicing what i passed you this weekend. i’m glad somebody studies.” priestly spoke coldly, but with a tone of kindness toward andrea. it drove emily insane. she bottled up all kind of possible emotion that could be expressed in that moment and shoved it away in her brain.
emily kept up with her choreography, waiting for miranda to finish speaking with andrea. her mind had already tuned that vision out so she could focus and not lose herself there.
miranda stepped closer to emily now, the moment that she anticipated finally coming.
emily had been training restlessly for the lead in the black swan, the white swan. it was her dreamt role, the one she fantasied about ever since she was a kid. emily stayed up late five times a week, watching the same old tapes of the mildly recorded footage of the ballerina she saw when she was five.
when emily failed, she just hit rewind and did it again, and again, and again. until her feet gave up from the pain. she just dug them into a bucket of ice and repeated the process the next night.
miranda knew this, of her tireless effort for this huge project. priestly, of course, was the one to encourage her to audition. and when emily passed to the final choices of the white swan, she couldn’t be happier. that was until andrea arrived at the ballet school.
emily tried to ignore mirandas gaze over her, she could feel the iciness of her blue eyes watching every move she made. emily didn’t dare to stop, only freezing a bit when instead of miranda speaking to her, miranda only nodded and hummed dismissively.
something inside emily broke at that very moment, her leg faltering her balance for a split second. emily held herself together intensely, not allowing anyone to see that short moment of weakness.
opposite of her exterior, however, her mind spiraled. ‘why didn’t mrs. priestly say anything? did i do something wrong? she usually always takes this moment to talk to me..? am i failing? what’s happening right now?’
her mind repeated unsteadily, forcing a sigh out of emily’s mouth. she immediately shook her head and decided to stare at the wall instead, distracting herself.
time passed, students started leaving the studio but six remained by miranda’s command. emily tapped her foot anxiously against the rubber floor, her hands fidgeting restlessly. she hadn’t felt this nervous in ages.
it only increased when miranda returned into the room with the six girls with a paper that read ‘SWAN LAKE — WHITE SWAN ROLE’. emilys eyes widened for a moment, looking around at the other girls’ expressions.
emily was extra disappointed when she saw andrea standing between the other four girls along with emily. she placed her hands on her hip, holding back a classic eye roll.
miranda cleared her throat, the sound practically echoing through the vast studio. six girls stood almost frozen, one of them about to realize their dream. priestly flipped through the small pages, fixing the glasses on her face to read the name underneath the lead role.
“the girl that will be playing the white swan during this years swan lake is..” miranda began, as if about the announce the oscar for the best picture. as if on cue, all girls held their breaths.
“andrea sachs, emily charlton will be playing her… antagonist, the black swan.” miranda smiled toward andrea while reality collapsed in on itself for emily. she immediately spun on her heel and pulled herself toward the door to leave, trying to block out all the celebration for andreas great achievement, not bothering to cheer for her own accomplishment.
tears pooled in emilys eyes, some streaming down her eyes. tears of deception, of anger, of.. something she didn’t want to pinpoint yet.
she slammed the bathroom door shut after letting herself in, pressing her back against the wall. emily panted, catching her breath so she wouldn’t faint from hatred. she braced herself on the sinks edge.
“FUCK!” emily slammed her hands against the countertop, the pain numb to her. it was nothing compared to the endless nights she spent working heavily on every single god forsaken movement of the white swan.
and all of those months spent eating only to keep herself going for her to end up playing the mortal enemy of her desired role?
emily was downright furious, strings of curses escaped her rambling mouth. she couldn’t bring herself to look at herself in the mirror, afraid of what she’d witness. her daze was cut short when she heard three knocks at the door.
emily did her best to compose herself, rapidly wiping away the tears that stained her face. her expression was her usual cold one, with only a hint of watery eyes.
she calmly opened the door, only for all that calculated calmness to leave the second her gaze landed on andrea sachs. an infuriated look took over her face before andrea could utter a word, and dragged andrea inside the bathroom with her.
“you,” emily began, her voice shaking. “where do i even begin with you?” she trapped andrea between her arms, the brunette pressed against the wall. andrea caught her breath, surprised by this being their first actual interaction. all andrea knew was that emily was not happy with her.
“andrea sachs, the bombshell that appeared from bloody no where and just exploded,” emily spat at her, “who the hell do you think you are?”
andrea stared into emilys eyes, unsure of how to respond to any of this. “emily i— i don’t even.. know you..” she whispers, only then emily realizing how harsh she was being.
emily backed away from andrea, catching her own breath. “if only you knew—” emilys voice broke, a crack of vulnerability spreading through her, “how much i did not need you here at this moment.” emily stared at her, anger obvious in her gaze.
andrea admittedly did not know emily at all, but those words stung. “okay, wow, first off.” andrea furrowed her eyebrows. “i’m sorry miranda chose me for the white swan,” she pushed herself off the wall, stepping slowly toward emily. “maybe there was something that makes you the opposite of the chosen swan.” andrea hummed, matching her eyes.
that only infuriated emily more, making her pin the brunette back up against the wall yet again. “what the hell does that mean, andrea?” emily growled, genuine uncertainty in her tone.
“all i’m saying is,” andrea breathed, shifting a little since she was trapped by the redhead again. “you’ve got what it takes to be an absolutely cruel antagonist.”
emily didn’t know whether to take that as the biggest insult to her skills or as a compliment to her persona. emily couldn’t respond. all she did was breathe steadily as she searched andreas eyes for any kind of lie. but there was nothing she could read but pure truth and a hint of want.
emily pulled away, not responding the andreas comment. the anger in her being was still obvious. andrea stepped forward, looking herself in the mirror.
emily reached for the doorknob and muttered incensedly, “i can’t fucking wait to play your mortal enemy.” and left andrea alone in the bathroom.
andrea didn’t know if emily meant that for the ballet or for the whole time they had to act together in or out of the studio. either way, something about emily made andreas head spin.
andreas hands shook slightly as she washed them with cold water. she left the bathroom shortly after regaining her posture. her phone dialed, unexpectedly.
andrea grabbed at it, opening it to see an unknown number texting her. she raised an eyebrow, but her whole body felt hot as she read the message.
“don’t ask how i got your number, it doesn’t matter. don’t forget to not stumble whenever i’m near you. — emily charlton.”
Summary: For four weeks straight, the same redhead has rolled into your ceramic studio with a new date on her arm. Between sharp banter and messy paint, you can’t help but wonder why this textbook player has the nerve to keep flirting with you right in front of her dates.
