Notes: Multi-chapter, Lawyer Nat, Mob boss Wanda, wrongfully convicted reader, mentions of murder, mentions of death, mentions of prison, mob/gang related activity, violence, etc.
Summary: You have been locked up for just about 10 years after being wrongfully convicted of killing your mother. Kate and Peter know you're innocent, so they ask for help clearing your name. That help comes in the form of renowned lawyer Natasha Romanoff and her wife Don Wanda Maximoff.
An: A series... weekly updates... another mob like tale... we're so back
Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2
It was a scorching summer day, you had been out with some friends. The skies were clear and there was a slight breeze, but it only blew hot air. You remember how much you had laughed earlier in the day. There was a carefree atmosphere surrounding the day. At least until you got home.
You found her in the kitchen; your mother. Blood all over the floor, her body riddled with stab wounds. She wasn't the only thing you found. The killer was still in the house.
There was a struggle, you fought. He was bigger, stronger, and armed with a knife. You weren’t going out that easily. When he noticed your tenacity, you believe he decided to flee. Not without making one last effort to ruin your life.
He stabbed you in the gut, then fled leaving the knife in your stomach. Unfortunately for you, when you pulled the knife from your stomach, the police were barging into your house. From their perspective it looked like you killed your mother.
You maintained your innocence, but your story sounded farfetched. You had an alibi for the morning, but they argued that you had time to kill her when you got home. During the trial, they decided to charge you as an adult even though you were only 16. The court appointed lawyer wasn’t on your side, telling you to take a plea deal. You refused, and were found guilty of the murder of your mother. You were sentenced to 45 years in prison.
The case was famous. A lot of people thought your story was ridiculous. Some saying you had made a mockery of the trail, by saying some random man came in. Others, who knew you personally, refused to believe that you would do anything like that.
None of that mattered. Only two things were relevant. The first being that you were innocent and the second being that you were going to prison anyway.
While you’re in prison, you do a lot of thinking. There’s not much else to do. Your mother, your friends, your education, and your future; gone forever.
The years before you turned 18 were the worst of it. When you’re that young amongst the inmates you become a target. You had to learn to be strong, seem imposing, so that no one would fuck with you.
You were spending your formative years, trying not to die. At first you didn’t understand why. What was the point of living if this was your life? That was until you had your first visitation.
Kate had come to see you and she brought Peter with her. They had been with you that day your mother was murdered. The pair was certain that you were innocent. They always visited, always wrote, and swore that one day they would get you out. You appreciated the sentiment, but part of you had just accepted your fate.
A decade passes you in prison. You got your GED through a program. You spent most of your time reading or working out. There wasn't anyone you had gotten close to or mingled with. Everyone knew not to bother you at this point.
“Y/n, visitation time,” a guard calls into your cell.
You sigh, but get up and follow the officer out of your cell. When you get to the room you spot Peter and Kate instantly. However, they have someone else with them.
A beautiful woman. Her red hair was tied back in a pony tail, a few pieces stuck out to frame her face. Her green eyes were only soft in color, otherwise the stare they had felt meticulous.
You sit down with your friends and the stranger, “You brought a lawyer.”
“Y/n, this is Natasha,” Kate introduces.
The woman sticks her hand out and you shake it respectfully. The name sounds familiar to you, but you don’t place it immediately.
“Your girlfriend’s sister?” You recall that Kate’s mentioned her name in letters before.
“Natasha’s also one of the best lawyers of our time,” Peter says cautiously.
It’s been 10 years, they know how you feel about this. You hate that you made yourself a part of their life in this way. Something they refuse to let go of that only holds them back. You’re never getting out of here.
“I’ve looked over all the public details of your case and I’m certain that I can get you out,” Natasha speaks flatly.
“But…” You wait for the punchline.
“Did you kill your mother?”
Peter and Kate’s jaws drop. The audacity of Natasha to ask you this question. It almost sends them both into a frenzy. You can see the argument building on their lips.
You give them a look, and the theatrics stop. You shift your gaze over to Natasha. Your eyes bore into hers. For a small moment, you let the prisoner persona drip off of you. Once again, you’re that 16-year-old standing in the courtroom.
“No,” it’s a whisper from your lips. “I didn’t kill my mom.”
Natasha nods curtly, “Do you agree to have me as your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
Natasha stands, “Good, you sit tight and you’ll be out in no time.”
“Natasha,” you say her name before she walks off, “Thank you.”
She sends you a very small smile before exiting the visitation area.
“You’re going to be a free woman soon Y/n,” Kate says with certainty.
You shake your head, “I told you guys-”
Peter cuts you off, “We know, but Y/n we won't let you rot in here any longer. 10 years of your life wasted. You had dreams and aspirations.”
“You still draw on all the letters you send. Remember you were supposed to be an artist? Your paintings in galleries all over the world,” Kate reaches across the table to grab your hand.
“Even if I did get out of here, I don't know what I would do. You guys, I have nothing to my name, except a murder charge,” you keep your gaze on the table.
“You have us,” Peter says with conviction in his voice.
Kate squeezes your hand, “Y/n, we’ve been waiting for you to come home for a long time. Everything is going to be handled, you just have to trust us.”
“Time’s up.”
Before the guard drags you out, Peter and Kate give you a brief group hug. The guard allows it and you break the hug.
“I trust you,” you tell them before walking back to your jail cell.
The rest of the day passes by normally. The following morning when your cell opens, your bunk mate is pulled out.
You don't think anything of it as it's not your business.
However they never make it back. Instead a blonde woman you haven’t seen before comes in. Her hair is wavy and parted to the side. She has brown eyes, too kind looking to be in a prison.
The cell door slams behind her.
“I’m Carol,” she has no hesitation approaching you.
“Y/n,” you state definitively.
She pulls a paper out of the front of her jumpsuit and extends it to you. You stare at her blankly. She shakes the paper out, “This is from the boss.”
You shake your head, “Listen I've been in here 10 years, I’m not joining some gang. I can take care of myself.”
Carol lets out an amused huff of air, “You met her wife yesterday.”
You furrow your brow, “Natasha?”
Carol nods.
You cautiously take the paper from her. It’s a hand written note.
Dear Y/n,
We haven’t met yet, but I know who you are. Peter and Kate speak fondly of you. They miss you. Beyond that they are convinced of your innocence. Their words are pure to me. I’ve known them a long time, they’re family. They’ve never asked me for anything, in all these years. Yet, they come to me asking if I could help free you. I plan on making good on this favor for them. I could’ve had you out today, if they let me throw my weight around a bit, but they wanted this to be clean. My wife is the best lawyer walking this planet. Don’t just expect your freedom, but expect some compensation for wrongful imprisonment. If you’re family to Kate and Peter, then you’re family to me. I look forward to breaking bread with you.
~ Don W. Maximoff
You read over the signature a few times. Don W. Maximoff. Your hands shake a little. In the 10 years that you spent in this prison hearing about the Don was inevitable. The name is feared by most. It’s the kind of name you only whisper and even then, it’s dangerous.
“Don’t shake so much kid, you’re under protection from now on. You don’t realize it yet, but life is much better with the Don on your side. Even in here,” Carol hand clasps onto your shoulder.
All you can do is nod. Her hand comes off of you and she retreats into the top bunk.
You lay down on your back, staring straight up at the bottom mattress of the top bunk bed. A million thoughts racing through your head, but one sticks out.
Notes: Multi-chapter, Lawyer Nat, Mob boss Wanda, wrongfully convicted g!preader, mentions of murder, mentions of death, mentions of prison, mob/gang related activity, violence, etc.
An important note about g!p reader.
Summary: You have been locked up for just about 10 years after being wrongfully convicted of killing your mother. Kate and Peter know you're innocent, so they ask for help clearing your name. That help comes in the form of renowned lawyer Natasha Romanoff and her wife Don Wanda Maximoff.
Ch. 1- The worst day of your life unfolds quickly as you find your mother dead and are subsequently charged with her murder.
Ch. 2- You write back to the Don. Not too long after, you get a visit from her wife.
Ch. 3 - The Don receives your letter and a visit from her wife.
Ch. 4- You get a conditional release from prison, finding yourself on the outside for the first time in a decade.
Ch. 5- You meet the Don.
Ch. 6- You can't sleep so you go for a morning run. When Wanda and Natasha notice you out of bed, they get worried.
Ch. 7- Wanda tracks down the two officers that made your arrest.
Ch. 8- You visit the neighbors.
Ch. 9- Wanda gets home after talking to Ray Cooper and Vin Gonzales. Natasha helps temper the Don's anger.
Ch. 10- You all come back from Agatha and Rio's. Wanda and Natasha ask about your father.
Ch. 11- While Natasha goes to gather more intel on your father, you have a private moment with Wanda. That moment leads to Natasha feeling like she has to protect you.
Ch. 12- You and Natasha are checking out some of the documents about your father. After a small breakthrough you celebrate with drinks. Wanda thinks the celebration should be bigger.
Ch. 13- Your first party. Anticipation isn't the only thing buzzing in the air. Drinks are had, conflict arises, and maybe... just maybe, you get more than you bargained for.
Ch. 14- The morning after the party, the Don makes rounds checking on the members of the house. The check-ins leave her feeling heavy.
Ch. 15- The date
Ch. 16- You've been thinking about your father lately. The thoughts come with emotional turmoil. You try to paint to work through it, but it leaves you feeling worse. Natasha and Wanda help you hold yourself together, but it creates conflict between the wives and your friends.
Ch. 17- Your friends take you out in public for the first time since your release from prison. Meanwhile at home Darcy interrupts a busy day for Wanda and Natasha with information about your father.
Ch. 18- Jarvis gets interrogated by the family. You're oblivious to what's happening, too wrapped up in your favorite lawyer.
Ch. 19- Time is of the essence, and there isn't any time to sugarcoat the truth. Everything has to be settled before vour first court appearance.
Ch.20- First day of court
Ch.21- Tony's in the hospital, Wanda may be in jail, and you're at home trying not to fall apart.
Notes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy, Established Relationship, Mean Girls 2004
Summary: Asking your girlfriend to be nice to your friends was one thing, but asking her to share your attention was another.
An: I did a poll on if I should do another Regina George and someone asked for 04' Mean Girls so 🍟 this is for you.
Masterlist | Summer Secrets
“I don’t know how you do it.”
You had just sat down at your lunch table with Janis and Damian. The chatter of the cafeteria was rampant, almost making it impossible to hear Janis's comment.
You had a fry hanging out of the side of your mouth as you went to answer her, “Do what?”
Damian nods his head in the direction of The Plastics table, “Stand to be around Regina.”
You give them both a warning look, “I thought we already went over this.”
Janis sighs, “We know, she’s your lover or whatever, but she’s literally the most self-obsessed person that walks down the halls.”
“Well everyone else is obsessed with her too,” you respond.
Janis scoffs, “Not I.”
You tilt your head to the side, “Oh really? You bring her up every day. Sometimes it feels like you talk about her more than me and she’s my girlfriend.”
“I just think it’s unfair that Regina ran around the school calling me a pyro lez only to turn around and start dating my best friend,” she crosses her arms.
“Our best friend,” Damian interjects.
You move to sit next to her, resting your head on her shoulder, “Aw is someone jealous?”
Janis continues to pout, “No.”
“You’re my best friend. My relationship with Regina won’t change that. I’m still an art freak. I sit here with you guys, I haven’t started saying fetch, and I don’t wear pink on Wednesday’s.”
“Not yet,” Janis argues.
Damian nods, “True, that just means she doesn’t have her claws all the way into you yet.”
“Speak of the devil,” Janis murmurs under her breath.
You raise your head off of her shoulder just in time to see Regina strutting towards your table. As always, all eyes are on her. You let your eyes shamelessly rake over her outfit.
“Babe, can I talk to you for a minute?”
The irritation in her tone doesn’t scare you. You look at your friends first then back at Regina, seemingly weighing your options.
“I’ll be right back,” you address Damian and Janis.
As soon as the words leave your lips Regina is walking away from the table. Her heels clack against the cafeteria floor. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of eyes on you, as you follow your girlfriend out of the area.
“Gina, slow down,” you call after her but she doesn’t stop.
You jog to catch up to her, right as she slips into an empty classroom.
As soon as you’re inside the classroom, you’re meet with the sight of your girlfriend staring at you with her arms crossed.
“You’re mad at me?” It’s a question as much as it is a statement.
“You were all over Janis. Leaning across the table to talk to her, then moving over and putting your head on her shoulder. Do you want her to be your girlfriend ?”
You get closer to her, taking her hips in your hands, “Baby.”
She wouldn’t look at you, “Answer my question Y/n.”
You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face, “No, I don’t want Janis to be my girlfriend. You don’t have to be jealous of her.”
Her eyes snap to yours, “I’m not jealous of her. How could I be when she looks like that, and I look like this?”
“Babe, she’s my best friend. Can’t you just try to be nice to her, for me?”
Regina stomps her feet, “I am being nice! I could’ve walked over there and pulled her out of her seat and told her not to touch you ever again, but I didn’t do that.”
“Nicer than that. You guys were friends once, you had to have liked something about her.”
Regina rolls her eyes, “She’s funny, I guess.”
You place a hand on her forehead, “No fever.” Then you move your head to her chest, “Heart beat sounds steady. How’s your throat?”
She pushes you away, fighting her laughter, “You’re such a loser.”
You throw your hands up, “Hey I’m just proving that being nice to Janis didn’t kill you. And you like that I’m a loser.”
Regina shakes her, “No, I like that you’re my loser.”
“Same difference. Now can we go back to lunch,” you tease her.
She pretends to think about it, “I don’t know if I’m ready to leave just yet.”
You have confusion written all over your face, “Why not?”
She walks up to you, putting a little sway in her hips, “Because I’m in an empty room with my girlfriend and she hasn’t even tried to kiss me yet.”
You feel yourself blushing, “Oh, I could fix that.”
“Fix it then, baby.”
You don’t waste any more time, pulling her into you. Like with most of your kisses you let Regina dictate the pace. She always kissed you like she was starving. As if she would never be hungry again as long as she could taste your lips.
You moan when she tugs on your bottom lip with her teeth. You can feel her smirk against you. Her hands greedily slide under your shirt. Nails gently scraping against your abdomen.
“Gina,” you whimper, against her mouth.
She starts to place kisses to the underside of your jaw. Her hand finding a place on your throat. Your eyes are closed, trying not to get too lost in the feeling.
Regina licks a stripe up the side of your neck to your ear. She takes the lobe in her mouth before whispering into your ear, “Do I get a reward for playing nice?”
You nod eagerly, “Whatever you want.”
She chuckles, squeezing your throat a bit, “Oh baby, you always give me whatever I want that’s nothing new.”
“Pink.”
She pulls back enough that you can both start to regain your composure, “You’re going to wear pink for me?”
You nod, “On Wednesdays, as long as you’re nice.”
She smiles brightly, “And sit with me. So that everyone knows you’re mine.”
You place a chaste kiss to her lips, “Everyone already knows who I belong to.”
“Who do you belong to again? I think I need a reminder.”
This time you roll your eyes playfully, “Only you baby.”
“Now, we can go back.”
She walks past you and out of the classroom, swaying with every step. You follow behind her, part of you wishing you two could just skip the rest of the day.
When she walks back into the cafeteria, she makes a show of swiping her thumb across her lips.
You sit down back with your friends. They eye you, unimpressed by the gloss that coats your lips.
“Did you really have to announce you had a quickie with queenie?”
You blow off the accusation, “Did not. We just made out a little.”
“Ew,” Damian says.
Janis agrees with him, “Very ew.”
“Well, it was her price for promising to be nice to you from now on. I expect you to be nice back,” you shrug.
Janis gawks at you, “I have to be nice to her?”
“Come on, she agreed to it. Why can’t you?”
Janis frowns, “Well for one, she got a make out session to agree. Do I get something?”
“To see your best friend happy,” you give her a large smile.
“If I so much as feel her judgmental gaze, I am reverting back to my old ways,” Janis relents.
You grab her hand from across the table, “Thank you.”
“Yea whatever,” she brushes you off, but doesn’t let go of your hand.
You can’t resist teasing her, “You can act all nonchalant, but we both know that you love me.”
She snatches her hand from you, “And that’s enough of that.”
“Any other rules we need to be aware of,” Damian butts in.
You clear your throat, “About that… on Wednesday’s I gotta wear pink and sit at The Plastic table.”
Damian’s jaw almost drops, “Did you not just say-”
“I know what I said, but this is for peace between my friends and my girlfriend. It’s a bigger picture moment,” you justify.
“Janis, say something about how stupid this is,” Damian demands back up.
Janis just shrugs, “It was bound to happen eventually. It makes sense for her to sit with her girlfriend at least once a week. She is always with us.”
You smile brightly at your friend, “Exactly! No biggie, just one day.”
The next few days are different. Neither Janis or Regina make rude comments about each other. In fact they start greeting each other. It’s a little awkward, but they keep doing it.
On Wednesdays you sit with your girlfriend as promised. It’s nice sitting with her and her friends. Sometimes it does feel like they’re on a different planet, but it’s not a bad thing.
Everyone seems to be settling into this new normal greatly.
“I have an art show Saturday, I want you guys to come,” Janis announces at your lunch table.
“I’ll be there for another first-place win,” you applaud her.
“Carpool?” Damian asks.
“Obviously,” you respond to him.
Janis spots Regina walking over, but keeps any snarky comment to herself.
“Y/n, art fr-,” Regina stops and reframes her sentence. “Janis, Damian. I’m having a party Saturday. You’re all invited.”
Damian’s eyes are wide, “You’re inviting us?Janis and I, to your party? Intentionally.”
Regina takes in a deep breath, before doing her best to smile, “Yes.”
“Janis has an art thing Saturday, but we’ll stop by after?”
Her already strained smile, becomes more strained, “K.”
She walks away from the table.
“You do know she’s mad right?” Janis points out.
You furrow your brow, “About?”
Janis shrugs, “I have a few guesses, but Y/n when a woman responds with ‘K’ she’s pissed.”
“I didn’t even do anything,” you pout.
Janis puts a hand on your shoulder, “I don’t how to break this to you champ, but you picked my art show over her party.”
You shake your head, “I did not.”
Damian hums, “But you did.”
“I said we’d be there, didn’t I?”
Janis nods, “Yea, but after my art show.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes,” your two friends say at the same time.
You deflate, “Well shit.”
“You don't have to come to my show. We can just meet up at the party,” Janis suggests.
“No way, I want to be there for you,” you immediately dismiss the idea. “She’s just going to have to be mad at me.”
You hated it when Regina was mad at you. She had the deadliest silent treatment known to man. You had tried approaching her when lunch was over, but she walked right past you.
You had rushed out of one your classes to wait for her to get out of hers, but again she ignored your presence. The last time you tried to approach her at her silver Lexus convertible, but Gretchen stopped you before you got too close.
“Regina doesn't want to speak to you right now,” Gretchen blocks your path to the car.
“I can tell, but I need to speak to her.”
Gretchen stands her ground, “Sorry Y/n, but you pissed her off. I can take a message if you like.”
You peek over Gretchen and see Shane Oman leaning on the outside of girlfriend’s car. He talks to her with a cocky smile on his face. You watch as she giggles at something he says from the driver’s seat.
You clench your jaw, “No thanks.”
You turn on your heel and Gretchen calls after you.
“You don't want to say you're sorry?”
Your eyes cut back over to Regina and Shane, “Nope.”
The next day is Wednesday.
The morning is rough for you. You didn't sleep well causing you to wake up late. You attempt to get dressed quickly, but you struggle to decide if you’ll wear pink. You decide against it.
Traffic isn’t kind to you and though originally you thought you’d make it by the beginning of second period, you show up in the middle of the class.
All eyes cut to you as you rush into the classroom. Ms.Norbury starts to scold you, but she takes one look at you and stops.
You sit behind Janis, who looks at you with concern. Damian has the same look to your right.
You ignore their stares and focus on the lecture until the bell rings. When it does Ms.Norbury asks you to stay after class.
“You look a little worse for wear, everything ok at home?”
She’s wellness checking you. That’s how bad you look.
“Rough night, sorry for being late,” you apologize.
“I’ll excuse it this once, but be more mindful next time, Y/n.”
When you exit the classroom, Janis and Damian are waiting for you.
“You look like shit,” Damian says.
Janis nudges him, “He doesn’t mean that.”
“Uh no, I do,” he doubles down.
“Thanks,” you follow them to your third class.
Janis stops you before you can enter the class, “What’s up with you today? It’s Wednesday, you don’t have any pink.”
“Regina’s not talking to me right now,” you deadpan.
“And?” Janis presses for more information.
“And I saw her flirting with Shane Oman yesterday after school,” your tone gives away how much this bothered you.
Janis sighs, “Well it’s third period. You know Regina always skips to fix her makeup after gym. She’s probably in a restroom right now.”