Word Count: 4k
Tags: Fluff, banter, misunderstandings
—
The weekend rush is always loud, but brings life and energy to the studio. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off the rows of finished glazed pieces lining the shelves, while the low hum of the pottery wheels blends with customer chatter and easy laughter.
Wiping a fresh streak of gray clay onto your navy apron, you rise from your chair, stretching your shoulders after a long lesson.
A student complains about how unlucky they were to have gotten clay stuck on their shirt.
“Unlucky?” you call out to a group of amateur potters, your voice easily carrying across the busy floor. “If your refusal to wear an apron and leaning directly into a spinning lump of mud counts as unlucky, then sure. Let's go with that.”
They let out a dramatic groan, followed by a chorus of laughter from the back. Your knuckles are dry from use, and there is a tired weight in your shoulders, but you feel bright with the space you created.
Walking around the corner to the paint-your-own-pottery section, you pause by a low table to check on a little girl. You crouch down, giving her your full, undivided attention as she passionately explains her chaotic color choices for her mug. You give her an honest nod, enthralled by her next choice of electric pink.
As you stand up, your eyes track across the room and catch vibrant green eyes staring straight at you.
A striking woman with red hair is resting her chin on her hand. Against the backdrop of messy water cups, splattered paint, and children covered in clay, she looks jarringly out of place—wearing a sleek black leather jacket that seems built for a completely different world. She’s trapped on what looks like a devastatingly boring date. Across from her, a blonde woman is gesturing toward her own eye, completely running the conversation in a continuous, relentless monologue.
The red-haired woman doesn't look away when you catch her staring. There is a steady, unhurried intensity to her gaze that pulls you in before you can even process it.
Your eyes drop slightly, noting the completely untouched bisque whale sitting directly in front of her. She hasn't even picked up a brush. A chime rings above the front entrance, breaking your focus, but the combination of her lingering stare and the blank piece of clay prompts you to talk to her.
You stop right beside her chair, evaluating the chalky white whale. When she looks up, you’re met with a cool, guarded expression that you feel compelled to break. Your eyes narrow with a small grin, a playful challenge pulling at the corner of your lips as you tilt your head.
“Would you like some suggestions?” you ask, gesturing softly toward the bottles of acrylic paint resting on the table. “Or are you planning on staring it into submission?”
The woman doesn't look away. She lets an amused smile pull at her lips, her voice dropping into a quiet register as if to match your challenge.
“I might,” she says, her green eyes holding yours steady. “Depends on how good your advice is.”
You scan her face, your grin widening slightly. “Well, it may be a whale, but that doesn’t mean it has to be blue.”
“No?” She tilts her head, leaning in just a fraction of an inch. “What are my options?”
You gaze into her eyes as if magnetized, the intensity of them drawing you.
“It could be green, like your eyes. Though,” you pause, looking deeper into them, “I don’t know if we have a shade back there that can replicate the exact vibrancy of them.”
Her green eyes widen for a split second, her smooth expression fracturing just enough for you to catch the sudden break in her composure. Then, as if it never happened, her lips curve seamlessly into a little smirk, her chin tilting up.
“Is that an admission that your inventory is lacking,” she murmurs, her tone smooth and deliberate, “or are you just trying to flatter me?”
You rest your chin in your hand, completely unfazed by her counter. “I don’t give empty compliments,” you say with a half-grin. “Maybe you can make it red like your hair. Or both. It’ll be a Christmas whale.”
A short huff of laughter escapes her, her shoulders instantly dropping their rigid posture. “A Christmas whale,” she repeats softly, looking down at the piece before meeting your eyes. “Do you give these kinds of suggestions to everyone?”
“Only with students who look like they can handle it,” you say with a warm laugh, your eyes dancing with amusement.
Instead of deploying another quick comeback, she just holds your gaze. You track the way her cool demeanor seems to melt, a small smile pushing past her guarded expression as she listens to your laughter.
Her date suddenly clears her throat, cutting right through the space between you. “I think we’ll be fine,” the blonde says with forced pleasantry. “We’re on a date, so we’ll just talk about it on our own.”
The sharp edge is incredibly clear, but you’ve worked in customer service long enough not to let it faze you. Your eyes drop down to the bisque unicorn she has chosen, which is currently covered in a messy, highly questionable mixture of green and brown paint.
“I like the swamp theme,” you remark with honesty. Who were you to judge? Art is art.
The blonde's jaw drops. “It’s not a—”
Before she can finish, the chime above the front entrance rings again. You glance toward the door at the sound of a new group arriving, quickly assessing the crowd before turning back to the table. “Sorry, duty calls. If you need any help, just call me over. I'm the owner of this place.” You turn your full attention back to the red-haired woman, giving her one last playful wink. “Whale, good luck on the Christmas whale.”
You leave the table with a bright grin, the exhaustion weighing on your shoulders suddenly feeling a bit lighter. Glancing back momentarily as you head toward the front, you catch her dropping right back into her bored expression while her date gestures angrily across the table. But right before you turn away, you notice her finally pick up a thin brush from the plastic cup, her green eyes dropping to the blank clay whale as she opens a red acrylic paint bottle.
A small, quiet spark of curiosity lingers in your chest as you speak to the new customers.
—
The following Sunday brings quiet rain that keeps the studio warm and packed with people looking to escape the weather. The scent of wet earth from outside blends with the familiar, comforting smell of damp clay and fresh wood varnish. You find your mind drifting to the bored red-head from last week between processing transactions and pottery lessons, a small trace of curiosity refusing to completely leave your mind.
When the red-haired woman walks through the door, you feel pleasantly surprised.
She actually came back.
But the feeling instantly pauses the moment she moves toward an open table. She isn't alone. Walking right beside her is a man with short brown hair, carrying himself with an easy, unbothered confidence. A flash of disappointment lingers in your chest as you watch them converse casually while he paints. Looking around at the tables, you notice the need for more water cups and take a lap around the floor before finally landing at hers.
“Back so soon?” you ask, keeping your tone light as you stop beside their table. You nod toward her companion, giving him a quick, polite evaluation. “And with a new face.”
“Yeah, her last date didn’t exactly work out. So here I am,” the man responds smoothly, extending his hand across the wooden table. “I’m Clint. Nice to meet you.”
At the word date, you feel a quiet shift in your chest. A different person in seven days, you note silently, though you keep your expression unchanged. You shake his hand with a seamless smile, catching the comfortable way his chair is pulled tightly alongside hers.