You shake your head, “She doesn’t want to talk to me, Janis.”
“Dude, don’t make me be the voice of reason. This is bothering you, just find her and talk it out,” Janis pleads.
You stand your ground, going into the classroom, “Maybe later.”
When it’s time for lunch you sit with Janis and Damian. They try to talk like normal, but your mopey attitude really dampens the mood.
“Earth to fellow homo, do you come in fellow homo?”
You look up, unamused at Damian, “Funny.”
“This ain’t gonna work. You need to talk to Regina asap,” Janis motions towards The Plastics table.
Gretchen, Regina, and Karen are all chatting away like it’s a normal Wednesday.
“Maybe you were right Janis. How do I even do it?”
You put your head down in your arms. It’s just enough to peak at the table. You see Shane Oman walking over. It makes you sit up straight.
You watch as he stands at the table talking with the rest. Then you feel your blood boil when Regina scoots over making space for the man; to sit.
You stand abruptly, it draws some attention to your table.
“Y/n,” Janis calls your name.
You shake your head, “I’m going home.”
Though Janis and Damian want to follow you, they stay seated. Janis looks over at the Plastics table to see Regina following you with her eyes. There’s not much change in her demeanor, but she swears she can see a sliver of concern.
Janis can’t stop herself from getting up and walking over to The Plastics table.
“Excuse me no art freaks allowed,” Gretchen tries to fend you off.
Regina puts her hand up, “She’s not here to talk to you. So don’t address her. What do you want Janis?”
“Are you not going to go after her?” Janis questions her.
Regina flips her hair, “Why are you planning on it instead?”
Janis rolls her eyes, “Look Regina, I know you think there’s something going on between Y/n and I, but there isn’t. There has never been anything between us. She’s my best friend, that’s it. She’s your girlfriend, and she’s falling apart because you aren’t speaking to her.”
“Fine, I’ll go talk to her,” Regina gets up.
“Gina, why don’t you-”
Regina glares at Shane, “Don’t call me that. Ever.”
“But"
“But nothing and last time I checked you weren’t wearing pink. So you can excuse yourself from my table. Thank you and goodbye.”
The most popular girl in school calmly gets out of her seat and starts following the path you took out of the cafeteria.
She finds you in the parking lot kicking the door to your car, while yelling profanities.
“Come on loser,” she calls over to you.
You stare at her for a moment before dragging yourself over.
“My car’s out of gas,” is what you say to her.
She waves her hand dismissively, “I’ll get it towed. Now come on.”
“Regina,” you stand your ground.
She groans, running a hand through her hair, “I hate it when you call me that.”
“Well I hate it when you talk to Shane Oman. So I guess we’re even then,” you challenge her.
“Fair point. What can I say to get you into my car?”
It’s your turn to cross your arms over your chest, “We can start with sorry.”
Regina clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “I’m sorry Y/n. Now can you get in.”
You wordlessly climb into her convertible. She’s annoyed by it, but she keeps it to herself.
She drives in silence for a long time before her grip on the steering wheel tightens, “I am jealous of your relationship with Janis.”
You didn’t think she’d start the hard conversation, “You don’t have to be. Janis and I are just friends.”
Regina lets out an irritate huff of air, “I know that.”
“Then why were you ignoring me all yesterday,” your tone is somber as you speak.
“Y/n, I’m Regina George. I’m not used to sharing anything. I don’t have to work for attention. I get it when I ask. It’s the same with everyone, even you sometimes. Unless it involves Janis or Damian,” she admits.
You look at your lap, “I don’t want to apologize for giving my friends attention.”
Regina is hesitant as she reaches over the middle console of the car to hold one of your hands. You let her hold your hand.
“That’s not what I’m asking. I just need time to get used to sharing you. It was already a lot to not be mean to Janis. Now I have to get used to the art kids being staples in your life. I’ll do it because I love you, but I can’t promise that I’ll just stop being jealous.”
You squeeze her hand, “I love you too Gina. My friends are important to me, but I promise that doesn’t make you any less important. You’re my girlfriend and I never want you to feel like I’m picking anyone over you. Without you, I’m a mess baby. One day of not talking to you and my sleep schedule is shit, my hair’s a mess, my clothes don’t match, and I don’t have gas in my car. None of that even compares to how empty I felt without you.”
Regina pulls into her driveway effortlessly. The car barely stops before she’s leaning over to kiss you.
Regina’s kisses are usually fierce and unrelenting. However when she does decide to be soft with you, you melt against her. When her hand’s gently cups your cheek, and her lips move slow against yours, it feels like you’re on fire.
She kisses you like she’s afraid you’ll reject her. Instead you pull her closer, she nearly falls into your lap, when she climbs into the passenger seat.
Your arm circles around her waist, keeping her steady against you. When she grinds down into your lap, she let’s out a breathy moan against your lips.
“I’m sorry baby,” it’s more genuine when she says it this time.
You nod, your forehead resting against hers, “Forgiven.”
“Good. How about we finish making up in my room?”
She opens the passenger door and gracefully exits the car. You follow her with your eyes.
“That sounds amazing.”
You scurry out of the car after her. Happy that the argument was past you, and giddy to go to her room. Regina George had a soft spot for you and hopefully she knew that she had your heart in her hands.
Summary: Time is of the essence, and there isn't any time to sugarcoat the truth. Everything has to be settled before your first court appearance.
An: Next chapter will be court, get ready for improper use of lawyer jargon. Sidebar if yall see any content on social media about my fics send it my way 🫣. I'm not saying there is but... idk I want tp be alert 🤸♀️
Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Masterlist 2
Kate is curled up in her girlfriend’s arms. The tear stains along her face have dried. Yelena simply holds the brunette.
Kate didn't want to talk when Yelena came into the room. The blonde hypothesizes that she didn't even want to talk to Peter.
The guilt is plainly written on her face. The only words that Yelena says to Kate are, “It's not your fault.”
The young woman doesn't fight her, but she also doesn't just accept it. Yelena can see the defiance in Kate's eyes. It's like she refused to even hear the woman out.
So Yelena doesn't talk anymore. It's unhelpful, instead she pulls Kate into her arms. For a moment Kate is going to protest, but the way Yelena holds her is calming.
So they sit there in silence. An hour passes, maybe two. Neither woman is tired enough to sleep.
A knock on the door interrupts the silence. Yelena sighs before getting out of the bed and walking to the door.
Bucky stands there, something is off in his posture. The man nearly never loses composure, but now she can tell something has shaken him by the way he's standing.
“I um I called the clean up crew.” He says lowly. “Wanda is in there, she- she looks scared. She asked for you.”
“Scared?”
Bucky gives her a singular nod, “Scared.”
“Okay, I'll be there just give me a minute.”
He affirms silently, and Yelena shuts the door. She stalks back over to Kate.
“Is he dead?”
“Yeah, he's dead,” Yelena answers though she wishes she could lie to Kate.
“Am I-”
Yelena’s eyes sharpen dangerously, “Don't say that. Do not ever say that. No, never. I will never let anyone harm you. Not the Don, not my sister, not even myself. Do not say but either, there is no but. This is not your fault.”
“Lena,” Kate's eyes begin to water again.
Yelena surges forward kissing the brunette fiercely. Whatever dark thoughts ruminate in Kate's head disappear. Her palm rests against Yelena’s cheek, holding her in place.
The blonde whispers against Kate's lips, “I love you.”
That only has the woman melting more, “I love you too.”
Yelena pecks her lips one more time, “I will be right back. I promise.”
Kate leans back into the bed. Her eyes swimming with desire. “Hurry back.”
Yelena leaves the room swiftly, already feeling the need to get back as fast as she can.
When the blonde enters the room there are people inside cleaning everything. The floors, the ceiling, the debris. She doesn't get to see Jarvis, he's already wrapped up in a bag.
It takes her longer than it should have to find Wanda. The leader is sitting on the floor. Her knees aren't up to her chest but they might as well be.
There's a far away look in her. She's unfocused, a sight Yelena has never seen before. She cautiously makes her way over to the woman.
The blonde sits down next to Wanda. For a long while no one says anything. When Wanda finally opens her mouth, her voice is laced with rasp.
“I need a new consigliere.”
Yelena can't contain her surprise, “Me?”
“I need someone I can trust to do what's in the best interest of business. Even if that means standing up to me. My brother did it all the time, but he could never back up his reasoning. He was an idiot, not intelligent enough to be useful in this role, but Yelena you are.”
Yelena looks at Wanda’s side profile, “Why now?”
Wanda’s hands dig into the fabric of her pants. She keeps her head straight, eyes locked on the center of the room. A worker is scrubbing the floor there.
“If something were to happen to me. I need someone who I know can fill my shoes.”
That frightens Yelena. Not the thought of being the Don, but she has never heard Wanda speak like this in her life. The Don has been in Yelena’s life for years now, and she's never seemed this on edge.
“What did he say to you?”
Wanda almost freezes, but she tries to be strong. “He said Tony wants my empire and that he is going to kill me for fucking his daughter.”
“A death threat?”
Wanda shakes her head, “More than that. I had a gun to his head and those were his last words. It was a promise and I need to be prepared for anything, even the possibility of me getting whacked.”
“Does my sister know?”
Wanda’s lips fold into her mouth and she shakes her head. “I haven't told her yet.”
“She won't want this for me,” Yelena says.
Wanda's gaze drops to her lap, “I know. I don't want it for you either, but I need it. If loyalty was all it took I could pick anyone, but Lena I need a leader. Not a soldier."
“What does this change?”
Wanda speaks clinically, “More responsibility, more power, more money.”
Yelena purses her lips, “And for Kate.”
“It could mean two things. I can't decide for you. It might mean more distance, more silence, more lies.”
“Or?” She probes.
“More danger, more protection, and more honesty. You're the one that gets to decide if she's safer by your side or away from you.”
Yelena’s head bobs up and down. “I will do this, but I want to hear it.”
Wanda looks at Yelena, “Really?”
Yelena smiles, “Yep.”
“Yelena, I need you to be my consigliere.”
The blonde smiles, extending her hand, “I accept Don Maximoff.”
Things only become more complicated from this day on. To move forward is to expose fragile things to the dangers of reality. Wanda has to tell Natasha about her sister. Natasha has to start preparing you for the stand. They both must tell you about your father.
There is much to be done and the pressure leaves this pit of dread in everyone.
“Why didn't you tell me about Yelena?”
It's been nearly two weeks since Wanda killed Jarvis. She's in her office going through files about Tony Stark and the Industry family. She doesn't look up as she speaks, “Slipped my mind.”
Natasha covers the files with her hand. Wanda still refuses to meet her wife’s eyes.
“Slipped your mind? Be real with me Wanda. You know this isn't-”
Wanda groans, “Yes, I know. This isn't what you want for her. I didn’t have a choice. With Pietro in rehab and a target on my back, I can't afford not to have a second in command Natasha.”
“Why not Bucky? Clint? Hell Wanda, even me.”
Wanda’s gaze could cut through titanium when it finally hits the lawyer, “It's not about loyalty. It's about leadership, Natasha.”
“You don't think I can lead?”
“I know you don't want to. She's an adult, she agreed to this. That's the end of it.”
Natasha doesn't back down, “You haven't been yourself since you shot him in the head. I don't know what makes him so special, but I don't like what it's doing to you.”
Wanda slowly rises from her seat. For a moment she towers over her wife. Natasha follows her movements unflinching.
“You want to talk about this now. Fine. Let's talk. He told me that Stark was coming for my empire, that he would use Y/n to get it. He also told me that I'm dead where I stand because Stark knows I'm fucking his daughter. Everything is in danger: the business, my life, you, Y/n, everyone! I can't afford to be unprepared, I refuse to lose this.”
Natasha sees it plainly on the brunette's face. An emotion she has not seen in her wife for the better part of a decade. Wanda is scared, she might even be terrified. Which means this isn't something that any one involved can take lightly.
“What do you need?”
Wanda’s eyes darken, “I need to find him. I need to get to him before he gets to us.”
“Any leads?"
Wanda’s jaw clenches, “It's hard to find a dead man. I have Darcy and Clint working on it.”
“We have court in a month and a half.”
The Don rubs her forehead, “I know.”
Natasha hesitates briefly, “We still haven't told her about her father.”
Wanda softens, “She keeps saying she's not ready. I don't know what to do.”
“We have to tell her, together. It's for her own good,” Natasha insists. “She'll need to know for court anyway.”
“Okay,” Wanda mumbles.
Natasha caresses her wife’s face, “It's going to work out.”
Wanda leans into the touch, “I- I'm-”
The Don can't even bring herself to say it.
“I know, I know and I'm here.” Natasha drops her hand, only to pull Wanda into her embrace.
Wanda leans into the hug, holding on as tightly as she can. “I'm sorry, I should've told you about Yelena. I just- I didn't know if I could handle you being upset with me right now.”
Natasha kisses the top of Wanda's head. “I will hold you even when I'm upset; I will still dry your tears, I will kiss your hands, and I won't let you get lost to this lifestyle. I love you too much.”
There's a small knock on the door before it opens. You step into the room. Since the incident at the museum you've been clingy. Not in an overt way, but you did not want to be alone. That much was clear.
“Peter went out. Kate and Yelena too, I think,” you look at the scene in front of you. You can see the remnants of distress in Wanda’s features. “Is everything okay?”
The pause before either of them speaks tells you the answer. Natasha is the one who verbalizes it, “No.”
You cross the room to stand with them. One hand slips into Natasha’s and the other rests against Wanda’s cheek.
“What's wrong?”
The couple share a look.
“I hate it when you do that,” you murmur.
“Do what?” Wanda questions.
You meet her gaze, “When you guys talk about me with your eyes. I can still hear it, even when you aren't speaking. You've been doing it for the last two weeks.”
The Don drops her head, “We're sorry. There's just a lot going on. Things you need to know, but we don't want to push.”
You avert your gaze, “My father.”
The lawyer's thumb glides against the back of your hand. “Yeah him.”
You take a deep breath, “Okay, let's just get it over with.”
“Are you sure?” Wanda presses.
You shake your head lightly, “We don't have time for me to be uncertain. I can handle it.”
You all sit around Wanda’s desk. They start slow, with basic facts. His name, he's alive, he is the head of a family. Things that are not speculation. They tell you that Arno was his brother, technically your uncle.
“So he did send that man after me?”
Natasha confirms it, “Yes.”
“Why?”
Wanda’s features harden, “According to Jarvis, Tony wants my empire. He thinks he's going to get it by using you.”
The same questions that they asked him run through your head. If he was alive and powerful, why hadn't he got you out of prison? Did he have your mother killed? Your fath- uncle too?
“We won't let him get anywhere near you. You'll be safe,” Natasha tries to reassure you.
“You can't promise me that,” you say honestly.
They stay quiet.
Natasha pivots, “We need to focus on getting your freedom first and foremost.”
You scoff, “My freedom? Prison seems like the least of my problems. If you're both worried that means he's a real threat.”
Wanda’s leg begins to bounce, “I won't let him-”
“How! What is your plan? I went outside one time and that man was right there waiting. He probably knows where I am, it's only a matter of time.”
Wanda stands her ground, “It's been two weeks. If he wanted to get you here, he would've done it already.”
You cross your arms, “How comforting?”
Natasha stays soft. “Don't be like that.”
You glare at her, “Like what? I'm being realistic. I'm asking important questions. I know you both like the idea of me needing this, needing you. Maybe I did, but if my life is in danger, I might've been better off in prison.”
Wanda slams her hands on the desk, standing violently. “Don't say that!”
“Wanda-”
The Don ignores her wife. “No, I'm not going to relax or calm down or any of that. Did you hear her? Prison better than this? Better than being with us? Don't make me fucking laugh Y/n.”
You steel your gaze, refusing to be pressured into standing. “He wouldn't be trying to use me as a pawn if I just stayed in prison.”
That does it. Wanda actually laughs. “You want to go back? No more Peter, no more Kate. You want to throw away your friendship? You want to forget about us and pretend like it never happened?”
“Well at least you'd be safe then!” You snap at her. “You would all be safer without me here. All I do is bring a path of fucking sorrow behind me. My friends have put enough of their life on hold for me. You are at risk of losing this entire thing you built because of me. My mother is dead. All of it is because of me. I'm this cursed thing and at least in prison it was only my problem.”
Wanda’s anger evaporates immediately. You won't look at her, but she won't take her eyes off of you.
“You are not cursed,” Natasha says with no room for argument. “Y/n you are innocent in all of this. You shouldn't have ever been in prison in the first place. You've got to understand that.”
Wanda’s nails press into her palm. She's trembling much like she had been two weeks ago. She takes a deep breath and then speaks.
“It would hurt if I lost my empire, but I could rebuild. I could start over. Losing you would destroy me, malyshka. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you. Fuck Y/n, I killed Jarvis for what he put you through. I would do it again, over, and over again if it helped keep you safe.”
“What about Tony?”
Wanda stops shaking, it's only for a split second. “I'm not scared because I think he'll take this from me. I'm scared of what I will have to do to stop him. I will do whatever it takes to keep him from getting to you.”
Natasha gets up to stand by your side, her hand hooks under your chin. She makes you look into her eyes. There are tears built up behind them, but there's also a roaring fire.
“You are never going back to prison. It wouldn't improve any of our lives. Kate and Peter haven't been putting their life on hold; they simply cannot enjoy it the same without you. Wanda and I, we don't want to go back to life without you. We need you detka.”
Your eyes begin to well with tears. You want to fight back, to tell her they could find other people. However deep down you know you need them just as bad as they need you. You don't want to go back to prison, but the thought of putting everyone in danger feels wrong.
“I am not worth the trouble,” it tumbles weakly out of your lips.
Wanda pulls your attention from Natasha. She presses her forehead against yours, eyes shutting. Her hand has a fistful of your shirt. Almost as she realizes her grip is too tight, she loosens it.
“How can you say something like that?” You see a single tear slip down her cheek. Her eyes open; deep, green, and full of pain. “You are worth everything.”
The conviction of her tone steals your breath away. All of your protests are lost elsewhere. You have never felt care this intense in your life.
“We love you.”
You whip your head quickly to Natasha. The stutter comes after, “Y-you don't.”
“We do,” Wanda says simply.
Now you're standing up. You look between the two women; Natasha on your left, Wanda on your right.
“You can't,” you whisper.
“Why not?”
You begin to hyperventilate. “I'm not- you're both.”
Natasha approaches first, slowly and carefully, not wanting to startle you anymore. “Breathe baby.”
“I'm just-”
“Perfect,” Wanda finishes. “You're perfect just this way.”
You still manage to give her a dirty look as you struggle with your breathing.
“There it is. So stubborn, so strong, so brave,” Wanda begins to approach you as well.
Her words make a heat spread on the back of your neck.
Natasha picks up where Wanda leaves off, “You're good under pressure, you're smart, and you're soft when you need to be.”
Your breathing begins to return to normal. “Do you mean it?”
Natasha nods softly, “I love you.”
You look at the Don. She gets down on her knees, devotion swirling in her eyes. She takes your hand, lips pressing firmly against the back of it.
“I love you.”
Your heart thuds against your chest. It's the loudest sound in your ear. “I love you too.”
Wanda moves first, getting to her feet. Her lips smash against yours. You don't try to fight for dominance, you let her lead. You attempt to take a step back but Natasha’s behind you. She holds firm on the dips of your hips.
Her lips climb up the back of your neck. As she places kisses there you hear her repeating, “I love you,” with each touch of her lips.
You reach behind you pulling her closer. Wanda releases your lips only to help you turn your head towards Natasha.
The red head’s lips are on yours. Less greedy than Wanda’s, but still so demanding. Her tongue is begging for entrance into your mouth. You allow it.
You allow yourself to get consumed by the feeling of these two women. The heat of it all, the passion behind it, now having a name. Love.
Wanda explores your body while you're occupied kissing Natasha. Her hands on every bit of exposed skin you have. Soon it's not enough and she finds herself on her knees again. She's pulling down your pants and you have no need to stop her.
When Natasha finally releases your lips you groan. Both you and the red head are greeted with the view of a topless Wanda on her knees staring at your hard cock.
“Fuck,” it comes from the lawyer, but it's exactly how you feel too.
Wanda makes eye contact first with the red head and then with you. Natasha takes the initiative to remove your shirt.
Her hand slides down your chest possessively and you whimper.
“You want my mouth, Detka?”
Wanda is already stroking you before you can answer. Natasha is leaning further over your shoulder. She lets a glob of spit fall from her mouth onto your dick.
“Stroke it a little longer,” the lawyer commands.
Wanda massages Natasha's saliva around you. You're so preoccupied by the thought of what you just witnessed, you don't realize Natasha’s guiding your hand into her pants.
You don't notice until you can feel her wetness on your fingers. You look back at her, “For me?”