“If you ever need any help, let me know,” you tell him, keeping your voice smooth as you look down at the bisque owl he chose, which is being painted with surprising, hyper-realistic detail. “But I see you’re doing well already.”
“Actually, I think Nat here might need a little more help than me,” Clint says, a teasing grin pulling at his lips.
So her name is Nat, you note.
Clint suddenly flinches as if he just got struck. He reaches out and claps his hand over hers, his fingers lingering there for a moment before he lets go. Your eyes drop to the casual proximity of their hands, tracking the easy familiarity of the touch. So she’s already dating him, you accept without judgment. You aren't about to step over a boundary, but the charming smile she’s giving you and the lingering challenge from last week make you want to prod at her composure just a little bit.
“Hmm,” you drawl, your smile shifting into a slightly more analytical look as you shift your focus entirely to the bare plant pot in front of her. “Well, we already did a Christmas theme last week. I would’ve saved that brilliant idea if I'd known you were coming back so soon.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” she responds softly.
You look up, catching her eye, the words come out much quieter than you expect, completely lacking that slick, polished confidence you saw on day one. At the sudden shift in her tone you find the corner of your lips tug upwards into a small, familiar smile, the quiet warmth filtering back into your eyes. You quickly look down at the array of colors beside her before she notices.
“Maybe a bright yellow,” you murmur, your finger tracing a slow line over the plastic caps.
In the corner of your eye, you notice her gaze move. Her eyes stay locked on you instead of the colors you’re suggesting, watching the slight movement of your throat as you speak. When you lean in a fraction closer to point out the tray, she matches your movement.
“Or maybe pitch black?” you ask, turning your head slightly to look at the pot.
The sudden rotation brings your faces close enough that you can see the slight, golden flecks from the studio lights in her eyes. She doesn’t blink, as if in a trance.
“Whatever you think looks best,” she responds, her voice dropping into a quiet register.
“Dirt brown sounds good then?” you offer dryly.
“Perfect,” she agrees instantly, as if you’ve said the most brilliant idea.
You let out a soft, amused hum at how easily she folded, pointing down at the table. “And are you planning on painting your jacket, too?”
Nat follows your gaze downward. Her left elbow is resting squarely on the edge of the plastic palette, the dark fabric of her jacket cuff heavily smeared with a thick streak of bright orange acrylic. Beside her, Clint’s paintbrush freezes mid-air, his eyebrows raised.
She slowly lifts her arm, examining the ruined fabric as if she fully meant to do that. “It’s a bold choice,” she says smoothly. “I’m testing out a new canvas.”
You let out a low laugh, shaking your head as you pull a damp white cloth from your apron pocket. You reach out, your fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist to pull her arm closer. Her skin feels warm against your palm, and her entire frame goes completely still under your touch. You can feel her pulse racing frantically beneath your fingertips.
Keeping your eyes locked on the dark fabric, you carefully swipe the wet paint off the sleeve before stepping back to re-establish your distance.
“I’ll let you two get back to your masterpieces,” you say, giving her a quiet, knowing nod that lingers just a moment too long on her face before you turn away. “Try to keep the paint on the pottery, Nat.”
—
The next Sunday is a chaotic, busy afternoon. A local birthday party reservation has half the studio covered in colorful tissue paper, and the air smells strongly of paint, wet clay, and fresh glaze. You are in your element, floating between tables to rescue a collapsing clay vase here and mixing custom underglazes there, completely dialed into the rhythm of your space. But despite the noise, you still catch yourself checking the afternoon reservation slots on the clipboard near the register.
When she finally walks through the door, the small, quiet spark of anticipation you’d been carrying all week instantly drops.
Number three, you observe.
Last week it was the owl guy. This week, she’s brought a man who carries himself with a relaxed confidence. He’s wearing a sharp jacket and has a kind of easy, commanding stature.
You watch from the safety of the drying racks as he smirks, pulling his chair so close to hers that their shoulders brush. He slings a casual arm over the back of her seat, leaning in to whisper something against her ear. Nat drives a sharp elbow directly into his ribs, her jaw tightening into a rigid line.
“Sam, knock it off,” she mutters, her voice sharp enough to carry straight across the narrow aisle to where you are standing.
The man—Sam—lets out a low, smooth laugh, entirely unfazed as he rubs his ribs and leans back in his chair. He looks around as if searching for something. Or someone.
You let out a slow breath, wiping your dry, chalky hands on your apron. So that's his name, you note, nodding to yourself.
You’d spent the last week wondering if you’d over-analyzed the lingering looks or imagined her racing pulse. But seeing her roll in with a brand-new partner for the third week in a row clarifies everything. It was routine for her. You were just the entertaining backdrop for her weekly dating rotation.
You pull your shoulders back, engaging your absolute best, most flawless customer-service demeanor. If she wants to play games under your roof, she can do it—but you aren't going to play along.
You grab a fresh mixing palette from the counter, stepping up to her table with a smooth, pleasant smile. You set the paint tray down with a crisp plastic click.
“Good afternoon,” you greet them, your voice welcoming but stripped of the casual, warm wit you’d given her on day one.
Your eyes sweep over her new companion, giving him a nod. “Welcome back,” you say, looking directly at her. Her green eyes are already locked onto you, wide and intensely focused, but you refuse to let her drop that soft, quiet tone from last week into your space. Amusement pulls at your lips at her audacity to pull this in your studio.
You casually gesture to the acrylic caps between them. “Let me know if you two need any extra water cups or brushes today.”
She leans forward slightly, her eyes searching yours as if she’s trying to hunt for the easy, playful cadence from a week ago. “I’ll try to keep the paint off my jacket this time,” she says, her voice dropping into a charming register.
You let out a polite chuckle that doesn't reach your eyes—the same empty laugh you give to difficult customers or distant acquaintances whose conversations you are quietly praying will end. You don't lean in, and you don't break your posture. You step back, re-establishing the boundary of the table.
“That’s always preferred,” you respond, already looking around the room. You turn and give Sam a friendly nod. “Make sure she keeps it on the clay. Enjoy your afternoon together, guys.”
Before she can respond, you turn on your heel and head straight toward a nearby family table. The immediate shift is a relief, and you feel yourself warming up again at the family's genuine excitement. Your laugh is bright as you help a little boy pick out a vibrant blue for his clay turtle.
You deliberately keep your back to her sector of the room, entirely starving her of your energy. This is the place that makes you happy, and you won’t let someone else, especially not a player, ruin that.