She nods feigning innocence, “For you.”
Your hand removes itself from between her legs. She pouts and it makes your cock twitch in Wanda’s hands.
“It only makes sense for you to fill your mouth too,” you breathe out the sentence, shoving your fingers into Natasha’s mouth.
She sucks them obediently. You look down at Wanda. “Please.”
She takes you into her mouth and your body tries to lurch forward. Natasha's hand around your waist keeps you in place.
Natasha's slobber has efficiently covered your fingers. You pull them from her mouth. You're shaking but your fingers find their way back between her folds.
“Be rough with her, she won't break.” Again reaching over you, Natasha's hand finds the back of Wanda's head forcing her all the way down on your cock. “Look at her Y/n, watch her choke on your cock.”
Two fingers slide into Natasha. It's almost like a reward for showing you what to do. You pump in and out of her at a medium pace. You can tell she wants more as she begins awkwardly bouncing on your fingers.
Your thumb stretches to rub circles on her clit. Her head falls forward resting on your shoulder. She growls against you. “Like that detka, don't stop.”
Natasha’s hand releases Wanda’s head and she comes all the way off of your cock. Drool slides down her chin as she attempts to catch her breath. The loss of her warm mouth has you frowning.
You reach for her head just like Natasha had. Your hands tangle in her hair, dragging her back onto your cock. You can't help thrusting into her mouth.
“I need your mouth Wanda,” it falls desperately from your lips.
She looks up at you and you could've cum from that image alone. Her mouth pops off of you once again. She begins licking the base, teasingly.
“Natty come here.”
Your fingers fall out of the red head. She comes around to the front of you, slowly dropping to her knees next to Wanda.
Now you stand tall above two of the most powerful women you've ever met. One, whose face is covered in spit from sucking your cock, and the other, who probably feels empty without your fingers inside of her.
You stare wide eyed, and unknowing.
Wanda pulls Natasha into a sloppy kiss. You can see the moment Natasha's tongue darts into Wanda's mouth, almost lapping trying to taste you.
The red head’s hand wanders over to your cock. She strokes you lazily as she makes out with her wife. The image of the two of them together has your entire body on fire.
“Fuck, I need to taste it.” Natasha laments against her wife’s lips.
The lawyer pumps you while her mouth hovers around your tip. Her cheeks hollow when she starts to suck you off. Her tongue swirls around the head making you close your eyes.
Just like the red head had done to her, Wanda’s hand rests on the back of Natasha's head. She begins to guide her mercilessly.
“Wait, wait,” you try to get Wanda to ease her pace.
“What you don't want to cum in her mouth? You had no problem coming in mine,” she muses.
“Need to be inside,” your eyes are glossy as you beg.
Wanda stops her movements, your dick pops out of Natasha's mouth. They both look up at you, gluttony in their eyes.
The Don stands first, moving quickly to her desk. With one strong swipe of her arm across the mahogany wood, everything falls to the floor.
Natasha chuckles, “Someone's eager.”
Wanda gets on top of the table and spreads her legs wide open. You feel your mouth begin to salivate.
“I've never…” You say eyes zeroed in on Wanda’s dripping cunt.
“Oh detka, I'll show you,” Natasha’s voice is drowning in lust.
She takes you by the cock directing you towards Wanda's. A pitiful sound spills from your lips at the rough contact.
Natasha uses you to brush between Wanda’s folds. You whine when she pushes the tip playfully against her fervid hole.
“Don't I need a condom?”
Wanda grabs your chin, pulling you down further into her. “I don't want anything between us. I want you to fuck me until you fill my pussy with your cum.”
Natasha takes that as a sign to help you to go deeper into the woman. Wanda presses her lips against yours, a rich moan vibrating into your mouth.
“Oh my god.” Your head falls into her shoulder and you grunt. You bite into the exposed flesh.
“Fuck, you're stretching me so good, detka.”
Your eyes are closed. You whisper, it sounds like a cry, “So tight. You're so tight.”
You can feel Natasha's hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Now you have to move.”
The lawyer's grip travels to your hips. She slowly pulls you out of her wife and then pushes you back in. The first few times it's testing and you think you'll genuinely cry.
“So good. You're sucking me in,” you still haven't lifted your head.
“I need you Y/n. I need you to look at me while you fuck me,” her tongue grazes the bottom of your ear lobe.
With much effort you lift your head. Your hands are planted firmly on the wooden desk. Wanda reaches her hand to wipe the tears that are falling out of your eyes.
“I need you to cum all over my cock,” you say it like it will break you if she doesn't. Your voice is light, raspy, and carrying an aching plea.
Her nail traces the outline of your jaw. Her eyes bore into yours like a challenge,“The fuck me hard.”
That's when it clicks for you. Your hips begin to slam into her, no guidance needed. You start with your palms on the desk, but end up switching to your forearms for leverage.
“It's like running malyshka, all about the stamina,” Natasha kisses the side of your head.
You turn to capture her lips. Wanda gets wetter at the sight of it.
There's a horribly lewd sound bouncing off the walls. It's Wanda's bottomless cunt being rearranged by you. The sound is like music to your ears. Being able to hear how swamped her pussy is, only turns you on more.
You stand straight creating more space than the Don would like between you two. Her hands reach out to attempt to pull you closer. She pinches one of your nipples, sweat pooling at her forehead.
You take her hand in yours, kissing it gently. You look at Natasha, “Can you get on top of her?”
Natasha’s eyes light up with mischief, “How do you want me?”
“I need to taste you.”
She can tell you're starving by the blown nature of your eyes. With little caution Natasha climbs onto the desk. She sits in a similar position on top of Wanda. The Don circles an arm around her waist, signaling that she could support the both of them.
Instead of Natasha's legs going down Wanda’s they get perched on your shoulder so they're angled u
p higher.
You hold her steady, testing the unconventional position. “I've got you,” you tell her, as your head dips down.
One taste of Natasha and you feel drunk. You make the decision not to come up at all. Your next breath would be laced with her essence leaking into your mouth.
You keep thrusting into the Don. Your pace only quickening as you become more encouraged by the sounds pouring out of the women.
“Holy shit,” Natasha grabs a fistful of your hair, which has you whining against her pussy.
Meanwhile Wanda has begun speaking fully in her native language. You hear the airy curses on her breath as you continue to fuck her.
Her pussy is devoted to taking you in, you can feel her clench around you. It makes your hips stutter as well as your breath.
Natasha yanks your head away from her pussy, “You're going to cum, detka?”
You nod wordlessly, feeling yourself build up.
“Her cunt is clenching you isn't it? You're not going to be able to stand it much longer. Just cum in her, baby. It's okay.”
Natasha's permission has you nearly collapsing as you shoot your load into Wanda. The Don shakes violently, feeling her own release happen at the same time.
Your head drops right above Natasha's pussy. You hadn't forgotten her. Before the euphoria can wear off, your fingers find her clit. It takes her by surprise as you start assaulting her clit with tight circles around the bud.
Her body jerks at the speed and she attempts to raise up, but Wanda’s arm still holds her in place.
Natasha cums with a cry, her juices squirting all over your face. You blink wildly feeling the liquid leaking onto your chest and abdomen.
She's still convulsing when you place a delicate kiss below her belly button. With help from Wanda she maneuvers to be next to the Don rather than on top of her.
You feel your legs buckle when you attempt to stand. Wanda sees this and pulls you back down on top of her. Your head rests against her chest. You listen as her heart rate returns back to normal.
Natasha’s hand runs through your hair and Wanda traces patterns absentmindedly on your arms.
“Do you want me to pull out?” You look up at her.
Natasha answers for the Don, “Leave it, just take a few minutes to regulate everything.”
You nod as best as you can without lifting your head up. “So how was that?”
They both chuckle.
“No notes,” Wanda says, kissing your forehead.
“Perfect,” Natasha leaves a kiss on the back of your shoulder.
You all lay there fucked out on Wanda’s desk. As soon as they told you they loved you, doubt left your mind. All of the uncertainties and what ifs morphed into something different. It is no longer about if you could survive this, but how you would do it. No one involved is willing to lose. Together you are stronger, together you can win.
Notes: Based on Wuthering Heights, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, sexual themes, tasteful smut, non-major character death, infidelity, gender non conforming reader (she/they), black reader.
Summary: From a young age you belonged to Wanda, every part of you. As you grow the universe attempts to challenge this. No one expects you to beat the challenge, but they are mistaken. They have no idea what it means to belong to her.
An: I loved writing this.
Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2
You couldn't determine whether it was pity or possession that had put your life in the path of Wanda Maximoff. You refused to believe that it was something positive. It couldn't be or rather it shouldn't be.
Her father took you in at age 12. You were abandoned by your parents, cast aside. You were deemed as lesser than for the ailment of your skin. It wasn’t an ailment really, not something that you could control. It was beautiful, dark, melanated. Unique for the time and location, frightening to those who were supposed to be educated.
Technically you were sold off, unwanted by nearly everyone that you had known up until that point. Everyone, but Wanda.
She wanted you for amusement. She liked that you were different. Wanda wasn't like other little girls or maybe she was. You were uncertain, you hadn't been socialized; but you had a feeling she was different too. Even at that age Wanda craved power, ownership.
Those cravings were satiated by you. You were her pet, her project, like a doll she could play with. She clothed you, she named you, and she molded you into whatever it was she needed you to be at any given time.
You didn't speak at first, only listened. Not by choice, but because you hadn't learned.
No one wasted the time to teach you. However between Wanda, Pietro, and Erik , you would learn. It took time, a frustrating amount of time. A ridiculous amount of effort, and it was a taste of how vicious care could taste under this family.
A family made from scraps. Erik owned a corner of the city, if you could call it a city. It was a slum, a ghetto. He had affinity for bad decisions, gambling away his resources, collecting debt and stray children.
He could be abusive at times. Not all the time, but enough to make your spine go rigid upon a stretch of silence.
“Y/n.”
That was the name she had given you. It was fitting, unique like you. No more being identified solely by your race or your gender. A real tangible name. It was yours now, but ultimately everyone in the house knew it was hers.
You hum in response. It's a pattern that you have yet to break. Sounds still feeling more universally understood than the words they have given you.
“Let's go exploring today.”
She never asks you questions, it's always a command.
“Do you think it's wise to go out on father's name day? He will be tilted if you miss dinner,” Pietro has his full attention on Wanda.
The young girl shrugs, “We will be back much before then.”
Pietro's face turns on itself. His disdain plainly expressed, “I'm not risking his wrath. You should heed it more, Wanda.” He turns his gaze towards you, “As should you, Y/n. You have gained many skills since coming here yet, you lack a sense of autonomy.”
“Don't listen to him Y/n, he's just bitter about all of the fun we have together. A bitter and jealous boy.”
She doesn't give you a chance to respond. She hardly ever does. Instead she takes your hand in hers, leading you out of the house. You follow her obediently like always.
Wanda must love the sound of her own voice. It's something you figured early on, she never stops talking. You don't mind listening, you enjoy the sound of her voice too.
You enjoy a lot of things about her, but it's hard to tell if that is her doing or just another fault you were born with. You enjoy the playfulness in her eyes, the fairness of her skin, the slip of an accent that sounds out of place on her tongue (you know she'll outgrow it soon).
“Where are we going?” Your voice is soft on her ears.
Her smile widens, “I told you already, an adventure.”
The city disappears beneath your feet. Concrete turns into soft ground and buildings become trees. The forest greets you with a soundtrack of life in its purest form. Birds chirp, wind whistles, and everything is alive.
Wanda doesn't slow her pace, always moving forward, but simultaneously always glancing back to make sure you're still there. She rambles on about her father, her brother, her potential future.
“One day, I'll marry someone wealthy. Not like royal wealth, but maybe a diplomat. Someone that can take me away from the slums. An estate big enough for you and Piet to come along, I don't want to be lonely.”
Your brow furrows, “Should your husband not aid in your loneliness?”
Wanda rolls her eyes before they meet yours, “One person is not enough to stop the feeling.”
You turn your gaze to the ground, a puzzled expression displayed by your features, “Do you feel lonely now?”
That gets her steps to falter. She's still moving forward, but with less of a bounce in her step. At least she is at first, until she trips over a branch hidden by leaves in the ground.
Your reflexes are fast enough to stop her fall. Both of your hands on her sides, firm but not restrictive. She stares up at you, as you pull her back to an upright position.
“I am not lonely when we are together,” she says.
A heat rises to your face. “But I thought you said-”
“I know what I said,” she steps out of your grip. There's a pocket of silence before she speaks again, “You are not just some person. You are mine.”
She continues on like she hasn't said anything startling, like the words hold no deeper meaning. Maybe she knows that you don't understand the weight of the words yet. It makes it easier for her to ignore the feelings that she should not have.
Eventually the trees give way. There's an open field in front of you. Mostly open. There's a stone arch in the middle of it, but it's a fair distance away.
You play in the field as children do. You run, chasing each other. Exhaustion is nonexistent, just light and laughter, and each other.
The sun gets eclipsed by clouds at some point. What was a bright day becomes overcast and soon rain begins to fall. Hard.
This time you take her hand in yours, sprinting towards the stone arch, trying to gain any sort of protection from the rain.
You're soaked by the time you get to the cover. Your clothes are stuck to your skin, and the chill air does nothing to help.
“We have to go back,” the worry is Wanda’s voice is palpable. “We'll miss supper.”
“It's too far. We'll freeze.”
She begins to shake her head, “He's going to kill us.”
You crouch down, hugging your knees to your chest to try to get some warmth. “We'll start as soon as the rain lets up.”
You aren't shaking as bad as she is. The cold isn't new to you. It's not something that your body could forget. Maybe images of your family faded and perhaps you'd get lost on once familiar roads, but your body… it would never forget.
The auburn haired girl copies you. She sits beside you. Her shoulder against yours, knees touching lightly. Instinctively you throw your arm around her, pulling her closer to you.
Her head falls into the crook of your neck. You sit there together, waiting out the storm, knowing that there will be a hurricane waiting for you on the way back home.
It's dark when you get back. The rain never stopped, just got lighter. You're both drenched as you enter the house. The eerie silence only intensifies your nerves.
They're waiting at the dinner table. Pietro doesn't even look in your direction. He keeps his head straight ahead of him. You can see he's gripping the edge of the table trying to not show fear.
Erik on the other hand, he sits at the head of the table. Dinner in front of him. You can tell it's cold, he isn't happy.
“Father,” Wanda tests his title on her lips. “We got caught in the storm and-”
He stands, “Do you not care for me? Am I a wretched evil man?”
“No father, I-”
He raises his voice, “It has been hours! My name day, ruined! My dinner, ruined!”
He slams his fist on the table. The dishes scatter with the ferocity of the hit.
“Father I do not control the weather I-”
He smacks her. His hand connects flush across her face. She falls to the ground.
“STOP! It was my foolishness sir. I took us past the forest. I was unmindful of the date and time,” the words fly out of your mouth before he can do any more damage to her.
“Y/n, no,” her voice cracks as she struggles to stand.
Erik is already approaching you. His steps are heavy and unhurried. You don't move, you let him snatch you up by the front of your shirt.
Wanda cries out your name over and over. She tries to approach, but Pietro holds her back.
“You ungrateful waste. I take you in, despite all of your shortcomings, and this is how you repay me?” Saliva flies out of his mouth while he speaks.
You flinch at the volume of his voice.
His eyes go wild, “The nerve you have to flinch at me. Like I'm some monster, like I'm going to hurt you. Is that what you want? Answer me.”
You stay mute, body shaking as he holds you off the ground. You can't tell if it is from fear or the hours you spent in the cold.
“No! Father please, no,” Wanda pleads fall on deaf ears.
Erik only drops the grip on your shirt to snatch you up by the arm. He drags you out towards the backhouse.
Wanda screams. She screams and she cries in Pietro's arms. She flails against the boy, but his grip on her only tightens. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are locked on the front door.
Pietro flinches first when he hears the whip crack your skin. Wanda nearly crumples to the ground. The blonde is frozen in place. The second time he hears the whip is when he carries Wanda away.
You don't scream. You can't, you don't want them to hear and you don't want to anger Erik anymore than you already have.
You brace for every crack. Not knowing if tensing or trying to relax will ease any of the pain. Hot tears pour down your face, but you stay quiet. You lose count of how many times the whip breaks your skin.
The last time he hits you, you can't hold back the singular sob that escapes your lips. He tosses the whip down by your feet and walks away. You don't turn to watch him leave.
Wanda lies awake for hours. She waits until she thinks it safe to get out of bed. She slips out of the back door of the main house, to the back where she knew you'd be.
She enters quietly whispering your name. You don't answer her. She sees you lying uncomfortably stiff on the bed. She climbs in without hesitation.
Your back is facing her. Her eyes lock on the streaks of blood seeping through the fabric.
“You need not lie for my sake,” she whispers in horror. “The punishment will always be worse for you.”
She knows you're awake. For a moment she thinks you won't reply.
“I won't let him touch you,” you say it like it's scripture.
The words make her heart beat faster. She lies flat on her back next to you, she's decided that she's staying.
Her hand slowly inches over towards yours. You can feel it, but you don’t move. Her pinkie hooks around yours.
That was how your youth went; following her, listening to her, protecting her.
Erik wasn't kinder as you grew, but he recognized that you were not the same orphan he took in. You were bigger than him, stronger than him, but you'd never fight back. He took joy in attempting to break you, but became frustrated when he saw that you wouldn't give.
It wasn’t fun for him anymore, so he stopped for the most part. He kept his bitterness verbal.
It was hard not to be bitter when he let the estate go to shit. He spent all his money on drinks and gambling.
Wanda was the same as she had always been but older. To you, she was just as beautiful. She was still playful at heart and she still liked to run between the trees.
Others didn't see her like that anymore. They saw a young woman, someone to be courted, someone to be married off. You understood, but it gave you a pit in your stomach. It was something ugly inside you that you had to keep shoving down, and down, and down again.
You refused to let it surface. You didn't want her to see it. It was silly to think that you could hide from her. Of course she had known, because you belonged to her.
“New neighbors just around the way. They've bought the old haven property. I hear it's a diplomat of some sort,” Erik says, like it changes everything.
“Someone for you to marry sister,” Pietro teases.
“If I were to marry, who would keep the house clean?”
Erik waves his hand dismissively, “Y/n.”
Wanda rolls her eyes, “Y/n does everything else father. The lofting, the fixing, the maintenance, anything else and they'll keel over.”
“Maybe then you'd marry,” Pietro mutters under his breath.
That's when you enter through the front door, covered in sweat, wood perched on your shoulder. Your breathing is ragged.
“I brought firewood.”
“Good, start up the pit.”
You walk further into the house, each step heavier than the last. Wanda watches you, drinking in the image, letting her mind wander. It is her right, that's what she keeps telling herself.
No matter how tall you grow, no matter the density of your muscles, you are hers. You'd always belong to her, she's allowed to look.
She is allowed to fantasize, to dream about you in ways that no other is allowed to.
She's allowed to touch.
It's the only thought she ignores. The desire burns in her to feel you, to be closer, but it's taboo isn't it? More taboo than ownership. She's already claimed you in name and in action. If she took your body, it'd be greedy
She was kind to allow you to have that to yourself. The one thing about you that you actually owned. She knew you'd give it to her, but it would ruin you.
Eventually she probably would go off and get married; have a husband that loved her, and would want a life with her. She knew your heart, your deepest secret.
The possessiveness.
It was mutual. Not in the sense that you were hers and she was yours, but rather that you both agreed that you belonged to her. Why would she need anyone else when someone like you belongs to her?
She crafted your devotion like a man lays brick at the base of home.
“Maybe I shall go see him. It's only the neighborly thing to do.”
The wood thuds against the floor as it slides off your shoulder. The displeasure on your face is palpable, but you stay silent.
You get on your knees. It's not necessary for you to light the fire, but you do it anyway. You keep eye contact with Wanda as you go down.
You toss the wood into the pit one log at a time. She hates you for it. The way she can see the muscles strain under your shirt. The way your tongue keeps darting over your bottom lip. The grunts that leave your mouth.
You're playing dirty, but she doesn't play.
You see her head for the front door.
“A match.”
She pauses though she is halfway across the room. She moves sharply, grabbing a singular match off of the table.
Her steps echo across the floor, heel on concrete. She enters your space. Wanda's closer than she needs to be. You know, she knows it, and Pietro knows it too.
She leans over to hand you the match. Her cleavage comes into your line of sight. You swallow hard a new lawyer of sweat appearing over your forehead. You wipe it away with the back of your hand.
“Thank you,” you murmur.
“I will freeze if you take any longer,” Erik breaks the tension with a slurred sentence.
You strike the match and she walks out of the door, before the flames can rise.
She doesn't come back that night. You wait up for her, Pietro does the same. The two of you weren’t brotherly, but you were friendly.