A few minutes later, as you walk back to the sink to rinse the blue glaze off your fingers, you catch a final glimpse of her table through the crowded room.
She is sitting completely still. She isn't talking to Sam, and she hasn't even uncapped a single bottle of paint. Instead, her green eyes are locked entirely on the sink station, tracking you with a puzzled expression. When one of your employees approaches her table to offer a clean water cup, she just shakes her head without looking, her shoulders dropping defeatedly.
She picks up a single brush and stares blankly at the plain white bisque, seemingly lost on what to choose.
You pull your gaze away, dry your hands on a towel, and focus entirely on the people who are actually here to paint.
—
The following Sunday brings relentless rain that beats against the glass, keeping the studio dim and quiet compared to the usual weekend rush. You are at the counter sorting clean paintbrushes into plastic cups, when the door chimes.
You look up, and familiar red hair catches your attention instantly. But your gaze drops almost immediately to the person walking in beside her—a quiet, sweet-looking brunette who immediately bypasses the display of mugs and plucks a plain bisque heart from the top shelf.
Oh my God, your eyes drift upwards into the hardest eye roll ever.
You watch from the counter as they sit down at a corner table, their heads huddled close together as the brunette dips a brush into a jar of bright red paint. Nat is leaning back, her green eyes sweeping across the room until they land right on you. You let out a heavy sigh of annoyance. Watching her treat your creative studio like her personal, weekly Sunday dating lounge was starting to become offensive.
When you notice the brunette starting to carefully script a bold red "+" sign right next to the letter N, you decide you've officially hit your limit. You grab a fresh water cup from the back counter, your stance rigid, and walk straight toward their table. You set the water cup down on the wooden table with a heavy snap, crossing your arms tight against your navy apron.
“It really makes you sound like a—”
You cut the brunette off mid-sentence. “Player!” you say, your voice sharp, clear, and cutting straight through the quiet hum of the studio.
The brunette's brush freezes mid-air. Nat’s gaze snaps up, her entire body locking up instantly as she looks up at you.
“A textbook, smooth-talking, revolving-door player,” you clarify, gesturing sharply between her face and the freshly painted red letters on the ceramic heart. “Four weeks. Four different people under my roof. First the girl with the swamp unicorn. Next you’re holding hands across the table with the owl guy. Last week you drag a new guy in here to drape his arm over your seat and whisper in your ear, and today? Today you bring her in here for your weekly rotation while she’s clearly in love with you.” You point down to the heart resting in between you three.
Nat sits with her mouth open slightly as if her mind has just been blown. Beside her, the brunette quietly lowers her paintbrush, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Told you,” she whispers to Nat.
“I am not a player,” Nat manages to say. The words come out flat, completely stripped of her usual cool confidence.
“Oh, really?” You tilt your head, refusing to back down. “Because from where I’m standing, you roll in here every Sunday with someone new on your arm, and you still have the nerve to try and charm me across the table. I’m not letting you use my shop to lead people on, and I’m definitely not feeding into your routine.”
Nat lets out a soft, almost frustrated breath, her eyes locking onto yours with honesty.
“They’re my coworkers,” she says quietly, her gaze unwavering. “The first girl with the unicorn was a blind date I was forced into. Clint, the owl guy? He’s married. The only reason he grabbed my hand was to steady himself because I kicked him under the table.”
The memory of Clint’s sudden, pained flinch flashes in your mind. Huh, you muse. Maybe that’s why he grimaced.
“And the guy from last week—Sam?” Nat continues, leaning forward just an inch as she keeps her green eyes locked on yours. “He was leaning in to ask which one you were.”
The memories since you met her replay in your mind, every scattered, confusing moment from the past four weeks rapidly reordering itself in your head. You remember the way the guy in the sharp jacket had been scouting the room, his eyes scanning the tables as if he were trying to pick out a target.
The memory of her frantic pulse against your fingertips replays in your mind.
Beside her, the brunette lowers her paintbrush completely, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she watches you connect the dots in real time.
Nat nudges the brunette. “Tell her, Wanda.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Wanda tells you, pushing her chair back and standing up from the table. “We’re just coworkers. I was making the heart for you two to tease her,” Wanda recounts with a smile. “Sounds like you two should talk now that the fun part is over.”
She offers you a cheerful, parting wave and casually strolls toward the front door, leaving the heart resting on the table.
Silence blankets the space between you and Nat, standing out against the casual chatter of the surrounding studio. She looks up at you, her voice dropping into an honest plea.
“I only kept dragging them here because I needed the support and I wanted to see you again.”
A breathless laugh escapes your lips as the ridiculousness of the situation settles in.
“And here I thought I was dealing with a high-profile heartbreaker,” you murmur, meeting her gaze. The warmth from your very first meeting slowly floods back into your eyes. “I almost banned you from the studio.”
“That would’ve been a shame,” Nat responds smoothly, her confidence returning to her voice at the sight of you softening. Her lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “I was actually hoping for a private lesson sometime.”
“Hmm…” you drawl, leaning in closer across the wooden table, fully matching her rhythm again. “Private lessons with the owner aren’t cheap, you know.”
“Name your price,” she says, completely drawn back into your orbit.
You contemplate the question for a brief moment, your fingers tapping a light rhythm against the edge of the table before you meet her gaze with a wicked grin.
“Come by yourself next week. No coworkers,” you tilt your head, your eyes dancing with a playful challenge. “Though, that might be difficult for you.”
Nat lets out a soft laugh, eyes locking onto yours with a profound look of victory. “Deal.”
“Great.” You lean in close to her, the familiar scent of paint and wet clay lingering faintly off your clothes. “See you next Sunday. I’ll pencil you in for one o’clock.”
She moves to lean in closer, but you pull back with a playful wink, turning on your heel and walking back toward the pottery classroom. You can hear her breathless laugh, and when you look back, she’s still staring at the empty space where you last stood.
“See you next Sunday,” you hear her whisper.
You turn back around with a satisfied smile, already thinking of exactly how you’re going to tease her about this next week.
—
Sorry for the two short fics in a row 😅 I had a few DMs asking if I'd be willing to do a WandaNat/Reader series so I've been working on a rough draft for that and seeing if I like my idea enough to go through with it. Thank you for the love on the last fic! It'll have a part 2 eventually. Have a good week guys!
The town car arrived exactly on time. During the entire ride across the city, you couldn't sit still. Your legs bounced. You kept smoothing down your simple black hoodie and leggings, wondering if you should have dressed up more. Inside, you felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, nervous, thrilled, and a little dazed. This powerful, gorgeous woman wanted you again. At 5 AM. The memory of her thick cock stretching you open, her green eyes locked on yours, and the way she'd growled "good girl" kept replaying in your head, making you press your thighs together. The driver, a tall old man, spent the past few minutes humming to some popular song that had been playing on the radio while occasionally checking his rear view mirror. Maybe this was ridiculous. Were you really just about to go to a woman's apartment at 5 AM just because she fucked you good? Well, yes.
The car pulled up to Natasha's building which was a sleek, ultra-modern skyscraper made of glass and dark steel that screamed old money and power. Before you could even process it, the door opened and the driver held his hand out, waiting for you to accept it.
"Thank you." You mumbled softly before he escorted you inside. It was quiet inside the building, but you knew soon enough the hustle and bustle of 6 AM would come soon.
The lobby was visible through the towering floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble floors that gleamed under crystal chandeliers, minimalist leather seating, and massive abstract art pieces on the walls. It looked less like an apartment building and more like a private museum for the obscenely wealthy. You stepped inside, the cool air hitting your skin. The reception desk was a long, polished black marble counter. Behind it stood a tall, impeccably dressed blonde woman in her late 20s, sharp cheekbones, designer blouse, and an expression of practiced superiority. Her name tag read "Elena."
She looked you up and down slowly, taking in your casual hoodie, leggings, and the faint scent of club smoke still clinging to your curls. Her lips curled into a condescending smirk.
"May I help you?" she asked, tone dripping with fake politeness.
"This is a private residence. Deliveries and guests need prior approval." You straightened your shoulders, weight shifting to your other leg.
"I'm here to see Natasha Romanoff. She's expecting me." Elena let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. She checked her tablet, then looked back at you with open disdain.
"Miss Romanoff didn't mention any guests tonight. Especially not..." Her eyes flicked over you again.
"...Someone like you. Are you sure you have the right building, sweetheart?" The condescension was thick. Jealousy mixed with classist venom. It was clear this woman had been trying to get Natasha's attention for a while, and the idea of some random (curvy, beautiful and clearly not from their world) girl showing up at 5 AM offended her deeply.
Before you could respond, the private elevator dinged. Natasha stepped out like she owned the entire damn city. She was wearing a black silk robe loosely tied over what looked like grey sweatpants and a tank top, silver-streaked auburn hair tousled from sleep, or maybe lack of it, and those sharp green eyes immediately locked onto you with raw hunger. The robe did little to hide the heavy bulge already forming between her legs.
Elena straightened instantly, her voice turning sugary.
"Miss Romanoff, I was just telling this young woman that you-"Natasha didn't even glance at her. She crossed the lobby in long, confident strides, slid a possessive arm around your waist, and pulled you flush against her body. Her hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise as she leaned down and kissed you . It was deep, claiming, and completely unconcerned about the audience. You melted instantly, a soft whimper escaping into her mouth.
When Natasha finally pulled back, she kept her arm locked around you and looked at Elena with cool indifference.
"She's with me." Natasha said, voice low and authoritative.
"Always. Don't question her again." Elena's face flushed with embarrassment and jealousy, but she nodded stiffly.
"Of course, Miss Romanoff." Natasha didn't wait for more. She guided you toward the elevator with a firm hand on your lower back, almost possessive. As the doors closed, she pressed you against the mirrored wall, lips brushing your ear.
"I've been hard for hours thinking about you," she growled.
"Couldn't sleep. Needed to feel this pretty warm pussy again." You shivered, grinning giddily against her neck as the elevator rose.
The mean receptionist was already forgotten.
All that mattered was the way Natasha Romanoff couldn't wait until morning to have you again.
The elevator ride up was thick with tension.
Natasha kept you pressed against the mirrored wall, one hand gripping your hip possessively while the other tilted your chin up for another deep, hungry kiss. Her silk robe had slipped open slightly, and you could feel the heavy, hard length of her cock pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric of her sweats.
"I've been thinking about this tight little pussy since you left." she murmured against your lips, accent thicker with want.
"Couldn't even sleep properly." You shivered, heart racing with that same giddy, nervous excitement from the car ride.
This powerful woman, this older woman, had summoned you at 5 AM because she needed you.
The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse. Your breath caught. You'd never seen anything like it. The space was massive and breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living area, offering a panoramic view of the glittering city skyline that made you feel like you were floating above the world. The lighting was low and warm, soft recessed lights and the glow of the city beyond.
Everything screamed quiet, expensive luxury.
Sleek modern furniture in deep charcoal and cream tones filled the open-plan space. A massive sectional that looked like it could seat twenty dominated the living area. In one corner stood a glossy black grand piano. A fully stocked bar with crystal glassware and expensive bottles glowed under subtle lighting. The floors were dark polished hardwood that felt cool under your sneakers.
It smelled like her , woody cologne, faint whiskey, and something undeniably powerful. Natasha watched your reaction with dark satisfaction, her hand never leaving your lower back as she guided you inside.
"First time seeing it properly." she said, voice low.
"What do you think?" You stepped further in, eyes wide, turning slowly to take it all in.
"It's... insane. Beautiful. Like something out of a movie." You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
"I feel like I shouldn't even be standing here in sneakers." Natasha's lips curved into a predatory smile. She closed the distance, sliding her arms around your waist from behind and pulling your back flush against her front. You could feel her hard cock pressing insistently against your ass.
"You belong here." she murmured, lips brushing your ear.
"I wanted you back the second you left. Couldn't stop thinking about how good you felt riding me. How pretty you looked with my cock buried inside you. The breathless sound you made just as you were about to cum, fuck. I want to hear it again." You whimpered softly, already wet. The contrast between the overwhelming luxury surrounding you and the raw hunger in her voice made your head spin.
Natasha didn't give you long to admire the view. She turned you around, picked you up like you weighed nothing, and carried you over to the huge sectional. She sat down and pulled you astride her lap, hands immediately sliding under your hoodie to grip your bare waist.
"Take this off." She ordered, already tugging the fabric upward. You obeyed quickly, pulling the hoodie over your head. Your full breasts spilled free, you hadn't worn a bra.
Natasha groaned at the sight, leaning in to suck one dark nipple into her mouth while her hands squeezed your ass.
"You're just so fucking perfect," she growled against your skin.