The blonde knew that only he would ever be Wanda’s brother. You were something entirely different. Her pet, her project, the title is irrelevant, the only part that holds weight is “her”.
“Do you think she will marry him?”
It's the most vulnerable you've sounded around the man. Here, on the outside porch as you wait for the woman of the house to return. He notes how you whine less when you are berated and beaten than in her absence.
“If she was smart she would.”
You tilt your head, “Do you doubt her intelligence?”
He smirks, “Emotionally, no. Practically, it's hard to say. Wanda is often driven by emotion.”
“You think of emotions as foolish?”
He stares right at you, “Depends on who they're pointed at.”
You look at your hands that are folded tightly together. “Have you got something to say?”
He shakes his head a little. “Nothing that will change anything.”
You stand first, placing a hand on his shoulder. You pat it twice before retiring to the backhouse. Sleep won't come and you are aware of that, but lying down is better than sitting on that porch.
The next morning you find out she's been injured; a small fall, a rolled ankle. The man plans to keep her until she's healed.
“I can go get her.”
Erik laughs, “For what? She's perfectly safe, in a lovely home, with a wealthy man.”
“I can carry her back here. It'd take less than a day's travel,” you insist.
Pietro's hand lands on your shoulder, “I don't doubt your abilities. You're strong, capable, but Wanda is already where she needs to be. If she were meant to come home they would've sent her already.”
You shrug him off. You look between the two men and for the first time you scoff. It's quiet, Erik doesn't hear it, but Pietro does.
You exit the house, going straight to work. It is the only thing you can do to release the unsteadiness building inside you.
The thought of it made you sick. Wanda, playing princess in a house of fine things. She's pretending to be everything she's not with a goal in mind. The goal of gaining a husband, having a status, claiming someone else as hers.
You are hers.
That's the only thought repeating throughout your mind for six weeks. Every time you swing your axe, every time you gut a pig, and every time you try to sleep.
You aren't there when she first returns. Of course you aren't, you're working. Doing extra hours, extra labor, anything to fill the space of her absence.
However, you arrive at the estate some time after she has. You see her first as you quietly enter the room. She's talking excitedly to her father and brother.
She looks different. Her clothes, her hair, her make up, she doesn’t belong here anymore. You're sure of it when you see the ring on her finger.
Your back presses against the wood on the door frame. The sound has eyes snapping in your direction. You only focus on hers.
“Fantastic news Y/n. Wanda is going to marry Sir Jarvis,” Erik presents the news beaming with pride. It looks unnatural on him.
“Congratulations.”
You don't approach her, the distance feels safe.
“Thank you.” She's embarrassed to say it, you can tell.
You leave after that, deciding there is more work to be done.
It's late at night when she goes to the backhouse. She goes up to your room to find it the same as it's always been. You'd outgrown the bed ages ago. It's as if you are a giant staying in a baby's crib.
She watches you sleep, standing at the edge of the bed. The material of your sleep shirt is tight enough for her to see the faint scars left on your back.
Her scars.
She hears a noise under your floor boards. Curiosity gets the best of her and she wanders from the edge of your bed. Further out into the room she sees them in the gaps of your floor; two servants.
They are partaking in devious acts. Acts a lady should never see. Yet, Wanda can't pull her eyes away from it. She watches them, breath strained, as they please each other. It isn't plain like it had been described to her. She sees leather, and chains, and…
She doesn't see anything else. Your hand covers her eyes. They have woken you, it isn't the first time.
You expect her to startle at your touch but she doesn't. She can still hear them and not being able to see doesn't take away what she's feeling between her legs.
If anything her senses multiply knowing you're here. Your weight hovers over her, your breathing tickles the back of your neck, she's surrounded by you.
When morning comes Wanda is off. She's headed somewhere you're familiar with. It feels like she's begging you to go after her, so you do.
You find her with back pressed against a stone mount. Her hand is hidden between her legs. You see it from a distance, but you deserve to see it up close.
“Wanda,” you call her name softly.
You're on the side of the rock that her back is against.
“Leave me alone, Y/n.”
You swallow hard, “I can not. Wanda, you stand here in the open, in a place where only I'd look.”
“I wish to be alone,” she shouts.
There's amusement laced through your tone, “You're lying.”
She stomps away, “I am not.”
You go after her, “Yes, you are.”
She keeps going, not bothering to look back. You follow silently until she turns to face you abruptly.
“What do you want from me!”
You survey her, the wildness in her eyes, the frizziness of her, it only makes you smile.
“You're looking more and more like the girl I grew up with, less like the one who's to be married.”
You take a step into her space and she doesn't move away. She only looks up at you.
“Y/n,” the name is gentle on her lips.
“Wanda, I give. I do not wish to play this game any longer. We've danced around it since the beginning. How can the end belong to anyone but us?”
She begins to tremble, though there is no breeze. She's not ready for this, whatever it is. She doesn't want to lose you, but to claim you is to throw away a guaranteed future of prosper.
“I am engaged,” the words fall from her lips.
You grab her wrist, the wrist belonging to the hand that disappeared between her legs. She stutters but she doesn't pull it from your grasp.
She pretends the stutter is a protest. You know her hand could slip out of grip with little effort. You know that she is deciding not to stop you.
You maintain eye contact with her as the fingers enter your mouth. Her sodden fingers, the taste of her lingers on the digits. You suck them sensually, your eyes only close for a second as you grunt at her flavor.
They come out of your mouth with a satisfying pop. Her hand drops but only to lie against your chest. She leans into you, she shouldn't, but she does.
“We can't,” she whispers.
“Why not?”
You hold her closer to you, close enough that your lips graze when you speak. You can feel the rises and falls of her chest against yours.
“Is it my skin, my status, or my womanhood?”
“I-”
You cut her off, “Or my manliness.”
“Does my lack of conformity unsettle you?”
Her hand, that hand, reaches to caress your cheek. “You could never unsettle me.”
You dip your head to kiss her. She leans in at first, but something stops her. She pulls back, she restrains her want. She remembers that your body is supposed to be yours. That she is not supposed to touch.
You chase her lips, she lets them touch but never truly peck. Your foreheads press together, both breathing intensely.
“Do you not love me? Tell me that you don't.”
She opens her eyes, yours are closed. Her thumb pads across your check. “You stand to make a liar out of me.”
“I stand to be what I have always been, yours.”
She steps out of your hold. “But I am not yours.”
She leaves you there, in the middle of a place that was once special to you. Your eyes stay closed, you squeeze them tightly together. You cannot see her walk away from you, abandoning her once prized possession.
The only person she can talk to about this is Pietro. He knows it all, he's seen them both, he is impartial in Wanda’s opinion.
So she vents to him. She goes and weighs the pros and cons of marrying Sir Jarvis versus the pros and cons of being with you.
Jarvis is the obvious choice. He's high status, he can care for her entire family, and he is kind to her.
But Jarvis is not you.
“Okay, let's give it a proper thought then. Why can't you be with Y/n?” Pietro asks the question with intent.
You stand on the outside of the window. Wanda has her back facing you, but Pietro looks you right in the eyes.
“It would degrade me to marry Y/n. It would be a waste of everything that I could be if I chose Jarvis.”
Her words tear through you like a bullet. Being with you would degrade her. It feels like your heart has shattered into your stomach.
You rarely let yourself cry but you can't seem to hold back the tears that are stinging your eyes.
You walk away from the window. Pietro's eyes trace your movements. He's grateful that you left because only a moment later Wanda speaks again.
“I do not care about wasted potential. I love Y/n. I am not concerned with her womanhood or manliness, with her prestige or status, and I am least of all concerned with her Blackness. She is mine, the only person that makes me feel like I'm not alone.”
You leave that night.
When morning comes Wanda looks for you. She wants to tell you that she chooses you, that the marriage will not happen. She doesn't find you. Pietro tries to tell her, her father does too, but she doesn't believe them.
You would not leave her, you could not leave her. She waited for hours trying to get a glimpse of you returning over the horizon.
You didn't come, not for five years.
When you returned it was not the same way you left. Out of spite you acquired your own wealth.
You wear nice clothes, your hair is styled, and there's a smugness behind your eyes. Of course you're smug, you just bought the slums from Erik .
Wanda isn't there nor is Pietro, they're with Sir Jarvis. They stay at his estate. It makes sense Wanda did marry the man.
Erik tells them of your return. Wanda is on her way as soon as she hears the news. You meet her half way there.
She's glowing and you hate it. You've missed her, how could you not? She practically programmed you to react to her this way.
“Y/n,” she breathes life into the name.
“Marriage looks good on you,” you comment.
She's taken aback, but recovers quickly, “Wealth looks good on you.”
“I can acquire anything with time.”
She raises an eyebrow, “Is that what you believe?”
You nod. “It's what I know to be true.”
Your confidence throws Wanda for a loop. She's not a fan of being surprised by you. She feels entitled to know everything.
“Come to dinner, I'm sure Pietro will be glad to see you.”
A thin smile crossed your features. “Then he may be the only one.”
“You know that is false,” she regards you incredulously.
You step into her space just like last time she doesn’t step back. Her head tilts to look up at you. You don't touch her, mostly because you know how much she wants you to.
“Then tell me, without all of the pretense.”
“There has not been a single day that has passed without you crossing my mind,” she says.
“Only at day, or do you have darker thoughts at night?”
The glint in your eyes is the only thing keeping her away.
“Dinner,” she repeats again, before taking a step back.
There is tension at the dining table. Wanda doesn't see it, all she sees is you. She talks about you excitedly. The liveliness is something that she's been missing these last years. It's noticeable to everyone.
“So Y/n, I've heard that you have acquired the slums from Erik .” Jarvis tries polite conversation.
“I have.” The answer is dry on your tongue.
The blonde man smiles, “That is quite impressive. I know that it can be challenging for people of your disposition to gain such status. It's a wonder that you have.”
You know it's supposed to be a compliment. Wanda and Pietro know it's an insult.
“You're very impressive Miss Y/n.”
The words come from Anna Marie, the younger sister of Jarvis. Her youth is not lost on you. She's marrying age, and you can feel every time her gaze lands on you throughout the night. Conventionally she's attractive, and if you wanted her to, she could add to your wealth.
“Thank you, but it is all just hard work. I've always worked, I knew that it would benefit me in the end,” you send her a charming smile.
Wanda notes the exchange. A fury boils at the bottom of her stomach, one she quells with a sip of her wine. She pivots energetically, ready to flex her knowledge of you. A small warning to Anna Marie.
“Y/n does not care for titles like Miss or even sir, simply just Y/n,” she stares at you while she speaks.
You shrug your shoulders dismissively, “I do not care to fight them either. Call me what you want, it bothers me none.”
“Where will you be staying during your visit?” Jarvis changes the subject.
You pick at the food. “At home, with Erik .”
Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up, "Nonsense, it is in a worse state than it has ever been. I am sure Jarvis would not be opposed to having you stay here for the time being. We have plenty of space. Right, dearest?”
Jarvis looks first at his wife and then at you. “If you wish to stay, you are welcomed here Y/n.”
“I am appreciative of the invitation but I belong home. I must get reacclimated with the shortcomings of the estate if I plan to improve it.”
Jarvis nods like it is in understanding, but the relief in his eyes is palpable, “Do you plan to bring labor to help you?”
Your gaze sharpens, “I do not exploit labor of this time. I will pay no man that does not provide his own hands to the service.”
No slave labor.
“You can't possibly mean to restore it all on your own,” Pietro speaks for the first time.
You chuckle, “I do. I have time, knowledge, skill and like I said I have always worked. This will be no different.”
“That is very noble of you Y/n,” Anna Marie compliments you yet again.
“Thank you.”
The next time you see Wanda, it's to tell her that her father has died. Pietro and Wanda make the journey to the slums at once.
The three of you stand over his body, ugly and bloated. No one says anything, no one cries, you just stare.
“Did you ever come see him?” You ask them.
“Very few times,” Pietro answers.
“Jarvis was kind enough to give him allowance, but you know father. He was never one to save.”
Pietro is the first to speak the truth, “He was a beastly man.”
“A monster,” you whisper.
That's the first time they see you act in a way that is familiar to them since your return. The armor you built in the last five years slips away just for a moment. There you are, a young child, fresh wounds on your back.
Wanda kicks the carcass, just once. Pietro spits on the dead man. You watch, before reluctantly moving to pick up the body.
“Shall we bury him?”
You carry him out of the city. The woods are more dense than you remember, but it will suffice.
They help you dig in silence. When the hole is deep enough you place the body in it. You cover it back up.
You all stand over it, covered in dirt and sweat.
“He was cruel. He was pitiful. He was uncaring,” is what you say.
Pietro's fists clench at his, “Father did little for any one else's benefit.”
“Good riddance.”
Wanda turns to go back first, Pietro second, and lastly you.
It is late when you arrive back.
“It is not your usual luxury but you are welcome to stay for the night,” you offer them.
Pietro sighs, “Will you stay here tonight?”
“I will,” you answer him.
“Then we will stay with you. It was once our home too.”
It is not like when you were children. Bitterness has fallen through, there is no longer a need for survival. Conversation eventually happens naturally and it is pleasant between you and the blonde man.
“You do not court anyone Pietro? I am baffled, I was always certain if you ever left this place the women would follow.”
He's honest, “I never said I was not seeing anyone. There is a woman at the Jarvis estate.”
You squint your eyes, “Anna Marie?”
He rebuttals fast, “Absolutely not. She is infatuated with you at the moment and I for one do not play second fiddle.”
That gets you to laugh, real and unrestrained.
“She is very pretty. Young and eager,” you reply.
Wanda cuts in, “And she would be foolish to give you any of her time.”
You wave your hand dismissively, “Some people enjoy foolish things. Pietro, your woman, I am not letting you escape this.”
He chuckles, “Well, she… she works in the kitchen.”
You can not hold your gasp, “A servant? Of my ailment?”
“You have no ailment,” he says. “But yes, her skin is dark.”
“Her name?” You ask further.
There's already a grin etching on his face as he says it, “Monica.”
Wanda interjects, “And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?”
Pietro rolls his eyes, “You fill your time with Jarvis or Anna Marie. You do not seek me out.”
“I brought you with me,” she counters.
“And for that I am grateful, but Wanda we will not pretend like I have ever been your preferred company.”
That sets something off in her, “You are my brother!”
“I am, but Wanda you must know that I have never been your priority. You only harp onto things you can play with and I have never consented to being your toy.”
You lean back into your seat. “He's right, you know.”
She turns her attention to you, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that as soon as the game slides out of your control, you no longer wish to play,” you keep your tongue sharp.
She lets out an unamused huff of air, “That's rich coming from the person that ran away.”
That makes you sit up straight. “Well, what would you have liked me to do Wanda? I could not stay here and watch you play this game of pretend.”
“I wouldn't be pretending, we would've been together.”
You stand, “You are a liar.”
“I have never been,” there's a fire brewing in her eyes.
“You bring up the fact that I ran. You ran first.”
“I was engaged!”
You argue back, “Then I fail to see what would've changed. In fact, I heard you. You said being with me would degrade you. It is unfair that you ask me to stay, knowing you would never pick me.”
This is where Pietro freezes. The temperature in the room has risen exceptionally but he feels himself shiver. There is nowhere for him to escape.
“I said more! I said much, much more.”
“What?”
She crosses the room, her hand caresses your cheek, “I said that you are mine. I didn’t care about your status, or your sex, or your Blackness. I had chosen you. I will always choose you.”
She leans in, movements stuttering, but you turn your head before she can kiss you. Your eyes land on the silent man who watches this unfold. Her lips touch your cheek instead.
“You saw me that night.”
Wanda's brow pinches together, “What?”
“He saw me in the window.”
Wanda turns to face him too.
“I did what I thought was right at the time,” he doesn't meet either of your eyes.
Wanda steps away from you, towards him. Her steps are slow, menacing, they remind you of Erik .
“You played God.”
He stands abruptly, “I did, just once. You played God all the time, every day. Here you are still playing the part.”
“How could you do this to me?” Wanda cries out.
Pietro throws his hands up, “Oh please, Y/n came back. It wasn’t something I doubted. I did this for us.”
“You are a snake.”
He slams his hand on the table, “I am your brother! I no longer wished for us to stay here. I was tired of living under Erik , there was no one saving me from my beatings. I took them on my own. I faced it all on my own. I saw the opportunity for us to leave this, and I decided that it was good for us.”
He turns to you, “And I am sorry. I truly am, but we were never siblings. You were not allowed to belong to any one else in any capacity. I knew it, Erik knew it, everyone in town knew it. No matter what, the only relationship that you had here was with Wanda. It was no fault of your own, it was hers.”
“I will kill you.” Wanda attempts to lunge at the man.
You're quicker, your arms encircle her waist holding her as she screams.
“You will do no such thing,” you whisper in her ear.
“Five years Pietro! Five years of treachery!”
“You acclimated fine. At first, yes it was strange. Can you honestly say you have no love in your heart for Sir Jarvis? You've eaten with him, traveled with him, you have lain with him.”
The last part is enough for you to loosen your hold. Wanda slips out and her palm connects harshly with Pietro's cheek.
There's hate in her eyes, pure and unfiltered. Her voice drops dangerously low, “He is a kind man. Perhaps even a great one, but my feelings for him are born from obligation. The marriage is faulty in this way. He sees me as his, and I have never belonged to anyone.”
He looks past Wanda, his eyes meeting yours. “Do you hear her Y/n? She says she picks you, she's choosing you, but you can never have her. She is unwilling to give, and she has always been. Why fantasize about giving her your name, when she will give you nothing in return. Anna Marie would give herself to you freely without the mess of this.”
She slaps him again. His teeth gnaw at the side of his mouth. He contains his anger or attempts to. Wanda takes his jaw in her grip.
“That whore can not possibly handle Y/n. Even if she could, I forbade it. No one can have Y/n, she is mine. All parts of her. Her name, her scars, her desires, her body; they are mine. I gave them to her and time does not corrode that.”
She pushes his face away from her.
“You are mad,” he says to Wanda. “Y/n, we are not children anymore. You need not stand for this.”
“I am hers. I was raised to be; I want to be. It is my only desire,” you let the words hang in the air.
There's a smugness in Wanda’s eyes. Pietro sets his jaw.
“You are unwell.”
You nod, gaze lingering on the ground, “I know what I am. I no longer wish to fight or continue this discussion in a room where a man lay dead hours ago.”
Your statement sucks the animosity out of the room.
“But-”
You silence her with a look. “His spirit is here, haunting our narrative. I do not enjoy seeing either of you mimic him.”
They bow their heads. Pietro speaks first, “You are right.”
“It is in our best interest to resume in the morning. We have little time and much to figure out.”
It's instinctive for you to move towards the backhouse. It's unnecessary now, but familiarity is binding.
Wanda watches you go, knowing that she will follow the same path soon.
“You don't deserve her.” Pietro keeps his voice low, “You know it in your heart. Y/n is pure, innocent-”
Wanda chuckles darkly. “You do not know her Piet. You were not at her hip, as I was. You know nothing of who she is when isn't protecting me from father. Yes, she is noble, much more so than I, but did you not hear her? She wants to be mine. Let that thought lull you to sleep.”
The auburn haired woman exits the house the same way you did.
The backhouse is slightly different than she recalled. You have already started fixing it up. She supposes it made sense for you to start in the back, it was your safe space.
You are waiting for her in the middle of the room. She approaches you with sure steps.
“You will not go back to him,” you're telling her, not asking.
“I won't.”
Her hands land on your shoulders. You look down at her, desire swirling in your eyes.
“Tell me that he was not yours,” your voice breaks at the end of your sentence.
Wanda raises up on her tiptoes.
“You are the only one that has ever been mine.” Her lips brush yours as she answers.
Your hands fit delicately above the curves of her hips. “Have you been lonely?”
"Ever since you left.” Her eyes are darting across your features, slowly, full of intent.
“And now?” Your breath tickles her lips.
Wanda can't hold back any longer. She presses her lips firmly against yours. She nearly stumbles forward from the force, but your hold on her just tightens. You meet her vigor with your own intensity.
The need is ever present on both sides. You lift her and she squeals as you place her on the bed. Your knees are hurriedly planted against the floor.
It is no longer the small bed that you slept in all your life. It is much larger, enough for two people, possibly more.
You don't stop kissing her, only moving from her lips to her neck. Your fingers fumble with the laces of her bodice.
“Rip them.”
You do as she says. Her top falls. You keep kissing, further down. Your lips touch every inch of skin that you can see.
Across her chest, down her abdomen, below her belly button. You give attention to the parts of her that need you. Your hands, steady as they massage and tease her.
A sweat begins to form across her forehead. She tugs at the arms of your shirt. You stop kissing her to take it off.
All that can be heard is breathing. Your eyes are blown, staring at her skirt as though it has every answer.