"This body has been driving me crazy for too many fucking days." You rocked against the thick bulge in her sweatpants, moaning softly. The city lights sparkled behind you through the massive windows as Natasha freed her heavy cock and pushed your leggings and panties to the side.
She didn't tease this time.She lined up and pulled you down onto her in one smooth, deep thrust, burying every thick inch inside you.You gasped sharply, head falling back as the stretch burned so good. Natasha's lips parted, eyes trained on those pink lips of yours. Her thumb pushed your bottom lip down, your tongue coming out to lick the digit. You maintained eye contact while you sucked her thumb and you could see the way Natasha swallowed thickly before she trailed that same thumb down your stomach, to your clit.
Natasha then gripped your hips tightly and started guiding you to ride her, deep and steady bounces that made your breasts jiggle and your ass ripple like water.
"Look at me." She commanded. You did. Those intense green eyes stayed locked on yours as she fucked up into you, the wet sounds of your pussy taking her cock filling the luxurious penthouse.
This was only your second time with her, but it already felt dangerously addictive.
And as Natasha pulled you down harder, growling "Good girl" while the city watched silently through the windows, you realized something thrilling:
You were already in deep.
—-
You woke up slowly, wrapped in the softest sheets you'd ever felt. The first thing you noticed was the warmth. A solid, strong body pressed against your back, one heavy arm draped possessively over your waist. The second was the view. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in soft morning light, painting the entire penthouse in golden hues. The city stretched out endlessly below, making you feel like you were floating in the sky.
You were in Natasha's bed. Memories from a few hours ago flooded back. Natasha fucking you on the sectional, then carrying you to bed and taking you again. So much slower, and so fucking deep, until you were shaking and moaning her name. Until you could feel her in your stomach, just hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars over and over again. She fucked you so good, you went silent, mouth opened in an "o" shape.
"Don't you dare look away. I want to see you." She whispered, telling you how she wanted to see you fall apart. You came so hard that moment, thigh lifting slightly while you let out a choked gasp. You'd fallen asleep with her still buried inside you.
Now, Natasha was awake. You could feel her watching you. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare stomach, occasionally brushing the underside of your breast. Her thick cock was already half-hard, resting against the curve of your ass.
"Morning, gorgeous." she murmured, voice husky with sleep and that faint accent. She pressed a slow kiss to the back of your neck.
"Sleep well?" You turned in her arms to face her, suddenly shy under the bright morning light. Natasha looked devastating, her silver-streaked auburn hair messy, sharp green eyes soft with satisfaction, pale skin marked with a few faint scratches you'd left on her shoulders last night and earlier that morning.
"I... yeah." You whispered, a giddy little smile tugging at your lips.
"This bed is ridiculous. Everything here is ridiculous." Natasha chuckled lowly and pulled you closer, hooking one of your thick thighs over her hip. Her hand slid down to squeeze your ass possessively.
"You look good in my bed." she said, eyes roaming over your dark skin against her white sheets.
"I could get used to waking up to this." Your heart did a little flip. This was only your second night together, but the way she looked at you...like she didn't want you to leave, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach again.
Natasha leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep. The kiss quickly grew heated. Her hand slipped between your thighs, finding you already wet for her again.
"You're just so greedy huh?" she teased against your lips, sliding two fingers inside you easily. "Even after I fucked you twice last night, your pussy, she just gets so wet." You moaned softly, rocking against her hand and pulling it closer to guide her movements.
"Can't help it... you feel too good." Natasha rolled you onto your back and settled between your spread thighs. She pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, groaning at the tight heat. This time it was lazy morning sex , deep and slow rolls of her hips, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
"Fuck, you take me so well." She breathed, forehead pressed to yours.
"This pretty wet pussy was made for my cock."
You wrapped your legs around her waist, nails digging into her back as she fucked you steadily. The morning light illuminated every detail. The way her silver hair caught the sun, the flex of muscle in her shoulders, the intense focus in her green eyes as she watched you fall apart. When you came, it was soft and shuddering, a quiet moan of her name leaving your lips. Natasha followed right after, burying herself deep and filling you with warm cum as she groaned against your neck.
She stayed inside you afterward, holding you close while the city woke up far below.
"I want you to stay longer today." she said quietly, brushing curls from your face.
"Cancel whatever you had planned. Let me feed you breakfast. Then maybe fuck you in the shower." You laughed breathlessly, still floating from the orgasm.
"You're not tired of me yet?" Natasha's expression turned serious. She cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.
"Not even close," she murmured.
"I told you, I don't do this, inviting someone back the very next night. But with you... I can't seem to stop." Your heart swelled with that giddy, dangerous feeling again. You were falling fast. Too fast.
But lying here in her bed, full of her cum, wrapped in her arms while the morning sun warmed your skin... you couldn't find it in yourself to care.
"I'll stay, just cause you promised me pancakes." You whispered, leaning up to kiss her.
Natasha smiled against your lips. Slow, satisfied, and just a little possessive. Her arms wrapped around you, rough calloused digits tracing your back.
"Good girl."
—-
You left Natasha's penthouse around 11 AM.
She'd tried to convince you to stay longer by offering breakfast in bed (which you gladly took) and another round in the shower (messy, long, steamy and no not from the hot water). Natasha even suggested you cancel your plans for the entire day. But you needed a moment to breathe. Your body was deliciously sore, your mind was spinning, and you still smelled like her cologne and sex.
The town car dropped you off at your modest apartment building. The contrast was almost comical, going from a sky-high glass palace with marble floors and city views to your small one bedroom with creaky floors and a kitchen that barely fit two people. You kicked off your converse, collapsed onto your couch, and stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, replaying everything. Then you grabbed your phone and opened your messages with Anna.
You two had a strict "no TMI" policy. Nothing was off-limits.
You
Girl. I need you to sit down. I just left someone's penthouse. Like... 5 minutes ago.
Anna's typing bubble popped up instantly.
Anna
BITCH WHAT. Who??? You better not be talking about some random club guy. Spill RIGHT NOW.
You bit your lip, grinning as you typed, still feeling that giddy, floaty feeling in your chest.
You
Her name is Natasha. She's kind of a Silver fox. Late 40s/early 50s. Rich as hell. Like... stupid rich.
You paused for a moment, grinning like some teenager.
You
She has a penthouse that looks like it belongs in a movie. Floor to ceiling windows, grand piano, the whole thing. I felt like I didn't even belong there in my sneakers. I kinda met her at that gig you gave me and well we talked but nothing happened.
Anna
Hello!!?? That was a while ago
You
I'm not done. So then, a few weeks later I saw her at the club and she was watching me. She paid like a lot of money for me to dance for her. But the two weeks after that, she came back and asked for a full night performance and I guess we kind of fucked.
Your cheeks began to heat up from the memories. You even kicked your legs like some lovesick teenager.
Anna
Kinda??? And then what?! Don't leave me hanging.
You
We fucked okay. Anna, the dick is LIFE CHANGING. Thick, curved, she knows exactly how to use it. I rode her on her couch the first night. She fucked me twice more before I left this morning. I can literally still feel her inside me rn.
You sent a string of flushed-face emojis.
Anna
HOLD TF UP. You went home with a rich white woman. A WHOLE DAY AGO and you're just now telling me???
You
I was busy.
Anna
Well know I know why. Details. Measurements if possible. Is she a top? Does she eat pussy? I need the full report!!!
You laughed out loud in your quiet apartment, cheeks burning as you typed back.
You
She's a top. Very much a top. She ate me out like she was starving. Made me come so hard my back arched off the bed for a long moment. And she's so possessive but in this hot, controlled way. Woke me up this morning by pulling me on top of her and fucking me slow while staring into my eyes. Told me she couldn't stop thinking about me and wanted me to stay longer.
Anna
Woah
You
Anna... I'm scared of how much I already like her. Like, stupid giddy. I was smiling the whole car ride home like some idiot
Anna
Babe. This sounds like danger. Rich older woman who fucks like a god and lives in a sky palace? Red flags but also... live your best life??? But be careful. Make sure she's not just playing games. Also send pics of the penthouse next time if you can 😂
You smiled, hugging a pillow to your chest.
For the first time, you had someone in your life who felt bigger than just a client or a one-night stand. And telling Anna about it made it feel real.
You
I'll be careful. But... I think I'm gonna see her again. Soon.
Anna
Of course you are. Just don't fall too fast, babe. Keep me updated on that silver fox dick tho.
You put your phone down, still grinning like a fool. Even back in your small apartment, surrounded by your normal life, you could still feel Natasha's hands on your body and hear her whispering "good girl" in your ear.
And you knew that this was only the beginning.
—-
Natasha Romanoff didn't do this. She didn't just invite women back to her penthouse the very next night. She didn't text at 4 AM because she couldn't stop thinking about someone or how they sounded when they laughed. And she certainly didn't spend the entire morning after watching her sleep with a stupid, soft smile on her face. Yet here she was. Still thinking about you.
After you left, Natasha stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, coffee in hand, staring out at the city. She was now wearing only her silk robe, your scent, coconut, vanilla, and sex was still clinging to her skin. She couldn't stop replaying it. The way you'd looked riding her on the couch that first night. The surprised, breathless sounds you made when she filled you. How your right thigh lifted when you came. The shy but glowing smile on your face when you woke up in her bed this morning. Natasha was in trouble.
Her phone buzzed. A group chat.
Carol
Brunch? I'm in town for 48 hours.
Wanda
I'm free. Natasha, you better not be working.
Natasha sighed and typed back.
Natasha
My place. 1 PM.
Two hours later, Carol Danvers and Wanda Maximoff were sprawled across her sectional like they owned it. Carol, blonde and athletic in jeans and a leather jacket, was nursing a mimosa. Wanda, with her soft red hair and knowing green eyes, was curled up with a cup of tea.
They both noticed something was off immediately.
"Well you're glowing." Wanda said, tilting her head with a small smirk.
"And you have that 'I got laid and it was good' look. Spill." Natasha leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed.
"It's nothing." Carol barked out a laugh.
"Bullshit. You never invite us over last minute unless something's up. Who is she?" Natasha was quiet for a moment, then sighed.
"Her name is... y/n" she said, the name feeling intimate on her tongue.
"Shes young and so beautiful. Curves that should be illegal. She was waitressing at the Harrington event a couple of weeks ago. Some assholes were being rude to her. I shut it down... and then.."Wanda's eyebrows rose.
"You took a waitress home didn't you?"
"No!" Natasha frowned.
"That night we were at the club."
"What club?"
"The time Rio lost the bet and we went to the strip club, I saw her again. She's a dancer."
Carol grinned.
"You fucked the stripper didn't you?" Natasha shot her a look.
"How did you-"
"Because you have that 'I can't stop thinking about her' face," Carol said, pointing.
"The same face you get when you're closing a deal you're obsessed with. Except this time it's a person." Wanda had placed her drink down, her attention was now solely focused on the redhead.
"You guys had sex?"
"Yes."
"With the stripper?"
"Wanda she's more than just a stripper." Natasha murmured after taking a sip from her wine glass.
"And you like her?" Wanda asked and Natasha paused before nodding.
"Fuck. I think I do." Wanda leaned forward, more gentle.
"You like her." She repeated, softer this time.
Natasha ran a hand through her silver-streaked hair.
"I do." She admitted quietly.
"More than I should after two nights. She's... different. She's got this fire. She's just..."
"Indescribable." Carol finished and Natasha nodded.
Wanda's expression softened with understanding.
"Sounds like you're falling, Nat." Natasha didn't deny it. She just stared out the window, a small, rare smile tugging at her lips.
"She makes me feel... greedy. Like I want all of her time. All of her attention. I want to spoil her. Protect her from the assholes at that club." She let out a breath.
"It's only been two nights and I'm already thinking about when I can see her again."
Carol clapped her on the shoulder.
"Then stop overthinking and go get your girl. You deserve something real for once." Wanda nodded.
"Just be careful. Don't scare her off with the full Romanoff intensity too fast." Natasha chuckled, but her mind was already drifting back to you, wondering what you were doing right now, if you were sore, if you were thinking about her too.
She was falling. And for the first time in years, she wasn't sure she wanted to stop. Age be damned.
—-
You were lying in bed, freshly showered, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. Your body was still tender. Your thighs sore, pussy faintly throbbing from how thoroughly Natasha had fucked you that morning. Every time you moved, you felt the ghost of her thick cock stretching you open. Your phone lit up.
Natasha
Tell me you're still thinking about me.
You bit your lip hard, a rush of heat flooding between your legs
You
How could I not? I can still feel you inside me.
Natasha
Good. I've been hard for the last hour just remembering how you looked riding me this morning. That pretty puffy pussy taking every inch. The way your thighs just kept lifting every time you came.
You squirmed on the bed, pressing your thighs together.