“Were you still lonely when he touched you?”
Her face flushes, “I would imagine it was you.”
Your hands travel up her legs under the skirt. Damp isn't the right word. Sodden is more accurate.
You remember the taste of her. It has been haunting you for five years. This time it's your fingers instead of hers. Your fingers slip under the fabric, just to gather her essence.
She bucks her hips, chasing for more than a simple touch. You remove your hand and she whines. It's a pretty sound, but it dies out when she watches you put your fingers in your mouth.
Her mouth opens, but no sounds escape it.
“I have not forgotten your flavor.”
You move to gather more, this time lifting your fingers to her mouth. She holds your gaze as her mouth wraps around your fingers.
“So sweet.”
Your fingers stay in her mouth as your head goes under her skirt. Her tongue flicks around and in between the digits.
You copy the motions of her tongue with your own. The first teasing lick already has her trembling. She doesn't stop and neither do you. One of her hands finds the back of your head, keeping you in place. Not like you were planning an escape.
She’s chasing something that Jarvis could never properly give her. Something that you have stirred inside of her with your presence alone. Her hips rock against your face.
“Fuck, Y/n,” she spasms, your fingers finallyslipping out of her lips.
You stop, finally coming up for air. She doesn't allow you much time to catch your breath, before she's pulling you on top of her.
Your lips connect ferociously. Tongue, teeth, primal sounds, and a claim. Her claim on you.
“Show me everything.” Wanda's hands are already unbuckling your pants. You stand, pulling them down, your underwear with it.
Wanda stands too, fully dropping her skirt. She circles you, and you let her. She stops when she's face to face with your back.
It's scarred, from the lashing you have taken for her. She feels them first with her hand. You don't flinch at her touch.
“Mine,” she kisses one.
Then another, then another, until she has kissed every scar on your back. She presses her front against your back. She holds you from behind. One of her hands rests on the middle of your chest.
She drags it down your abdomen and between your legs.
Her hand rests there, before she decides to slow work you up, “Mine.”
You can feel her breath on the back of your neck. You're quiet, even though it's hard to be. Your lip is caught between your teeth.
Wanda kisses your shoulder. “I want to hear you. You never have to be quiet with me, I will not silence you.”
The sounds that fall from your lips are pure ecstasy to her. They are small, quiet, and needy. She likes that they sound like little whines, it spurs her on.
“That's it, you're so good for me. Now give me what's mine.”
She doubles her efforts though her wrist is cramping. She sucks and kisses along your shoulders. It all feels too good.
Your body goes stiff when it happens. There's a slight tremble in your legs, but you keep them planted.
Wanda doesn't release her hold on, she simply turns you around. Your lips connect sweetly, just a peck.
Your foreheads rest against each other.
“I am yours, completely.”
Your eyes are closed, so are hers.
She slips her hands into yours. “We must go.”
That gets you to open your eyes. “Go where?”
“Away from here. Far from Sir Jarvis, from Anna Marie, from Pietro; somewhere it can just be us.”
She hasn't opened her eyes. She's squeezing your hands, she fears that you will turn her away.
You press a soft kiss against her forehead. “Are you certain?”
The green of her irises shine when she opens them. “Yes. I have felt enough loneliness for a lifetime.”
“You will never be lonely with me,” there's a playful glint in your eyes.
A tender grin begins to spread across her face, “I know, because you are my love.”
“You are everything to me.”
You ran away that night, this time with Wanda by your side. You did not know where you were going, but it was of little importance to either of you. Eventually you would find somewhere to settle, away from the lives that you were forced into. Neither of you harp on the wreckage you may have left behind. You don't speak of husbands, or brothers, or youthful women. You focus on the future, one that sees you together until you age out of existence.
Notes: Mob typical violence, smut, cunnilingus, thigh humping, gun violence, minor character death
Summary: Jarvis gets interrogated by the family. You're oblivious to what's happening, too wrapped up in your favorite lawyer.
An: Sorry for the wait lovelies 💜.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2
Oftentimes in a field so demanding conflict of interest often arose. Just because everyone considered each other family, didn't erase that fact. There were instances where putting the family first meant putting them on the outside of an issue.
Yelena hated it.
She hated the fact that instead of comforting her girlfriend from a traumatic experience, she was sitting in a room babysitting the man responsible for it all. Yelena had a hold on most of her emotions, but her anger, it always managed to hold her instead.
She blames Natasha. Like the redhead, Yelena wasn't one for explosive anger. It was just this feeling that worked it's way into her stomach and sat there like a rock. It was calm, too calm. No one came out of her fury unscathed, in a very calculated and deliberate way.
“Is she just going to keep looking at me like that?”
The blonde man is tied to a chair in the middle of the room.
“If she wants to,” Bucky replies.
Yelena stands, hands pressing against her knees. She strides over to the man, dead look in her eye.
“This lifestyle has an interesting way of choosing who will participate in it. I was chosen and it found me. You were also chosen, though you sit here and pretend to be innocent. I see right through this act. You are pathetic, not because you are weak, but because you chose to be a rat.”
He begins to speak, but Yelena slaps him. It's not like the quick slap in the car, it's harder, enough to make his head snap to the side.
“I know the kind of man you are. You are like roach. You sneak, you crawl, you hide, and when someone does find you. They step on you, but you do not die.” She leans closer, her lips right up to the man's ear. “I do not step on roaches. I rip their wings off with my hands.”
He's not too distracted by the proximity to hear the distinctive click of a knife open. He doesn't move his head to look, only his eyes.
“Yelena,” Bucky says her name flatly.
“The Don said we could do whatever we want except cut out your tongue,” she places the knife against his cheek and he flinches.
Yelena chuckles darkly, before backing away from the man. “Not too long ago, the Don's brother stood in this room and we sliced his face open. From the top of his eyebrow diagonally to the opposite corner of his lip.” She makes the motion with her finger. “That was her showing him mercy. Her own blood brother. I personally cannot wait to see what she does to you.”
She crosses to the opposite side of the room, sitting where she had been originally. Her eyes are still watching the man, and now she enjoys how he trembles. She enjoys knowing that he is afraid, that she put the fear in him.
The man opens his mouth to speak again but this time Yelena flicks out of her hand, it lodges itself in his shoulder. The scream builds up in his throat and he forces it out. The veins on his neck pop out and his feet stomp. He wiggles his upper body trying to free himself from the binds.
“I would stop trying to get a word in. She has more knives,” Bucky advises the man.
The energy shifts when the door to the room opens. Bucky sits up straighter, but Yelena stays where she is. It's only Natasha.
She looks first at her sister, then Bucky, then the man in the middle of the room.
“Why is there a knife in his arm?”
Yelena shrugs, “I put it there for safe keeping.”
Natasha walks over to the man pulling the knife from his arm. He hisses, and attempts to thank her, but finds himself screaming again as she plunges the knife into his leg.
“That's for Y/n. Now I think you want to talk to me and not my wife.”
Yelena has to hold back a smile. Natasha does not like to get her hands dirty, so this is a pleasant surprise.
“Tony! I work for Tony. He sent me,” he squeals immediately.
“Tony who?”
“Stark. Tony Stark. He's- he's Y/n's father.”
Natasha’s tongue clicks against her teeth, “I know that already. Tell me something I don't know…”
“Jarvis,” Bucky feeds you the name.
Natasha says it with disgust on her tongue, “Jarvis.”
“I- whatever you want to know. I'll tell you, I'll tell you everything.”
Yelena asks him the first question, “Why is he coming after her now? She's been out for months. Obviously he's been watching, why send the paparazzi?”
“He isn't coming after her per se."
Natasha doesn't like that answer. She twists the knife in his leg, “Try again.”
“He just wants to see her,” Jarvis tries to plead.
“For ten years she's been in the same place. Where was he when she was being accused of killing her mother?”
Jarvis for once showed defiance in his eyes. “He loved Annie. He did not have her killed.”
Natasha watches his reaction with the eyes of a hunter.
“But it was his fault wasn’t it? She died because she was connected to him, to the family,” Natasha attempts to get another rise out of the man.
“She knew the risk-”
Yelena pulls out her gun, checking the chamber. It echoes in the room, silencing the man. “Careful, Jarhead wouldn't want me to have an accident.”
Bucky speaks up, “Y/n didn't know the risk. She's the one who took the fall for this, a little girl. Her whole life was taken from her and for what?”
Natasha crosses her arms over her chest, “Answer him.”
“What?”
Yelena points the gun at him from her spot in the corner, “Answer him. Why was Y/n left as collateral damage?”
“This life is not suited for raising kids. She was safer away from it.”
Bucky scoffs, “You can't be serious.”
“I didn’t see any children rushing out the door when her hands were around my neck. Maybe I missed it when I was losing consciousness,” Jarvis defends.
Bucky finally approaches the man. Jarvis flinches before Bucky even does anything. The brunette smiles watching his discomfort.
“You're telling me, her father let her rot in prison because he thought it was better than being in the mob?”
“Yes.”
Yelena laughs, “The irony of it amuses me.”
Natasha turns her back to the man, “She was sentenced to life in prison. She was sixteen and now she's twenty six. Seems like she's adult enough to me.”
“Natalia, her father is obviously a weak man. He did not want to raise her so he made up whatever excuse fit the narrative.” Yelena stands as well, crossing the room to be closer to her peers.
“Tony is one of the most powerful-”
Yelena strikes him across the face with her gun. She only intends to do it once but can't help herself from getting in a second hit.
“Do not defend his negligence.”
With his head hanging to the side he looks at the three people surrounding him. “He only wants to see her.”
Natasha grabs the man's jaw in her hand, “My wife and I would have to die in order for that to happen.”
She releases him and turns her attention to Bucky, “You think you can handle this alone, I need to speak to Lena.”
Bucky nods his head, “Yes mam.”
The lawyer begins to exit the room, her sister in tow. She pauses before fully walking out. “The next person coming through these doors might very well be the last person you ever meet. You will remember us as being kind compared to what she will do.”
Jarvis can't help but make a comment, “All this over just a client seems excessive. Maybe the reporters were right. You're fucking her, you and the Don.”
Natasha’s movements pause but Yelena’s only pivot. The blonde turns quickly, her gun raised to be even with the man's head. She pulls the trigger and he yelps in agony.
“You need to learn when to shut the fuck up,” Yelena put the gun away.
“Jesus Christ, Yelena. At least warn a guy,” Bucky says, noting how close he's standing to Jarvis.
Yelena looks at her fellow mob affiliate, “I do not miss my targets. He is not lucky that I grazed his shoulder, that was always my intent.”
The look in her eye kills any argument Bucky was going to make. Instead he just nods, “I will keep that in mind.”
Natasha and Yelena fully exit the room leaving Bucky to deal with the bullet wound on Jarvis's shoulder and his subsequent stab wounds.
“That was not your usual,” Yelena says to her sister.
“I could say the same to you,” Natasha rebuttals. “You seemed different in there.”
Yelena doesn't lie to Natasha. “I understand how this family works and I'm not complaining, but my girlfriend is suffering and I can't be there for her. I'm expected to stand guard, and watch over the guy who caused all this.”
“Yelena-”
She raises her hand up, “Let me finish. I sat in that room thinking about every way I could kill him. I wanted to kill him. I still want to and that's the worst part. I'm out of that room, I can check on my girlfriend, but I just want to go back in there. I want to put a bullet between his eyes for even causing her distress.”
Natasha sighs, “I know the feeling.” Yelena attempts to cut in but Natasha just pats the blonde on the head once. “Go comfort Kate. She doesn't need you to kill anybody, she just needs you to be there.”
“Are you going to check on yours?”
Natasha rubs her hand over her face, “I have a few more articles to push through. I need to shift the public view of this.”
“Is she going to have to-”
“No. I talked to the judge, explained the situation. Apparently while Y/n was in prison she had certain exemptions because of her panic attacks at one point. So it verified that this is a disability situation and her actions were due to mental health. However, I did get an earful about how if she had actually touched the reporter it would've been different. So technically you and Kate saved her.”
“That'll make her feel a little better,” Yelena says
Natasha smiles, “Good, because this isn't her fault.”
“I will do my best to make sure she knows that.”
Back in your room, Wanda watches the steady rise and fall of your chest. Her finger trails up your sternum. She's thinking about you, how beautiful you are. She's wondering how she can possibly protect from all of this.
The other side of her, the more violent side, is wondering about the blonde man. She's thinking about how she could break him down systematically. Wanda thinks about watching his last breath leave his body in a violent gasp.
You stir in your sleep. She regains her original train of thought. You curl up closer to her completely leveling her violent thoughts.
It's about twenty minutes later when Natasha comes back into the room. She looks exhausted. Wanda notes the small specks of blood on her shirt.
“You went to see our guest.”
Natasha looks down seeing the blood herself, “Stabbed him.”
“That's my girl.”
“He gave me some good information, but I think you could get a little more out of him,” she says honestly.
Wanda looks away from her wife and at your sleeping figure, “Would she be upset if I killed him?”
Natasha hums, “It's hard to say.”
“Switch with me,” Wanda says, referring to their positions.
“Let me change into something more comfortable,” she starts to unbutton her shirt. “She won't mind if I raid her closet right?”
Wanda smiles, “Perks of being her girlfriend.”
“Speaking of that, you're wearing different clothes from when I left you,” Natasha raises an eyebrow.
Wanda begins to blush, “It got pretty hot in here. Things had to be discarded.”
Natasha crosses her arms over her chest, “Oh really?”
The Don relents, “Okay, we fooled around a little, but it was just a handy Natasha.”
The red head laughs in disbelief, “Wanda Django Maximoff!”
“In my defense she was being really needy. Like really really needy. She said that she wanted me, Natty. What was I supposed to do, deny her?”
Natasha rolls her eyes, “And what if she wanted more?”
Wanda turns a deeper shade of red, “Oh she did but I told her you'd kill me if we went any further than that.”
“Smart woman,” Natasha teases.
Wanda carefully lifts you as she gets up allowing Natasha to slide into her previous place.
“She's big,” Wanda comments.
“How big?”
Wanda smiles cheekily, “At least 8 and it's not slim either.”
Natasha’s eyes widen, “Well fuck.”
“Exactly. Now rest up while I go deal with this schmuck. You deserve it, for all that you've been doing today.”
Natasha motions Wanda to approach her. The brunette does as her wife instructs. Natasha kisses her softly, lips lightly pressing against each other. Wanda leans further into the kiss, chasing her wife’s lips.
Natasha giggles at the motion. She playfully pushes the Don away from her. “You're ridiculous.”
“I could kiss you forever,” Wanda says.
Natasha's face heats, but she attempts to be nonchalant, “Yeah, I know. Now go take care of business.”
There's a dangerous glint in Wanda’s eyes. “You know I always do.”
Wanda exits the room leaving only you and Natasha. You shuffle closer to the red head in your sleep, this time you grab a fistful of her shirt.
“Natty,” you grumble, burying your head into the crook of her neck.
“I'm right here detka,” Natasha kisses your forehead.
You hum against her skin. It sends a shiver down her spine. You place a kiss on her shoulder, “Stay.”
“Not going anywhere beautiful,” Natasha responds.
“Good,” you mumble against her skin.
You continue to nibble at her neck.
“Y/n,” she says your name like a warning.
You ignore it. The first kisses were barely kisses at all. However they began to take a more sure shape. They become firmer, more certain. Then she feels the warmth of your tongue.
Natasha cups your face, removing it from her neck. Her eyes are playful as they look into yours.
“You are being naughty,” she says.
That does nothing to quell your desire. You swallow before answering her, “Just kissing.”
“And I bet you were just kissing Wanda too,” she says pointedly.
Your voice dips lower than Natasha has ever heard it. “Needed her. Need you too.”
The tone vibrates through Natasha. Her judgement, swaying in the moment.
“What if I needed you, then what?”
Your eyes darken, “Then you use me. Whenever you want, however you want.”
That makes Natasha’s breath hitch. You watch her, something predatory filling into your gaze. A hunger for something, not necessarily to taste her, just for her to use you.
Your hand becomes greedy, traveling down her abdomen. She grabs your wrist, you look up at her innocently.
“Y/n,” it has more of a bite to it this time
You blink at her, tongue darting across your lower lip. “Nat, it really seems like you need me right now.”
“You make it so hard to control myself,” she doesn't loosen her grip.
You laugh, it's earnest, “It'd be a whole lot easier if you would just control me.”
That's what makes her loosen her hold on you. Your hand unbuttons her pants swiftly. The zipper comes down next and before her brain can consent she lifts her hips.
You pull her pants off of her. She sees the want in your eyes, the way your hand is shaking, and she knows how much you want this.
“I need to see you.”
You stand, shimmying out of the boxers you just put on. Natasha gawks at your semi.
“How have you been hiding this?”
A blush spreads across your face. “Lots of cold showers.”
Natasha studies the way you bounce on the balls of your feet. The way your eyes can't seem to stop drifting to her panties.
“Get on your knees.”
You obey, knees touching the floor at the edge of the bed. She swings her legs over so that they shadow your shoulders. Your head is in between her thighs.
You feel yourself salivating.
“Is this what you want detka?”
“Yes.”
Natasha’s palms make dents in the bed as she leans back. “Wanda worked up your appetite?”
“Please.”
She can feel your breath against her core. Carefully you reach for her panties with your finger. You pull them to the side, enough to get a good look at her.
She's wet. Not soaked, but aroused enough for you to notice. You want to change that. You need to change that. Natasha needs to be pooling around your tongue.
“You really are a needy little thing. She wasn't lying.”
You look up at her through your lashes, “I am, just for you.”
Your finger grazes the liquid between her cunt. You slip the finger back into your mouth. Your eyes close and you moan from somewhere in the pit of your stomach.
“It would be mean to just have you here on your knees, your face between my legs, and not let you lick me.”
You take that as a sign to drop your head down, closer to her. She stops you with a hand on your forehead. “Did I ever say I was nice?”
Tears prick at the edge of your vision. It makes Natasha coo at you. She laughs at your tears. “I was only teasing detka. I need you.”
Her thumb pads away at the stray tears. Before she's guiding you to exactly where you want to be.
Its crude but you inhale her scent, nudging your nose against her clit. You savor the scent. Her scent is intoxicating, it calls out to you, to your mouth.
Your tongue flattens against her cunt in one long torturous lick. The flavor on your tongue detonates something inside of you. Something ravenous.
Natasha’s hand plants itself in your hair, “Fuck, you're good to me baby. Giving me everything I need.”
That only spurs you on to lap her faster. You get eager. Your lips are around her clit, your tongue between her fold, you don't even come up to breathe. Your nose only buries itself deeper in her cunt.
You're hard again, pumping yourself with a free hand while the other grips her thigh.
Natasha tugs your hair and you grunt into her. She laughs wickedly at the sensation. Her hips begin to rock against your face.
“I'm close,” she speaks breathily.
You double your efforts. The cry that leaves her mouth almost has you cumming again. Her hand loosens in your hair, instead she scratches your scalp.
You keep licking her, until she's clean. Not to overstimulate, just to remove any of the stickiness. When you're satisfied, you place a kiss on her clit.
She pulls you up, her lips connecting with yours. Her tongue swirls around your mouth, she likes the taste of herself. You can tell, because you're the same way.
You can't help bucking against her thigh as you basically sit in her lap. The kiss breaks and you're both breathing hard. Her sweat covered forehead is against yours.
You're looking at her, but her eyes are stuck on your hard cock. It's dripping onto her leg. Her hands find your hips. She drags you forward, then back. The friction has your breathing intensify.
“You want to fuck my thigh?”
You nod helplessly.
Natasha kisses you gingerly. “Then show me.”
Your hips rock back and forth. Your dick slides along her thigh and you begin to let breathy moans slip through your lips.
Her hands raise to cup your breasts. She teases the nipple, pinching before taking it into her mouth. You mewl louder, desperation coming through the stutter of your hips.
“Natasha,” you repeat her name over and over. At one point you're sure it's the only word you know.
“Cum.”
She commands you.
You cum all over her thigh, body slumping as soon as you release. Your body becomes something like jelly you lean against the other woman for support.
Your head falls against her chest. Her hand rubs the back of your head. She kisses the top of your head.
“That was perfect, baby. You're perfect,” she voices.
You kiss her chest, where your head lies. You're unable to speak, words just look like letters in your mind.
“We gotta get you clean.”
You hum in dissatisfaction.
Natasha laughs softly, “Well next time cum less. We're both covered in it, baby.”
You protest again, but it doesn't stop Natasha from standing with you in her arms. You startle, somewhat surprised by her strength. You are bigger than her and she's smaller than Wanda. The fact that she can lift you with such ease…
“I can feel you twitching against me,” Natasha says, you can hear the smile in her voice.
“Strong,” is what you manage to say.
Natasha winks at you, “You know it detka.”
She carries you to the restroom, leaving the main part of your bedroom empty.
On the other side of the house Wanda stands over a bloodied Jarvis. The chair had been broken not too long after she entered the room.
She broke off one of the legs and used it as a weapon at some point. She really didn't recall, it was almost a complete fade to black.
“Now, you ready to say something useful or should I just kill you?”
“Wanda,” Bucky tries.
She kicks the man on the floor, “As long as he's groaning in pain, he's capable of talking.”
“He wants your empire,” Jarvis says weakly. “He wants your empire and he thinks she can get it for him.”
“So he only cares about her now because she's affiliated with me?”
He tries to deny it, “He- he loves-”
Wanda’s knee connects with Jarvis's chin. “If he loved her, he would've gotten her out.”
Jarvis spits up a bit of blood, “Please.”
Wanda snorts, “Now you want to beg? Okay, give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you.”
“He'll come for me.”
“I want him to. So I can kill him too.”
Jarvis smiles, teeth covered in blood, “You can't kill Tony Stark.”
Wanda is satisfied, she's played enough. She takes out her gun, placing it against Jarvis's skull. “Anything else.”
“You're fucking his daughter, you're basically dead where you stand.”
Wanda loses her temper. The gun goes off. His skull bounces off the ground, lifeless.
The brunette stands still, blood splattered all over her. The room is no better. The hand that holds the gun begins to tremble.
Bucky has never seen her shake so violently. This isn't the first time she's killed someone. It probably won't be the last, it comes with being the Don.
“Don Maximoff?” Bucky approaches her slowly.
He reaches for the gun and it slips out of her hand. Wanda blinks a few times, trying to snap herself out of it.
She feels faint. Her body sways a bit.
“Wanda,” Bucky has to steady her.
She tries to shrug him off, “I'm fine.”
“You aren't. I'll get the clean up crew. I'm assuming Nat's with Y/n.” Bucky waits for Wanda to respond. “I'll bring Yelena then. Just sit here, I'll be back.”
Bucky sits her against the wall, before leaving the room.
Wanda stares at the body in the center of the room. There's a small stutter in her heart.
You're fucking his daughter. You're basically dead where you stand.
Notes: Alcohol consumption, physical violence, anxiety, mob typical violence, suggestive themes, g!p (👀), violence against women perpetuated by a man, a shit load of tension, translation: Porezal moyu kozhu = cut my skin
Summary: Your first party. Anticipation isn't the only thing buzzing in the air. Drinks are had, conflict arises, and maybe... just maybe, you get more than you bargained for.
An: Looks like you guys couldn't wait for ch 13! You might not know it, but you've been waiting for this chapter. Hope you enjoy it 🙇♀️.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1| Masterlist 2
“Do you know what you're wearing?”
You're lying down in bed when Kate barges into your room with the question.
Today is the party. It has been a little over a week.
As soon as your friends heard that they'd get to be at a Don Maximoff party they grew ecstatic. They'd obviously partied with Wanda before. All three of them were buzzing with anticipation.
You're buzzing too. It’s less anticipation and more anxiety. It’s something you should've considered before saying yes, but it’s too late now.
The house is filled to the brim with activity both inside and out. You can see people setting up outside from your window.
“Does it matter?”
Kate crosses the room, going straight for the closet. “Of course it does, you goof. You need something breathable, easy to dance in, and hot.”
You laugh, “Just pick something for me. I'll wear whatever it is.”
You don't see Kate's wicked smile, but you hear it in her tone, “Excellent.”
She rummages through the closet. Past the clothes in the front. Most things in there still have the tags from when Wanda and Natasha bought them.
“Kate?”
She hums in response.
“How do I survive this party?”
It's her turn to laugh, “Drink until you stop overthinking your actions. Then you mingle.”
“Mingle?”
Kate comes out with an outfit in hand. She tosses it on the bed before responding, “Yes, mingle. Talk, flirt, dance.”
“Uh…”
Kate reaches for your arm, yanking you into an upright position, “You're already in your head. The goal is to have a good time. Tonight we're going to find out what that means for you.”
“I'm nervous.”
Her playful demeanor melts into something more sincere. “Stand up.”
You groan, reluctantly getting off of your bed.
“Now dance with me,” she starts shimmying her shoulders to the sound of silence.
For a moment you just stare at her, “You look ridiculous.”
“You must shake away the nerves,” she grabs both of your hands.
You shimmy with her, laughter bubbling up in your throat.
“You two look ridiculous,” Yelena leans against the frame of your door.
Kate wiggles her eyebrows at her girlfriend before pretending to cast a lasso at her, “You aren't escaping this.”
Yelena pushes off the door and saunters over to her girlfriend. She seems unimpressed but there's a smile fighting it's way on to her face.
“Kate Bishop, you know I am no dancer.”
Kate doesn't care, “Shimmy with us and maybe, I'll thank you for it after the party is over.”
Your nose wrinkles, “Gross.”
Yelena starts her uninspired shimmy, “Happy now?”
“Not enough shoulder,” Kate shows her.
“I'm doing the best that I can,” Yelena whines.
The whole scene has you wheezing, “Okay, okay. The nerves are gone, we can stop torturing this woman.”
The brunette rolls her eyes, “She loves it.”
“I love you,” Yelena corrects her. “And I'm stealing you away, to help me get ready for the party.”
Kate kisses the crown of her girlfriend’s head, “I love you too. You all good here buddy?”
You give Kate a thumbs up. “Yes ma'am. I'll see you guys when the party starts.”
Once they leave, you are alone in your room again. You decide to take a look at the outfit Kate left out for you.
It stares back at you, simple you think. You almost can't picture yourself in it. You don't dwell on it for much longer before you get ready to shower.
Standing in the bathroom, you're naked in the mirror. Your thumb hovers over the scar left by the man who killed your mother. You swallow back the hatred from the tainted memory. For a second the air is still, like you forgot how to breathe.
Then you make contact with it and it reminds you of Wanda's cool fingers gliding along the scar. You let out the breath you were holding in. The air comes back to your lungs in small gasps.
Your hands grip the edge of the sink. You know what this is. Your eyes flit around the room.
The mirror, your reflection, the shower, the toilet, the door.
The air against your skin, your hands on the sink, the hairs on your neck, the cold tile under your feet.
Your breathing, the humming of the bathroom light, the drips of water falling down the drain.
Chemicals for cleaning the restroom, mint from the open toothpaste on the counter.
You don't taste anything.
It throws off the technique and your breathing rises rather than falls. Your hands are shaky as you reach for the toothpaste squirting it into your mouth.
Mint, you taste mint.
You bend so that your forehead rests against the porcelain of the sink. It's only a moment before you turn the faucet on to rinse out your mouth.
After that you finally get into the shower. You turn the water on while already standing in the tub. The cold water doesn't shock you, after years in prison you're used to it.
When it finally heats, your muscles loosen.
“This isn't prison,” you whisper to yourself.
Wanda sits in her office with the list names that Natasha had given her. There’s definitely a mob connection in these cases, but it’s seeming like multiple families were involved.
In Wanda’s opinion it read like a takeover. Your father either worked for someone with a lot of power or someone with a lot of ambition.
There's a knock on the door that interrupts her work.
“Come in.”
The door opens to reveal a timid looking Peter Parker.
“Hi Mrs.Maximoff. I don't mean to disturb you, but I wanted to know if it was okay for me to invite someone to the party?”
Wanda smiles at the man. “Peter, it's a party, invite whoever you want.”
He nods excitedly, “I just wanted to make sure it was alright.”
“There will probably be over a hundred people here. Think big and then multiply that thought. Picture the craziest party you've seen in a movie and imagine it even crazier.”
“Sounds like an unforgettable night,” Peter is nearly bouncing with energy.
“That's what I'm going for, kid.”
It's not long after he exits that someone else enters the room. They don't knock, simply walk right in and take a seat across from the Don.
Wanda doesn't bother looking up.
“Interesting time for a celebration sestra,” Pietro's voice cuts through the silence. “Guess my invite got lost in the mail.”
Wanda looks up at him, the sharpness in her eyes makes him squirm, “You're always welcomed, no invitation required.”
“You know that's not what I meant,” he holds firm.
“Welcome back Piet, it's good to have you home,” she greets him, already bored with the conversation.
“We need to talk.”
She slams her hands on her desk and it echoes around the room. “Pietro, didn't I say I wouldn't be talking about this again?”
“Wanda-”
“I wasn't asking, it was an order. I have no desire to discuss Y/n with you.”
Now it's Pietro whose temper is flaring, “And why not? What's going on here Wanda! Stray after stray after stray. Natasha, her sister, those kids. This isn't a daycare it's the fucking mob.”
He finishes his rant and just as the last word leaves his mouth, a backhand cracks him across the face. The sharp sound of Wanda's knuckles against his cheek is deafening. She stands, towering over him as she speaks.
“You call my wife a fucking stray again and I'm taking one of your fingers. This job is about two things; keeping the city running and protecting the family. My wife is my family. Her sister is my sister. Kate and Peter, they're family.”
His jaw twitches as he stares a hole into the desk, “And the girl.”
“Why the fuck does it bother you so much? She's Natasha's client. She's a guest in my home. She is Kate and Peter's best friend.”
He scoffs, “Whatever.”
Wanda raises her hand again and he flinches. She huffs before sitting back down. She shakes her hand in an attempt to get rid of the stinging sensation.
“She was a child Piet. Father dead, mother killed in front of her. They threw her in jail with not a fucking lick of evidence. The mob is involved in this shit. They sent this kid away, changed the course of her life, and for what? It's not right.”
He takes in a large breath, “Oh, I get it. She reminds you of us. Young, innocent, filled with potential. I heard she's an artist.”
“I'm not exploiting her,” Wanda says flatly.
Pietro taunts the woman, “I never said you were.”
It pisses Wanda off. She thinks about the ways she could wipe that smirk off of his face.
“Do you have any actual work to report?”
“Things are as stable as they've always been. I'm trying to find areas for improvement, but it seems like we're operating at 100% efficiency.”
Her tongue clicks against her teeth, “Things aren't at 100% efficiency. I see unrest in the workers. I see people pushing products waiting on returns that aren't equivalent. I see someone stealing large cuts of profits that belong to my sellers.”
She reaches into a drawer on the desk pulling out the evidence to substantiate her claim. It's all numbers, categories, math that isn't adding up.
Pietro's brow pinches as he looks over her work.
“Either someone is stealing my product or my money. Find out who, deal with it. Then we can talk about 100% efficiency.”
“Understood,” he clears his throat.
She keeps her expression neutral as she addresses him again, “I shouldn't have to be double-checking your work or correcting it. If you need supervision to be successful, maybe I need a new underboss.”
“Sestra-”
She holds up her hand, “Don Maximoff.”
He swallows hard, “It won't happen again Don Maximoff.”
“It better not. Now are you staying for the party?”
“Who's coming?”
She leans back in her chair with a light shrug, “Everyone.”
He gets up, “Well I'm already here, might as well get a drink. Besides, I think I want to meet this girl.”
Wanda’s eyes narrow, “Behave.”
He raises his up in surrender, “I will, I will.”
When he slips out of the room Wanda tries to refocus on the task at hand. She doesn’t get the chance to.
“Enough work, come get ready with me,” her wife’s voice leaves no room for argument.
“Tasha, I just need a few more minutes.”
The red head ignores this, “You've been at it all morning. This party was your idea. Let's enjoy it, detka.”
Wanda abandons her desk to meet her wife in the middle of the room. Her hands find the lawyer's hips. She presses their foreheads together, closing her eyes.
Natasha can see the tension all over Wanda.
“You're upset.”
Wanda let a shaky breath escape her, “Pietro's here. I think it's just to piss me off.”
Natasha presses her lips against Wanda’s. It's brief, a peck, followed up by more small kisses.
“Better?”
Wanda chases the red head’s lips, Natasha doesn't pull back. They connect more solidly this time. Slow, intimate, almost as if Wanda is anchoring herself with Natasha’s lips.
“Better,” the Don breathes out.
Natasha smiles, “Let's go get ready.”
This time Wanda lets the woman lead them out of her office without a fuss.
The music pulses from outside of your window. You peek out to see people starting to arrive. The backyard mimics a light show. Colors flashing with the beat of the song.
Kate put a lot of faith in the shirt she picked out for you. It has no sleeves and a plunging neckline. You don't have a problem having the skin exposed, it just feels different. The jeans are light-washed, they sit a little low on your waist. It leaves a small strip of your stomach exposed.
Your door swings open dramatically revealing Kate, Yelena, and Peter.
“Looks like you're ready to party,” Peter pumps his fist, pretending to dance.
“She's almost ready,” Kate adds on.
Your eyebrows draw together, “What am I missing?”
Yelena pulls out a bottle from behind her back, “A shot. It's mandatory for the pre-game.”
“A shot of what?”
The blonde smirks, “This, my friend, is one hundred percent authentic Russian vodka.”
“Also known as the good shit,” Kate adds on.
You look at Peter, “Do they always seem this mischievous?”
“Yep,” he nods his head.
Kate takes the bottle from her girlfriend, “Lena will go first.”
The brunette unscrews the cap from the bottle. Yelena doesn't protest, instead she readily tilts her head back. Kate pours the alcohol with no hesitation. It definitely feels like more than a shot, but the blonde doesn't flinch. She swallows without fear.
She takes the bottle back, urging Kate to open her mouth, “Your turn.”
Kate doesn't take the shot with the same grace the Yelena did. For a second, you’re unsure if your friend can keep it down.
“Come on, swallow it like a good girl,” Yelena has a glint in her eyes as she speaks.
Peter’s eyes widen while you just chuckle. Regardless of the reaction Kate swallows on Yelena’s command. The heat that climbs up her face has little to do with the alcohol in your opinion.
“Peter, front and center.”
He's quick to oblige, “Sir, yes sir.”
You watch in amusement as Yelena makes Peter drop into a damn near squat, so she can pour the liquid into his mouth.
He sputters after the shot is down, “It burns.”
You decide it's easier to take the shot sitting down. So you place yourself at the edge of the bed.
Peter and Kate start chanting your name as Yelena approaches you with the bottle.
Your head moves back on its own and your mouth opens. Yelena is more accurate when she pours the liquor into your mouth. It feels like a shot, unlike what you had watched happen to Kate and Peter.
“You guys are babies,” you say once you swallow.
“We'll see if you're saying that at the end of the night,” Kate pulls you up from the bed. “Let's fucking party.”
When you get outside you're almost overwhelmed by the amount of people filling the yard. There’s all different kinds of people; young, old, suits, t-shirts, mingling, and non-mingling.
“Looks like you could use a drink.”
The man who approaches you extends a cup your way. His hair is auburn, pushed back away from his face, he's well dressed, and his eyes are familiar to you.
“Pietro, didn't think you'd be here,” Yelena’s voice is laced with something.
You can't pinpoint what it is, but you can tell she doesn't like him.
“Why wouldn't I be here? I mean this is my sister's party.”
Yelena’s gaze hardens, “Funny, mine too.”
Kate places her hand on Yelena’s shoulder, “Well it was nice to see you again Pietro. We'll be going now.”
“At least let me introduce myself to the belle of the ball,” his gaze shifts towards you.
He pushes the mystery drink further in your direction. You take it from him. Knowing your friends don't like him, makes you not like him very much either. There’s a building tension before you speak.
“Y/n,” you give him your name.
He flashes you a charming smile, “Nice to meet you Y/n. Congratulations on your conditional release.”
“Thank you,” you sip from the cup that he gave you.
“Enjoy the party,” he finally saunters off after that.
Yelena lets out a groan, “I hate that guy.”
“What's his deal?”
Kate scoffs, “His deal is that he isn't Wanda. He's the underboss.”
Peter adds on, “He's an alright guy, but he's really protective of his sister. Even though she doesn't need any protection.”
You hum, “Good taste in drinks though.”
You stick close to Peter, Yelena, and Kate. The three of you mostly just talk and drink. At some point the alcohol starts hitting you, and can't help but to start bopping your head to the beat of the song.
“Well doesn't it look like you're having a good time?” You recognize the voice almost instantly.
You take a few careful steps over and wrap your arms around the blonde woman, “Carol, you're here.”
The woman giggles, but hugs you back nonetheless, “Told you, you'd see me on the outside.”
You turn to your friends, “Guys, Carol was my cellmate in prison. She was sent to watch after me, like a guardian angel.”
You don't see the blonde blush, but your friends surely do.
“Good to see you Carol,” Yelena greets her.
“You guys mind if I steal her for a minute?”
Kate answers for the group, “Go for it.”
That's how you end up walking next to Carol, through the hoard of people. You're slightly holding onto her arm so as to not get lost. Once you're out of the dense crowd she turns to face you.
“You're totally buzzed right now,” she says it like it's a fact.
You hum in agreement, “I think I am. Feels nice, like my body is vibrating with the music.”
“Glad to see you loosen up. I take it you're adjusting well?”
You shrug, “As well as I can.”
There's a small shift in her tone, “What's bothering you?”
It's not accusatory. It's genuine, and the weight of it takes away a bit of your buzz.
You hug yourself as you answer. Eyes anywhere, but Carol's.
“It still feels like prison sometimes,” your voice is small. A minor panic spreads across your features as you scramble to elaborate, “It's not the people. Wanda and Natasha are very attentive. My friends are right here when I need them, but it’s like I can't shake it off of me.”
Carol pulls out a cigarette, “I get it.”
You watch her fingers as they fiddle with it. The cigarette glides seamlessly between her fingers. You find yourself mesmerized by the motion.
She sees you staring and offers it to you. Your body is still vibrating. You can still hear the music all around you. You take it from her, placing it in between your lips.
Carol lights it for you before lighting one of her own.
“Prison is traumatic. Even when you leave, it follows you for the rest of your life,” she takes a drag. “I picked up smoking from prison.”
“Me too.”
Carol frowns, “You were just a kid. It's PTSD, maybe CPTSD in your case.”
You puff out some smoke, “Does it get easier at least?”
The blonde nods, “If you want it to. It's hard, takes a lot of vulnerability. You have to unlearn a lot of the things that have become survival instincts.”
You run a hand through your hair, “Will you be around, since you're out and everything?”
“You want me to be?” She asks you teasingly.
You shove her shoulder lightly, “Don't make it weird.”
The smile doesn't move off of her face. “I'm joking. If you want me around, then I'll be here. You got a phone yet?”
“Working on it.”
“Well when you get one, get my number from Nat or the Don.”
You continue smoking off to the side with Carol. Some others join you in this makeshift smoking area.
“They’ve been talking for awhile,” Wanda says as she enters the yard.
Natasha is by her side, “It's a party, Wanda. She's mingling.”
“It looks like she's just talking with Carol to me,” the Don keeps her tone even.
The lawyer nods, “Exactly, it's just Carol. Don't be like that.”
Wanda takes a deep breath, “You're right.”
“Are we going over there?”
Wanda takes Natasha’s hand in hers, “Oh absolutely.”
“To say hi, or to fluster her?”
Wanda smirks, “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Natasha pulls the brunette closer to her as they walk. Her breath tickles the side of Wanda's neck. The Don tosses her head back with laughter.
“You know exactly how good you look right now.”
Wanda’s eyes meet Natasha’s, “You think so?”
Natasha pecks the other woman's lips, just once, “Not a doubt in my mind.”
You can feel the eyes on you. Their gazes are becoming familiar to you. Your eyes dart away from Carol over to them. The cigarette almost falls out of your mouth.
You can't hear the music anymore. You don't see anyone else. You're hyper focused on them.
Wanda, in a black sequenced dress. Her skin exposed from her arms to her back. Her silhouette is devastating. The rings on her fingers catch your attention immediately.
Looking at Natasha only makes your heart beat faster. She's wearing something slightly more casual. Casual still doesn't feel like the right word. She's wearing light washed jeans, lighter than the ones you have, they're much looser than yours. She has a button down that matches the pants neatly tucked in. The finishing touch is the sandy brown suit jacket that brings it all together.
There are a plethora of words flying through your head, but all you can manage to think is that they look good. Entirely too good for you to ignore.
“Careful there, Y/n. You'll set the lawn on fire if it falls,” Carol jokes.
You feel heat coming up your neck, “It's not my fault.”
Carol puts a hand on your shoulder, “Never said it was. You're human, and they look fucking fantastic.”
“They're coming this way.”
“Probably for you,” Carol deduces.
You don't get to rebuttal as the two women step into the same space you're occupying.
“Carol, glad to see you could make it,” Wanda goes for a hug with the blonde.
“Can't turn down an invite from the Don,” she jokes back. “And what kind of jailbird would I be if I didn't come and visit my cellmate.”
Natasha answers, “Probably not one on our payroll.”
They all laugh together. You still haven't found your voice yet. Wanda and Carol get swept up into a conversation about old times.
It gives Natasha a chance to address you, one on one, “You want to grab a drink with me?”