You
You're dangerous. I'm literally wet again just reading this.
Natasha
Send me a picture.
Your heart raced, heart slamming against your ribs . You hesitated for half a second, then angled your phone down. You pulled your shirt up, spread your thighs, and took a quick photo , showing your slick, puffy pussy still slightly swollen from earlier. Fuck it.
You sent it.
Natasha
Fuck. Look at that pretty pussy. Still leaking my cum? I should've kept you in my bed all day. Should've fucked you until you couldn't walk.
You
I'm sore but I want more. You ruined me for anyone else already.
Natasha
That's the plan.
You let out a shaky breath, fingers hovering over the keyboard as heat pooled low in your belly.
You
You're really trying to make me touch myself tonight, huh?
Natasha
Shouldn't have to try. You're already soaked just from texting me. Tell me the truth, are you touching that pretty pussy right now?
Your hand had already slipped between your thighs without you realizing. You bit your lip harder and typed with one hand.
You
...Yes.
You paused before continuing.
You
I'm so wet. Can't stop thinking about how deep you were this morning.
Natasha
Show me.
Another picture request. Your heart hammered as you spread your legs wider, angled the camera, and snapped a new photo, this one showing two of your fingers glistening with your slick, your swollen clit peeking out. You sent it.
Natasha
Fuck, look at you. You're such a needy little thing. Playing with that pussy while thinking about my cock. I want you to fuck yourself with those fingers and pretend it's me stretching you open.
You moaned softly in the quiet of your room and pushed two fingers inside yourself, eyes fluttering shut as you imagined her thick length instead.
You
Feels so good but not enough... I need you. Want you to bend me over and fuck me until I can't walk straight.
Natasha
Careful, beautiful. Keep talking like that and I'll come over there right now and ruin you all over again.
You
And what if I want that?
Natasha
Oh baby, I want those thighs shaking while I pound you. Want to hear you moan my name until your voice gives out.
You were breathing harder now, fingers moving faster as you read her messages.
You
Please... I'm so close. Tell me what you'd do to me.
Natasha
I'd pin you down on your back, spread those thick thighs wide, and slam every inch into you. I'd fuck you hard and deep until that pretty wet pussy is creaming all over my cock. And then I'd flip you over and fill you up while you're still shaking for me.
That pushed you over the edge. You came with a choked moan, thighs trembling, fingers buried deep as your pussy clenched and pulsed. You snapped one last blurry, post-orgasm picture, your fingers shiny and your pussy visibly wet and twitching , and you sent it.
Natasha
Jesus Christ.
She typed for a moment before the bubbles disappeared. Then they reappeared.
Natasha
Good girl. Such a perfect, messy little slut for me. I'm so fucking hard right now. Tomorrow night. After your shift. My car will be waiting.
Natasha
And you'd better not be wearing any panties.
You smiled breathlessly, still coming down from your high.
You
Yes, ma'am. I can't wait.
Natasha
Get some rest, beautiful. You're going to need it.
You locked your phone and stared at the ceiling, heart racing and a stupid grin on your face.
This woman was going to be the death of you.
And you were already counting down the hours until you saw her again.
—-
The club was packed, but the second you spotted her in the VIP booth, everything else faded.
Natasha sat like she owned the place — legs spread, black suit tailored perfectly to her powerful frame, silver-streaked auburn hair catching the lights. Her green eyes were locked on you with intense, burning focus. She wasn't smiling. She was watching every move you made like a predator. So you danced for her.
Every roll of your hips, every arch of your back, every slow, filthy grind against the pole, it was all for her. You caught her gaze during a deep dip, biting your lip as you rolled your body back up. Natasha's jaw clenched. Her hand tightened around her glass. You winked before moving again.
By the end of your set you were soaked and buzzing. You grabbed the last of the money before walking off to the empty dressing rooms. You barely had time to step into your dressing room before the door opened behind you.
Natasha stepped in, locked the door, and had you pinned against the vanity in seconds. Her mouth crashed into yours, hungry, possessive, and almost angry.
"You danced like a fucking tease." She growled against your lips, hands already yanking your emerald bikini top down.
"Shaking that perfect ass for them. Letting every worthless man in here stare at what's mine."
You moaned into the kiss, grinding against the very obvious bulge in her slacks. When she pulled back for air, you looked up at her, breathing hard, and took her wrist.
"Yours?" you challenged, voice breathy but defiant. You guided her hand down your body, pushing it under the waistband of your tiny bikini bottoms until her fingers pressed against your dripping, swollen pussy.
"Yours?" you repeated, guiding two of her fingers to rub slow, firm circles over your clit.
"You sure about that already old woman?Natasha's eyes flashed with dark heat. She pushed both fingers deep inside you without warning, curling them hard as she pressed you back against the vanity.
"Yes," she snarled, fucking you roughly with her fingers.
"This pussy is dripping for me. Not for them. Mine." You gasped, head falling back as she pumped her fingers fast and deep, thumb rubbing your clit. Your thigh started to lift and tremble against her hip as pleasure built fast.
Natasha hooked her arm under your thigh, holding it up higher so she could watch it shake while she finger-fucked you.
"That's it," she growled.
Look at this pretty thigh trembling for me. Your body already knows who it belongs to. Your pussy knows where home is too."
You came hard with a broken cry, pussy gushing around her fingers, thigh shaking violently in her grip. Natasha kept working you through it, then pulled her fingers out and spun you around.
She bent you over the vanity, freed her thick cock, and slammed into you in one brutal thrust.
You cried out, gripping the edge as she immediately started pounding you hard from behind.
The mirror showed everything. Your breasts bouncing, Natasha's face dark with lust as she watched her cock disappear inside you over and over.
"Say it." She demanded, one hand fisting your curls, the other slapping your ass hard.
"Tell me who this pussy belongs to."
"Yours." You moaned, voice breaking.
"It's yours, Nat-" She thrust deeper.
"Who's? I didn't get that." Another rough thrust.
"It's yours Nat." She fucked you harder, deeper, until you came again with a silent scream, thighs shaking uncontrollably. Natasha buried herself to the hilt and came with a low groan, flooding you with thick, hot cum.
She stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you panting. Then she leaned down, kissing the back of your neck almost tenderly while still buried deep.
"Mine." She whispered and you smiled breathlessly.
"Yours."
Hi there! It's been a while, colleges been kicking my ass but I'm coming back soon. I hope you lovelies enjoyed it. Don't scroll too fast, you just might miss out on some good things ;)