You nod. Natasha takes your hand in hers, leading you somewhat back into the fray of bodies.
It's hard to hear over the music in this area. Maybe that's why you take the chance to speak, partially hoping the woman doesn't hear you.
“You look amazing tonight,” your voice is slightly raised, but it’s hardly a yell.
She looks at you quickly, “You don't look too bad yourself.”
Once you get to the drinks Natasha pours a few cups of punch. She hands you a cup and you sip it before asking, “What's this?”
“Jungle juice. Lots of different stuff. Enough to make sure you're having a good time. We saw you cooped up in the corner with Carol for awhile, are you enjoying yourself?”
There's a twitch at the corner of your lips, “So you were watching me?”
Natasha replies cooly, “Maybe. It's your first party after all, want to make sure you're safe.”
“You don't think Carol could keep me safe?”
The red head chuckles, “It feels like you're putting me on the stand right now.”
“More used to asking the questions than answering them lawman?”
Now she takes a swig of her drink, “Definitely. But to answer your question, I know she can keep you safe. That's why we sent her to look after you.”
“Good choice. I like Carol, she's subtle,” you, make the move to start heading back.
Natasha follows, “You don't think we're subtle?”
“Do you think you're subtle?”
She pauses for a moment, “Point taken.”
“Don't worry just because subtlety fits for Carol, doesn't mean it fits for you. I like both you and Wanda, just the way you are,” you playfully nudge the older woman.
Natasha presses, though maybe she shouldn't, “More than Carol?”
You let your eyes rake over her attire before subconsciously licking your lips, “More than Carol.”
Once you're back to Carol and Wanda, the drinks get passed around. You're only there for a few minutes before you're getting dragged away by Peter. You wave to the women, letting yourself reintegrate with your peers.
“Y/n, this is MJ. MJ this is my best friend, Y/n,” the joy in his tone multiplies under the effects of alcohol.
You stick your hand out for her to shake, “Nice to meet you.”
“I honestly thought Peter made you up. Glad to know he's not completely insane.”
He pouts, “Hey!”
“No time for that face Peter. We need to dance, like right now,” Kate exclaims.
“I don't dance,” you and Yelena speak at the same time.
Kate fixes the both of you with a glare, “I wasn't asking.”
“Can we at least get another shot first?” You relent.
“Fuck yeah.”
That's how you end up on the dance floor. The alcohol is finally catching up to you again. You feel warm in the best way. You don't think you've ever been more aware of the heaviness of your body until now. With each movement you feel like you're aware of the exact amount of energy it takes to force your body into motion.
The music is faint in your ears, but it’s almost overwhelming in your body. You feel it. If you were sober you'd be questioning everything about this. However, in this state, all you want to do is keep dancing.
“I didn't think you'd be much of a dancer.”
There's barely enough space to turn around, but when you do, you find yourself staring at Wanda.
“You and your wife think about me a lot,” you're shouting over the music.
Wanda pulls you flush against her, “Does that bother you Y/n?”
“No.”
“Good, cause I don't know if I can stop thinking about you,” Wanda says boldly.
“Dance with me,” it's not a question.
She starts out facing you. You move to the beat together. The eye contact makes something stir inside you. Something that makes it hard for you to look away.
At some point, she turns. Her back is to you. She takes your hands and holds them against her body. Your breath tickles her neck, cool compared to the heat building around her.
Wanda lets her hands feel up your arms. She turns her head towards yours, “You're so strong, Y/n.”
It's a sultry whisper on her lips. They're close to yours. You can lean in and kiss her if you want to. If she wasn't married, if she wasn't the Don, maybe you would have.
You swallow hard, “Wanda.”
She faces you once again, palm now against your cheek, “Relax baby, we're just dancing.”
You nod into her touch, eyes fluttering close briefly, “Dancing.”
“Good girl,” she coos at you.
“I need another drink,” you mumble to yourself.
Wanda leans in close enough to whisper in your ear, “Don't take too long.” Her lips graze your cheek.
You try to calmly make your way over to the alcohol.
“Seems my sister has taken a real liking towards you,” Pietro intercepts your movements.
You try to brush past him, “I don't know what you're talking about.”
He grabs your upper arm, “Come on, don't be shy now. You just put on that show for everyone to see. Dancing with Don Maximoff is definitely a way to get attention.”
You shrug your arm out of his grasp, “It's just dancing.”
He begins to circle you, “Is it, because I think it's more than that? I mean you do live here, right? Must be a big upgrade from prison. Went from accepting life in prison to a luxury lifestyle. How lucky of you.”
“What's your point?” Your tone becomes defensive.
There's a glint in his eye, “My point is that maybe my sister doesn't see it, but I do. You and your little friends are using up all her resources, taking advantage of her kindness. Now it looks like you're trying to weasel your way into her marriage. It's disgusting, it's pathetic, and I won't let you get away with it.”
Your fists clench at your sides as you glare at the man, “I didn't ask for any of this. Not a way out of prison, not a place to stay, and not a party.”
“Bullshit,” he calls out.
“It's not, but even if it was, what're you going to do about it? You aren't the Don,” you fire back at him.
That only further ignites his temper, “You wanna go prison princess? I see you clenching your fist, ready to let your true colors out.”
“This tough guy act doesn't work on me. If you want to fight me, then swing. Otherwise, I suggest you walk away,” you hold firm, even in your drunken state.
“I don't bluff, kid.”
He swings first, and you push him back. The people around you scatter, making a more open space. Pietro gathers his footing and goes to hit you again. You block the first hit, but he follows up, clocking you in the side of the face.
He gets cocky, but you don't let him celebrate. Your fist connects with his stomach causing him to briefly double over. He grunts out in pain, holding his stomach as he looks up at you.
He charges you again, but this time you plant your feet. As he closes the gap between you, your hands reach out to grab his hips. You send him crashing down to the ground with a sloppy takedown.
You're straddling his torso at this point. He tries to scramble underneath you, but you're stronger than him.
Left, right, right, hit after hit. You can't stop. You shouldn't stop. He deserves this. He tried to bitch you out. This is the kind of shit you had to do in prison. The only kind of thing to get people to stop fucking with you.
You get so lost in your head, that it gives Pietro a chance to hit you in the side of the head. You stumble off of him and he gets to his feet. His face is a bloody mess, and his nose crooked.
He lunges for you again and you meet him half way. Neither of you gets another hit in. You feel a set of arms wrapping around your waist. You struggle against the hold.
“Easy there jailbird,” Rio’s voice rings out in your ear. “You got him.”
You see Pietro being held back by Wanda and Natasha. Neither of them look happy with him. Wanda's figure is almost shaking with anger. It looks like she's going to explode any minute.
Natasha is usually the calmer of the two, but at this moment she looks just as pissed as Wanda.
Agatha appears in front of you, “Your breathing is a little rugged sweetheart. Can you take a deep breath for me?”
You close your eyes and attempt to do as she says, “Good, that's good. Let's get you inside okay? This adrenaline might wear off really quickly.”
You let them guide you into the house. Anger still swirls around your body.
“That guy is a fucking asshole,” you say as they sit you at the kitchen table.
“He is. I'm glad someone beat his ass.”
“Rio!”
The brown eyed woman waves a hand dismissively, “Come on Agatha, we all know he sucks. He's too soft for this business. The only reason he's still around is cause he's Wanda’s brother.”
“Here, hold this to your eyebrow, you're bleeding,” Agatha hands you a cool cloth.
You flinch as you hold it there, the pain finally starts to hit you. You look at the damage done to your knuckles. They're already starting to bruise, a small amount of blood pours from them.
“What was that all about?” Rio questions.
Your jaw tightens, “He said that I was using his sister. I told him I wasn't, that I didn't ask for anything. He called bullshit, tried to fucking tough guy me. I told him to either swing or walk away and he decided to swing.”
“Wrong decision,” Agatha says.
“Definitely not a good look on the underboss to get his ass kicked in front of everyone like that,” Rio says sarcastically.
“No, it's not a good look at all,” Wanda’s voice cuts through the chatter. It's lower than you've ever heard it before and her accent is more prominently on display.
Natasha trails in behind her.
Rio apologizes with her head down, “Sorry, Don Maximoff.”
“Don't apologize. As of today Pietro is no longer my underboss. He is exiled from the family.” There's irritation behind her words, but catch the flicker of rawness in her eyes.
You speak up, “But he's your twin.”
“He embarrassed me today. He disobeyed direct orders, disrespected my home, and my guests. If he weren't my brother I'd put two in his temple for this stunt.”
Natasha approaches you, kneeling to be level with you. She's looking over every inch of your face. Her thumb is quick to swipe a bit of blood from your lip.
“What he did to you is unforgivable.”
You stand abruptly, “I don't want him exiled because of me. Take away his title, fine. Demote him even, all the way down the chain, as far as he can go, but don't exile him.”
Wanda grits her teeth, “Why are you sticking up for him?”
“I'm not. I just-” you let go of the anger, something more vulnerable replacing it.
“I don't want to be the reason he doesn't have a family anymore. Wanda, that's your brother, your twin. You can't just abandon him like this. I'm not saying don't punish this behavior, I'm just saying don't kick him out of your life.”
Agatha takes you side, “She has a point, Don Maximoff. He's all you have left from home.”
Wanda takes the seat next to you, “Someone get me a drink.”
A glass of red wine finds its way into her hands. She almost chugs the glass before sitting it on the table with a sharp clink.
“Tell Bucky to bring him back through the front door. I want this dealt with now,” Wanda locks eyes with Natasha.
The lawyer makes the call. When she hangs the phone up she speaks again, “Are we doing this in front of her?”
“Well she's the one he picked a fight with,” Wanda’s tone gets snappy.
“That doesn't mean she needs to be involved like this Wanda,” Natasha argues back.
Before they can start going at each other, you stand abruptly, “I'm going to get a drink.”
Three of the women in the room look towards the Don, wondering if she would stop you.
“Are you coming back?”
You nod, your voice goes soft, “Yeah.”
Carol is waiting at the back door, guarding it you assume. When you exit, you can see she's checking you for wounds.
“I'm okay Carol,” you insist, there's a stagger in your walk.
She gets close enough for you to lean on her. A bitter part of your mind tells you to push her away, but you don't.
“Where are you going?”
“To get another drink.”
She grabs your hand gently, “I don't think another drink will help.”
“Something has to.”
You let Carol pull you away from the party, around to the front of the house.
“You should’ve seen them when someone said you were fighting with Pietro,” Carol starts. “I don't think I've ever seen Natasha that mad before.”
“I had it under control,” you pout.
Carol exhales, “Come on Y/n, we both know you shouldn't have had to do it.”
“I have to go back inside Carol,” you try to pull away.
The blonde doesn't let you go, instead she pulls you into a hug. Her arms are tight around you, she sways from side to side.
You relax.
“You aren't in prison anymore. You don't have to just accept this as something that happens, because it's not.”
“But it is, isn't it? Right out of prison and straight into the mob,” you break out of her hold.
You begin walking back towards the house. Carol follows behind you silently. You take a deep breath before you re-enter the house. The blonde stays outside guarding the door.
Voices are raised upon your entry.
“He needs to be punished Wanda! He can't get away with putting his hands on her,” you recognize the voice as Yelena's.
“I know that, okay? I know. She doesn't want me to exile him, I won't. We have to find an alternative,” Wanda argues back.
“Exile is the alternative! If this was anyone else-”
“ENOUGH!”
Your voice echoes off of the walls. The room is different when you enter it. Pietro is on his knees in the middle of the floor. Bucky behind him with a gun pulled.
Yelena stands by Bucky, arms crossed over her chest. You see the redness of her face and don't know whether it has to do with the alcohol or yelling.
Natasha now sits where you had been, next to Wanda. Agatha and Rio are sort of off to the side, just watching as it all unfolds.
You move towards Pietro, your knees hit the ground so that you're face to face with him. He glares at you, fire burning in his eyes. His nose is crooked like you left it, blood stuffed tissue plugs his nostrils. He knows better than to make a move, so you let him glare.
“You're about to lose everything.” You tell him plainly. “I've been there before. No freedom, no family, just a cot and a dirty pillow. It's not something I'd wish on my worst enemy. If you want to be exiled, then keep acting like this. If you cared about your sister half as much as you said, you wouldn't be in this predicament.”
That last sentence gets him to say something, “Fuck you.”
You laugh in his face, “You're privileged you know that. The Don's brother, the underboss, and you're throwing that all away why? Cause you don't like me?”
You can see the muscles in his face twitch, “No.”
“There's only two people in this room that would have a problem with killing you and one of them is me. Do you understand that?”
He looks around the room. As he scans the faces of the people, he sees that you're right. He bows his head, “My sister won't let me die.”
You nod in agreement, “She won't, but she will cut you out of her life forever. I don’t want that, do you?”
“No.”
You stand and his head tilts up to follow you, “How will you repent for these actions? What will you give up? You've already lost your title.”
He looks from you to Wanda. He squares his jaw, “Porezal moyu kozhu.”
“Do we think that's fair?”
Wanda surveys the room, they all nod. The Don claps her hands together, before standing up.
“Bucky, Yelena, with me. Everyone else, go back out there, enjoy the party,” Wanda’s command sends everyone in motion.
You don't want to go back to the party. You're ready to call it a night. The sickness hits you hard. All of the drinks catch up to you in an instant. The composure you just had is quickly slipping.
You make it out of the door, but that's as far as you get before you start to puke.
“Oh shit.”
Natasha is there immediately. She steadies you and pulls your hair back.
“I've got you.” She rubs her hands on your back.
There are tears streaming down your face. As you spew your guts out, your throat burns. You start dry heaving at some point as there isn't anything left in your system.
Your entire weight falls into her hands as your strength leaves you.
“You want some help getting her inside?”
“Yeah, please.”
You grip Natasha weakly. The lawyer sweeps some of your hair out of your face, “We got you. You're going to be okay.”
Carol helps Natasha carry you into the master bedroom. They don't stop once you're in the room. The women carry you past the bed and into the restroom, sitting you on the toilet.
“I've got it from here Carol,” Natasha dismisses her.
“I'll be around if you need me,” Carol leaves the room.
Natasha takes in your appearance, “You with me, malyshka?”
You nod groggily.
“What do you want to do here? You're covered in puke, you gotta get clean. Can you do it on your own?”
“Yeah, just… stay nearby. Please,” your head is in your hands.
Natasha springs into action. “Okay, I'll be back with something for you to throw on after. There are towels behind you. Just call out if you need me.”
She exits the room. You stand slowly, holding onto the shower door as you do so. With some effort, you peel the vomit covered shirt over your head. You do the same with your pants.
You step into the shower before turning it on. You're barely able to hold your head up, but you manage to clean your body. Your hair is definitely a struggle to wash, but you attempt it anyway.
You misjudge the shampoo by quite a bit. It spills all over the floor of the shower.
“Shit,” you lose your balance, embarrassingly fast. You have no choice but to call out for the lawyer, “Natasha!”
She rushes into the room not even a second later, “What happened?”
“I fell,” your face heats at the admission.
“I'll have to see you to help you. Is that okay?”
You don't hesitate to answer, “Yeah, it's fine. Prison didn't make me shy.”
Natasha doesn't fret as she takes off her suit jacket along with her shoes. She wordlessly opens the shower, and props you up against her.
“Are you hurt?”
“I'm a little dizzy.”
Natasha doesn't move her hands from your waist, “Let's get the shampoo out of your hair, then we can get you out. Crouch down a little.”
You follow her instructions to the best of your abilities. She's quick, but careful as she rubs the product further into your hair. She takes the shower head into her hands to rinse your hair. Once she deems it clean she turns off the water.
She helps you out of the shower and points over to the clothes she brought for you as well as a tooth brush.
“You're soaked,” you see her clothes drenched from the shower.
She shrugs, "It's just water. Change, brush your teeth, and then see me in the room.”
Again you're alone in the bathroom. You change into the clothes she provided you. They smell like Natasha. They'd probably fit oversized on her, but they fit perfectly on you.
You rinse your mouth first, before brushing your teeth. After you're done you find yourself staring in the mirror for the second time today.
There’s the cut on your eyebrow, some light bruising on your cheek. You know Pietro has it way worse, but that doesn't make you feel any better.
You attempt to stretch your fingers, feeling soreness as you do so. Your knuckles will definitely bruise, you're lucky that they didn't split too badly.
A soft knock pulls you from your analysis, “Are you alright in there?”
Instead of answering verbally you opt to open the door. Natasha knows the look on your face, it's one she's seen plenty of times on Wanda’s.
Against her better judgement she takes your hand and leads you directly to the bed. You allow her to pull you into bed with her. Your head finds a place in her lap.
The sigh that falls out of Natasha’s lips speaks to how exhausted the woman is. Still, she runs a hand through your damp hair. You wonder if the motion is to relax you or calm her.
“I'm sorry, you shouldn't have had to go through that. Not the fight, and definitely not the family meeting,” the red head looks straight in front of her, avoiding your eyes.
“The fighting, I'm used to. I don't usually have to take up for the guys I'm fighting immediately after, so that's new,” you attempt to joke.
Natasha doesn't find humor in it. “You didn't have to stick up for him.”
You frown, “It wasn't for him. I can see that he's a fuck up, just like everyone else. However, I also see that he's Wanda’s twin brother. It would crush her to exile him. She's not going to say that outloud, she's the Don. No one else in the room was going to take up for him. So I did.”
“You're too perceptive for your own good,” Natasha says.
“To survive the way I did, I had to know the game. For a period of time I had to play the role. I- I know what it's like to take charge, to make decisions that impact people. It's not who I am, but it was who I had to be,” you stare up at her.
You wonder if she'll look down at you. She feels your eyes on her, she's scared to look. If she does, she fears she'll lose the fight against her morals.
“You're strong Y/n,” is what she settles on saying.
You hum, “Your wife said the same thing earlier.”
That puts a small smile on the lawyer's lips, “Great minds.”
Before you can doubt yourself, one of your hands rests on Natasha’s face. You tilt her head down, so she's looking into your eyes.
“Pietro said I was weaseling my way into your marriage. Do you feel that way?”
“No, I don't,” Natasha responds delicately.
You answer her back, “I do.”
Natasha drops her last defense, “Weaseling implies, sneaking in. It makes it seem like it's unwanted.”
Your mouth opens but sound doesn't immediately follow. Your eyes dart away from hers for a brief second. “You both can't want me.”
Natasha rebuttals, “We shouldn’t. I know that better than anyone. I'm your lawyer and my wife is the Don. We live a good life, but it’s full of crime.”
There's a shift in the way you look at her, “But shouldn't, isn't doesn't.”
Natasha feels her eyes watering, “No it isn't.”
You begin to stroke her cheek. You watch as her eyes shut. The air around you feels light but tense at the same time. Anticipation of what happens now builds in the both of you.
“Do you want me?”
“Y/n,” Natasha says your name like a plea. She's begging you to not push it any further. “You've been drinking.”
You pull her face down towards you, while simultaneously leaning up to meet her half way. Your heart thuds against your chest and you're almost sure you can hear Natasha’s.
“Please.”
Natasha loses the battle right there. She lets her lips capture yours.
You don't remember the last time you kissed anyone, but you know it didn't feel like this. Nothing could ever feel like this.
It's an awkward position until it's not. You both maneuver so that you're flat on your back and Natasha is on top of you.
Kissing her feels just like tasting freedom for the first time in a decade. You moan into the kiss, breath shuttering against Natasha’s lips.
It's unintentional, but Natasha grinds down on your lap. She feels you against her and her eyes widen. She breaks the kiss, looking into your eyes like she could devour you.
“We need to stop.” Breathing comes labored from her lips.
You nod, but your hands stay resting flat against her stomach.
“Don't stop on my account.”
Instinctively you panic at the sound of Wanda's voice, but Natasha holds your hands against her skin. It's a small comfort, but it lets you know that this is okay.
“Wanda,” Natasha fixes her wife with a gaze.
The Don perches herself on the edge of the bed. She surveys your state. The tint to your skin, the rise and fall of your chest, the anxiety in your eyes. As much as she would love to tease you, to prolong this, she knows your heart couldn't take it.
“I'm not mad malyshka. A little jealous that Natasha kissed you first, but not mad.”
As the relief floods through you, it's noticeable to the Don.
“If I kissed you now, would you be less jealous?”
Wanda pretends to think, “The only way we'll know, is if we test it out.”
Natasha crawls off of your lap. You sit up and turn towards the brunette. Wanda doesn't hesitate like Natasha. She claims your lips like they've always been hers.
You were wrong before. You thought nothing would feel as good as Natasha’s lips on yours, but here you are kissing her wife; feeling the same euphoria wash over you.
Wanda’s kiss is more demanding than Natasha’s. Her teeth make appearances to nibble on your bottom lip and you can tell she's fighting the urge to put her tongue in your mouth.
You have to stop here. You can feel your dick throbbing against your jeans. No matter how much your body wants to, you can't have Natasha or Wanda taking care of you in that way. At least not yet.
“You have no idea how much I want you. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were special.” Wanda keeps you close as she talks, lips still brushing together.
You fight back a whine, “You can't mean that.”
Her brows pinch together, “I do. I don't say things I don't mean. Natasha told me no, that we shouldn’t get involved with you like this. Maybe she's right, but she kissed you first.”
Natasha crosses her arms over her chest, “You would've kissed her anyway if I didn't. I saw you two dancing earlier tonight.”
Wanda chuckles, “Guilty. I was hoping to steal a kiss from you tonight. I was successful.”
“Does this ruin everything?”
Natasha exhales deeply, “It doesn't. I won't let it.”
“You're safe with us Y/n. That won't change,” Wanda reassures you.
“What does change?”
Wanda and Natasha share a look. The lawyer answers first, “Wanda and I are interested in you. Not just for intimacy, but romantically. We would like to pursue a relationship with you. If-”
“You're making it too lawyery dear. We want to date you. Take you out on dates, hold you late at night, that kind of stuff,” Wanda interrupts her wife.
“I have conditions.”
That catches the two women off guard. Natasha recovers first, “What are they?”
“First condition, I don't want to lie or hide this from the people we're closest to. Second condition, full transparency about both of your jobs. Third condition, if this doesn't work out for whatever reason, I still want my freedom,” you lay out your conditions clearly.
“Anything else?”
You stand, it's more so that you feel strong in the moment. They keep their eyes on you. It brings you comfort more than it should.
“I've never done this before; any of it,” you hate how vulnerable you sound.
“We will go at whatever pace you're comfortable with,” Wanda grabs one of your hands.
Natasha takes the other, “There’s no right way to date, no timeline of events, we'll take it one step at a time.”
“Okay, good,” you expel a small breath.
You stand there awkwardly, wondering if they would drop your hands. Instead you find yourself being pulled down between the two women. You hit the mattress with a light ‘oof’.
“You're sleeping here tonight.” Wanda's arm wraps around your midsection.
“Objections?” Natasha asks, as she gets comfortable on your other side.
You've never felt warmth like this. Surrounded by such comfort physically and emotionally. You're already drifting by the time you answer.
Notes: Part 11, Law talk that's not necessarily accurate, Wanda 👀
Summary: While Natasha goes to gather more intel on your father, you have a private moment with Wanda. That moment leads to Natasha feeling like she has to protect you.
An: We're getting somewhere. Ps I use the quote font for the title it gives me roman numeral 1 which is I so it would've said chapter ii rather than 11. The rest of them will just have the I so I2, I3, etc. Yall get it ?
Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2
Natasha’s start already gives her pause. Like Wanda had mentioned days prior she starts with your birth certificate.
Your mother's name was clearly listed under the mother of the child. However, the certificate didn't list your father as Arnold Edwards, it said Edward S. Howard.
She leans back in her desk chair. A pen in her mouth as she stares at the documents.
A few ideas bounce around her mind. The core idea being that your parents were lying to you. They were hiding something from you. She doesn’t know if she can find the reason why, but she is certain that she has to find the what.
“Who are you really?” The woman says looking at your birth certificate.
Natasha has already decided that she must go to the courthouse. She needs to pull your mothers records and find anything else on your father.
As she goes to exit the office, she finds you there with your hand up, ready to knock.
“Hi sweetheart.”
“Hi Nat.”
Neither of you will admit it, but you're taking each other in. Natasha doesn't mean for her eyes to drag over your toned form. You don't mean for your gaze to linger on her lips. It happens regardless.
“What can I do for you?” Natasha breaks the silence.
You clear your throat, “I wanted to know if you had found anything, yet.”
The lawyer doesn't sugarcoat it, “I did find something, I was actually on my way to the courthouse for some more research.”
“Can I come?”
Natasha frowns a bit, “I would love for you to come, but it's too far.”
“Oh right,” your confidence drops a bit.
Natasha shakes her head, “How about I gather the information and then bring it here? We can go over it together. That's pretty standard lawyer stuff.”
You laugh, “Sounds good.”
“Amazing, I'll see you when I get back,” Natasha tries to go on her way.
You gently grab her wrist, “So, what did you find, like originally?”
Natasha freezes, “I checked your birth certificate. Your father is listed as Edward S. Howard, not Arnold Edwards.”
Your eyebrows furrow, “Hmm.”
“Does that name mean anything to you?”
A memory plays in your head. You can't quite grasp it, you were too young to pull the full memory, “Eddie, Howie, something like that. I just remember my mom saying one of those names on the phone all the time."
“Noted. I'll go investigate and I'll bring the important stuff back, so we can go through it together.”
You give her a curt nod, “I'll be waiting.”
“Make sure you relax while I'm gone. You have to have a clear mind for research.”
You give her a little salute, “I'll do my best.”
She lets out a small laugh, “Good.”
Natasha begins to walk away, you scamper up to her side, “We're going the same way.”
“I guess we are.”
She feels your gaze on her. It's softer than the other times she's felt it, though it still lingers.
“You're staring,” she states.
You don't falter, “I really enjoyed drawing you.”
This catches the lawyer off guard, “T-thank you.”
You smile as you catch her stutter, “I only really doodled in prison. A full sketch of who is, quite objectively, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, that was definitely a challenge.”
Natasha tries not to let the words affect her. However you can already see that they have. You can see the minute changes in her expression.
“Well, you definitely succeeded,” she manages to say.
“I'm glad you liked it,” you grow a little bashful when you say it.
Natasha thinks about commenting on the shyness that momentarily consumes you, but she doesn't. She likes this side of you; more confident, more open, less in survival mode. She likes it more than she should.
“And where are you two going?” Wanda stops you both at the garage entrance.
Natasha points at herself, “I'm going to the courthouse. She's staying here.”
“Well in that case, I'm taking her with me,” Wanda throws her arm around your shoulder.
Natasha crosses her arms, “Where do you think you're taking her?”
There's a mischievous glint in Wanda’s eyes, “It's a secret. Don't worry, I'm not breaking the rules.”
The hidden meaning isn't lost on Natasha, “Be good while I'm gone, both of you.”
Wanda moves to give her wife a chaste kiss, “Be safe, I love you.”
“I love you too,” Natasha then enters the garage.
Once the red head is out of sight Wanda turns to you. You're already looking at her.
“Where are we going?” You ask.
The mafioso winks at you, “Follow me, honey.”
After the encounter with Wanda, Natasha feels like she has to rush to get back home. She knows that when her wife has a glint in her eyes, things are all bad. The glint, accompanied by her rich accented tone, was a recipe for disaster.
Natasha trusted her wife, but above that, she knew her too well. She knew that Wanda did not often resist temptation. The Don wasn't one to just give up on something she wanted. There was hardly any situation where Wanda heard the word no and took it at face value. She was always able to turn the system in her favor even when it didn't seem that way.
The Don was a lawyer's nightmare. Charismatic, with kind eyes, a soft heart, but a brain so sharp, it would cut you almost instantaneously.
When Wanda was convicted the second time, she got off light. She had a few felony charges, but only ended up with one conviction. Some would call it a miracle, but it was just Natasha.
The red head was already established then, but taking on the Don as her client only increased her profile. Natasha knew the risk of working so closely to the heart of a criminal empire. At least she thought she did, but then she ended up falling in love.
Natasha didn't see it coming. She thought she would love the money, the greater recognition, and she did to an extent. She just loved Wanda more.
Falling for one client was bad enough. If she finds herself in that position a second time, she might as well retire now.
You were different from Wanda. You were innocent. Not only in relation to your crime but in the grand scheme of life in general. Just like Peter and Kate, you're smart, kind, talented.
If she keeps reminding herself that you're like them, she's hoping to see you in the same light.
Deep down Natasha knows that it might be too late for that. She can't lie to herself, but she has no problem denying herself. However if Wanda caves in, how is she expected to stay strong?
She tries to push those thoughts to the side as she enters the building. She starts with your mother, finding her birth certificate. She doesn't find any record of marriage. She also finds her name attached to a few court cases, some files heavily redacted.
Natasha gets copies of everything mentioning your mother. She notices that the names Edward or Edwards also appear multiple times in some of these cases.
She looks for all combinations of the names that could possibly be your father’s. While she couldn't find the name Arnold, she did come across the name Arno.
Arno S. Edwards has a plethora of documents here, but most of them are almost entirely redacted. She would need to request full access to these documents to try to piece together a full picture. That could take weeks, maybe even longer. Natasha doesn't want to wait. She decides to make a call.
“Natasha Romanoff, what do you need from me today?”
Natasha chuckles, “Don't say it like that, I call you just to talk sometimes.”
“Is this one of those calls?”
Natasha sighs into the line, “No.”
“That's what I thought. So what's up?”
“I need access to some redacted information expeditiously. I don't really have time to wait, Jen.”
Jen hums, “What are we looking for?”
“Arno S. Edwards. Any document on him.”
“Anything else?”
Natasha gives Jen your mother's name, “If you find anything that looks worth sending, send it.”
“L/n, why does that sound so familiar?”
“You'll see once you pull the information. Just get it to me as soon as you can,” Natasha ends the call after that.
Before the phone leaves her hand she gets a text from Wanda. It says bring food, the kids are hungry.
She gets copies of the documents she needs and promptly exits the courthouse.
On the way home she stops for takeout, opting for the family style portions rather than taking everyone's individual orders.
While she's waiting on the food, she gets a call from Wanda.
“Yes dear,” she answers playfully.
"We need to get Y/n a phone.”
Natasha rolls her eyes, “Then order one to the house? Is that all you called for?”
“So snappy, maybe I called to talk to the love of my life.”
Natasha hums, “Got it, you want to know what food I'm getting. Takeout, from your favorite spot.”
“Extra side of wontons?”
Natasha scoffs, “What do you think this is amateur hour? Of course I got an extra side of wontons.”
There's some mumbling in the back, “Y/n wants extra egg rolls. Vegetable egg rolls.”
“She can have however many egg rolls she wants. She'll need to be full and focused when we start our research.”
“Find anything interesting?”
Natasha answers, “Just a bunch of redacted files. Interesting, but unhelpful if I can't see into them.”
Wanda groans, “Requesting access is going to be a bitch.”
“It would've been.”
The Don chuckles over the line, “Attorney Romanoff are you taking short cuts?”
“Don Maximoff, these are pressing matters,” Nat rebuttals.
“Anything for our girl,” Wanda says smugly.
Natasha knows better, but she takes the bait anyway. It's only a small indulgence. Her voice softens when she replies, “Yeah.”
“I'll see you when you get home malysh. Drive safe.”
“I will,” Natasha hangs up the phone.
Meanwhile back at the house, you find yourself sitting in a room that's much larger than the one you're sleeping in. You'd even say it's double the size.
The room is blank, something like a clean slate. White walls, hard floors. There's some furniture; chairs, a table, a couch. However, the majority of the room is vastly empty.
You're face to face with a white canvas, stationed on an easel. There are brushes and paints, not too far from your side.
You haven't stroked the canvas yet.
“This used to be one of the dens. We didn't really need two, so I had some friends come and move everything out,” Wanda walks so that she's closer to you.
“You didn't have to.”
She shrugs, “I wanted to. I wanted to give you a space to create.”
“We've been here for awhile, I haven't made anything,” you turn your attention to her fully.
“Art takes time,” she says as if it isn't relevant.
“Have you ever painted?”
Wanda nods, “A long time ago, before I became the Don. I really enjoyed the arts, I still do. I just don't participate in the same way I used to.”
You pick up the palette, putting a few colors on it. Your hand feels the tips of the brush before picking one. In less than hurried strokes you prime the canvas.
You let the process take over you as you speak, “When I paint…it's different from when I draw. It's lighter, more loose. I don't think about it as much, I just do it. I know it's not, but drawing feels more permanent to me. Not to get all Bob Ross, but when painting there are only happy accidents. No mistakes.”
“Sounds freeing,” Wanda responds.
You sigh, “It was. Art was what I was passionate about before everything. My art was always a reflection of myself.”
“And after everything?”
Your stroke falters, “When I was first getting settled in prison I never drew. I was still trying to process it all. I did eventually start up again, but like I said my art is a reflection of me. Everything I made was full of this profound sadness and rage. So I stopped, because I hated seeing what I had become.”
“Then you drew Natasha,” Wanda says.
You nod, “Then I drew Natasha.”
“Why?”
You stand from your chair, focus still on the painting, as you lay the paint on the canvas. “Natasha gave me hope for the first time in a decade. She marched in there and said she could get me out. I don’t know if I believed her, but I wanted to. You wrote me that letter. I didn’t know what you looked like then. I knew Natasha was your wife. I thought that maybe it could be something I could use to show my gratitude.”
“So was it out of gratitude or obligation?”
It's your turn to shrug, “Maybe a little of both. Maybe a dash of something else sprinkled in there.”
Wanda doesn't let your words go unquestioned, “Something else like what?”
She walks around you so that she's standing behind the easel. You can feel her staring at you. The intensity of her gaze makes you want to stop what you're doing.
You risk a glance up at her, quick, fleeting. Her eyes attempt to trap you, but the canvas calls your attention.
“She's pretty,” you mumble. “More than pretty. She has the kind of beauty that you want to immortalize for generations of people to admire.”
Wanda smiles coyly, “Can't argue with you there.”
You clear your throat, “I'm not supposed to ask, at least I don't think I am, but how did you become… you know?”
“The Don,” she finishes.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
Wanda strides back around the room, she sits in the chair you were sitting in. She's close to you, you can feel her.
“Don't know if that's something I'd like to tell you now,” she says.
“Then tell me something else,” you don't face her.
Wanda watches you, fighting the urge to reach out. She wants to feel you against her. Her hands in your hair, in your shoulder, on your abdomen, maybe lower.
“What do you want to know?” Her accent is prominent in her words.
“Something from before everything,” your voice is so low she almost doesn't hear it.
Wanda starts at what she considers the beginning, “My family immigrated to the United States when I was around 12. Hard age for a girl, especially when she moves away from her home country. I wasn't super sociable, not eager to make friends. My brother, my twin, has always been better with people. He adjusted quicker than I did.”
She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, “I think I adjusted better overall. We were children so I don't blame him, but while he was being accepted by our peers, I was studying them. I was more interested in their relationships, how they worked, the hierarchy of it all. Once I understood it, it was easy to infiltrate it. By sophomore year I was extremely popular.”
You stop her, “Something more grounded, more open. This still sounds like Don Maximoff, something more Wanda.”
“I was 15 when I had my first kiss. Her name was Sophia and I really shouldn't have kissed her.”
This gets you to look back at the woman, “Why not?”
“Sophia had a boyfriend.”
You resume painting, “Did she kiss you back?”
Wanda scoffs, “Of course she did.”
“Cocky,” you comment.
The Don shakes her head, “She was in love with me. That's why I kissed her. We were best friends, more than that really. One day she's complaining about Thomas, her boyfriend, and she looks at me; then she says I wish I was dating you instead.”
“So you had to kiss her,” you relent.
“Exactly. She was smart, pretty, kind; everything was easy with her,” Wanda lets herself get lost in the memory.
“What happened to her?”
Wanda lets out a sigh, “I asked her to this dance. Times were different, she said she had to go with Thomas. That was that.”
“Really?”
She nods, “There wasn't anything I could do. I knew how she felt about me, and she knew it too. We both knew I was better than Thomas, but she didn't pick me.”
You speak before you think, “I would've picked you.”
Wanda can't resist after that. She reaches for your sides. Her fingers are cold, but you don't jump. You turn to face her. You swallow, under the weight of her gaze.
“You think so?”
There's a rasp to your voice when you answer her, “Yeah.”
“Interesting,” she says it to you, but you see her looking at the canvas behind you.
You turn again, she doesn't unhand your waist. Instead she encloses both arms around your middle.
You're seeing what you've painted for the first time. The background is dark, almost darker than a normal night. There are some trees along the sides, they're more like silhouettes.
The sky of the painting is a mixture of a dark blue and purple. There aren't any stars. However, in the middle of the sky are a pair of eyes; Wanda's eyes. They're unmistakable.
She notices, of course she does, perhaps it's why she said it was interesting.
“It's a start,” you say, scrutinizing some minor details.
You feel her stand without letting you go. Her breath makes contact with the back of your neck, “It's brilliant. You're brilliant.”
You don't mean to lean into her touch, but you do, “Thank you.”
Wanda takes it a step farther, leaving a feather light kiss on the back of your shoulder, “You're welcome.”
The moment lingers, neither of you separate. You don't want to. You like the way her arms feel around you. Her hold feels tight, reassuring, intentional.
She doesn't want to let go either. She wants to indulge in this moment. It's nothing scandalous, just a hug. An almost imperceivable peck, it's innocent enough.
“Foods here,” Natasha’s voice rings through the home.
You jump at the sound, but Wanda doesn't. She calmly drops her arms from around you. You finally face her, there's a small panic in your eyes.
It goes away when she interlocks her fingers with yours, “Let's go eat.”
You let her guide you out of the studio and to the dining room where everyone was already congregated.
“You,” Natasha points at you when you enter. “Get yourself a plate and we're eating in the office.”
“Work can't wait the few minutes it'll take to eat?” Wanda says.
That's when Natasha’s gaze drops to your conjoined hands. It's fast, but you were watching for it.
“We can multitask, right Y/n?”
Your hand slips out of Wanda's as you begin making your plate, “Yes ma'am.”
“Good. I've got your egg rolls, let's go,” Natasha doesn't bother giving her wife any attention.
“Sweet and sour sauce?”
Natasha holds up a few containers, “Of course malyshka.”
There's a smile on your face as you follow Natasha to her office. When you get there, you sit across from her wasting no time digging into your food.
You don't notice her watching you until you reach for your second egg roll. She catches your attention mid-chew. Your face heats quickly and you wipe your mouth.
“Enjoying the food?”
“I haven't had Chinese food in a decade. It's like eating a slice of heaven.”
Natasha chuckles, picking at her own food, “No more prison food. Only the good stuff from now on.”
“You won't hear me complaining.”
Natasha doesn't let the question roam her mind too long before voicing it, “What'd you do while I was gone?”
You swallow your food before answering her, “I think… I think Wanda made me a studio. I painted something, it's unfinished I think, but it's a start.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
You answer tentatively, “I did.”
Natasha picks up on it immediately, “But…”
“I wasn't expecting it. To paint, to have a space like that, to have Don Maximoff’s company. It felt, I don't know.”
Natasha stops eating, “A positive feeling?”
You nod, "Yeah."
“That's good then. You shouldn't feel guilty about feeling good,” Natasha says nonchalantly.
You nod slowly, “I know it's just… being alone with Wanda.”
“You scared of big bad Don Maximoff?” Natasha teases.
You don't answer immediately. When you do it's quiet, “I feel like I should be more scared.”
Something clicks in that moment for Natasha. She can tell Wanda has shaken you, just not in the typical way the Don shakes people.
“My wife is multifaceted. She's more than those stories you heard in prison. At the same time, that's a part of her. She can be kind, sweet, and gentle; but she can also be unforgiving,” Natasha is honest with you.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” Natasha says without hesitation.
You steel yourself enough to look into her eyes, “Does she want something from me? Am I just some means to an end?”
Natasha leans back in her, “Wanda isn't using you.”
You shake your head, “That wasn't my question.”
“What makes you think that?” Natasha pries.
You respond to her with much effort, “It- it feels like she wants something.”
Natasha’s eyes narrow, “Did she do something to you? Say something to hurt you?”
The words pour out of your mouth, “No, no. She didn't do anything. I just- maybe I'm confused.”
You see Natasha relax a bit at your words. She regards you carefully, scanning over you to make sure you aren't lying.
“I love my wife, but I don't always know what's going on in her head. I don't know if she wants something from you, truthfully. However, I can assure you that if she does, she won't get it,” Natasha says seriously.
“Nat-”
“Listen,” the word silences you. “You're under my care. You're my client. I will not let any harm come to you. No matter who it is from, I'm going to protect you Y/n.”
Natasha knows what Wanda wants. She'd be lying if she said she didn't want the same thing. The lawyer could tell by the state of the woman in front of her that her wife has started advancing. Wanda just can't help herself and Natasha knows it.
“If she wants something, she can just ask me,” you say sincerely.
Natasha closes her eyes, trying to calm her growing anger, “She shouldn't.”
Part of you wants to push Natasha farther, but her phone chimes loudly, interrupting the conversation.
The red head is eager to pick it up and when she does a smile plants itself on her lips.
“What happened?” You question the stark mood change.
“I just got all of the files we needed. Uncensored and in their full glory. We're tabling this conversation, because we have some investigating to do.”
